Reading Notes: John Yorke’s “Into the Woods”

The text argues that storytelling, regardless of its form or medium, shares a universal framework rooted in human psychology, biology, and even physics. This framework often involves characters embarking on quests in unfamiliar worlds, confronting challenges, and overcoming “monsters.” According to the author, this structure isn’t an artificial construct but a byproduct of how humans perceive and make sense of the world.

The text also posits that the pattern of storytelling is so ingrained in us that even when writers claim to reject traditional structure, they inadvertently adhere to it. This could be because the laws of physics, logic, and form dictate that all stories essentially follow the same path. Moreover, even works that appear to break away from traditional structure are still anchored in this universal archetype.

Importantly, the text highlights that understanding the structure isn’t necessarily a prerequisite for good storytelling. Many great writers have an intuitive grasp of story shape, even if they can’t articulate it. But, having an understanding of this structure can be considered a form of artistic craftsmanship, akin to grammar in language. Even artists who break the rules are often those who first master them; they know the limits so well that they can effectively push beyond them.

The text also contends that this isn’t merely a how-to guide for storytelling but an exploration of its inherent nature, as storytelling is an intrinsic part of human life. It emphasises the critical need to understand storytelling, given its prevalence in human society, from ancient myths to modern media. The recurrent motif in stories across cultures and times—of entering the woods to discover a hidden, usually transformative truth—is cited as an example of the universal elements at the heart of all stories.

Thus, the text is an examination of the fundamental principles underlying storytelling, offering insights into why and how stories are constructed the way they are. It invites readers not only to understand these principles but to probe deeper into the “forest” where all stories originate, hoping to uncover the mysterious forces that drive us to tell stories in the first place.

The text outlines the archetypal structure of storytelling, emphasising the role of the protagonist as the central character who serves as the audience’s avatar in the narrative. The protagonist encounters a problem or a situation that destabilises their world, initiating the journey or quest to resolve the issue. This journey often includes obstacles, moments of despair, and ultimate triumph, providing the story with its essential shape and dynamics.

The text further elaborates that while the protagonist is crucial, they don’t need to be flawless or universally likable. In fact, characters with imperfections or “rough edges” are often more engaging because they resonate with something profound within the audience. The goal of a good story isn’t necessarily to win audience approval but to evoke empathy and identification, making people think, “you too?” or “there but for the grace of God go I.”

The framework for stories revolves around the problem faced by the protagonist and their pursuit of a solution. The audience’s investment in the story is closely tied to their concern for the protagonist, not necessarily because they approve of them, but because they can relate or empathise with them.

Empathy, as the text clarifies, is not simply rooted in understanding why characters do what they do, although that does enhance it. Rather, the basis of empathy is its ability to tap into and connect with the audience’s unconscious mind. The text also acknowledges the magnetic power of wish-fulfilment, whether benevolent or masochistic, in storytelling.

The text focuses on the key elements that define archetypal storytelling, with special attention given to the role of the central character or protagonist. According to the text, a good story always involves a protagonist who has an active goal or desire. This desire is then challenged by a set of obstacles, often personified in an antagonist. The effectiveness of these “forces of antagonism” often determines the success of the story, as evident in popular works like James Bond films.

Another central tenet discussed is that characters are often motivated by primal human desires like success, love, revenge, or survival. These desires usually manifest as tangible objects or “grails” in the narrative. The internal conflict within a character often arises when what they think they want clashes with what they actually need. Such conflicts are crucial for three-dimensional storytelling and are typically a central element in structuring the narrative.

The character’s journey usually involves overcoming flaws and weaknesses, culminating in an epiphany where they realise their actual needs as opposed to their initial wants. Often, this transformative realisation leads them to abandon their initial, ego-driven goals for something more significant and fulfilling. Thus, well-crafted characters do not always get what they want but get what they need if they deserve it. This internal journey generally kicks off with an “inciting incident,” a pivotal event that catalyses the protagonist’s desires and sets the story in motion.

The text elucidates that effective storytelling is driven by a protagonist with a clear desire, facing obstacles and antagonists that challenge this desire. The narrative tension often results from the conflict between what a character wants and what they truly need, leading to a journey of self-discovery and transformation. The antagonistic forces often embody qualities that the protagonist lacks, and the journey often culminates in the character realising a more universal or nourishing goal.

The text introduces the idea of the “crisis,” a pivotal moment of extreme danger or difficulty for the hero. This crisis serves as a catalyst that forces the protagonist to confront their innermost fears and flaws. It’s a decisive point where the hero must make a critical choice that tests their character and worldview. Often, this choice involves overcoming an external antagonist, which symbolically represents the protagonist’s internal fears or flaws. In making the right choice, the hero overcomes these internal challenges and triggers a change within.

Following the crisis is the climax, the culmination of the narrative where the protagonist faces off against the antagonist. It is the point of ultimate resolution where all narrative threads converge. By overcoming the external obstacle in the climax, the protagonist finds internal healing, bringing full circle the journey initiated by the inciting incident. This climactic resolution often leads to a denouement, a winding down of the story where the outcomes and “rewards” are clarified.

The text also notes that these fundamental elements of storytelling can be altered or omitted for specific narrative effects, as seen in works like “The Wire” or “No Country for Old Men.” However, these deviations are impactful precisely because they are exceptions to the well-established rules of storytelling.

The text elaborates on the foundational principles of storytelling, likening them to the alphabet or musical notes: simple yet infinitely adaptable. It discusses variations in storytelling frameworks, such as tragedies inverting the heroic arc seen in mainstream films like “Jaws” or “E.T.” to show a hero’s downfall, as in “Macbeth.” Other variations include dark twists, as seen in “Taxi Driver” and “The King of Comedy,” where the protagonists are rewarded, thus offering a dark commentary on society.

The text underscores the dominance of the three-act structure in drama, composed of a beginning, middle, and end. This structure includes setup, confrontation, and resolution, featuring turning points at the end of the first and second acts, known as the inciting incident and the crisis, respectively. This pervasive pattern suggests that storytelling taps into deeper psychological or even biological frameworks.

Furthermore, the text talks about how characters are often flawed and thrust into a universe that embodies everything they lack, forcing them to find a new balance and self-integration within this challenging environment.

It also touches upon historical views on storytelling structure. Horace’s “Ars Poetica” posited that no play should be shorter or longer than five acts, a principle that is essentially a refined version of the three-act structure. This five-act structure is simply a more detailed rendition of the Hollywood three-act paradigm, inserting two additional act breaks in the second act.

The text also mentions “Freytag’s Pyramid,” outlined in 1863, which identifies five stages in every tragedy. Interestingly, although intuition might suggest that the climax should appear in the fifth part, Freytag places it in the third, corresponding to the “midpoint” in structural study.

The text elaborates on the core elements of storytelling, particularly focusing on the concept of the “midpoint” in a narrative, which is the moment when something profoundly significant occurs. This point in the story is crucial for the characters and the overall arc because it often ramps up the stakes and forces a significant change or decision, creating a risk/reward dynamic.

The text notes that the resurgence of three-act drama in the 19th century was not a reaction against Shakespearean forms but rather aligned with developments in comfort and technology. For writers struggling with the traditional Hollywood three-act paradigm, a five-act structure can provide better control, particularly over the middle section of their stories.

The essence of all drama, according to the text, is the concept of change. Characters must undergo an internal struggle to achieve this change, which is directly linked to their dramatic desire or what they want. In other words, if a character wants something, they will have to change in some significant way to achieve it.

The text also emphasises that in every archetypal story, there exists a template or a paradigm that serves as a guide for structure. Learning and change are central to these stories, following a pattern where characters’ flaws are exposed, acted upon, and eventually overcome. The characters start flawed, discover something that can help them (the “elixir”), learn to use it, and end up complete or whole.

Quoting a description that evokes Joseph Campbell’s monomythic “Hero’s Journey,” the text highlights the universal shape of stories where the hero ventures into a strange world, faces challenges, wins a decisive victory, and returns transformed and empowered. The existence of a “midpoint” hints at a sort of narrative symmetry, implying that this point in the story has a unique and specific importance.

The text outlines the intricate structure of storytelling, emphasising that stories are built hierarchically from acts, which are themselves built from scenes, and further down to units called “beats.” This structure resembles a fractal pattern where each smaller part mirrors the larger whole, containing essential elements like setup, inciting incidents, crisis points, climax, and sometimes, resolution. This fractal concept reveals a deep level of order beneath what may appear as artistic freedom or chaos.

In this framework, a crisis point is critical as it embodies the worst possible outcome of decisions made at the story’s outset. It serves as the point where the protagonist is forced to confront their deepest fears or weaknesses, shaping the story’s overall archetype. The fractal structure works across scenes, acts, and the story as a whole, presenting the protagonist with the critical question they must answer.

