New Vague Review of Books

The one where it all started. In this episode we ask: did Roald Dahl's hospitality extend to pies? Does One Day lie about burritos? Just how sexy is John Updike? Would Atlas Shrugged make good kindling? Plus much much more (but not that much more).

Read More

Call for beta readers!

I finally finished the novel I was writing with my co-writer, Toby, before he passed away. Now I'm looking for feedback so that I can start redrafting in the new year.

The Fourth Element is a 86,000 word sci-fi/dystopian novel. It started as a spin-off story from a series I was planning, but then it got out of control and turned into a novel.

When an earthquake destroys all civilisation in a colony that was once known as the United Kingdom, Adrian and his husband, Jae-Sun, are forced to hide from a corrupt government that want to recall all offspring produced during genetic experiments. Although he appears to be nothing special, this includes Adrian.

It’s not long until the pair fall into the hands of slavers. They’re separated, and Adrian realises he’s landed right in the middle of a conflict that’s been going on even since he was born – or created. As his master becomes more affectionate, and the government close in, Adrian has to make the decision whether to fight for his marriage and forever be on the run, or whether to allow Jae-Sun his freedom.

I’m looking for beta-readers who are open to LGBT, sci-fi, dystopian, and adult themes. The beta doesn’t necessarily have to have a lot of experience in sci-fi or dystopian literature. The main thing I’m looking for is plot consistency, character development, tension, structure etc. 

I plan to rewrite the whole thing (probably in 3^rd person) which is why I want to get to grips with the plot and characters themselves first. I don’t want anyone to waste time telling me about specific lines and paragraphs, although a comment on the overall style would be appreciated.

If this appeals to you, please email me at chazjosephs@gmail.com and we can discuss terms.

P.S, I have a full chapter-by-chapter synopsis available if you want to see.

Read More

Let’s teach British Values in schools! I suppose that means hypocrisy, then

I meant to post about this when the issue was first introduced, but I was busy soaking up the French sun before I return to rainy ol’ England.

So as a result of spats between certain government officials, children should now be taught “British values” in school… but what values are these? Are we not a democracy, so shouldn’t we all have a say in what these British values are? I don’t remember being asked what my values as a British citizen are, do you?

Oh, so we mean teaching tolerance and equality!

Well, I’m glad that’s cleared up, maybe if we’re teaching tolerance we’ll have OFSTED stop running around telling qualified teachers how to teach and pupils how to learn. But of course, that’s too much of a dream…

In all honesty, I just can’t get my head around how Gove axes literature that teaches tolerance from the syllabus because it’s “foreign” and students don’t study enough “British” literature, and then he says children need to understand the British value of tolerance. This sounds a little hypocritical to me.

In all honesty, if we’re going to start looking at tolerance, we need to look at the facts. How is it that less than 10% of hate crimes are taken seriously by the police, if we’re such a tolerant nation? How is it that UKIP just got majority votes in the European Election, despite their sexist, racist, and homophobic remarks, if we’re so welcoming to anyone who isn’t a straight white male? I do understand that only 33% of the UK voted, but that means that 67% of Brits are complacent about such issues.

So if we really want to promote “British values” how about this:

Instead of barging into schools with high Muslim populations and telling them not to become terrorists (yeah, come on. We all know what this is really about. Don’t sugar coat it!), we start dealing with the REAL problem, which is that majority of British children are geographically, culturally, and politically unaware.

When I arrived in France and started meeting other students from all over the planet, I became aware of how ignorant I was. It’s true! There were plenty of countries that were previous British colonies that I had no idea about. Embarrassing. How is it that we’re so “tolerant” when we know nothing about anyone, despite the fact that we marched into their countries, raped their women and murdered their men, ravaged their lands and made slaves of their children?

Oh! I know why! It’s because these parts of history aren’t taught very well, and because the books that talk about this kind of thing have been axed from the syllabus. Silly me. There I was thinking that maybe a tolerant country would teach the mistakes of its past and hold firm links with its ex-colonies and European partners to ensure that equality really did exist. My mistake.

The fact of the matter is that this “British values” malarkey is the latest in a very, very long string of BS presented by our current government. If we want to enforce tolerance, we need to start presenting people (not just children) with opportunities to open their minds. For example, literature that challenges racism, sexism, homophobia.

