Book Reviews, Reviews

Our Numbered Days Review


I was introduced to Neil Hilborn by a friend during my I Hate Poetry phase that I had in high school, and I credit him with providing the turning point when I realised just how stupid and stubborn I was being.

Hilborn writes mostly from his own experiences with a heavy focus on mental illness. He’s found a cult following amongst those with their own struggles and as one of their number I can absolutely see why. Hilborn is refreshingly honest throughout his poetry. It’s definitely not all sunshine and puppies because mental illness isn’t like that and it’s wonderful to hear someone expressing that instead of trying to paint over the painful moments. Our Numbered Days embodies one of my favourite quotes from Alan Bennett’s The History Boys:

“The best moments in reading are when you come across something – a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things – which you had thought special and particular to you. Now here it is, set down by someone else, a person you have never met […] And it is as if a hand has come out and taken yours.”

But he doesn’t fall into the very common trap – which I know I have – of writing about depression as though everything and everyone is terrible with the paradoxical sense of superiority that can only come from feeling worthless (for examples of this see The Catcher in the Rye, or literally anything ever written by a teenager). Hilborn comes across as a man who knows that the world is good even if he can’t feel it. His work is punctuated with moments of true hope and emotion, and many of his poems had me bawling. I would be interested to hear what someone without experience of mental illness makes of his work seeing as how deeply rooted a lot of his poems are.

Hilborn’s style manages to be sophisticated without seeming pretentious or overworked. Reading his work feels like talking to a friend, albeit one who has a wonderful way with metaphors (and boy does he have some beautiful ones. Plus there’ll always be a place in my heart for the “slutty chicken” simile.) His roots in slam poetry are evident in his writing, but this works to create a personal connection with the reader rather than being distracting. That said, if you have the chance to see him read his work I would absolutely recommend you leap at it. I had the pleasure of hearing him at the Bullingdon in Oxford at the end of August and he is a brilliant performer as well as one of the funniest people I’ve met.

To finish, here are two of Hilborn’s poems. The first is OCD, his most popular poem and the one that went viral to gain him his following. It’s based on his own experiences with the illness and is a captivating performance from him (and it’s just as spellbinding in real life):

The second is The Future, which isn’t in Our Numbered Days but is my absolute favourite of his. It’s another personal look at his struggles with Bipolar Disorder, and the final note of hope never fails to make me cry.

Book Reviews, Reviews

The Psychopath Test Review




Believe it or not, I’m actually reviewing a book on this book blog! Shocking, I know.

When I tell people I’m interested in true crime, I usually have to follow that up with the caveat that I’m not a serial-killer-in-training or one of those naïve weirdos who think they can change mass murderers through the Power of Love. My main fascination with the subject lies in the psychology behind it: what circumstances would drive someone to do something so abhorrent, how the police use profiling to catch a criminal, and how the justice system deals with people who have done awful things but might not be entirely accountable for their actions.

The Psychopath Test focuses, as the title suggests, on psychopaths i.e: people who feel little to no emotion or empathy. It’s a mental illness that has caused a lot of divide in the psychiatric community, and that’s just amongst those who believe it is a mental illness. Ronson approaches the subject very openly, talking to a wide range of sources from Robert Hare, the man who developed the list of criteria currently used to diagnose psychopaths, to CEOs he believes may have utilised their psychopathic tendencies to climb the corporate ladder, to Scientologists who believe that psychology and those who practice it are evil and corrupt. Possibly the most interesting is ‘Tony’, a man who claimed to have faked insanity to get out of prison for a GBH charge and ended up in Broadmoor diagnosed as a psychopath and desperately trying to prove his sanity. Tony’s story is an intriguing look into the nuances of the psychology, how difficult it is to really quantify mental illness with a series of boxes to check, and how terrifyingly easy it would be to get it wrong and ruin someone’s life. (As it turns out, Tony’s diagnosis may not have been so entirely wrong. Ronson revealed in an AMA on Reddit that Tony has been incarcerated at least three more times since he met him.)