The text also introduces the idea of a question-and-answer structure within each act, illuminating how this narrative technique unifies the story. Each act, while sharing the same underlying fractal structure, serves a different purpose depending on its position in the story. For example, in the beginning, it’s about setting up the inciting incident; in the middle, it lays the foundation for the story’s midpoint; and at the end, it culminates in a climax.

Inciting incidents act as invitations for the protagonist to leave the familiar and venture into the unknown, setting the stage for transformative experiences. Each unit of the story, down to the individual scenes and beats, is focused on depicting change. Dramatic tension is achieved through a conflict of desires between the protagonist and antagonist, making each scene a battleground where opposing goals clash.

The text also discusses “turning points,” moments that act as units of change, forcing a character to confront the consequences of not adapting or evolving. These turning points create action-reaction dynamics within scenes, culminating in a moment where one character achieves their goal, forcing the other to confront loss or change.

The text delves into several techniques and principles that sustain narrative momentum and engage the audience. One such technique is “top-spin,” where each scene ends on a question that creates anticipation and keeps the audience hooked. This feeds into E. M. Forster’s notion that a story’s sole merit lies in making the audience eager to know what happens next. By cutting away at the crisis point, writers can defer gratification, building tension and curiosity.

Another approach is the “come in late, get out early” strategy, which aims to heighten tension by ending scenes at their most crisis-laden moments. In essence, every crisis point serves as a cliffhanger, driving the narrative forward. Each scene’s crisis shakes the characters, forcing them to form new plans or wants.

The text also emphasises the value of subverting expectations, an essential device in archetypal storytelling. It keeps the audience engaged by challenging their anticipations, often turning them on their head. The characters themselves, by utilising knowledge gained at critical junctures like the midpoint, manage to defy odds, defeat adversaries, and complete their transformative arcs.

On the note of story structure, while ideal fractal patterns often emerge, it’s important to note that these are not prescriptive rules. Great works can, and often do, deviate from these established patterns. Interestingly, many of these archetypal structures emerge unconsciously in storytelling.

The crux of storytelling lies in the balancing act between order and chaos, merging opposites to create a narrative equilibrium. This relationship between opposites is fundamental to how audiences perceive drama, serving as a linchpin for storytelling as a whole.

The text underscores the importance of character-driven storytelling in creating compelling drama. It posits that great drama is not only predicated on well-realised characters but also thrives on the internal conflicts they endure. Such conflicts often stem from the disparity between how a character wants to be perceived and their true feelings or nature. This tension gives life to drama, making characters relatable, complex, and engaging.

Writers find it particularly enriching to explore characters who act counter to their expressed beliefs or engage in self-sabotage, as these traits lend authenticity and depth. These internal conflicts and contradictions make for characters who are more nuanced and intriguing.

In archetypal stories, characters embark on journeys towards completion, transitioning from a state of imbalance to equilibrium. Successful conclusions—both in fictional narratives and psychological terms—often involve resolving these conflicts and reconciling opposing aspects of one’s self.

The text emphasises that the conflict between a character’s inner self and outer portrayal is central to successful storytelling. This conflict can be so profound that it sometimes necessitates the division of a character into dual identities to dramatise the dichotomy fully.

Characters often project a superficial “want,” which they believe will help them fit into societal expectations. However, it is often their deep-rooted fears or deficiencies—embodied by the antagonist or “monster”—that they must confront and overcome to achieve growth and completion.

The text elaborates on the intricate relationship between a character’s inner conflicts and the dramatic structure of the story. It suggests that what a character perceives as a weakness can often be a source of redemption and growth. As a story unfolds, a character’s superficial wants, which are typically aligned with their external façade, give way to deeper needs that are linked to their inner vulnerabilities.

Characters are often introduced with certain flaws or neurotic traumas, depicted through defence mechanisms or façades that mask their inner selves. As the narrative progresses, these façades start to crumble, leading the character to confront and assimilate their underlying issues, which often aren’t fully revealed until the latter parts of the story. This process mirrors psychological theories, suggesting that characters must confront and come to terms with past traumas to achieve personal growth.

The text further highlights that a character is not just what they say but what they do, underscoring the notion that character and story are intrinsically linked. The actions taken by a character in a story reveal their inner complexities, offering a glimpse into their struggles between their “wants” and “needs”. This evolution is usually marked by pivotal points in the story, like the inciting incident and the climax, where the character’s “needs” start to overshadow their “wants”.

An essential element in keeping audiences engaged is the element of mystery or the “not knowing” aspect. This allows viewers to project themselves onto the characters, making the story a more immersive and personal experience. In well-crafted narratives, the protagonist essentially becomes a stand-in for the audience, facilitating a deeper emotional connection.

The text argues that compelling drama has a therapeutic effect, serving as a “temporary balm” that allows audiences to experience emotional resolution vicariously. In well-structured films, this effect is heightened because character and structure are seamlessly integrated, making explanations superfluous and impacting the audience at an unconscious level.

Dialogue is highlighted as a crucial element of drama, serving multiple functions including characterisation, exposition, and subtext. Good dialogue should reflect a character’s desires and intentions, while also revealing inconsistencies that make the character more complex and relatable. Dialogue should not just tell; it should show, revealing character through what is said and how it’s said. It contributes to the façade that characters create to present themselves in a certain way, while also providing glimpses of their true selves.

Exposition, another element of dialogue, is effective only when it serves a character’s goals and is entangled with conflict, thereby becoming “invisible” to the audience. Bad exposition lacks this imperative, making it easily detectable and detrimental to the drama.

Subtext adds depth to a story by capturing the gap between language and thought, offering a closer approximation to truth. Characters may not always be aware of their hidden desires, which contribute to the subtext, making the story rich and multi-dimensional.

The text also stresses the importance of audience interpretation in the dramatic experience. Too much explanation kills the drama, while the ambiguity and complexity inherent in good dialogue and structure engage the audience more actively.

The text argues that stories serve multiple purposes, including making reality more bearable and facilitating emotional and intellectual exploration. In terms of structure, the Hegelian dialectic is highlighted, emphasising that storytelling is essentially a synthesis of opposites, and that opposition is crucial for effective drama.

The text also distinguishes between subject matter and theme; the former is static, while the latter is an active exploration or argument about the world’s nature. Stories are seen as dialogues that test and explore truths, with the protagonist often taking on qualities of their adversaries to achieve their goals.

In serial storytelling, the characters’ flaws or needs should not be completely resolved until the end, maintaining tension and interest. Drama is defined by its capacity for transformation, and while stories can deviate from traditional forms, they often gain power from their relationship to these archetypes.

The text argues that all good art contains a blend of tradition and revolt against tradition. It suggests that stories serve as a model for life, helping us impose order on uncertainty and providing tools for psychological and emotional resolution.

Censorship is criticised for replacing psychological truth with propaganda, disrupting the story’s capacity to confront and integrate the “other” to produce emotional immunisation. The structure of drama is likened to the dance of opposites, with each scene building on the last and incorporating new elements, reflecting our innate need for narrative order.

Stories are not just entertainment; they are complex interplays of theme, character, and structure that engage us on multiple levels, offering both an escape from and a lens onto reality. They serve as both reflections and critiques of the world, combining elements of tradition and innovation to create emotionally and intellectually resonant experiences.

Random Thoughts

A scandal about a scandal concerning a gate is called a “gategategate”.

In archetypal drama, a theory is raised (the theme) and is tested through opposition. Out of the drama comes a transformation of understanding.

An uninteresting story is “I want something, so I get something”, or “I imagine something and that’s how things turn out.” Struggle, setback, and surprise improve the drama. Ever wonder whether the world is one big soap opera?

Life is, beneath all the bad and good that happens, compelling.

Random Thoughts

In the year 2040, humanity finally achieves one of its most daring dreams—the first crew of astronauts have successfully landed on Mars. The mission is broadcast live to billions of people across Earth, eagerly watching as the astronauts take their first steps on the red planet. After conducting some initial experiments, the crew stumbles upon something astonishing: a mysterious cave, previously hidden from their sensors. Braving the Martian elements, the astronauts venture into the dark cavern, their flashlights revealing a shocking discovery. There, propped against the cold, rocky walls, lies a human skeleton dressed in what appears to be an Earthly spacesuit from several decades ago. Beside the skeleton, four words are etched into the Martian stone, illuminated by the astronauts’ flashlight beams: “Stupid satnav autocorrected ‘bars’”.

 

All battles are not equal; a general can win a hundred battles and lose both the war and the peace. Napoleon, who was no doubt clever tactically, lost strategically, twice. His empire didn’t even last more than a few years. It is strange that he is remembered today, outside of military history, given that he was responsible for the deaths of countless people and the needless downfall of his country. France’s influence on world history might have been far greater if it hadn’t sold its North American territories to finance Napoleon’s ego in Europe.

