Near the end of the long chapter describing the winter journey, he summed up the feeling of their last hard slog home:. We did not forget the Please and Thank you, which mean much in such circumstances, and all the little links with decent civilization which we could still keep going. And we kept our tempers—even with God. Most of my stay in McMurdo was over before I got to Igloo Spur, occupied as I was by training classes and visits to the historic huts, and by flight cancellations caused by high winds.
I began to worry that the rock hut on Cape Crozier was destined to remain the one that got away. Then the call came, and I hustled down to the helo pad in my extreme weather gear. My guide, Elaine Hood, appeared, and we were off. The helicopter ride from McMurdo to Cape Crozier takes about an hour, and is continuously amazing. Mount Erebus, an active volcano first sighted by the Ross expedition in , steams far above you to the left, and the snowy plain of the Ross Ice Shelf extends endlessly to the south.
The scale is so big and the air so clear that I thought we were flying about 30 feet above the ice, when actually it was On the day we flew, it was brilliantly sunny, and the Windless Bight was windless as usual, but as we circled the south side of Cape Crozier and started looking for the rock hut, we could see snow flying over the exposed rocks.
Then we all spotted the little rock circle, right on the edge of a low ridge that was black on the windward side, white on the lee. He approached the ridge from downwind, touched down, and I jumped out, followed by Elaine. The wind knocked her over the moment she was exposed to it. She got up and we staggered to the stone ring, struggling to stay upright. Later Harlan said his gauge marked the wind at a sustained 50 miles an hour, with gusts of I circled the ring and tried to see through the thin skeins of drift raking over it.
Its walls were tumbledown and nowhere more than knee high. Runnels of snow filled its interior space, channeled by the many holes peppering the windward wall. I spotted one of the socks stuck between those stones, and a whitened piece of wood that might have been the door lintel. The three men would certainly have been jammed in there; I took four big steps along the short sides of the oval, five along the long sides. The view from the ridge was immense, the sunlight stunning, the wind exhilarating.
Confused and scattered though I was, I still felt sure we were at a holy place, a monument to some kind of brotherly craziness, a spirit I could feel even in the blazing sunlight. The wind brought it home to me, slapping me repeatedly with what they had done: Five days here in the howling night, in temperatures maybe 60 degrees lower than the bracing zero that was now flying through us. It was hard to believe, but there the stone ring lay before us, shattered but undeniably real. Elaine was taking photos, and at one point I noticed she was frosted with blown snow.
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Shaun O'Boyle. A lab in the Cape Evans hut today. The hut included stables for the mule and ponies. In a corner of the rock shelter Wilson and the others made at Cape Crozier is a box of penguin skins, canvas and wool they left behind. Like this article? I gave this meek angel but a few courteous words — a little fraternal tenderness — and lo, she loved me. For a few short months they lived a life of idyllic happiness. In her walks about the park and woods during the last month, she had met a man who, by his dress and bearing, was obviously of noble rank.
I was at a loss to imagine who this stranger could be…. I think not! But, ah me! I like her style a lot — it has that Victorian feeling of heightened emotion without tipping over into pulpy melodrama. Then followed an interval in which I did not see him; and, to my shame and anguish, I found that life seemed dreary and desolate without him. I could a tale unfold whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres, Thy knotted and combined locks to part And each particular hair to stand on end, Like quills upon the fretful porpentine.
Makes writing a review kinda tricky. It has as much to say about the present as the past, although we never visit the present. Are you intrigued? You should be! Christopher has spent his young life in the Church, sent there as a boy to train in the priesthood. This is his first real venture into the world beyond the limits of the cathedral town he calls home, and he soon finds that the world outside has temptations, not simply of the body but of the mind. Heresy, he finds, is a slippery slope — somehow the forbidden exerts a pull on his mind, and the more he discovers, the more he begins to question all that he has been taught.