It’s common for people writing about mental illness who don’t have experience of it to become hysterical and fall into the trap of fear-mongering, but Ronson thankfully has a much more sympathetic approach. He himself struggles with anxiety, so he’s aware of how mental illness can affect the way you think and act and doesn’t place blame with the sufferers. There are a few places where he clearly begins to think of psychopaths as ‘other’, especially when he’s in the presence of Emmanuel ‘Toto’ Constant (founder of the Hatian death squad FRAPH), but interestingly he catches himself doing this and turns it into a very interesting discussion point. It’s a much more sympathetic approach than many journalists would take to the mentally ill and criminals, and I find this open mind set much more enjoyable to explore the subject through.

I have a lot of love for Ronson’s style as he explores all of these issues. It’s light and friendly, and it doesn’t feel like he is trying to push an agenda; instead it feels more like he’s leading you on a treasure hunt for information, taking you on the same journey of discovery he went on because he found it fascinating and hopes you will too. There’s no opening statement telling you how you should be approaching the book, just the story of how Ronson himself was introduced to it and how that story progressed. It’s my favourite style of non-fiction and Ronson’s witty voice makes it a highly entertaining read.

There is a distinct lack of satisfying conclusion which I can see as being irritating for some people, like this reviewer for the Guardian comments, but for me the lack of certainty is part of the fascinating quality of the subject. It seems a little unfair to ask Ronson, a journalist, to answer questions that generations of trained professionals have failed to agree on. However, I can understand that this sort of open-ended investigation may not be for anyone, so if you want any kind of conclusive answers then this may be one to avoid.

This is the first I’ve read of Ronson’s work and I am absolutely going to be seeking out more. The Psychopath Test manages to balance information with effortlessly readable style and leaves you with a lot to think about, which for me is the mark of an excellent piece of journalism. There aren’t always easy answers, but investigation for the thrill of the chase will almost always provide an entertaining read.

Hamlet, Sarcastic Classics

Hamlet – Act I, Scene IV


Can you guess what Hamlet’s doing at the beginning of this scene?

If you said ‘brooding’ you’d be right, except this time he’s decided to change things up and brood outside instead. It’s exciting stuff.

Hamlet, Horatio and Marcellus (one of the guards we met earlier) are sat out in the cold waiting for the ghost to show up while Claudius and the rest of the court party the night away, with trumpeters playing every time he drains a cup of wine. Hamlet admits that this is a Danish tradition, but because he has to complain about something – especially when Claudius is involved – he decides that it’s a rubbish tradition that makes the Danish people look like drunkards.

The ghost arrives just as Hamlet finishes trashing his uncle, displaying a dramatic flair and taste for ironic timing that we have come to associate with the dead. Hamlet, usually so sceptical, immediately yells “Daddy!” and tries to go off by himself with the spectre. His friends have clearly been brushing up on their tropes, however, and warn him that palling around with the supernatural is usually a good way to get yourself killed or worse; Horatio is particularly worried that the spirit will take advantage of his emotional grief and drive him mad *cough*FORESHADOWING*cough*. Hamlet is so desperate to talk to his father again that he doesn’t care and threatens to kill his friends if they stand between him and his father.

IMPORTANT POINT/LIFE LESSON TIME: just because it looks like a dog and barks like a dog doesn’t necessarily mean it’s your father (what?).

Hamlet is very accepting that this ghost actually is his dear old Dad, but Shakespeare’s contemporary audience would likely have been much more cynical. The Elizabethans, on the whole, were a religious lot and to them Hell was a Big Deal, with demons and evil spirits that would love nothing more than to wreak havoc and corrupt your eternal soul. This thing may well look like Hamlet Sr., but it was equally as likely that it was some evil spirit trying to drive Hamlet Jr. to madness or death for the lols. In fact, we never actually get confirmation of whether the ghost is the real deal or not, which could entirely change how we interpret the rest of the play’s events; is what happens (spoiler: death, and lots of it) actually the revenge of a murdered king, or is it the nefarious work of something more sinister who drives Hamlet to madness and causes the death of the entire Danish royal family just for funsies? You can’t say definitively either way, but it’s interesting to look at what happens next in the context of both theories.

Whatever you think the ghost is, its appearance can’t mean anything good. Marcellus sums it up best with one of the play’s most iconic lines:

Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.

You and I know this, as do Horatio and Marcellus, but Hamlet – angsty, emotionally vulnerable Hamlet – is too wrapped up in his grief for his father and anger at Claudius to care. Place your bets on what will happen next.