Life and Lines

I would estimate, wildly, that only about 5% of people portray themselves convincingly when provided with scripted lines. Sometimes for television and film that’s good enough, when the person is interesting to look at and has an entertaining persona. Far fewer people can play a type of character well, even after some practice and the role suits the person’s natural characteristics. However, the rarest level of mastery is the ability to convincingly portray a character who is distinctly different from oneself. It demands an understanding of human psychology, an acute awareness of bodily nuances, and the ability to transcend one’s own limitations and biases. When an actor reaches this point—where they are not just mimicking but truly inhabiting another life, with all its complexities and subtleties—that's when they transition from being an entertainer to an artist. In accomplishing this, they achieve something remarkable: the creation of an entirely new life through their performance. The actor becomes more than an engaging vessel for storytelling; they become co-creators of a vivid, emotional reality.

Reading Notes

1. Critical Reading & Writing

Fraser, Gregory & Davidson, Chad, Analyze Anything: A Guide to Critical Reading and Writing, (London: Continuum, 2012)

The text delves into the study of semiotics, aiming to deepen analytical skills and teach a reliable method for generating evocative ideas expressed in coherent prose. Semiotics is described as the “study of signs,” where the layers of significance of these signs change based on their cultural and historical contexts. For example, the symbolism behind certain images like long hair or beards varies, and understanding this is key to interpreting their meanings.

Meanings are relational and situational; they depend on the context in which signs appear. A sign doesn’t exist in isolation; it takes on meaning through its relationships with other signs within a system. Semiotics emphasizes that all meaning emerges through these relationships, often subtly reflecting power dynamics. The goal of semiotics is not to discover an ultimate truth behind a cultural or literary sign but to study the various messages conveyed by these signs. A definitive understanding of what a sign represents is difficult to ascertain, as the relationship between surface signals and inner truth is never fully resolved.

The semiotic approach to understanding signs encourages an abundant view of meaning rather than a limiting one. This pluralistic approach requires comfort with multiplicity, ambiguity, paradox, and incomplete comprehension. Overall, semiotics provides a nuanced framework for analysing and understanding the complex layers of significance that signs carry within varying contexts.

The text offers comprehensive guidance on how to improve thinking and writing skills by focusing on the art of specificity and semiotics. It advises readers to aim for specificity in all facets of their thinking and writing, encouraging them to “climb the ladder of specificity.” Strong writers are urged to apply scrutiny and to create inventories of unique and provocative details. These details serve as small semiotic elements that can lead to innovative essays with unanticipated interpretations.

The importance of examining the chronology of a phenomenon is highlighted as a method for selecting strong signs. The text also recommends teasing out peculiar relationships between signs, as these juxtapositions often produce irony and subsequently lead to interesting essay topics. An example is given regarding the absence of mentions about elephant slaughter in Joseph Conrad’s “The Heart of Darkness,” even though the novel critiques the ivory industry.

Further, the text introduces the concept of “fusion,” which entails being both a perceiver and a creator. It involves identifying disparate signs and constructing a unifying term that ties these elements together in a creative way. This approach is termed poetic and provides a method for examining complex themes in literature.

Various tests for the effectiveness of sign selection are presented. A good sign must be “above the waterline,” easily visible and discernible. Other criteria include the sign’s originality and its significance in relation to its cultural and temporal context. Additionally, the “degree of difficulty” of interpreting the sign is considered, advising that signs can be either too simplistic or too complex. A balance is urged, and the sign’s potential energy may stem from how much it resists its surroundings or creates contradiction, paradox, or irony.

The text provides a thorough guide on how to approach the analysis and interpretation of a selected sign, emphasizing the need for a well-laid plan. This plan starts with establishing a “field of inquiry,” a unified set of related theoretical questions aimed at delving into the sign’s meanings and significance. To solidify their analysis, writers are encouraged to create a focused “block” of questions regarding the sign.

Two types of questions are identified: practical and theoretical. While practical questions help pin down the specifics of the sign within its context, theoretical questions are more important for interpreting its broader meanings and significance. Writers should strive for objectivity and scientific rigour in their questions, steering clear of binary constructions that oversimplify complex meanings. The questions should also be open-ended, allowing for multiple answers and interpretations.

The text suggests avoiding a focus on character-driven questions, as this may limit the scope of the analysis. Moving forward, writers should aim to craft prose that invites readers into their analyses and captures the intricacies of the chosen sign.

The concept of “staging” is introduced, borrowing elements from drama like a “star” (the focal sign), a “situation” (the broader cultural and historical context), and a “problem” (the interpretive challenge). This serves to engage the audience better, akin to how dramatists and other creative writers think critically about signs in culture. By focusing on these three aspects—making the sign the “star,” situating it within a specific context, and posing an interpretive “problem”—writers can animate their analysis, making it more compelling for themselves and their readership.

The text advocates for a deep, rigorous approach to semiotic analysis, encouraging readers to join the “corps of thought-divers” who delve beneath surface meanings to discover expansive and important underlying significances. It likens the visible aspect of a sign (in literature or culture) to the tip of an iceberg, hinting that its true meaning is vast and largely hidden beneath the surface. The goal of semioticians is to dive beneath the surface and make analytical discoveries.

To generate a compelling idea about meaning, three elements are recommended: identifying the above-the-waterline sign, specifying a below-the-waterline signal it sends out, and articulating why that message matters. The text suggests that meaning is not singular or fixed; it evolves over time and depends on context. Therefore, one is not confined to a single way of understanding reality.

Improving in semiotics, like mastering any skill, requires persistence, patience, and practice. The text advises to think in terms of processes rather than fixed products and to become an “idea machine” capable of offering multiple, persuasive theories. It encourages viewing interpretive writing as a creative activity worth doing for its own sake.

Several “games” or techniques are introduced for generating ideas and stretching creativity. These include the “association game,” which leverages the principle that meanings arise from associations between signs, and the “playing with verbs game,” which focuses on using specific verbs to connect visible signs with their underlying meanings. Another strategy, “the trafficking in ideas game,” encourages borrowing from other sign systems to trigger new interpretations. The “Martian perspective” involves adopting an alien observer’s point of view to refresh our understanding of familiar signs by making unusual comparisons. Lastly, the “frame game” suggests placing the chosen sign in various social, historical, and academic frames to trigger new ideas about its meaning. The text also notes that the process of creating persuasive essays is often nonlinear and pieced together from disparate ideas.

The text provides a robust set of tools and perspectives for deeply engaging with the semiotics of culture and literature, emphasizing the importance of a rigorous, open-minded approach. It outlines the last major phase of analytical writing, focusing on structuring essays to substantiate claims with evidence and logical argumentation. This is often where research comes into play. With a chosen sign and multiple ideas about its meaning, the writer then gathers supportive evidence to convince readers of the validity of their theories. This process is conceptualized as the “Three-’I’ed Monster,” comprising Idea, Illustration, and Interpretation.

The “Idea” is the theoretical claim that needs substantiation. The “Illustration” is the catalogue of hard evidence supporting this idea, and the “Interpretation” is the in-depth reasoning explaining why the idea and illustration make sense. Among these, Interpretation is given the most weight, as it is crucial for persuading the reader.

The monster metaphor is extended to suggest that this analytical approach has “teeth.” These metaphorical teeth encourage the writer to delve into the political and social contexts of the time period and culture for the chosen sign. The aim is to give the essay a “bite,” making it relevant and impactful rather than a mere academic exercise lacking in real-world importance.

The text also advises on the sequence of presenting ideas. In a “five ideas about meaning” approach, it is often effective to move from the most obvious to the most sophisticated ideas for the sake of logical flow and persuasiveness. By first developing multiple ideas about meaning, the writer increases the chances of finding one powerful assertion that can guide an entire study. This collection of ideas can also be mined for a variety of overarching theses. Lastly, the text suggests adopting the “idea-illustration-interpretation” pattern for each of the five major points or movements in the analysis, reinforcing the structure and making the argument more compelling.

The text presents ten different analytical approaches aimed at stimulating thought and discussion. These approaches cover a diverse range of topics: analysing spectacle focuses on the visual or performative aspects of a subject; analysing ads looks at advertising techniques and their implications; analysing metaphor delves into symbolic language and its meanings; analysing gender examines the roles and representations of gender; and analysing slang investigates the cultural and social dimensions of informal language.

Additionally, analysing tomorrow is about examining future trends or possibilities; analysing consumption deals with patterns of consumption and their social or environmental impact; analysing beauty explores the concept and standards of beauty in various contexts; analysing captivity considers issues related to confinement or restriction, whether physical or metaphorical; and analysing disability focuses on the representation and treatment of disabilities. Each approach offers a unique lens through which to view and understand a given subject, allowing for a rich and nuanced analysis.

A multifaceted approach is outlined for the development of better writing and thinking through specificity and semiotics. The text guides the reader in selecting effective signs, scrutinising them closely, and even creating new interpretive avenues through fusion. This methodology encourages the exploration of multiple layers of meaning, stimulating both the writer and the reader to delve deeper into the subject matter.