An emphasis on languages, with the specific focus on USING these language skills and what it means to be able to communicate with different countries and cultures. Languages shouldn’t be a case of “should I learn a language?” but rather “WHICH language should I learn?” with the option of learning a range of languages (and not only European languages) and with government funding into student exchange programmes.

I’m sure there are plenty of excuses not to organise something like this, but similar schemes seem to work well in Germany and Canada… (Just sayin’.)

I’m sure teaching children more about the actual countries in the world, along with their cultures, would also be more useful that all that time I spent in maths class learning all that SIN COS TAN stuff that I don’t even remember – but you know, we use that in everyday life and that’s why we prioritise it over subjects like Religious Education and Modern Languages.

Anyway, that’s just my opinion… I mean, I could be completely wrong, and 67% of the population could’ve merely forgotten about the EP elections, and 90% of hate crime reports could have just resolved themselves magically whilst collecting dust in a deep dark corner of the police report system, and Gove could be coming down with an early onset of Alzheimer’s and not realise the mixed signals he’s sending, and I could be the only person in Britain who doesn’t know our “dark history” in detail, and maybe I’m just a dreamer. Just a dreamer.

But I doubt it. 

Read More

The Hunger of Rats by Moriah Geer-Hardwick

The night the rats ate my brother Yuri, I slept so soundly his screams didn’t wake me. They tore him apart an arm’s reach away, and I didn’t stir. I’d never slept like that before; without hunger, without pain, without fear. I’ll never sleep like that again.

The day before, we’d helped the Ferals steal medicine from a humanitarian aid station. The Ferals usually kept to themselves, but for bigger jobs they’d gather as many of us from the street as they could. Humanitarians were best, because they were mostly foreigners, and the locals they used for security were unlikely to shoot children in front of them.

We gathered near the back of the building, and one of the Ferals cut a child-sized hole in the fence. Then we all rushed in, ran around to the front, and straight through the doors. The guards snagged a few, but most poured past them. We grabbed everything we could. There wasn’t time to pick and choose. What didn’t fit easily into our dirty little hands we threw down or knocked over. Medicine cases clattered to the floor. Gurneys, some filled with patients, were sent tumbling. Shouting. Glass shattering. Cries of pain and panic. We scrambled over everything, like rats up from the gutters in a rain storm.

Poor Yuri, he only managed to grab some bandages. I spotted a tall foreign man with a large black satchel slung over his shoulder and charged straight for him. I tucked my chin against my chest and drove the top of my head straight into his gut. With a heavy gasp he folded over and collapsed to the ground. I fell with him, grabbing for the strap as I went down. The moment we hit the floor I shot back to my feet, ripping the satchel from him. Feebly, he tried to grab it back, but I kicked him as hard as I could. He cringed away, clutching his face. I ran, ignoring everything else. Everything but Yuri. He was standing in the middle of the room, his bandages clutched awkwardly to him, eyes wide, frozen in fear. My brother was always too gentle for this life.

I snatched him by the shirt as I ran by, dragging him towards the back of the building. We ducked down a hallway, spotted a small window, and crawled through. Then, we scurried back through the fence and ran as fast as we could through the streets until we were once again in the safety of our own neighborhood.

When the Ferals returned, we opened the satchel. It was full of small, important looking glass vials. None of us could read the labels, but they paid us a thick handful of crumpled paper money anyway. They seemed excited and confident. Apparently, the raid had gone well.

I took Yuri and we spent it all on a fat summer sausage, the biggest we could find. We huddled together in the abandoned church where we slept and devoured our prize like ravenous beasts. We ate until our bellies bulged and the taste of sausage made us sick. The other boys who slept there watched us hungrily from a distance. They knew better than to ask us to share.

When it was gone, we lay back triumphantly, unable to move.

“I’m not hungry.” Yuri sounded surprised.

“When’s the last time you weren’t hungry?” I grinned. Instead of answering, he closed his eyes and rested his small hands on his stomach, contentedly. In moments his breathing drifted into a gentle rhythm. Lulled by the sound, I soon slipped into a deep sleep.