Are the strict rules the Church forces on the population designed to save their souls, or simply to give the Church a stranglehold on power? At the same time, he is beginning to question his personal vocation — his faith is not in question, but as he becomes open to new thoughts and feelings, he wonders if he is able to go on preaching a religion he is beginning to question.
Others have dabbled in what the Church calls heresy, although the punishments are brutal. Some tread a fine line, trying to disguise their research into the forbidden areas of the past as anti-heretical warnings.
The Essential Victor Hugo (Oxford World's Classics)
Church and state are inextricably linked, and those who fall out of favour with one must suffer the penalties imposed by the other. As always, Robert Harris has the ability to create settings which have the feel of total authenticity. For some people, I know this is a real weakness, and usually it would be for me too. Other times, as in this one or, say, Fatherland , he uses a slightly off-kilter look at history to make us see it with fresh eyes — not so much as it was, but rather as how only very slight alterations may have made it work out differently — and I find those wonderfully thought-provoking.
I also find his writing so smooth and effortless-seeming that the actual act of reading is pure pleasure. I do hope my vague review has intrigued you enough to tempt you to read this one….
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Off she goes, way up to the north of Scotland to a house set in splendid isolation, to take on a family of four girls: two small children, one baby and a bratty teenager. Their parents are busy architects running their own business so are often away from home, leaving their brood in the hands of the nanny, with only a hot handyman and a grumpy old daily help for company. And then the strange noises begin….
The isolation, the nanny who may or may not be a reliable narrator, the children who may or may not be sweetly innocent, the absence of parents, the suggestion of evil and the doubts over whether the odd things that happen are human or supernatural in origin, are all there. At the risk of repeating myself, I will say again — if an author deliberately sets out to remind a reader of a great classic, she needs to be sure her own work will stand the comparison.
He had, I assume, worked out that horror is exceptionally hard to sustain over lengthy periods, hence the novella form, and used ambiguity to great effect to unsettle the reader, never letting us know whether we could trust what we were reading. The framing mechanism is that Rowan, in prison, is writing a letter to a barrister begging him to take her case, so we are told from the beginning that a child has died and Rowan is accused of murdering her. A page letter. As always, I found this technique utterly annoying, although I know many people enjoy it.
Having got my grumps over with, there are some good things about it. After a far too slow start, it does become a page-turner, and the quality of the writing meant that even during the excessive details about everything I was never tempted to abandon it. The house is well done — a nice mix of Gothic overlaid with ultra-modern, again, I felt, a nod to the fact that this is a modern version of a classic story. The house has a history of a dead child and a father who was either an evil murderer or a heartbroken bereaved parent — depends which gossip you listen to.
The handyman is either a lovely guy who wants to be helpful or a weirdo with an obscurely evil agenda. The last quarter or so is the best bit, when the suspense begins to build towards a chilling climax, where all the hints finally become clear and everything is explained. The reader is left to decide for herself what happened, and thus, in a sense, becomes complicit in the creation of the story.
Last week the TBR had fallen dangerously low and I know a lot of you have had sleepless nights worrying on my behalf. Well, sleep sound tonight! Thanks to the unanticipated arrival of a box of books, the bookocalypse has been delayed — up 1 to …. The Swan Gondola by Timothy Schaffert. Omaha still has the marks of a filthy Wild West town, even as it attempts to achieve the grandeur and respectability of nearby Chicago.
But when he crosses paths with the beautiful and enigmatic Cecily, his whole purpose shifts and the fair becomes the backdrop to their love affair. And after closing, she rushes off, clinging protectively to a mysterious carpet bag, never giving Ferret a second glance. Courtesy of Oxford University Press. But he had had a long and important career before that, almost completely forgotten now because of that moment. Hopefully this book might answer some of my questions….
In the process, Powell emerges as more than just a deeply divisive figure but as a seminal political intellectual of his time. The day Matthew turned his back on the strict evangelical community in which he grew up, he lost his family too. What would make anyone in their right mind want to read a book like this? Is the world not depressing enough without us choosing to pollute and poison our minds voluntarily?