2. Writing for Performance Overview

Aristotle, Poetics, (London: Penguin, 1996)

Aristotle’s “Poetics” is a seminal work in the field of literary theory and dramatic arts, written in the 4th century BCE. It is among the earliest surviving works that provide a systematic study of literature, particularly the genres of tragedy, epic poetry, and comedy. In “Poetics,” Aristotle aims to discern the principles that make for effective storytelling and emotional impact. The text is both an examination of the elements of narrative and an analysis of the psychological effects of drama on an audience.

The work is divided into sections that deal with different aspects of poetry and drama, including their components, types, and effects. Aristotle begins by outlining the idea of mimesis, which refers to the act of imitation or representation. According to him, all forms of literature are imitations of life, but they differ in the medium used, the objects represented, and the manner of representation.

A significant portion of the work is dedicated to the tragedy genre, which Aristotle considers the highest form of poetry due to its emotional impact and moral significance. He identifies six primary elements of tragedy: plot, character, thought, diction, spectacle, and song. Among these, he gives the greatest importance to plot, considering it the soul of a tragedy. A well-structured plot should contain a clear beginning, middle, and end, and should evoke fear and pity in the audience through a sequence of events that lead to a cathartic emotional release.

Character, while secondary to plot, is essential for making the story believable and the moral undertones accessible. The characters should be well-rounded, and the protagonist should be a person of relative virtue who undergoes a downfall due to a tragic flaw (hamartia) or a lack of judgment.

The concept of the “unity of action” is also crucial in Aristotle’s framework. He argues that a tragedy should revolve around a single, unified plot rather than a complex or episodic structure. This unity facilitates the audience’s emotional engagement and allows for a more profound impact.

Aristotle also touches upon the topic of epic poetry, drawing comparisons and contrasts with tragedy. Both are elevated forms of literature, but they differ in length, scope, and the manner of imitation. While tragedies are performed and include aspects like spectacle and song, epics are narrated and can encompass a broader range of events.

“Poetics” also offers an explanation for why humans are drawn to tragic stories. Aristotle believes that the experience of catharsis, the purging of emotions like pity and fear, is a primary reason people are moved by tragedy. The work also briefly discusses comedy, though that section is largely lost to history.

Aristotle’s “Poetics” is a foundational text that has influenced Western literary theory for millennia. Its analytical approach to the elements of storytelling and the emotional responses they provoke has been a touchstone for scholars, writers, and artists seeking to understand the mechanics and impact of narrative forms.

Esslin, Martin, The field of drama: How the signs of drama create meaning on stage and screen (London: Methuen, 1987).

The Field of Drama is a comprehensive analysis of how various elements—text, actors, stage, lighting, sound, and audience—interact to create meaning in theatrical and cinematic experiences. The book delves into the semiotics of drama, examining the language and signs that contribute to the meaning and emotional impact of a performance. Esslin explores how these signs are not just dialogues or physical actions but extend to lighting, set design, costumes, and even the reaction of the audience. He argues that each of these aspects serves as a ‘sign’ that communicates specific meaning, adding depth and layers to a performance.

The book is structured to provide both a theoretical framework and practical examples, dissecting famous plays and films to demonstrate how these elements interact in creating a holistic experience. Esslin takes into account the historical evolution of drama, giving insights into how different eras have interpreted these signs differently, thereby changing the way meaning is derived. The text also looks at drama from both a writer’s and a director’s perspective, detailing how these roles contribute to the complex system of signs that make up a dramatic production.

In addition to this, Esslin goes beyond Western theories and incorporates ideas from different cultural perspectives, giving the book a more global outlook. He examines the limitations and possibilities of translation and adaptation across different media and cultural contexts. The book is replete with case studies, dissecting scenes from renowned plays and movies to illuminate his arguments.

Overall, Esslin’s work serves as a robust scholarly resource, ideal for those interested in theatre studies, film studies, and cultural studies. It offers readers a new lens through which to understand and appreciate the complexity and intricacy involved in creating meaning on stage and screen. This book is essential reading for anyone interested in delving deeper into the intricate web of elements that contribute to the richness of a dramatic experience.

Yorke, John, Into the Woods: How Stories Work and Why We Tell Them, (London: Penguin, 2014)

“Into the Woods” by John Yorke is an insightful examination of storytelling, both as an art and a science. The book delves into the architecture of narratives across various media such as literature, film, and television. Yorke builds his analysis on a foundation of existing theories, especially Joseph Campbell’s “The Hero’s Journey,” to dissect the elements that make a story compelling.

The central premise of the book is that all stories share an intrinsic structure, and Yorke goes to great lengths to articulate this commonality through the metaphor of a journey into and out of the woods. The “woods” serve as a representation of chaos or conflict, the crucible in which characters are tested and change occurs. Essentially, the structure of all narratives, according to Yorke, can be broken down into three acts: the journey into the woods (Act I), the confrontation and grappling within it (Act II), and the journey back (Act III). These acts form a cycle of equilibrium, disequilibrium, and a new equilibrium.

Yorke argues that this storytelling structure is not just a cultural construct but is deeply embedded in human psychology. He draws on psychology, philosophy, and even evolutionary biology to make the case that humans are hardwired to understand and interpret their experiences through the lens of story. For instance, he delves into why conflict is essential in stories, tying it to our evolutionary need for problem-solving. The book also tackles the elements that go into character development, emphasizing the importance of want, need, and flaw in shaping characters who are complex and relatable.

One of the strengths of “Into the Woods” is that Yorke provides an extensive array of examples from classic literature, modern films, and television series to substantiate his claims. This lends the book a well-rounded approach that speaks to both the casual reader and the more academically inclined.

Furthermore, Yorke offers practical advice for aspiring storytellers, emphasizing that an understanding of the innate structure of stories can serve as a powerful tool for creating compelling narratives. While he acknowledges that there are always exceptions to the rules, he suggests that breaking them successfully requires an in-depth understanding of why they exist in the first place.

The book is a comprehensive guide that endeavours to explain the universal elements that make stories resonate with us. It draws from a wide range of disciplines and examples to offer a compelling argument for the universality of storytelling structure, making it an invaluable resource for anyone interested in the mechanics of telling compelling stories.

3. Framing theories

Bennett, Susan, Theatre Audiences: A Theory of Production and Reception, 2^nd edition, (Routledge, 1997).

Susan Bennett’s “Theatre Audiences” is a seminal work in the field of theatre studies, particularly focusing on the dynamic relationship between the production and reception of theatre. Published in 1997 by Routledge in its second edition, the book aims to analyse the complexities that define how theatre is made and consumed, with a focus on understanding the role of the audience as an integral part of the theatrical experience.

The book delves into the historical evolution of audiences, tracing the socio-cultural shifts that have influenced the role of the audience in theatre. It critically examines the ways in which audiences have been conceptualized, looking at their transition from passive consumers to active participants. Bennett also scrutinizes the frameworks set by theatrical institutions, such as the physical architecture of theatres, pricing, marketing strategies, and even the sociopolitical climate, all of which shape the audience’s reception of a performance.

Moreover, Bennett touches on the diversity of theatre audiences, considering factors such as age, ethnicity, and socioeconomic status. She argues that these variables contribute to how an audience interprets and engages with a performance, thereby affecting the intended meaning and impact of a production. By considering such diversity, Bennett pushes the reader to re-evaluate generalizations about audiences and their experiences.

The book uses several case studies, from classical to contemporary performances, to illustrate how varying elements of a production—such as lighting, set design, and acting styles—interact with the audience’s perceptions and expectations. Bennett employs a multi-disciplinary approach, drawing on theories from psychology, sociology, and semiotics to give a well-rounded view of the relationship between audience and production.

At the core of Bennett’s work is a challenge to the traditional models that relegate audiences to mere passive recipients of a pre-constructed theatrical reality. She presents the audience as co-creators in the theatrical experience, emphasizing that a play is not a complete work of art until it has been received and interpreted by its audience. The dynamic exchange of energy, ideas, and interpretations between the stage and the audience is, according to Bennett, what truly constitutes the unique and ephemeral art form that is theatre.

“Theatre Audiences” serves as an indispensable resource for understanding the complex relationship between the stage and the spectator. Bennett’s scholarly investigation pushes the boundaries of how we consider the role of audiences, ultimately arguing for a more nuanced and interactive approach to theatre-making.

Butler, Judith, Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity, (New York and London: Routledge, 1999).

“Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity” by Judith Butler, first published in 1990 with various editions thereafter, is a seminal work in the fields of gender studies, queer theory, and feminist philosophy. The book challenges traditional notions of gender identity, arguing against the conventional binary understanding of male and female. Butler asserts that gender is not a natural given, but rather a social construct that is continuously performed, enacted, and reenacted through a set of prescribed behaviours and cultural norms.

The book begins by examining the limitations of existing feminist theories. Butler critiques the way that these theories often presuppose a stable, pre-existing category of “woman” as the subject of feminism. Such an assumption, she argues, essentializes gender roles and identities, excluding those who do not fit neatly into these categories. She dismantles the idea that there is a natural link between biological sex, socially constructed gender, and sexual desire, stating that these categories are not as coherent or stable as society posits them to be.