In the morning, the others told me the rats had come up from the sewers through a hole in the basement.

“There were… so many of them,” one said.

“All they wanted was Yuri,” said another. “They must’ve smelled the meat in his belly. You’re too big, so they ate him instead.”

“You should drag him into the street, before he starts to smell,” muttered the oldest. I grabbed him by the front of his shirt and threw him to the ground. He cowered at my feet, whimpering.

“I’m going to kill them.” I clenched my fists so tight my fingernails cut into my palms. “I’m going to kill them all.”

Blind with rage, I whirled away and stormed down to the basement. I found where they had come in; a small opening in the floor where the foundation had begun to crumble, exposing the sewers below. Furiously, I tore at it, working the bricks loose until the hole was wide enough for me to claw my way through. I dropped down into a narrow channel of putrid water. The stench and darkness were almost overwhelming. I could hear a vicious chatter echoing through the gloom ahead of me. Frantically, I felt around at my feet for something I could use as a weapon. My fingers brushed across a loose brick. I snatched it up and lurched forward. In the dim light I saw them; a torrent of seething, matted hair and filth rippling towards me, covering the floors and walls.

“Monsters,” I hissed, raising the brick. They snarled and surged against me, a mass of teeth, claws, and wild eyes. I swung the brick as hard as I could, and everything descended into a blur of screaming and chaos, blood and pain. I lost my footing and the weight of their bodies crushed me down into the murky water. A great silence rushed in, and then there was nothing.

Slowly, the pain and fear returned. I became aware of voices, soft and distant, murmuring away from somewhere beyond a cloud of black that refused to lift.

“He was down in the sewers. Killing rats, of all things,” whispered one.

“What would possess him…” came another. “Will he make it?”

“Not likely. There’s a bad case of rabies in this town. And the bulk of our vaccine was stolen the other day. By children, no less.”

“Why?”

“Why indeed.”

------------------------------

Moriah Geer-Hardwick is an illustrator and designer. His interests include cinema, sequential narrative art, and robots. Mostly robots. He writes things sometimes.

First published by Every Day Fiction: http://www.everydayfiction.com/the-hunger-of-rats-by-moriah-geer-hardwick/

-----------------------------

It's got to be the ending that I love the most about this. The fact that the main character is going to die because he committed the crime of stealing, and then sold the medicine without really knowing what it was. The best thing about it is that we still have sympathy for the main character; he himself is a street rat and didn't really have a choice. To steal or die of starvation, and yet he dies anyway, only this way he dies after finding out about the death of his brother. 

Read More

It's hard to be a Brit in France

My time in France is coming to a close, and I wanted to write a meaningful post about the experience… but all I could think of were reasons WHY it’s so damn hard to be British in France!

So here goes:

Bisous

Sorry! It’s not my fault we don’t run around kissing everyone in Britain.  Which side first? I’m often doing the try-to-walk-around-someone-and-both-move-in-the-same-direction thing, but with my face. At which point, French men have been known to take my hand and give me a firm shake. Yeah, that’s right. I’m too retarded for bisous.

Politeness

The French hate indecisiveness. I’m being indecisive because I want to let you make the decision so that I’m not causing any trouble. They also don’t understand when I wait to be offered something rather than demanding for it outright. I mean, when I first got here, the family opened the fridge and told me that if I’m ever hungry I can just eat whatever I want. IT GOES AGAINST EVERYTHING I KNOW. They also don’t understand why I apologise even when things aren’t my fault, or say thank you even if something goes wrong. BECAUSE I’M BRITISH, AND THAT’S WHAT WE DO!!

They think it’s weird that I offered the builders tea

Okay, so maybe it should’ve been coffee, but apparently if someone is doing work on your house in this country, you don’t offer them a drink. SHEEEEESH! So impolite!!

Tea

No one understands why I’m so upset that the only milk we have is UHT milk. Tea doesn’t taste the same, but I’ve learnt to live with it. My disappointment at the lack of rich tea biscuits is everlasting, though.

Wine tastings

In Britain, we do not spit out wine. Every wine festival has ended in disaster…

Please! Don’t ask me about English grammar

Us Brits just aren’t taught grammar the way that the French are. Yes, I understand that I’m an English student, but I still can’t answer your question as to why “badest” isn’t a word! It just isn’t, okay?!?!