Described by various reviewers as hellish and obscene, Last Exit to Brooklyn tells the stories of New Yorkers who at every turn confront the worst excesses in human nature. Yet there are moments of exquisite tenderness in these troubled lives. Georgette, the transvestite who falls in love with a callous hoodlum; Tralala, the conniving prostitute who plumbs the depths of sexual degradation; and Harry, the strike leader who hides his true desires behind a boorish masculinity, are unforgettable creations.
Last Exit to Brooklyn was banned by British courts in , a decision that was reversed the following year with the help of a number of writers and critics including Anthony Burgess and Frank Kermode. Dorothy L. Sayers fans will be thrilled by the inclusion of a never-before-published Lord Peter Wimsey story, and Margery Allingham fans will enjoy her script for a radio play.
There is the usual variation in quality, of course, but I gave 11 of the stories either four or five stars and found only a couple of them disappointing. And the five which got the full five stars are all great — they alone make the book a real treat. No Face by Christianna Brand — A psychic claims to be receiving messages from a bloody serial killer, known only as No Face. Is the psychic a fake? But if so, how does he seem to know where the murderer will strike next?
Exit Before Midnight by Q. Carol is the central character and to add to her woes two of the men are vying for her attention. But could one of them be the murderer? Oh, and did I forget to mention?
Loved it, and will be hoping to find more from this duo. Room to Let by Margery Allingham — This is a radio script, so is given to us purely as dialogue with a few stage directions. Following a fire at a private asylum, a mysterious stranger rents a room from Mrs Musgrave, a crippled lady in a wheelchair. The stranger gradually gains control over her, her daughter, Molly, and their faithful maid, Alice.
But… could he possibly be Jack the Ripper?? It culminates with a corpse in a locked room. The framing device is of the story being told years later at a dinner of detectives, whose spirit of competitiveness to solve the mystery gives a humorous edge to the start and end.
Well plotted and highly entertaining. The Adventure of the Dorset Squire by C. Alington — This short short story is a sort of country house farce and very funny. The Locked Room by Dorothy L. Sayers — Previously unpublished, it dates to the period before Harriet Vane began to infest the Lord Peter Wimsey books, allowing Peter the freedom for a nice bit of flirtation with a fellow guest at a country house party, Betty Carlyle. So she appeals to Lord Peter to uncover the truth.
Well plotted, the writing is up to her usual high standard, and the flirtation gives it a lot of fun. I did it! I did it!! All twenty books read and reviewed within the time limit! Plus I sailed through every ocean in the world. Imagine how much post-vacation laundry has piled up! I travelled with murderers, detectives, prostitutes, spies, French Resistance fighters, John F Kennedy, Zulu warriors, and even witnessed the end of the world!
The combined star total of the 20 that make up my final list is a whopping 82! Or an average of 4.
Linking psychological need experiences to daily and recurring dreams
Pretty stonking, huh? Turns out I hated the Kate Atkinson Jackson Brodie books which I had been expecting to be the highlight of the summer. Oh, well! Mister Pip by Lloyd Jones was astonishingly bad considering it was a Booker Prize nominee though the fact that that still has the power to surprise me surprises me — 2 stars. These ones nearly made it. Highly recommended, nevertheless. I loved the look of my list when I started out three months ago and am pleased that it lived well up to my expectations.
All of these are highly recommended and several of them will be in the running for my Book of the Year Awards. Here they are, in no particular order:. Britain, with its usual high-handedness, has decided that Indian troops will join the war effort without consulting the Indian leaders.
Gandhi is demanding that the British quit India, even though that will probably mean that the Japanese move in. When the British arrest the leaders of the Independence movement, for a few short days the peace of Mayapore is broken as rioters take to the streets. And in that time one British woman will see her idealistic dreams destroyed while another will be brutally raped. Eighteen years later, an unnamed researcher will come to Mayapore to try to discover the truth of what happened in those days.