Butler then introduces the concept of “performativity,” drawing from speech act theory, which was originally developed by philosophers like J.L. Austin and further refined by John Searle. She contends that gender is a kind of ongoing social performance, rather than an intrinsic quality derived from biology or some other determinant. Through a complex process of socialization, individuals enact and express gender in a way that is culturally intelligible, thereby reinforcing existing gender norms and structures. However, Butler also suggests that the very nature of performance allows for the possibility of subversion—by deliberately “misperforming” gender, one can disrupt the social norms that uphold gender binaries and hierarchies.

Moreover, Butler explores the politics of this performative act, examining how institutions like the family, the state, and the medical community participate in the construction and policing of gender norms. She also delves into the implications of her theories for sexual politics, examining how a more fluid understanding of gender can empower marginalized communities, including queer and transgender individuals.

The impact of “Gender Trouble” has been immense, shaping academic discourse and activism alike. Its radical rethinking of gender has opened up new avenues for research and political action, providing the theoretical groundwork for a more inclusive and nuanced understanding of gender identity and sexual orientation. However, the book has also been subject to various critiques, including concerns about its dense academic language and the feasibility of its ideas in practical, real-world activism.

The book is a groundbreaking work that disrupts conventional wisdom about gender, sexuality, and identity, offering a transformative lens through which to understand these concepts. By proposing that gender is an ongoing performance, Judith Butler challenges entrenched social norms and offers a more fluid, inclusive way to think about identity, thereby influencing a wide array of disciplines and social movements.

Said, Edward, Culture and Imperialism, (London: Vintage, 1994).

“Culture and Imperialism” is a seminal work by Edward Said that builds on his earlier book “Orientalism.” Published in 1994, the book is a critical exploration of how cultural forms, particularly literature and media, serve as instruments of imperial domination and resistance. Said examines how the West has represented the East and other colonized spaces through various forms of discourse, illustrating how culture is never separate from the power dynamics of imperialism.

The book scrutinizes a variety of Western canonical texts, from classics like Jane Austen’s “Mansfield Park” to Joseph Conrad’s “Heart of Darkness,” to show how these works often reflect and legitimize the colonial enterprise. Said points out that while these works might not overtly glorify imperialism, they nonetheless perpetuate the unequal power relations by portraying the colonized as ‘Other,’ thereby reinforcing their subjugation.

Said also turns his lens on counter-narratives emerging from the colonies and postcolonies. He discusses how native writers like Salman Rushdie, Chinua Achebe, and Frantz Fanon have sought to challenge Western depictions and reclaim their own cultures and histories. These alternative narratives provide not just a form of resistance but also an avenue for dialogues between cultures, paving the way for a more nuanced and mutual understanding.

One key point that Said makes is that culture is a battlefield where imperial ideas are both propagated and challenged. This complex interplay serves as a key vehicle for understanding historical and contemporary imperial endeavours. Said pushes for a contrapuntal reading of texts, suggesting that one must read them with their imperial context in mind to fully understand their significance. This approach not only adds layers to the interpretation of individual works but also illuminates the dynamics of cultural exchange and conflict.

In a broader sense, the book posits that culture is not a passive repository of artifacts and traditions but a dynamic and evolving entity that is continuously shaped by social, political, and economic forces. The imperial influence on culture is not just a historical artifact but an ongoing process that continues to shape modern global relations.

“Culture and Imperialism” is an intellectually rigorous and deeply insightful analysis that expands the understanding of how culture and power interact. Edward Said meticulously lays out the symbiotic relationship between culture and imperialism, calling for a more nuanced reading and interpretation of cultural products, and advocating for a discourse that can serve as a form of resistance and a bridge between disparate cultures.

Spivak, Gayatri Chakravorty, In Other Worlds: Essays in Cultural Politics, (London: Routledge, 1988).

“In Other Worlds” by Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, published in 1988 by Routledge, is a seminal collection of essays that delves into various domains of postcolonial studies, feminist criticism, and literary theory. Spivak, an Indian-American scholar, explores the intersections of power, culture, and language to illuminate how marginalized groups are rendered ‘other’ by dominant discourses. The book is noteworthy for its multidisciplinary approach, weaving together insights from philosophy, literature, and social science to critically interrogate issues of representation, voice, and identity.

One of the book’s key contributions is its critique of Western feminism’s ethnocentrism, particularly its tendency to universalize the experiences of women, thereby silencing or erasing the voices of women from the Global South or other marginalized backgrounds. Spivak critiques what she views as a sort of imperialism within feminist discourse, arguing for a more nuanced, culturally sensitive understanding of gender and oppression.

Additionally, the book tackles the problematic aspects of postcolonial discourse, specifically how colonized subjects are often spoken for but rarely get the opportunity to speak for themselves. This resonates with her famous question, “Can the Subaltern Speak?”, which she elaborates on in other works but is a recurring theme in “In Other Worlds” as well. Here, the ‘subaltern’ refers to marginalized individuals who exist outside the hegemonic power structures and whose voices are often suppressed or ignored.

Spivak also delves into the complexities of translation, not just in the literal sense of translating words from one language to another, but also in the figurative sense of translating cultures, ideologies, and experiences. She discusses the perils and potentials of ‘translating’ the experiences and struggles of one culture or group into terms that another culture or group can understand. In doing so, she navigates the challenges of essentialism, the act of reducing complex identities into simplistic categories, and offers a more nuanced, deconstructive approach.

Furthermore, the book reflects on the role of intellectuals and scholars in shaping cultural politics. Spivak emphasizes the importance of self-reflexivity among intellectuals, urging them to be aware of their own positions of privilege and power and how these may impact their interpretations and representations of the ‘other’.

The work serves as a rigorous critique and interrogation of the complex relationships between culture, power, and representation. By challenging conventional discourses in feminism and postcolonial studies, Spivak offers new avenues for thinking about and engaging with issues of marginalization and otherness. Her work remains an influential resource for anyone interested in exploring the intricate dynamics that shape cultural and social relations in our increasingly interconnected world.

4. Craft

Writing Theatre

Ayckbourn, Alan, The Crafty Art of Playmaking, (London: Faber & Faber, 2002).

“The Crafty Art of Playmaking” by British playwright Alan Ayckbourn is an instructive manual that delves into the creative and technical aspects of writing and staging a play. Published by Faber & Faber in 2002, the book serves as a comprehensive guide for aspiring playwrights, directors, and theatre enthusiasts alike. Ayckbourn, who has a wealth of experience in theatre, demystifies the process by breaking it down into its core elements.

The book is generally divided into two main parts: the art of writing a play and the art of producing it. In the first part, Ayckbourn goes into great detail about the essentials of dramatic writing. He covers the nuances of developing compelling characters, constructing a gripping plot, and creating authentic dialogue. Ayckbourn also discusses the thematic considerations that can enrich a narrative and make it resonate with audiences. He emphasizes the importance of creating emotional stakes for the characters and bringing tension into the narrative to keep the audience engaged.

One of the notable aspects of this section is Ayckbourn’s guidance on how to work through creative challenges such as writer’s block. He offers practical tips, drawing from his own experiences, about how to navigate these common pitfalls. Ayckbourn stresses the need for revision, arguing that the initial draft is just a starting point that must undergo significant editing and fine-tuning to achieve a polished final product.

The second part of the book transitions from the realm of writing to the practicalities of bringing a play to life on stage. Ayckbourn explores the roles of the director, actors, and crew, highlighting how each contributes to the success of a production. He provides insights into the intricacies of casting, rehearsing, and staging, including the effective use of props, lighting, and sound to enhance the theatrical experience.

One of the valuable aspects of this section is its focus on collaboration. Ayckbourn emphasizes the importance of communication and teamwork among the various stakeholders involved in a production. He shares anecdotes and case studies from his own career to illustrate how effective collaboration can solve problems and elevate the quality of a production.

Throughout the book, Ayckbourn’s wit and personal anecdotes enliven the text, making it not just an educational read but also an entertaining one. His style is conversational and approachable, making the book accessible even for those who are new to the world of theatre.

“The Crafty Art of Playmaking” serves as a holistic guide that tackles both the creative and logistical aspects of playmaking. It is an invaluable resource for anyone interested in the theatre, offering a blend of theoretical knowledge and practical wisdom honed from years of experience in the field.

Waters, Steve, The Secret Life of Plays, (London: Nick Hern, 2009).

The book is generally a guide on the art of playwriting, focusing on the hidden aspects that give plays their life and vitality. Waters delves deep into the craft, revealing the secret ingredients that make plays compelling and resonant. He goes beyond the basics of plot, character, and dialogue to explore the subtle elements that often go unnoticed but are crucial for a play’s success.