Cheese, cheese everywhere! And bread! And more wine!

I find it hard not to laugh every time when the family are trying to make the little boy eat healthily, and they say “you can either have cheese or fruit.” Cracks me up. Also, every time someone asks for the cheese, and I open the fridge and say, “Lequel?”

People who think they speak English

When certain French people try to speak English and they can’t, but I’m too British to point out that I can’t understand what the feck they’re saying… Ugh, it’s so hard.

Eye contact is not an invitation…

I have to avoid making eye contact with men on public transport, because they seem to think it means I want them to come over and ask if I want to go home with them. No, no that’s not what my eyes are saying. My eyes are saying, “Va te faire foutre!”

Giant bugs

And lizards. Bugs and lizards everywhere. If the cat doesn’t keep bringing them into my room I might have to kill it. This is not cool. Not cool Grisouille, not cool.

Tone of voice

Sarcasm doesn’t seem to exist here, and I can never tell if French people are angry or excited. This makes for some very awkward conversations.

Coming to terms with the word “si”

Oui… Non… SI! Si! This word needs to exist in English.

Knowledge of the EU is too low to partake in serious conversations

I've overcome this issue with the aid of Daily Mail archives and wikipedia. Seriously had to start reading and looking at maps because being so geographically and politically unaware was just embarrassing. Embarrassing.

I have to formulate an opinion on the royal family

I’m suddenly expected to have an opinion on monarchism, and every time I agree with something a member of the royal family has said, I’m regarded as a complete royalist with the intension of condemning the French’s decision to behead their king. UGH, I HONESTLY DON’T CARE, BUT MAKE ONE MORE JOKE ABOUT THE QUEEN AND I’M COMING AT YOU!

Read More

Curiosity Killed the Pig by Jaz Raffle

I love dystopian art so I just had to feature this. Imagine if eating meat were made illegal and to consider animals as sub-human was akin to racism...
This 15 minute film that was made by a Hull University student as their final year project. It's great, honest!

(use this link if video doesn't load: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G7kpbGzOKHQ)

Read More

The Unexpected Arrival of the Black Guy

When I told him I’d chosen him as the character in a story, he chuckled and dug his fingers into his bush-like hair. I could feel his right leg vibrating against the table, sending splashes of my tea onto the wooden surface.

 “Call it the unexpected arrival of the black guy,” he said.

The sun had painted the sky orange and pink with wisps of white cloud when Laura’s trip back to the University of East Anglia began. The walk to the train station wasn’t a particularly long one, but that day it seemed to take hours. Laura’s travel case weighed a tonne, and even with the two of us dragging it, the twenty minute walk was verging on forty.

 “Fucking shitty wheels. Waste of money, this case,” she cursed as we dragged it over the icy ground. The case groaned in response; a gritty ripping sound that tore through my ear drums and made me cringe. We were silent for a while, as the frosty wind ripped through our coats and scratched at our skin. Pulling my scarf up over my face, I grunted and forced myself through the wind. The case gripped the earth as we heaved it up the curb and we heard a pop. The second wheel had broken and my right arm was beginning to ache with the strain. By the time we reached the station, I’d switched arms more times than I could remember.

“I can’t believe I’m not gonna see our Gaz for six months and he hasn’t even come to say bye,” Laura sighed as we waited on platform one. The train left in ten minutes. “He just sent me a text asking where we are. I told him what time my train was at yesterday. He’s at ours.”

I sighed, “that’s shit” – and it was. We’re pretty close, the three of us. We even bought each other the exact same Christmas presents, just in different colours – you know the saying, great minds.

The sky grasped our attention as we waited. Stars were beginning to crawl into sight as orange faded to blue. It matched my mood as the clock counted down to the departure of my twin. Looking over to her, I saw that she was as miserable as me. She looked up and shrugged at me in understanding. We went back to watching the stars. The train was waiting at the red light when we heard him.

“LAURRRAAA,” he called in his classic Tarzan expression. His brown afro bobbed up and down as he ran, flailing his arms and legs in the air like a clown. It was clear by the colour of his face – red, rather than his natural caramel brown – and the heaving of his breath that he’d ran the entire way down from our house. 

