What the Dead Know: Political and Personal Corpses in Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four essay by Chelsea Pratt . Seeping ulcers, naked bodies, tortured forms: as intellectual as George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four might seem, it also draws heavily on the corporeal aspects of human existence. In fact, the individual body often serves to emblematize Oceania itself: the
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“An Island Locked In Time” photos by Kenneth Chong
“An Island Locked In Time” photo series by Kenneth Chong . Hong Kong used to represent the magic of the Orient mixed in with the aristocratic stamp of the British Empire. Nowadays, the city is known more for its frenzied pace and expansive skyline than its exotic history. However, fragments of the Orient’s past magic
“The Book of Shells and Stones” essay by Javier Ibanez
The Book of Shells and Stones: A Reading of Wordsworth’s Dream of the Arab essay by Javier Ibáñez . Book V of William Wordsworth’s The Prelude opens with a lament over the fact that the mind does not have “[s]ome element to stamp her image on / In nature somewhat nearer to her own,” but
“Oh, the humanities” Garden Statutory by Kyle Robertson
Oh, the humanities. Garden Statutory by Kyle Robertson In contemporary academia, tumblr posts suffice for paper proposals. Avoid inane in-class discussion. Distract yourself with self-mutilation. When discussing masturbation in literature, be sure to throw in something about body-as-text to sublimate accompanying academic anxieties for paper cuts. If called upon unexpectedly, speak metaphorically by borrowing
“Later Days” poem by Katie Coopersmith
Later Days poem by Katie Coopersmith Valencia oranges had gotten crushed in my bag and soaked all the lace doilies, so Jake and I had coffee instead of high tea. It was an awkward forty-seven minutes. He began by clearing his throat, considering me with a few angular, darting glances, and commenting that he’d never
“The Geography of Pain” essay by Genevieve Barrons
The Geography of Pain Exploring the relationship between places and people in Virginia Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway and Ernest Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises. essay by Genevieve Barrons . The phrase “lost generation”—as used by Ernest Hemingway in the epigraph to The Sun Also Rises—refers to a state of political and spiritual crisis. However, at
“1+1=1” and “My Mom’s Interest” photos by Dalaina Heiberg
“1 + 1 = 1” photo by Dalaina Heiberg Commentary My friend Sally Buttervalley and I saw and followed these two ladies walking the streets of Trujillo, Spain. I want to be one like them when we grow up. “My Mom’s Interest” Commentary I took this photo for my Mom because of her liking
“Gates” photo by Cyrus Sie
Gates photo by Cyrus Sie Commentary Found in one of the less-frequented streets in Oxford, England on a summer visit, something inexplicable about the sign attracted me irresistibly to it. The whole time standing there it stared back at me, each passing cyclist effecting a blink of its eye.
“Stranger in a Bookstore” photo by Farisia Thang
Stranger in a Bookstore photo by Farisia Thang Commentary He was a stranger I exchanged a few short glances with in a secondhand bookstore.
About Our Contributors
Issue 1.2: About Our Contributors Stephanie Airth is a second year student planning on applying to the English honours program in April. She enjoys hiking and collects Edgar Allan Poe books and memorabilia. Genevieve Barrons is a fifth year student double majoring in International Relations and English Honours. She wrote her honours thesis on the
About Issue 1.2
About Issue 1.2 . It’s been another great term for The Garden Statuary and again we were delighted, awed and challenged by our peers’ submissions. From the 55 poems, 23 prose, 48 multimedia and 29 academic pieces we received, it was no easy feat to choose the final selections that you see here. . In
“Love, Ophelia” – poem by Chelsea Pratt
Love, Ophelia poem by Chelsea Pratt Pearls mark poison. The way you shimmer, I should’ve known. The crown jewel’s love-slicked lips sucked drought dry. Did I know then I nursed madness and would I drink again? Earth’s parched cradle for a moment, wrapped around the world. No choice here, not when all narrows to you,
“Praise” – poem by Luke Fraser
Praise poem by Luke Fraser The candle’s flame licks the thin cracks around the Buddha’s face. On his cheek the light shines through his gouged palm where the bullet left its wound. While the logs of his sanctuary crumble and the bamboo shoots reclaim his holy land, he sits. Waits. Prays. Behind the stone eye-lids