This is the story of a rape, of the events that led up to it and followed it and of the place in which it happened. There are the action, the people, and the place; all of which are interrelated but in their totality incommunicable in isolation from the moral continuum of human affairs. The book is told in a series of sections, each concentrating on one character, and gradually building to create an in-depth picture of fictional Mayapore, which functions as a manageable microcosm for India as a whole.
Scott uses many different styles to tell his story. Some of the sections are intensely human stories, like that of Edwina Crane, a woman who has devoted her empty and lonely life to the Church of England mission schools that teach the Indian children how to be good little English-speaking Christians. Her admiration for Gandhi has finally been destroyed by his recent actions and she has found that the Indian women she had looked to for a meagre form of social life are no longer so keen to be patronised by white women.
The reports from the military and civil authorities are formal in style, but are accompanied by letters to the researcher, where the characters are able to look back on and reassess events with the perspective of time passed. Scott creates a vivid and believable picture of the society, culture and politics that led to this moment in time, but he never forgets to put people at the heart of it.
While some sections are focused very much on the political situation and, as a result, might be rather dry for readers who are less interested in that aspect, these are broken up by the often intensely intimate stories of the characters, many of whom become unforgettable. Superbly written, intelligent at the political level and deeply moving at the personal — a wonderful novel.
Book 20 of Milham in the Moor looks idyllic to Anne Ferens when she moves there with her doctor husband, Raymond. This isolated village in North Devon has its own social structure and minds its own business. And then Sister Monica is found dead, drowned in the mill-race…. This is another enjoyable entry in the Inspector MacDonald series. So the local police are getting nowhere with their investigation, and when MacDonald is sent in from Scotland Yard he will have to break down the resistance of the villagers to talking to outsiders.
As newcomers, Anne and Raymond are in the position of being half-in and half-out of village life — accepted, but not yet fully. Sister Monica is very well drawn as someone who likes to dominate others. And can it be coincidence that the two deaths should have happened at the same spot? The plot is interesting, and leads up to a nice denouement. Book 19 of The amazing downward trend continues! The TBR has fallen by a massive 1 this week — down to !
It will soon be time to wake the fretful porpentine from his summer hibernation and resume my quest to make his quills stand on end. So she ought to be good at creating chills…. The Blurb says: A young girl whose love for her fiance continues even after her death; a sinister old lady with claw-like hands who cares little for the qualities of her companions provided they are young and full of life; and a haunted mirror that foretells of approaching death for those who gaze into its depths.
These are just some of the haunting tales gathered together in this macabre collection of short stories. By turns curious, sinister, haunting and terrifying, each tale explores the dark shadows beyond the rational world. The Invisible Eye by Erckmann-Chatrian. Courtesy of Collins Chillers. I actually received this one last year, read and enjoyed a couple of the stories, but ended up so inundated with horror anthologies that the porpy and I ran out of steam before we finished this one….
After their deaths, however, they slipped into obscurity; and apart from the odd tale reprinted in anthologies, their work has remained difficult to find and to appreciate. The world of which they wrote has long since vanished: a world of noblemen and peasants, enchanted castles and mysterious woods, haunted by witches, monsters, curses and spells.
It is a world brought to life by the vivid imagination of these authors and praised by successors including M. James and H. With an introduction by Hugh Lamb, and in paperback for the first time, this collection will transport the reader to the darkest depths of the nineteenth century: a time when anything could happen — and occasionally did. Roger Luckhurst has become one of my go-to people when it comes to horror anthologies — not only does he include some great tales, his introductions are always informative and highly readable….
This heady brew was caught nowhere better than in the revival of the Gothic tale in the late Victorian age, where the undead walked and evil curses, foul murder, doomed inheritance and sexual menace played on the stretched nerves of the new mass readerships. This anthology collects together some of the most famous examples of the Gothic tale in the s, with stories by Arthur Conan Doyle, Vernon Lee, Henry James and Arthur Machen, as well as some lesser known yet superbly chilling tales from the era. The introduction explores the many reasons for the Gothic revival, and how it spoke to the anxieties of the moment.