Hamlet, Sarcastic Classics

Hamlet – Act I Scene III


Act I Scene III, or as I like to call it ‘Let’s Have A Family Discussion About Ophelia’s Virginity Because That’s Not Weird At All’.

Poor Ophelia. I’m sure pretty much everyone’s familiar with what happens to her in the end (hint: it’s a little soggy), and just from this scene it’s pretty understandable why. She’s a fictional woman in Elizabethan times, and as such the very idea of her having her own motivations, desires or even *gasp* a sex life is enough to send the male characters into some kind of frenzy, including her own brother, who decides that the most appropriate way to say goodbye before he returns to university is to warn her that she Absolutely Must Not Sleep With Hamlet, because her virginity is her only worth and she would be RUINED without it and also something about worms.

Polonius turns up to say goodbye to his son, but this rapidly descends into him also warning Ophelia that she Absolutely Must Not Sleep With Hamlet. (You have to wonder if this is a common topic in this family. Do they always say goodbye to each other with a cheery ‘Don’t be a slut!’?) Polonius is outraged at how much time Ophelia and Hamlet have been spending together recently and demands to know what they get up to. Ophelia says that Hamlet has been quite affectionate lately and Polonius automatically assumes that means that he’s trying to get into Ophelia’s girdle, despite Ophelia’s objections that he’s been nothing but a gentleman.

Both Polonius and Laertes seem to be under the impression that Hamlet is some kind of sex fiend and that Ophelia is a naïve and stupid child (Polonius literally calls her a “baby”) who needs their protection from the evil machinations of men who have no other motive than sex. I have no idea where they got the impression of Hamlet being a complete cad from. There’s no mention of any previous history, and I’m assuming that he and Ophelia are rarely alone together due to the rules  Elizabethan etiquette, so I can only conclude that Polonius and Laertes are projecting onto Hamlet what they personally think all men are like, thereby including themselves in that undesirable group. That’s disturbing for quite a few reasons. It suggests that all men are predatory by nature, meaning that

  1. literally all men are terrible, no exceptions
  2. they’re not really accountable for their actions
  3. it’s the responsibility of women to restrain themselves and limit their freedom so men don’t have the opportunity to do the bad things, rather than expecting the men to just not do the bad things.

This is a point of view that is unfortunately still prevalent today and can be seen in everything from ‘boys will be boys’ to the argument that skirts cause rape, and one that makes me very angry. It also seems like Polonius and Laertes have come to this conclusion by projecting their own behaviour onto all other men, which leads a rabbit hole I’m really not prepared to go down right now.

Of course I realise that I’m looking at this from the perspective of a 21st-century feminist and that this absolutely wouldn’t have been the context it was put in at the time of writing, so I’m probably reading too much into it as far as it’s relevant in the play. It definitely illustrates how (over)protective of Ophelia her family are of her, with Polonius going so far as to forbid her from spending time with Hamlet. That would have been the start of an almighty smackdown had that been my father and me, but Ophelia is clearly used to this and just agrees to try and limit her Hamlet-time. You have far more patience than I do Ophelia. Shame it doesn’t pay off…

Hamlet, Sarcastic Classics

Hamlet – Act I, Scene II


Read my summary of Act I Scene I first!

A lot of important character and plot building in this scene, so buckle up.

Scene II sees all of our major players gathered together and Claudius calls together his court. Present are – are you taking notes? – all of the lords, including Polonius with his children Laertes (finally, a child not named after his father! Points to Polonius for original thinking!) and Ophelia, and Queen Gertrude. Hamlet is also with them, but he’s off in a corner doing what he does best – sulking and wearing black.

Claudius mourns the passing of his brother, Hamlet Sr., for all of about thirty seconds before saying “Oh well, life goes on” and getting on with the running of the country. After a vaguely shifty defence of his decision to marry his sister-in-law in that suggests he totally knows that it’s kind of weird he reassures the nobles that Fortinbras – that’s the Norwegian prince trying to avenge his father from the previous scene – isn’t going to be a problem. He’s written a letter to Fortinbras’ uncle telling him to get his nephew under control, which is the King equivalent of running crying to someone’s mother because they threatened to beat you up in the playground.

Claudius does a bit more king-ing, giving Laertes permission to return to his university in France, and then turns to Hamlet (who is still sulking in the corner) and addresses him as his nephew and son. This familiarity pisses Hamlet off no end.