“Bet you didn’t expect to see me here.”

___________________________________________________

The Unexpected Arrival of the Black Guy was published by InkTears in February, after winning an honourable mention in their annual flash fiction contest. 

Other winning stories can be found here: InkTears2 

Read More

Milk by P.J. Monroe

This morning, I received an absolutely fantastic piece of flash fiction that's kept a smile on my face all day. The idea is so simple, yet so cunning. I love the humour and the simplicity of the language. It's one of those pieces where I think, "Damn it, why didn't I come up with that?!"

“May I have a glass of milk, please?”
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“May I have a glass of milk, please?” she repeated.
I was quite surprised. My cat had never before said a single word in English, let alone a complete sentence. I did the only thing I could do; I got her a glass of milk. I put the milk down in front of her. She dipped her paw in the glass and licked the milk off of it. I kept looking at her, my mouth wide open.
“No opposable thumbs,” she said, after seeing I was still staring at her.

If you want to see where this is going, you can find the complete story by clicking here.

Read More

Formatting Dialogue in Fiction

Okay, this seems to be one of the biggest errors I see in fiction so I thought I’d have a good at writing a guide for aspiring writers. I mean, the odd slip up is fine, isn’t it? We can forgive just the odd mistake… but what I hate is when writers just clearly don’t know how to format dialogue. It’s okay though, formatting dialogue isn’t even the hard part – writing realistic dialogue is!
So, here we go, I’ll try make this as simple as possible. I’m going to try and break this down as simply as possible.

Rule 1: New speaker, new paragraph

“Hello” said Carol.

“Oh, Hi Carol. How are you” replied Max.

Rule 2: All punctuation should come inside the quotation marks

NOT: “Hello”, said Carol.

Correct: “Hello,” said Carol.

Rule 3: Correct Punctuation 

A line of dialogue that’s followed by a tag such as “said Carol”, “replied Max” should NEVER end in a full stop. The tag should always be in lower case. If the dialogue comes to the end of the sentence, use a comma instead of a full stop so that the sentence continues uninterrupted.

NOT: “Hello.” Said Carol.

Correct: “Hello,” said Carol.

“Oh, hi Carol. How are you?” replied Max.

Rule 4: The first letter of a dialogue line should be capitalised

Not: “hello,” said Carol. 

OR: He smiled and said, “how are you?” 

Correct: “Hello,” said Carol.

He smiled and said, “How are you?”

Rule 5: If dialogue is interrupted by a tag, don’t capitalise the next part; it isn’t a new sentence

NOT: “I’m fine, but lately I’ve been getting some cramps,” she said as she rubbed her stomach, “In my lower abdomen.”

Correct: “I’m fine, but lately I’ve been getting some cramps,” she said as she rubbed her stomach, “in my lower abdomen.”

Rule 6: However, if the sentence is broken, use a capital letter

NOT: “I’m fine,” she said. Then she put her hand to her stomach. “well, I have been getting cramps in my lower abdomen.”

Correct: “I’m fine,” she said. Then she put her hand to her stomach. “Well, I have been getting cramps in my lower abdomen.”

If there are any rules you're unsure about, please feel free to leave a comment and I will put it up on this post!

Read More

I Know Why...Gove isn't going to like this!

“My mission in life is not merely to survive, but to thrive; and to do so with some passion, some compassion, some humor, and some style.”

Now isn’t that something for motivation? You’d think that the Secretary of Education would care about fuelling passion in the classroom, but not our dear Mr. Gove. I’d go a step forward to say that without a little help, Gove would have no idea who said the above quote. That’s because he probably didn’t have enthusiastic teachers to thrust a copy of I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings into his hands for inspiration.

Gove would like to axe American Literature from the GCSE syllabus, but here’s just three reasons for the inclusion of Maya Angelou’s fantastic autobiography.

• Reason number one: Maya Angelou

A black female writer with a message. I’m not entirely sure how Gove likes his curriculum authors, but I’m fairly certain she’d be one of a kind on the syllabus, distracting attention from all the white, middle class males.