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I came across a story by William Hope Hodgson in another anthology and loved it, so this collection of his weird tales was irresistible. The Blurb says: The splash from something enormous resounds through the sea-fog. In the stillness of a dark room, some unspeakable evil is making its approach. Abandon the safety of the familiar with 10 nerve-wracking episodes of horror penned by master of atmosphere and suspense, William Hope Hodgson. And so it turned out, but for unexpected reasons. A gaggle of merry andrews were capering Before Set Designer Linden Hogarth's backcloth of a high-rise office skyline, perhaps doubling as a sales figures graph, Emma's Manager, smart in an anonymous suit, sits on a swivel chair at a Academy of Ancient Music.
The baroque orchestra on Friday was the Academy of Ancient Music, the creation of Christopher Hogwood who died in It numbered 15, and had played the identical programme in Bury St Edmunds the Oxford Studio Orchestra with Mami Shikimori solo piano. This time it was airy, light and cold, with a nagging draught blowing in from The White Guard. From the s, less than ten years after the Adderbury Ensemble With Catrin Finch. Sunday saw an unusual coffee concert programme, with works ranging over years and the presence of a harp, a very welcome addition to the venue repertoire.
The opening Quartet in G for flute and The Vanishing Man. A magician, Hugo Cedar, known after his final performance — or should that read posthumously? Very early on June 20th Eight years after finishing his War and Peace that ranged over the steppes of Mother Russia from Austerlitz to Borodino and on into the glittering drawing rooms of Moscow, Tolstoy has narrowed his Pianist Daniel Lebhardt, now from London but born and bred in Budapest, came, saw and conquered the numerous Holywell Music Room audience at Sunday morning's coffee concert.
This is an experienced, Guest conductor Jamie Phillips was in Stoke-on-Trent on Friday, conducting Haydn, Mozart and Sibelius, and here he was on a cold Broad Street evening pursuing the peripatetic life of the professional Oxfordshire Junior Concerto Competition Final. This was a Sheldonian concert with a difference, both a competition and a showcase. London Road. London Road, Ipswich was at the heart of the neighbourhood in which five sex workers were murdered in Playwright Alecky Blythe travelled to Ipswich and recorded exhaustive, contemporaneous The Camille Saint-Saens piano concerto selected Adderbury Ensemble.
A grey, drizzly day on Holywell St but the welcome from the stalwarts manning and womanning the ticketing and seating arrangements at the Holywell Music Room was as cheery as ever. The programme was Trio Isimsiz. A freezing Sunday morning saw the multi-national Trio Isimsiz 'no name' in Turkish at the Holywell Music Room, playing an all-German programme to an audience of First came a Haydn piano trio, Adderbury Chamber Orchestra.
Christmastide at St John the Evangelist, though you'd scarcely know it from the interior of the church, sans crib, sans star, sans tree or festive lights. When I enquired of the mince-pie seller at Laura van Heijden cello and Peter Limonov piano. A sunny Sunday morning on Holywell St, with the last bloom on the Fremontodendron, soggy from the day before's drenching rain, peeping in at one of the east windows, saw an out-of-the-way programme The Messiah rolled into St John the Evangelist on Sunday evening, having been performed by the same orchestra, soloists and many in the choir on the preceding days in London and Dorchester Abbey.
Family solidarity, guilt and the devastating consequences of greed. Arthur Miller's deceptively parochial dissection of the shifty morality of American capitalism in his play from focuses on an They love their music in Eynsham - the choral society is thriving, and each time The floor of the BT Studio was littered with cellophane-covered news reports of school and college killings as the audience of 48 entered.