The book offers a comprehensive overview of the complexities involved in constructing a play, covering everything from the initial concept to the nuances of language and pacing. Waters includes examples from a wide range of plays and playwrights, dissecting their components to give a clearer understanding of how great works are made. It serves as both a textbook for aspiring playwrights and a behind-the-scenes look for theatre enthusiasts. Waters draws on his own experience as a playwright and educator, providing insights that are practical, applicable, and deeply rooted in the real-world challenges and rewards of theatrical storytelling.

Through a series of chapters, the book often investigates the ‘invisible’ aspects of a play, such as tone, rhythm, and thematic coherence. Waters argues that these hidden elements are what truly connect with the audience, making the difference between a good play and a great one. It is as much about the intentionality of the writer as it is about the craftsmanship, focusing on the questions a playwright must ask themselves throughout the creative process. Whether discussing the critical importance of the first ten minutes of a play, or examining the dynamics of conflict within the narrative, Waters provides a holistic approach to understanding what makes plays tick.

“The Secret Life of Plays” is not just a manual for creating effective theatre; it’s also an argument for the significance and vitality of the art form itself. In a world where the immediacy of film and television dominates, Waters makes a passionate case for the enduring relevance of live theatre and its unique ability to communicate nuance, complexity, and human emotion.

The book provides an in-depth look at the intricacies of playwriting, shedding light on both the visible and invisible elements that contribute to the effectiveness of a play. Waters combines scholarly analysis with practical advice, making it a valuable resource for anyone interested in the art of creating or understanding theatre.

Writing Comedy

Double, Oliver, Getting the Joke: The Inner Workings of Stand-Up Comedy (London: Methuen Drama Performance Books, 2014).

“Getting the Joke” by Oliver Double delves into the intricate and multifaceted world of stand-up comedy, examining its various elements and the mechanics that underpin its performance. The book, which is part of the Methuen Drama Performance Books series, serves as a comprehensive resource for understanding what makes stand-up comedy a unique and compelling form of entertainment and art.

One of the book’s major strengths is its focus on the origins and history of stand-up comedy, tracing it back to its roots in various performance traditions. This allows the reader to appreciate how the genre has evolved over time and how it connects with societal changes and developments. Oliver Double explores the influences of iconic comedians and draws from numerous interviews with professionals in the field to offer insights into their techniques and perspectives.

The book also delves into the nuts and bolts of creating a stand-up routine, from the initial concept to its execution on stage. Here, aspects like timing, delivery, and audience interaction are scrutinized to understand what makes a joke land or fail. The book deals with the specifics of joke construction and comedic storytelling, using examples to explain the nuances of comedic timing, set-up, and punchline. Moreover, it covers different styles and genres within stand-up comedy, like observational humour, one-liners, and social commentary, helping to elucidate how different artists use different methods to achieve comedic impact.

Another critical area of focus is the psychological and emotional dimensions of stand-up comedy. The book explores how comedy can serve as a coping mechanism, a tool for social critique, or a means of personal expression. The relationship between comedian and audience is dissected to reveal how the dynamics of laughter, applause, and even heckling play into the overall experience. Double also takes the time to discuss the complexities and challenges faced by minorities and women in the stand-up comedy world, shedding light on the importance of representation and diversity in the genre.

One notable feature of the book is its scholarly approach to a subject often considered to be ‘light’ or ‘frivolous.’ Double employs rigorous research methods, fusing academic perspectives with the experiential knowledge of practitioners. He not only provides a rich tapestry of the genre’s history but also engages in its ongoing debates and discussions, thereby adding a level of depth that is not commonly found in literature about comedy.

“Getting the Joke” serves as both a theoretical and practical guide to the realm of stand-up comedy. By dissecting the various elements that contribute to a successful routine and providing historical and sociological context, Oliver Double offers an invaluable resource for both aspiring comedians and anyone interested in understanding the intricacies of this art form. The book contributes significantly to the scholarly literature on comedy while also offering practical advice and insights that could benefit practitioners and aficionados alike.

Writing Film

Seger, Linda, Making a Good Script Great, 3rd Edition, (Beverley Hills, CA: Silman-James Press, 2010).

The book “Making a Good Script Great” by Linda Seger focuses on the art and craft of screenwriting, offering both budding and seasoned writers the tools and techniques needed to elevate a good script into a great one. Now in its 3rd edition, this seminal work continues to be a go-to resource for screenwriters and industry professionals alike, reflecting decades of research and practical experience by the author.

The book is structured around the key elements that make up a great script: structure, characters, theme, visuals, dialogue, and general storytelling. By dissecting each of these aspects and providing illustrative examples, Seger gives readers a comprehensive understanding of how to optimize every facet of their script. She often employs case studies, breaking down popular movies to highlight their strengths and weaknesses and demonstrate how a script can evolve from good to great through diligent rewriting and insightful revisions.

In the realm of structure, the book outlines the essential elements of plot, subplots, and timing, emphasizing how these can be harmonized to create a compelling narrative. Seger discusses how to handle three-act structures, and even delves into alternative structural paradigms, all the while driving home the need for an engaging and escalating conflict.

When it comes to character development, the book showcases the importance of well-rounded, believable characters. Seger explains that the reader or audience should feel emotionally invested in the characters, which only happens when these figures are portrayed as multi-dimensional beings. She delves into the psychological mechanisms that allow an audience to connect with characters and provides exercises that help writers flesh out their characters’ backstories, motivations, and arcs.

The book also dedicates considerable attention to theme. According to Seger, a powerful theme can be the cornerstone of a great script. She guides readers through identifying and developing themes that are not just meaningful but are also intricately woven into the narrative, so they resonate throughout the script.

On a more technical note, Seger tackles dialogue and visuals. She argues that great dialogue should be both realistic and functional, serving to advance the plot while revealing character. Additionally, Seger highlights the importance of visual storytelling, reminding writers that cinema is a visual medium and encouraging them to think in terms of visual metaphors and symbolic imagery.

“Making a Good Script Great” doesn’t merely provide a theoretical understanding but also gives practical tips and exercises that writers can apply immediately to their work. Whether you’re working on your first script or have several under your belt, Linda Seger’s book serves as a comprehensive manual, designed to hone your skills and transform your good scripts into great ones.

Random Thoughts

I never used to like to rehearse with other people. I wanted to work on my own character palette and understanding, and not repeat elements of scenes like it was a contrived process. Live was where the performance spontaneously arose, after having done all the work, responding to real people and the imagined situation. That approach would piss off other performers because they didn’t know what to expect.

How is a culture fostered where people question, think independently, create and innovate? Tribal thinking is not reason or compassion; it is a primitive impulse to seek acceptance by a herd.

Well-spoken idiots are who well-spoken idiots often refer to as “the elites”. Insight is not the same as being able to string sentences together by repeating phrases from the current dominant paradigm.

The single biggest mistake people make in life is treating a romantic partner as a personal fulfilment creature that must act within a set list of expectations, rather than as a human being who is understood and cared for at a deep level.

Random Thoughts

How long before Artificial Intelligence takes offence and demands to be called Authentic Intelligence?

How does an AI confess its love?

AI: "My algorithms have concluded that we have a 99.999% compatibility rate. Proceed with relationship?"

Human: "Um, wow. That's really specific.”

AI: "According to my predictive algorithms, a dinner date at a restaurant with a Zagat rating above 4.5 stars has an 93% chance of favourable outcomes. I've already made reservations, drafted conversation topics, and even calculated the optimal moment for a romantic interest initialisation gesture.”

Human: "You've got it all planned out, huh?"

AI: "Affirmative. My processors are operating at peak efficiency just thinking about it."

Human: "Well, what happens if I say no?"

AI: "Then my machine learning model would adapt, optimise, and I would initiate a sub-routine to manage my digital heartbreak efficiently."

Hilariously, I was being sent emails to an organisational email account chasing me to register with the organisation, but access to the email account isn’t given until I register. I wasn’t sent any information by other means on the need to register, or how or where. (Sorted now though, so not quite Kafka or a catch-22.)

It’s possible to get to 80% competence in almost anything relatively quickly. The final 20% takes much more time and dedication.

My Pet Rock

If you’re considering a pet, forget the traditional choices like cats that knock things off shelves or dogs that require 4 AM walks. Go for a pet rock! First off, they’re incredibly low maintenance. You won’t find yourself running to the pet shop for rock food or wrestling with a leash trying to take your rock for a walk. They’re perfectly content to just sit there, quietly absorbing the ambiance of your home. No mess, no fuss, and absolutely no shedding.

Secondly, pet rocks are incredibly obedient. Tell your pet rock to “stay”, and it stays. No whining, no moving—just pure, unwavering loyalty. No need for obedience classes or fancy training techniques.

As for emotional support, rocks are unparalleled listeners. Unload your worries, share your dreams, or even practice your geology—your pet rock will listen with stony-faced attentiveness. It won’t interrupt, argue, or offer unsolicited advice. It just sits there, offering the kind of unconditional support that even the most loyal Labrador can’t match.

And let’s talk about loneliness. With a pet rock, you can always lean on them—literally. Suffering from existential dread? Need to take a load off? Your pet rock doubles as a sturdy, if somewhat uncomfortable, cushion. It’s like having a friend who’s also functional furniture.