Yes, the first reason is just because Angelou herself was pretty amazing. I can honestly say that yesterday, when I logged onto Twitter to learn about her passing, I genuinely felt sad. Why’s that? Because the world has lost one of its most outstanding pioneers for civil rights.

This woman showed us that it is possible to give a middle finger to the terrors of life and keep going. What’s more is that she taught us the importance of keeping that middle finger up and going to the next level – it’s not enough to be living a better life than you were born into, you should make a real difference!

But of course, we all know that pre-19^th century love poetry is going to give teenagers the same kind of push, right? Right…

• Reason number two: Challenging themes

Angelou’s writing isn’t that hardest to understand, which is a really good thing because if we can’t get past the complexity of the sentence structure, how do we have a chance of exploring further the themes that have been included in the text? So whilst I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings doesn’t quite reach the surface complexity of Gove’s preferred texts, it is exactly the right level for developing readers.

Let’s just go through some of the themes:

Racism – is this an issue of today? You bet your backside it is. Just take a look at the European Parliament Election results for any evidence.

Sexism – we still need feminism. Angelou teaches girls how to become strong women, despite the injustices thrown at them.

Identity – when is this not going to be a contemporary issue? We’ve all got one, and 14-16 year olds are just starting to develop their own. Why not encourage them with Angelou’s words of wisdom?

Change – seriously, what isn’t changing when you’re an adolescent? Angelou shares her experience of change, both mentally and physically, throughout I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.

Sexuality – now now now. We’ve moved on from when sexuality was a sin, and now we need to encourage open expression. We’re at a point where children are taught the basics of sex education in school, but none of the emotions that come with it. Get it together, Gove!

Religion – another biggie, isn’t it? Or maybe we shouldn’t… obviously too controversial, it’s not like we want our young people to have an opinion, is it?

Appearance – yeah, I’ve been there. In a world where so much emphasis is put on appearance, why not show our children that it’s possible to succeed without being gifted with the face of an angel?

And to be honest, these are just my favourites and probably don’t even cover half the themes that could be discussed in the text. Young people need to be challenged by themes that they can relate to and apply to our society today.

• Reason number three: A compelling story – and it’s true.

How many autobiographies are there on the national curriculum? I don’t think there are many, but I’m pushing for creative nonfiction to be included alongside other literary forms. We need a wider range of literary forms on the curriculum rather than limiting children to novels and poetry. How about throwing in some flash fiction, short stories, autobiographies and experimental forms?

I’m sure we can foster a love of reading in children; we just need to find what it is that they’d like to read. Limiting the curriculum isn’t going to help us encourage children to read more, and I imagine for a lot of them, it’s going to turn reading into a chore.

Maybe I’m being a bit bold here, but doesn’t Maya Angelou’s I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings seem like the ideal GCSE text?

Read More

Gove: Put Down the Chainsaw and Listen.

All this talk about Michael Gove banning “Foreign Literature” from the GCSE syllabus has had me absolutely steaming, but after an hour of the Insanity Workout, I don’t have the energy to be angry and irrational. In fact, my initial views on the subject have changed.

Wait – what?

No, that doesn’t mean that I now think that Gove is right to remove texts from the GCSE syllabus. Allow me to explain.

My initial response was, “HEY, I love To Kill a Mockingbird! The syllabus should not have been changed!”

My current response is, “To Kill a Mockingbird was why I went on to take English Literature at A-Level, and subsequently, as a degree. However, the syllabus needs to change.”

Gove cited that 90% of GCSE students study the extremely popular text, Of Mice and Men. Unfortunately, I must have fallen into the lonely 10% who did not study this text, but I remember being jealous of my sister because she read it and loved it. However, at the age of 15, I was not jealous enough to seek out the book and read it for myself. Rest assured though, with all this noise caused by Gove, the text is most certainly going on my reading list.

Now, I’ll admit that 90% of students studying the text doesn’t suggest that the syllabus is varied. Yet, could it possibly be that this text is actually the right level to challenge and stimulate British 14-16 year olds? Or is a text that Gove “really didn’t like” unlikely to have such an effect on our young people? 