Sprawled upon the papers lay four dead bodies surmounted by Along Broad St on a chilly November evening the far end twinkled with cheery Christmas lights while outside the Sheldonian Theatre glared a vast industrial steel container smothered in graffiti Asked once at a party why he was wearing a face of dejection, the Hollywood actor Cary Grant confided despairingly: "It's the constant strain of trying to be Cary Grant. A British citizen, Robert Liversidge, was arrested and imprisoned in Brixton Prison in wartime under Regulation 18B, one plank of sweeping security measures introduced as panic about German Haydn: Harmonie Messe.
The Oxford University Press has c. Of those, some 40 to 50 are active members of the non-auditioning OUP choir, attending weekly rehearsals for two public concerts a A chilly, damp November morning in Holywell St, but hot coffee in with the ticket price was served beforehand in the cosy King's Arms next door, so a numerous audience flooded in under the avuncular, Jane Eyre. Though the space was heavy with church furniture, As the strong band, hidden away in a subterranean vault adjacent to the acting arena, launches into the overture, the company takes the stage against a background of giant-sized playing cards and On a quiet autumnal morning on Holywell St, yellow sycamore leaves patterning the steps leading up to the hall, the 24 year old Hungarian pianist Daniel Lebhardt played three works from the 18th, The latest of a string of big-name soloists to grace the Sheldonian, Alison Balsom was the draw on Tuesday evening, playing with the Oxford Philharmonic one of the warhorses of the trumpet classical On the very day that Prof Alexis Jay appeared before a House of Commons select committee answering questions about the problems of the huge child sexual abuse enquiry, Oxford Theatre Guild staged its St Michael's and All Angels Church in Summertown was the venue for this all-Mozart programme, and a first-class venue too - light and airy, with a very warm welcome at the door.
On offer were three A bright early autumn Sunday morning on Holywell Street, the college entrances clogged with returning students, including apprehensive-looking first years with solicitous parents hovering. In the The programme was a cornucopia crammed with operatic gems, the delivery The Oxford Sinfonia was at St Mary the Virgin Church on Saturday night for one of their four concerts per year, this time playing a programme of German music. For the Beethoven Violin Concerto in D When the Sheldonian's full it buzzes like an upturned beehive, but when half empty it feels a little desolate; and there was a bit of an end-of-summer feel to the place on a wet and blustery Saturday Opera Anywhere, faithful to its name, popped up on Saturday evening at Wolfson College, spreading itself along the quayside and in punts on the water of the creek off the R.
An audience of Menahem Pressler and the Oxford Philharmonic Orchestra. Menahem Pressler, the year old pianist, was at the Sheldonian on his annual Piano Festival visit on a sultry Wednesday evening, this time playing Mozart's Piano Concerto No. It was unclear Jane Austen's Emma is the maiden show from Thistledown Theatre, a new drama venture in Oxford, attended by a numerous audience swelled by a large contingent from d'Overbroeck's College. This is of Until he was eight, Marios Papadopoulos lived in Cyprus with his parents, neither of whom were musicians.
An uncle heard him tinkling on a toy piano, spotted a hint of talent and encouraged him to A hot, sultry Sunday morning at the Holywell Music Room, with the Fremontodendron peeping in high at the east windows wearing a bit of a jaded look. On offer was Mozart and Dvorak, the players being Cult Screens Oxford - This facetious claim was shattered Take a jumble of three cool boxes, two bunches of flowers, a half-bottle of cognac, a suspicious pile of beige powder, two road-racing bikes, a projection screen and two pro-bike riders.
There in a This post-Brexit festival concert was something of a valedictory event for Daniel Hyde, the grandly-titled Informator Choristarum 'choirmaster' to everyone else at Magdalen College who in September In the 2nd half, after the piano had been trussed up like a Christmas turkey and wheeled Ibsen's Ghosts, in a stripped-down version by Richard Eyre that sweeps away the slightest vestige of Victorian fustiness, is here played out to a seater Tuesday night full house, and packs an Drame Fatale's mounting of Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit first a novel in ; then adapted for the stage by the author in the late '70s has a certain topicality given the current debate in free This was a concert of the contemporaries; Chopin and Schumann were acquaintances who dedicated a short work to each other.