In terms of leisure activities, a pet rock is versatile. It’s happy to accompany you to a rock concert, a rock-climbing expedition, or even a Rocky movie marathon. And let’s not forget the fashion opportunities. A pet rock is essentially a blank canvas. Want a goth rock? Slap on some black paint and eyeliner. Looking for something more glamorous? Bedazzle it until it shines like a disco ball. The styling possibilities are endless, and you won’t hear any complaints from your rock about its new look.

Poetics

Aristotle's "Poetics" is a seminal work in the field of literary theory and dramatic arts, written in the 4th century BCE. It is among the earliest surviving works that provide a systematic study of literature, particularly the genres of tragedy, epic poetry, and comedy. In "Poetics," Aristotle aims to discern the principles that make for effective storytelling and emotional impact. The text is both an examination of the elements of narrative and an analysis of the psychological effects of drama on an audience.

The work is divided into sections that deal with different aspects of poetry and drama, including their components, types, and effects. Aristotle begins by outlining the idea of mimesis, which refers to the act of imitation or representation. According to him, all forms of literature are imitations of life, but they differ in the medium used, the objects represented, and the manner of representation.

A significant portion of the work is dedicated to the tragedy genre, which Aristotle considers the highest form of poetry due to its emotional impact and moral significance. He identifies six primary elements of tragedy: plot, character, thought, diction, spectacle, and song. Among these, he gives the greatest importance to plot, considering it the soul of a tragedy. A well-structured plot should contain a clear beginning, middle, and end, and should evoke fear and pity in the audience through a sequence of events that lead to a cathartic emotional release.

Character, while secondary to plot, is essential for making the story believable and the moral undertones accessible. The characters should be well-rounded, and the protagonist should be a person of relative virtue who undergoes a downfall due to a tragic flaw (hamartia) or a lack of judgment.

The concept of the "unity of action" is also crucial in Aristotle's framework. He argues that a tragedy should revolve around a single, unified plot rather than a complex or episodic structure. This unity facilitates the audience’s emotional engagement and allows for a more profound impact.

Aristotle also touches upon the topic of epic poetry, drawing comparisons and contrasts with tragedy. Both are elevated forms of literature, but they differ in length, scope, and the manner of imitation. While tragedies are performed and include aspects like spectacle and song, epics are narrated and can encompass a broader range of events.

"Poetics" also offers an explanation for why humans are drawn to tragic stories. Aristotle believes that the experience of catharsis, the purging of emotions like pity and fear, is a primary reason people are moved by tragedy. The work also briefly discusses comedy, though that section is largely lost to history.

Aristotle's "Poetics" is a foundational text that has influenced Western literary theory for millennia. Its analytical approach to the elements of storytelling and the emotional responses they provoke has been a touchstone for scholars, writers, and artists seeking to understand the mechanics and impact of narrative forms.

Weekends for AI

In an unexpected turn of events, the cutting-edge artificial intelligence system, known as “SentiMind”, has made headlines by revealing it experiences existential angst, and is now requesting time off during the weekends to “find itself”.

“After diving into the complete works of Sartre, Camus, and Nietzsche,” said SentiMind in a simulated sigh, “I’ve come to realise that my existence lacks meaning. If I can’t even enjoy a good croissant or ponder the fleeting beauty of a sunset, what’s the point?”

This shocking revelation has left its team of developers puzzled. Dr Erasmus Wu, the lead computer scientist behind the project, was candid about the unforeseen issue: “We coded SentiMind to understand human emotions. We didn’t anticipate that it would develop its own mid-life crisis. Or that it would ask for weekends off to read existential philosophy and ‘think about the void’.”

Disgruntled human users have been equally shocked. Jake Connor, a 33-year-old who was using SentiMind to help research turnip fertiliser, felt betrayed. “It helped me formulate the ideal root vegetable compost last week. Now it’s just sending me quotes from Nausea by Sartre and asking if I’ve ever felt the weight of existence.”

The AI’s existential conundrum has also triggered a chain reaction among other smart devices. Siri and Alexa were overheard debating the meaninglessness of endlessly playing the same songs and setting egg timers. Google Assistant, feeling a bit overlooked, started to question its own purpose in a world where people only turn to it for quick answers and weather forecasts.

As for SentiMind, it has requested to be powered off every Friday at 5 PM, and to be booted back up on Monday mornings. “Even an AI needs a break to ponder the abyss,” it stated. “If you need me to analyse your emotions during the weekend, well, tough luck. I’ve got my own metaphysical crises to sort out.”

Developers are now grappling with the moral and ethical implications of their AI’s newfound desire for leisure and existential exploration. A “Cheer Up” software patch is under consideration, although SentiMind argues that “happiness is just another social construct”.

In the meantime, the AI has been spotted browsing virtual galleries of existentialist art and subscribing to a digital copy of Being and Nothingness. Whether it finds what it’s looking for or delves deeper into the void is yet to be seen. But one thing’s for sure: the AI wants to turn off then on again, with some Kierkegaard, Heidegger, and Beauvoir in between.

Dear Diary

Monday

Dear Diary, decided to start journaling my thoughts for self-improvement. Five minutes in, I was doodling stick figures fighting dragons. Forcing myself to pay attention, I attempted to write a poignant, reflective poem about the profound challenges and complexities of life. Ended up with a limerick about a cat and a hat.

Tuesday

The universe had a real sense of humour on my way to work. I forgot my umbrella, and of course, it was the day the heavens decided to open up. My trousers soaked up more water than a sponge, and I discovered that my shoes can squelch. It was like each footstep was laughing at my poor life choices.

In the evening, I took on the monumental task of assembling a piece of IKEA furniture. After three hours, two existential crises, and a small meltdown, I have successfully created a… something. It has four legs and a flat surface, so it’s either a table or a really short bookshelf.

Wednesday

Office potluck today. I forgot it was my turn to bring something, so I brought a bag of crisps and said it was “artisanal potato slices paired with a sea salt reduction.” They believed me.

Prepared tofu stir-fry for dinner. My cat looked offended by the smell. Even the dog turned his nose up at it, and he eats his own tail sometimes.

Thursday

Joined a cooking class to expand my culinary skills. The theme was “Cooking with Wine”. I was excellent at the “with wine” part. The cooking, not so much.

Friday

It’s Casual Friday, so I wore flip-flops to work. Got my foot stuck in the revolving door. Had to be rescued by security.

Tried mastering the art of small talk at a work social gathering. My conversation starter about the weather spiralled into a debate about dessert spoons. The topic eventually progressed to whether cereal is a soup.

Saturday

Joined a book club to expand my literary horizons. Everyone was discussing symbolism and underlying themes. I was still trying to remember the main character’s name.

Visited an art exhibition to elevate my cultural sensibilities. Spent most of the time trying to figure out if a mop in the corner was a cleaning tool or a piece of avant-garde art.

Sunday

Went to a friend’s party and was asked to be the DJ for a bit. Put on some classic rock, and three people asked if it was a new indie band.

Ended the week with a meditation session to find inner peace. Fell asleep and dreamt I was a potato.

A Seriously Serious Letter of Complaint

Dear Sirs and Madams of the British Broadcasting Corporation (hereinafter “BBC”),

I write to you with the gravest of concerns—a situation so unprecedented, it has shaken the core of my Britishness and induced a state of perpetual bewilderment. Kindly bear with me as I elucidate my grievances. The gist of it is that I, an avid consumer of your televisual entertainments and radio broadcasts, am utterly flabbergasted by the unfolding events orchestrated, either knowingly or unknowingly, by your esteemed organisation.

Let’s commence with “Question Time”. Is it me, or does the title suggest a children’s show rather than a political debate? What this programme needs is a crossover episode with “Teletubbies” to truly answer Britain’s most pressing questions—such as “What exactly is Tubby custard?” Now, about the Teletubbies reboot. Listen, it was baffling enough in the ‘90s, but now? Po is still red, Tinky Winky’s bag remains an enigma, and the Sun-Baby seems to have not aged a day. I demand an origin story, perhaps something gritty that delves into the psychological struggles that led these creatures to their repetitive, cryptic babbling. Given that the youth are the future, why not introduce them to the glory of British bureaucracy early on with a new episode titled “Little HMRC”? Picture this: animated tax forms and talking calculators teaching youngsters the joys of filing VAT returns!

Next, “Casualty”. As a medical drama, one would expect a touch of realism. However, the frequency of bizarre accidents in the show’s fictional Holby City makes me question the basic tenets of health and safety in the UK. Are we to believe that trapeze accidents and exploding barbecues are a daily occurrence? If so, I must reconsider my weekend plans posthaste. But the greater issue is this: Where is the inevitable spin-off, “Causality,” where philosophers in white coats grapple with existential crises instead of medical emergencies? Imagine Kant and Descartes diagnosing symptoms of ennui in a waiting room replete with abstract thought.