Gove argues that the literature now offered will be more challenging for pupils, but I think he is mistaken in his definition of the word “challenge.” To Gove, the challenge seems to exist only on a comprehensive level: How difficult will it be for a child to read this text? How complex is the language? Yes, Gove is probably correct in assuming that pre-19^th century literature will be a challenge. Why? Because before the 19^th century, writers were paid by word, so throwing in complex sentences and excessive description earned more money, but does not maintain the interest of modern readers.

I’m sorry Mr. Gove, but the word “challenge” in terms of literature is incredibly multifaceted. Classics such as Of Mice and Men and To Kill a Mockingbird are not all that challenging in terms of surface reading, that much is true. What’s challenging about these texts is the representation of cultural and social structures. Such texts are not meant to be complicated to read and understand; they were written to expose injustices and make a difference.

Literature movements have exposed trends and changes in society. This is not about reading; this is about politics. This is about human rights and equality. By limiting our students to texts that do not offer this face of the word “challenge”, we are hindering the social development of our children. If not through the arts, how are our children expected to analyse and understand different cultures and societies? We need to talk about negative issues like racism and sexism. We need to expose our young people to the horrors of the world, and of our past, in a safe environment.

As a female reader and writer, my biggest question is: Which female writer will take the place of Harper Lee? With a syllabus skewed towards pre-19^th century literature, I’m fairly certain that the representation of female writers will be heavily lacking.

Gove needs to realise that literature is not the mere subject of reading what is on the page in front of you. Literature goes much deeper and further than that. It is about developing analytical and reasoning skills, about applying criticism, and most of all, about acknowledging cultural and historical similarities and differences.  Children can only develop these skills if they are stimulated and passionate, thus we need to cultivate a love of reading in our children so that they are confident in independently educating and challenging themselves.

Pre-19^th century literature is not going to capture that passion for majority of our teenagers.

The thing that shocks me the most about Gove’s decision isn’t the fact that it appears to be obviously elitist and biased, but actually, it’s that in removing “foreign” literature from the syllabus, Gove is removing a very important part of world history and culture from our education system.

As a black female with SLD, I demand that world history is acknowledged. I demand that books that examine racism and slavery are included in educating our young people. I want that awkward silence in the classroom when students and teachers reach the word “nigger” in To Kill a Mockingbird. I demand that pupils examine the theme of sexism, and I want our children to understand why feminism was created and continues to exist. I demand that we recognise Lennie’s learning difficulty in Of Mice and Men, and the problems that causes of him.

Most of all, I demand that we teach texts from our former colonies. How dare Gove call these texts “foreign” literature. How dare he suggest that British students should only read British texts. When a country shatters another for its own personal gain, they are forever linked – I don’t care how long it’s been. The history of America, of our African and Indian colonies, is also the history of Britain, and our “conquests” are not to be ignored. Such cultures deserve to be acknowledged, just as the mistake of our past do.

So yes, I condemn Gove’s decision to axe “foreign” literature from the syllabus. At the same time, I call on him to change the syllabus further. Since Britain is not alone in the world, I urge the study of English Literature to be changed to World Literature, so that we examine and understand different cultures – particularly those of our past colonies. I would go one step forward to suggest that the British curriculum include texts translated from other languages – because we don’t only learn scientific theories proposed by British scientists, do we?

So go on Gove, I’m sorry to disturb you while you hack away at our GCSE syllabus, but I’d like to request that you put down the chainsaw and think about how to truly challenge and educate our children, rather than making life that little bit more difficult/miserable for them. 

Read More

About Me

The real name's Charlotte Josephs, but I've never been quiet enough to be a Charlotte. Instead, most people call me Chaz. I'm an aspiring writer on the path to becoming a publishing professional.

I was born in Bradford, United Kingdom, in 1992. My father is a Jamaican immigrant and my mother was born and raised in a tiny town in the Yorkshire countryside – it’s quite a mix. I don’t remember a time in my life when I’ve not been telling stories. As a child, I used to make up bedtime stories for my sisters, and as I got older I started to write them down.

I've just come home from my year abroad in Lyon, France. In September, I will return to university to finish my degree in English Literature and Creative Writing at the University of Hull.

My first piece of writing to be published was a place holder in Ink Tears’ flash fiction competition.

Intern at Dzanc Books.
Editor at Control Literary Magazine.
Intern at a literary agency.

Read More