A packed Sheldonian in the second half gave a rousing reception to The Oxford University Orchestra's termly concerts are always fun and usually challenging. The challenge on Saturday was manifest: the unusual programming of Debussy's La Mer, probably the most We Will Not Fight!
The Old Courtroom at Oxford Town Hall ceased to operate as a court in it now functions as a meeting room , but recently the clock was turned back as UnderConstruction Theatre Philharmonia Orchestra. The main draw was St John the Evangelist was buzzing with twin-town cultural camaraderie on this sultry May afternoon. The joint forces of the E. This was a much-anticipated night on Broad St, long ago a sell-out, with the great American lyric soprano Renee Fleming in town for one of just two British dates. This was to fulfil an unavoidably Haydn's 'Nelson' Mass.
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Sunday's Oakham School concert at the Sheldonian was an object lesson in ambition, programme planning and skilful execution, assembled by conductor Peter Davis, the school's Director of Music, and Passiontide at Merton A cold night for a strong Passiontide at Merton programme, with not only a keen east wind nagging along Merton St, but also with a chilly and draughty chapel interior thrown into the bargain. Oxfordshire Concerto Competition Final The Sheldonian was the grand setting for the final of one of the showpieces of the Oxford Philharmonic Orchestra's work with grassroots music, the Concerto Competition for local young musicians.
The Picture of Dorian Gray. Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray bursts with themes relating to the place of aestheticism in a hard, practical world, and the core exchanges between the painter Basil Hallward, the That is to say, they are known for Last year was the th anniversary of the birth of Tchaikovsky b. Hailed the length and breadth of Europe as a prodigy, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was weaned on the pursuit of the sublime. As a young chap he's coarse and brash, given to boozing and womanizing, and yet Oxford student Anthony Maskell's minimalist Noose is occupying the early slot at the Burton Taylor all this week.
A damp January evening at the Sheldonian was ignited by the passionate violin of Vadim Repin from Novosibirsk by way of Brussels and Vienna, and once upon a time a protege of Yehudi Menuhin. Tom Poster piano. To hear Tom Poster performing in Oxford is always an event. It may be wishful thinking on my part, but Mr Poster's long association with the city - he was a pupil at Cherwell School, and on Sunday he Here was the Oxford Bach choir, strong and of long and distinguished Oxford University Chorus. Handel himself, in Dublin at the first performance of The Messiah on 13th April , directed a choir made up of — accounts vary — either 14 men and 6 boys or 16 men and 16 boys.
At the Nicola Benedetti and Oxford Philharmonic Orchestra. Nicola Benedetti, the Scottish prodigy, came to the Sheldonian to play Beethoven on a blustery late November evening and did everything but actually play her fiddle upside down. Benedetti stood On a blustery late autumn evening in Witney, a packed audience at St Mary's Church heard an all-choral concert from the local Lower Windrush Choral Society the Windrush being one of the Cotswold There was some hot sunshine - rare in this cloudy summer - that was The Pirates Of Penzance.
As usual with these Gilbert and Sullivan comic operas, the plot of The Pirates of Penzance is wafer-thin, and when we learn that the initial premise revolves around a child, Frederic, being The Sheldonian on a sultry Oxford evening was graced by the presence of the year old Israeli-American concert pianist Menahem Pressler, seemingly fresh as paint after a six and a half hour Undisputed Masterpieces and Reasons for Years.
It's an odd thing with Christ Church. The July streets of Oxford were swarming with tourists while the quads and Gallery were near-deserted, hardly surprising since the porters at the gate did their A hot summer evening on Iffley Road, the polychrome colours of the escutcheoned ceiling, the carved reredos and the elaborately-set stations of the cross in the Late-Victorian Gothic interior of St. Maxim Vengerov and Oxford Philomusica. It's a warm night at The Sheldonian on the last day of the University year.