Gertrude can’t seem to understand why Hamlet is still upset about the death of his father after a whole two months. Not everyone can move on as fast as you Gertrude. Claudius joins in, telling Hamlet that everyone’s fathers die eventually and that it’s silly – sinful, even – to get too hung up about it. He tells Hamlet to think of him as his new father, which is something that step-fathers should never say unless they definitely want their kids to hate them. Claudius wraps up this example of A+ parenting by refusing to let Hamlet return to university in Wittenberg because he wants to keep him close by.

So now we have:

  • A suspiciously dead father.
  • An uncle who has gained a throne and a wife out of the aforementioned suspiciously dead father.
  • Some excellent parenting skills.
  • The ‘call me Dad’ speech.
  • A whole load of resentment.

Prepare for the fun.

Hamlet is the only one less than thrilled about their current situation. He’s finding no joy in life since his dad’s death and is hanging on to the memory of how great and loving his father was. We don’t really hear from anyone else what kind of a king Hamlet Sr. was, so it’s entirely possible that Hamlet Jr. is idealising him just a little, comparing him to a god against his uncle: “as Hyperion to a satyr”.

What particularly upsets him is that Gertrude remarried only a month after his father’s death. He attributes her flakiness to her sex: “Frailty, thy name is woman!” Ouch. He’s also very unhappy with the fact that the marriage is to his uncle, which he considers incestuous. Why this particular point is important will require a brief history lesson, so bear with me.

Most people are probably familiar with Henry VIII and the divorce debacle. Henry wanted to get rid of his first wife Katherine of Aragon so that he could marry Anne Boleyn, giving the reason that his marriage to Katherine was unlawful because she had previously been married to Henry’s brother Arthur before his death, making her marriage to Henry, according to the scripture he provided, incestuous. Whether Henry actually believed his argument or if he just wanted to marry the younger woman he was infatuated with is up for debate, but Henry used it as a reason to break away from the Catholic Church, marry Anne and have a child. Why is this important? Well, Elizabeth I was the daughter Henry and Anne had, and she also just so happened to be Queen while Shakespeare was writing Hamlet. She needed people to believe her father’s argument because otherwise his divorce was invalid, making his marriage to Anne unlawful and Elizabeth a bastard and therefore unable to rule. Shakespeare was probably inspired by these events while writing, but carefully stayed on the side of the argument that would allow him to keep his head.

Hamlet really hates his current situation but because he can’t do anything about it he’s just going to stay quiet and monologue about how sad he is, making him relatable to pretty much every teenager out there.

Horatio and the guards from the previous scene arrive and Hamlet is happy to see Horatio – or as happy as Hamlet is capable of being – who is his friend from university in Wittenberg. Hamlet shows a spark of wit in this conversation, albeit a slightly macabre one; he jokes that the wedding came so soon after the funeral so they could use the leftovers from the funeral dinner for the wedding feast. It makes a refreshing change after the downer soliloquy he just delivered and shows that he has more emotions than “sad”, such as “slightly sad” and “sad with a hint of melancholy”.

The topic of Hamlet’s father comes up because that’s Hamlet’s favourite topic, besides slut-shaming his mother, and Horatio brings up the ghost they saw the previous night. Hamlet is understandably concerned by this news. The fact that the ghost is armed suggests another worrying omen for Denmark, and dead fathers appearing is generally never a good sign. Hamlet decides to stand watch with the guards that night in case his father shows up again because he wants to talk to it.

I get that Hamlet is probably desperate to talk to his father, but I can’t help but wonder if he should be more careful; ghosts don’t usually show up for anything good. Demons and evil spirits run rampant through Elizabethan literature and a suspicious ghost turning up would probably have been shorthand for Trouble. Hamlet himself seems at least vaguely aware that this could be something demonic, briefly mentioning Hell, but doesn’t seem to care much. He needs to remember that just because something looks like your father and dresses like your father does not make it your father. A dead father by any other name would not be called Dad, or something like that.

To wrap up: Hamlet hates Claudius, his mother, the court, life in general, Denmark and fun, but he kind of doesn’t hate Horatio.

Hamlet, Sarcastic Classics

Hamlet – Act I, Scene I

I’ve wanted to do something like this for a while. Let me know if you enjoy it, or if I’m just trying too hard to be funny! Just kidding. I always try too hard.