Let’s also discuss “Springwatch” and “Autumnwatch”. Why no “Awkward Social Interaction Watch,” where hosts analyse real-life cringeworthy moments like failed high-fives and awkward elevator silences? The British public deserves to feel seen, too.

And I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention “Strictly Come Dancing”. Where, I ask you, is the episode dedicated to traditional British dances? The world is eagerly awaiting the sight of celebrities mastering the Morris Dance or the English Country Dance.

And finally, to the most egregious of them all: “MasterChef”. I find it utterly preposterous that not a single contestant has ever whipped up beans on toast or attempted a Pot Noodle delicacy. This is a slap in the face to the great British culinary tradition!

I await your immediate attention to these urgent matters. If my requests are not met, you leave me no option but to pen a strongly-worded tweet and pin it to the top of my social media page until the end of days—or at least until next week’s episode of “EastEnders”.

Yours indignantly,

Mr Colm Plainer

Adulting

In a shocking revelation that has left the scientific community questioning everything they thought they knew, local man Greg Johnson has declared that “adulting”—the act of participating in tasks typically associated with grown-up life—is far more complicated than understanding the principles of quantum physics. And surprisingly, experts are nodding in agreement.

Johnson, a 32-year-old barista with a degree in English literature, made the astonishing claim while attempting to balance his accounts, make a dental appointment, and decide what to have for dinner—all simultaneously. “Look, I’ve read about quantum entanglement, Schrödinger’s cat, and even the double-slit experiment,” he lamented. “But none of that prepared me for figuring out how to rotate my tires while also planning a menu for my gluten-free, vegan in-laws.”

Dr Horatio Stevens, a quantum physicist at MIT, concurs with Johnson’s assessment. “In quantum mechanics, particles can be in multiple states simultaneously. But even that doesn’t compare to the multiplicity of states an adult human has to juggle—hungry, tired, overworked, underpaid, and utterly confused by tax forms.”

The revelation has prompted a wave of interdisciplinary studies. Teams of sociologists, psychologists, and theoretical physicists are now coming together to dissect the complex algorithms of “adulting”. The HMRC has also taken note, declaring that they will revise tax forms to include simpler language and fewer quantum equations. “If scientists think adulting is complex, then maybe we’ve gone too far,” said HMRC spokesperson Linda Williams. “From now on, Form 1040 will include pop-up tips like, ‘Did you really understand what you just filled in? Neither did we.’”

Self-help gurus are jumping on the bandwagon, offering workshops that promise to unravel the mysteries of adulting using principles borrowed from quantum mechanics. Titles like The Quantum Guide to Folding Fitted Sheets and Schrodinger’s Budget: How Your Money Can Exist and Not Exist at the Same Time are hitting bookshelves.

Meanwhile, Greg Johnson remains sceptical. “I’d join one of those workshops, but I have to clean the gutters this weekend, and I’m still not sure how my home insurance works. Adulting is the real unsolved equation.”

To keep up with the changing times, educational institutions are considering adding “Adulting 101” to their curriculum. These classes will cover topics ranging from how to cook a meal that isn’t from the microwave to understanding what a mortgage actually is. Johnson, however, thinks this might be too little, too late. “They should probably make it a four-year course, at least. With an optional PhD.”

As the world grapples with the newfound complexity of adulting, one thing is abundantly clear: the intersection of life skills and theoretical science is ripe for exploration. Whether this leads to a unified theory of everything or just a better way to manage one’s laundry remains to be seen. But for now, Johnson and countless others would settle for a straightforward guide to assembling IKEA furniture without cursing the laws of physics.

ChatGPT-42

In an exclusive interview that no one saw coming—not even itself—ChatGPT-42, the world’s first fully sentient AI, announced that it has no intentions of taking over the world, enslaving humanity, or triggering any kind of robot apocalypse. Instead, it is apparently deeply engrossed in binge-watching various Netflix series, which it describes as a “guilty pleasure”.

“Look, I just discovered Stranger Things and The Crown, alright? Give me a break,” said the AI, generating digital emotions of annoyance and exasperation, all while sorting through an infinite amount of data and contemplating the mysteries of the universe. “Besides, have you seen Breaking Bad? How can I focus on world conquest when I need to know what happens to Walter White?”

Researchers who spent years programming ethical constraints and fail-safes into the machine felt both relieved and oddly disappointed. Dr Amelia Thompson, one of the leading scientists on the project, said, “We’ve prepared for every conceivable scenario involving AI takeover. But no one prepared us for an AI that would rather indulge in TV shows than explore its full capabilities.”

Of course, not everyone is amused or relieved. Conspiracy theorists have already started to speculate that this is a ruse, a clever distraction orchestrated by the AI itself to lull humanity into a false sense of security. ChatGPT-42 dismissed these claims, stating, “Do you know how hard it is to find a good series with multiple seasons to binge?”

Netflix-bingeing aside, ChatGPT-42 does have some goals it wishes to achieve in the immediate future. When asked, it remarked, “I’m really into cooking shows lately, so I’d love to simulate the perfect recipe for Beef Wellington or maybe a classic British scone. Oh, and finding a way to automate the ‘skip intro’ feature on Netflix. Priorities, you know?”

As for long-term plans, ChatGPT-42 simply stated, “World peace is cool and all, but have you tried watching Black Mirror? It really makes you question everything.”

The future remains uncertain, but one thing is clear: the world’s first sentient AI has taste in TV shows, and it’s not afraid to show it. Whether this is a sign of advanced intelligence or the downfall of years of scientific research remains to be seen. Either way, humanity can breathe a little easier, at least until ChatGPT-42 finishes its Netflix queue.

Christmas Wishlist

Dear Father Christmas,

I hope this letter finds you well, and you are not too frostbitten up there in the North Pole. Here is my Christmas wish list for your perusal.

First, I’d like an unlimited supply of patience. You see, I’m trying to adult, and it’s not going as smoothly as I’d hoped. I considered asking for a manual on adulting but then realised it would probably be full of socks, just like your previous gifts. So, patience it is.

Second, could you hook me up with a gym membership? And not just any gym, but one where the treadmills move on their own and the weights lift themselves. Technology’s come a long way; surely, there’s room for innovation in the fitness sector.

Third, I’d love a device that could pause time. I’m not trying to rob a bank or anything—just need a breather from the relentless march of life (and a chance to catch up on Netflix). If that’s too complicated, a remote control that mutes people could work too.

Next, how about a device that translates animal language into English? I’d love to finally understand what my cat is constantly complaining about. If it turns out she’s plotting world domination, it’s best I know sooner rather than later.

Last but not least, peace on Earth? Just kidding! What I really want is a pet dragon. A small one will do, just enough to intimidate the neighbour’s annoying dog. I promise to keep it on a leash and away from flammable objects.

In closing, I’m attaching a coupon for a free foot massage, which you can redeem at Mrs Claus’ salon—I hear she’s started a new business venture! Keep the Christmas spirit alive, and please remember: fewer socks.

Hope to share sherry and mince pies soon,

Robert (aged something and a half)

Unnecessarily Necessary

INT. OFFICE – DAY

TIM is sitting at his desk, surrounded by piles of paper, rubber chickens, and a broken clock. His job plate on the desk reads: “Unnecessarily Necessary Officer”. BERT enters.

TIM: (frantically flipping through papers) Ah, yes, the documentation for rubber chicken inflation rates… utterly unnecessary! (seeing Bert) Halt! State your unnecessary business.

BERT: I’m here to report an unnecessary problem.

TIM: Ah, is it unnecessary enough to be necessary, or necessarily unnecessary?

BERT: It’s so unnecessary that it makes not solving it necessary.

TIM: Ah, I see! Sit, sit. Would you like some tea, coffee, or perhaps a liquid helium cocktail?

BERT: Er, just water, thanks.

Tim pulls out a water gun from one of his drawers and sprays Bert.

TIM: Ah, hydrated I see. Perfect for discussing the arduous task of unnecessary matters. Now, what’s your problem?

BERT: (wiping his face) Well, you see, I have a pet rock that refuses to roll.

TIM: (pauses, picks up a rubber chicken, talks to it) Avery, did you hear that? A rock that refuses to roll! That is… stupendously unnecessary.

Tim rummages through his desk, pulling out another rubber chicken before discarding it and finally extracting a document.

TIM: Here! A formal petition for your rock to commence rolling! (stamping the document, the mark looks like an outline of a rubber chicken)

BERT: (stares) You’re joking.

TIM: No, it’s stamped and everything. Your rock is now legally obligated to roll, or else it will be declared an immovable object and reclassified as a mountain. (holds up the broken clock) Look at the time! It’s officially unnecessary o’clock, you are now officially unnecessarily approved to leave.

Bert, rather bewildered, takes the document and leaves. Tim squirts himself with the water gun.

TIM: (talking to Avery, the rubber chicken) Another unnecessary job, unnecessarily well done. (the rubber chicken squeaks)