There are revellers thronging the streets, some of them audible at still moments within the venue. Maxim Vengerov, once A good turn-out for a Thursday at the Sheldonian. Handel's Messiah by Candlelight. Imagine a soiree in one of the Freiburg Baroque Orchestra. Director Gottfried von der Goltz told the Daily Info they were on a mini-tour taking An Ideal Husband. Oscar Wilde's dramatic comedy deals with political intrigue, blackmail and marriage.
It raises questions about public and private honour, and whether a noble future and probable great South Pacific. On a seemingly idyllic tropical island - here beautifully and economically realised by a few palms and bamboos, a misty atmosphere and chiffon adorning the auditorium railings - are stationed a troop The delights of a Gilbert and Sullivan experience will have been met again and again by many in an audience, while newcomers are wondering what all the fuss is about.
Thus assumptions and The Great Gatsby. The mysterious millionaire Gatsby Percy Stubbs has a huge mansion on Long Island and is known far and wide for his lavish, extravagant parties; a golden Mozart Requiem. Judgment at Nuremberg. Four judges on trial for their lives from March to December in one of the series of 13 tribunals held to bring to account the top Nazi war criminals.
Judgment at Nuremberg playwright Abby Mann I wondered as I sat down in the half-full BT Studio, with two of the cast having got there early and started respectively to type on a battered Smith Corona and get in a horrid muddle with two An Inspector Calls. JB Priestly's critique of I'm-all-right-Jack individualism, in which a Northen industrialist and his smug family are forced to confront their complicity in the suicide of a destitute local The Cherry Orchard is a play about change. The owner of the Cherry Orchard estate, the fey, irresponsible Madame Ranevskya Fiona Johnston, pleasingly histrionic , in order to stave off bankruptcy, The Sleeping Beauty.
Fairy tales offer us the tantalizing possibility of remaking the world in the image of desire, in tapping into a childlike wish for magic and a belief in impossibility. They also often give access to Kenton Theatre, Henley. The Kenton Theatre is a delight to visit. I found the staff super-helpful, the auditorium is comfy and oozes olde worlde The Browning Version. Mr Crocker-Harris, a public school master of Classics about to retire early The Birthday Party.
Just six people turned out for the Wednesday matinee, and the Cinderella on Ice. The last Cinderella ice show I saw at the Albert Hall dared in its misguided iconoclasm to dump mice, Ugly Oxford Proms For this Summer Prom the interior of the Sheldonian, following the recent facelift to much of its seating, sparkled on this sultry August evening. Mapping Wonderland. Stepping out from Great Expectations. The challenge for the adapter is to Incendies . Incendies obliquely chronicles the adult life of Nawal Marwan Lubna Azabal , an Arab woman living in Canada whose death sends her two children to find the father they believed was dead and a brother The Maharajah And The Kohinoor.
As we pick Glengarry Glen Ross. David Mamet's drama based on his own experiences as a salesman in sixties America examines a cut-throat commercial world devoid of humanity. It feels as immediate as it does unsettling for, I The Government Inspector. Out of The Deep Blue Sea.
A psycho-drama of unrequited love set in the early s, it focuses on Hester Collyer Fay Lomas , a deeply unhappy married woman Magic Thamed Returns! The Graduate. There's no getting away from the fact that Half Full Theatre's staging of The Graduate, adapted by Terry Johnson from the 60s novel by Charles Webb, operates with the big shadow of the film Not For The Faint Hearted. This walkabout play from Confused Productions is billed as a A Promenade Horror Comedy and fulfils wonderfully well that promise of a box of theatrical delights.
Once one has grasped that the The Silver Tassie. The Australian Pink Floyd Show. It was as good as it possibly could have been. As the last flickers of light and clouds of dry ice drifted away, the audience rose to its feet in rapturous acclaim of Edward II.