Our story starts on a dark and stormy night in Denmark. We arrive just as the night watch is changing shifts at the royal castle of Elsinore, and rumours are flying that there’s a ghost has been spotted for the past few nights stalking the battlements. Horatio, who has been to university and therefore is the smart one of the group, is sceptical about the existence of any ghost but agrees to listen to the guard’s story anyway. It’s common knowledge that spirits have excellent dramatic timing, so the ghost chooses this exact moment to turn up.

It looks strangely like the King of Denmark who recently died and Horatio asks exactly what it thinks it’s doing floating around looking like the dead king. The ghost seems to take offence at this line of questioning, probably because Horatio ruined his dramatic entrance, and leaves. Horatio, who has been to university and knows about these things, instantly declares this a Bad Omen for Denmark.

The guard asks if this has anything to do with all of those weapons and ships Demark has been making recently and our resident exposition man Horatio says that he’s probably right. Things aren’t good in Denmark at the moment; in fact, you could say they were rotten. (Ha ha, literary reference to a line that hasn’t happened yet!)

Some years ago the king, who was called Hamlet but isn’t our Hamlet and shall henceforth be known as Hamlet Sr., killed the King of Norway Fortinbras in a duel. The terms of the duel required the loser to relinquish all of his lands to the victor, which seems like a pretty reckless agreement to make if you ask me. Now Fortinbras’ son who is also called Fortinbras – were there only five names in the whole of the middle ages? – has grown up and decided that he wants to claim back the lands his father so carelessly lost. Denmark is preparing for war, and all the omens are saying that this will not go well.

Pay attention to Fortinbras, because the first time I read Hamlet I didn’t and then when he turns up again I was all “who the hell is this guy?”. He’s also worth paying attention to because he draws some interesting parallels with Hamlet. Both of their fathers have *spoilers for a 400 year old play* been murdered, but they both have very different ways of dealing with it. Hamlet chooses the noble path of sulking, which is very satisfying but doesn’t really achieve anything, whereas Fortinbras decides that the best way to deal with his grief is to invade Denmark. I like Fortinbras. He thinks big.

The ghost tries again with its dramatic entrance, but the cock crows and ruins his big moment again, so he buggers off. Horatio orders one of the guards to poke the ghost with his spear, which really makes me doubt Horatio’s position as the smart guy. If you’re looking for ways to piss off a ghost attacking it with sharp objects is probably pretty high on the list, and it’s not like they could really hurt it anyway because it’s a freaking ghost. Horatio ignores the guard who points this out to him and decides that the best thing to do is to tell Hamlet that there’s a spirit wandering around with his dead father’s face, which may be one of the strangest things your best friend can say to you, although I’m not sure it would quite break into my Top 10.

And so begins the greatest soap opera ever told. Buckle up, it’s going to be a melodramatic ride.

Film Reviews, Reviews

Sucker Punch Review: I Hate Zach Snyder


Beware of spoilers if you haven’t seen this yet. Also beware of anger. Lots of anger.

Sucker Punch came out in 2011 and I saw it a couple of years after. I’ve been thinking about it recently and I’ve only just been able to put into words quite what I think about it.

The plot is slightly convoluted but definitely interesting: Baby doll is committed to an asylum by her evil stepfather who pays off a corrupt official to have her lobotomized. In her head Babydoll creates a fantasy world where she envisions the asylum as a strip club/brothel where she teams up with four other girls to escape before she has to meet the High Roller, a wealthy man who has ‘bought’ her. Every girl has to dance, and it turns out that Babydoll’s dancing is hypnotising to men. The girls use this as a distraction while they steal the items they need to escape. We never see Babydoll dance; instead we see a post-apocalyptic fantasy/sci-fi world where the girls fight through armies of robots and literal dragons to get the fantasy representation of the items they need to escape the brothel. The film switches frequently between layers of the story, and each version of events parallels the other two.

There’s a lot about the film that I really like. The action sequences are great, and I like the multi-levelled plot even if it is a little up itself. The general idea of girls working together and empowerment is great. If this film had played itself straight then I could even have accepted the skimpy outfits (I would have rolled my eyes a lot, but it’s hardly anything new and the film’s based on video games, so what do you want?) and I would have probably enjoyed it. The problem is that the director, Zach Snyder, claims that this is the ultimate feminist film.

When faced with accusations of sexism in the way he dressed his female characters Snyder threw back this:

Someone asked me, “Why did you dress the girls like that, in those provocative costumes?” And I said, “Well, think about it for a second. I didn’t dress those girls in the costume. The audience dressed those girls.” And when I say the audience, I mean the audience that comes to the movies. Just like the men who visit a brothel, [they] dress the girls when they go to see these shows as however they want to see them.

I’m not entirely sure what he’s trying to say here, but it seems to be his slightly pretentious way of saying that the characters are only dressed like they are because that’s what the audience wants to see, and it’s the audience projecting the sexuality they want to see on to the girls. I remember reading an interview (although I can’t find it now) where Snyder claimed that the people who thought the film was overtly sexual were of the same ilk as the men who frequent the brothels in the film. Basically, if you interpret the women as sexual, you’re projecting your own debauched sexual perceptions onto them and don’t you feel stupid and dirty now you disgusting pervert.

This argument is bullshit. No Snyder, the audience didn’t “dress the girls”, you did (or at least the wardrobe department under your direction). The film purposely uses traditionally sexualised imagery – girls in short skirts and tight crop tops, pigtails, the name ‘Babydoll’ – in a sexual context – a brothel/strip club – with camera angles designed specifically for the male gaze – hello panty flashes and between-leg shots – and then tries to turn around and tell the audience off for interpreting these things as sexual. Don’t get me wrong, I get what Snyder thinks he’s trying to say: that these things shouldn’t be inherently ‘immoral’ and that not everything that women do or wear should be sexualised. I’m totally all for this message! It’s just that there’s a huge difference between subverting a trope to a get a point across and just doing the thing and claiming that it’s a critique. Someone filmed all those upskirt shots, Snyder, and it wasn’t me.

It’s not the point he’s trying to make that I don’t like; I’m all for women in both film and real life wearing whatever they want as they kick robot butt. What really rubs me up the wrong way is Snyder’s attitude. When people said that they thought the film was sexualised, he threw his head back dramatically and cried that ‘People just don’t understand my art!’, and even went as far as to suggest that the people who didn’t like the film were perverted idiots. It didn’t seem to occur to him that if people weren’t ‘getting it’ then he probably communicated his message badly – really badly.

However, the outfits aren’t even the thing that made me really angry. There’s so much more.

Not on the ‘unnecessary sexualisation’ track but definitely on the topic of ‘Zach Snyder doesn’t know how to tell a story’, it also pulls a ‘twist’ ending where the film tries to claim that the protagonist is actually Sweet Pea because she survives to carry on the story, suggesting that Snyder doesn’t understand basic narrative concepts; the protagonist is the main character, the one that drives the story i.e. Babydoll. Sweet Pea survives, sure, but only because of Babydoll’s actions and sacrifice that form the entirety of the plot. Sweet Pea has barely any screen time and does very little other than argue with Babydoll. Survival does not a protagonist make. This is a very mild complaint compared to the others, but it still irritated me a lot.

On a more severe note: obviously the women are constantly under threat of sexual violence with several attempted rapes for multiple characters (but they’re definitely not sexual beings guys), which is an unfortunately common thing in fictional media. It’s a disgusting and unnecessary shorthand for disempowering a female character that shows up in stories that really don’t need it, and this film is particularly guilty of fetishising it; a lot of the dramatic tension comes from the fact that the girls are under constant threat of assault, and you almost anticipate the moment when it will happen. A large part of the plot is the build up to the unwanted encounter between Babydoll and the High Roller who she has been ‘sold’ to, and this is literally what Babydoll is fighting to avoid.

This leads me on to the thing that angered me the most: the High Roller. In the theatrical cut he’s curiously omitted, and the film ends up making very little sense. What happens to Fantasy!Babydoll after Real!Babydoll’s lobotomy? How does her meeting with the High Roller turn out? What’s up with that doctor? Despite the fact that the film is practically incoherent without it, however, I think I’d really rather watch that version than the extended cut which includes a proper meeting scene between Babydoll and the High Roller. The reason? It’s disgusting.

Babydoll is captured, accepts her fate and goes to meet the High Roller who has ‘bought’ her. She expects a rape; however, he’s gentle with her and talks to her like a human being. He has no intention of raping her, but instead he’ll wait until she comes to him willingly. The scene is painted both by the film itself and the actors and directors as a love scene and as Babydoll finally owning her sexuality. Babydoll has found a man who doesn’t seem to want to hurt her. Awww, how sweet.

But we seem to be forgetting the tiny fact that this man has literally bought her virginity. He basically says to her “You’re going to sleep with me, but you’re going to enjoy it. Also, I totally own you.” Does Snyder just completely not understand what rape is? Just because it’s not violent doesn’t mean it’s consensual! He may not be going to take her by force, but other than when it happens Babydoll has absolutely no choice in the matter: she will sleep with him. How is it possible for Babydoll to consent to a man who literally bought her? WHY DID YOU DO THIS SNYDER?

So please, if you’re going to watch this film, do so with a critical eye. Enjoy the baddass action scenes. Enjoy the multi-layered plot and the connections between the worlds. Enjoy Oscar Isaac’s face with his stupid moustache. Hell, even enjoy the skimpy costumes; that’s what they’re there for after all. Just please, never call this film feminist.

And Zach? If we ever meet in real life, we’re going to have words.

Other Stuff, Personal


I had an actual blog post about the links between music and writing planned and half-written…and then this happened.

(I’m assuming that everyone’s familiar with the ‘justgirlythings’ meme?)








I’m trying to be much more open about my mental health, hence…whatever this is. I think it’s so important to talk about the problems we have to abolish the stigma around mental illnesses and make sure that people aren’t afraid or embarrassed to get the help that they need.

I remember reading something once that argued that you don’t blame someone who has broken their leg. You don’t tell them they’re making up how much it hurts. And if they need to take painkillers to alleviate the pain a little then that’s not shameful at all. Why is it any different with mental health?

While in theory I subscribe to this entirely, I still find it incredibly difficult to talk about my mental health face to face with people, even those closest to me – often especially those people. But I’m working to change that, and I hope anyone else who also suffers feels that they can do the same.

So yes, I have anxiety, I have depression, and I’m currently getting help for other problems I haven’t got a name for yet. I have mood swings, hallucinations and psychotic episodes, and those are things I have to learn to deal with. But with the right support and a maybe a little help from medication I can live a normal, productive and healthy life. I’m still learning how, but aren’t we all learning really?

My Writing, Poetry, Writing Stuff


I originally wrote this a few years ago in response to a relationship with a friend that turned sour, although it wasn’t all that sweet to begin with. It’s a little strange, but it was what I needed to say at the time and definitely helped me process what happened; the therapeutic power of writing.

You take up all the space.

You stretch elegantly, feline, filling every corner with yourself. And, like a cat, you have claws for those who cross you.

I feel them as you laugh lightly and place your hand on my thigh, exactly the way you know I hate so much. Your smile says you mean nothing by it, but in your eyes I see the challenge. Say something.

I never do.

I am a chosen one, privy to the barbed wire of your tongue as you spit venom about someone who has no idea they have invoked your wrath. I pity them, whoever they are, but I pity myself more as I hover too close to your sharp edges.

You tell me secrets that you create from thin air to bring us closer and I thank you for trusting me as though they were a sacred gift. All I really want is someone to tell my own secrets to, for they weigh heavy on my shoulders, but my life holds no interest for you and you tell me so. I bite my tongue and wait for the day when maybe you will like me enough to let me speak.

I am lucky you like me, you claim, as though you have an armoury stored away specifically to pierce my heart were I ever to fall from your good graces. I cannot think if anything I have done that you could use, but I strive to be better so you have at least a few less bullets with my name carved into them.

Were you anyone else, I would say I was weak for letting you drag your nails across my skin. But I convince myself it is for your own good, for rather you scratch me than yourself. I will bleed so you don’t have to, and never mind that I’m draining myself dry. If I can stand your poison for just a little longer then maybe your bottle will be empty, and then all it will take is to pour you full of perfume and we shall all smell sweeter.

Then one day you deploy your arsenal with military precision. Which do you want first, my head to mount above your mantelpiece, or my heart to roast on a spit? There was a time when I would have given you either.

You take up all of the space even now you’re gone. The places in me you used to occupy echo with the emptiness, the crumbling ruins of a temple I built for you.

For now I blame myself. Maybe just one more day would have changed things, one more day and you would have smiled at me just once without bared teeth.

But at least now your hand is not on my thigh, and for that I am glad.