For a step-by-step explanation of everything you need to know to ace your SAC or exam, check out our How To Write A Killer Language Analysis ebook.

For many students, Language Analysis is their downfall. Here is the main reason why: Lots of students don’t think about how language is used to persuade, instead they rely on lists of language techniques to tell them the answer. These sheets are usually distributed by teachers when you first start language analysis – see below.

Whether or not you’ve seen that particular document before, you’ve probably got something similar. You’ve also probably thought, ‘this sheet is absolutely amazing – it has everything I need and it tells me how language persuades!’ – I know I did. Unfortunately, this mindset is wrong. Don’t fall into the trap like so many other students have over the years. For a detailed guide on Language Analysis including how to prepare for your SAC and exam, check out our Ultimate Guide to VCE Language Analysis.

The following comes from VCAA 2009 English Assessment Report:

…some students presented a simple summary [when analysing]…with little development. These responses did not score well as they did not fulfil the task as required.

The ‘simple summary’ refers to students who rely on those technique sheets to paraphrase the explanations regarding how language persuades. There is ‘little development’ because copying the explanations provided on these sheets doesn’t demonstrate enough insight into the article you’re analysing. Let’s have a look at the VCAA English Practice Exam published in 2009, ‘Chickens Range Free’ so that we can demonstrate this point. We will look at two students, both analysing the same technique. Compare the two and determine who you believe provides the better analysis.

Student 1: Emotive language such as “abominably cruel” and “dire plight” is intended to stimulate strong emotional reactions that manipulate readers’ responses.

Student 2: The use of emotive language such as “abominably cruel” and “dire plight” intends to appeal to people’s instinctive compassion for the chickens by describing their dreadful treatment, hence causing readers to agree with Smith that urgent action is required to save these animals.

It should be clear that Student 2’s example is best. Let’s see why.

Student 1 has determined the correct language technique and found suitable evidence from the article. This is a good start. However, Student 1 goes on to merely reiterate the explanations provided by language technique sheets and as a result, their analysis is too broad and non-specific to the article.

Student 2 conversely, understands that this last step – the analysing part – is the most important and vital component that will distinguish themselves from others. Instead of merely quoting that the article ‘manipulates the reader response’ like student 1, they provide an in-depth analysis of how and why reader feelings are manipulated because of this technique. Student 2 was able to use the information to illustrate the author’s contention that we should feel sorry for these caged chickens – and we do because of our ‘instinctive compassion.’ They explain that the sympathy expressed from readers encourages them to agree that some action needs to be taken to help the chickens. As you can see, Student 2 has gone beyond identifying that ‘strong emotional reactions’ will be displayed by readers, to establishing what emotions are involved, and the consequences of those emotions.

This is why it’s best to avoid paraphrasing language technique sheets. By all means, don’t totally disregard them altogether. They’re definitely great for learning new language techniques – just be mindful of the explanations given. The part regarding how the author persuades is the downfall of many students because even though teachers tell you to analyse more, they often don’t show you the difference between what you’re doing wrong and what you should be doing right.

Reckoning & The Namesake are studied as part of VCE English's Comparative. For one of our most popular posts on Comparative (also known as Reading and Comparing), check out our Ultimate Guide to VCE Comparative.

Contents

1. Inheritance of Trauma 
2. Identity and Naming
3. Memory and Retrospect

Magda Szubanski’s memoir, Reckoning, and Jhumpa Lahiri’s bildungsroman, The Namesake, follow misguided protagonists as they attempt to reconcile and ‘reckon’ with complicated family histories. Magda is burdened by her father’s legacy, whilst Ashoke’s distressing train accident lays the foundation for Gogol’s uncertainty, exposing the inescapable and often inscrutable marks that trauma leaves on the identities of later generations. With a large focus on inherited trauma, identity and memory, we’ll be breaking down some crucial quotes from each of these texts to better understand these key themes. 

For a deeper look into some of the themes in Reckoning and The Namesake, check out this earlier post. And, if you need a refresher on how to properly embed quotes in your writing, take a look at How To Embed Quotes in Your Essay Like a Boss. 

1. Inheritance of Trauma

Whether it be the hardships of war or the adversity of misfortune, both texts observe family timelines steeped in history and trauma. Magda and Gogol are inadvertently burdened by their parents’ experiences, which remain obscure and confusing to the two protagonists and only complicate their identities. 

Reckoning

We were tugboats in the river of history, my father and I, pulling in opposite directions. He needed to forget. I need to remember. For him, only the present moment would set him free. For me, the key lies buried in the past. The only way forward is back. (p. 13)

This quote is intrinsic to the authorial intent behind Szubanski writing her cathartic memoir. The experiences of Magda’s father in war-torn Poland are, as Magda expresses, ‘passed on genetically’. Yet, with Zbigniew’s instinct to ‘[clamp] down tight on all feeling’, his trauma remains unrevealed and unexamined during much of Magda’s life. This impenetrable history impresses onto Magda as intergenerational trauma, which leaves her an ‘unregulated mess’, constantly  ‘ricocheting between feeling nothing and feeling everything’. 

As Magda accurately describes, both she and her father are metaphorical ‘tugboats in the river of history’, drawn in completely opposite directions to resolve their traumas. For her, digging into the ‘buried’ past is vital to understanding her father and herself. As she puts it, ‘the only way forward is back’. This is entirely the opposite for Zbigniew, who is unwilling and unable to articulate his trauma in anything other than ‘incoherent…jottings’ and ‘fragments’. Burdened by his past, Zbigniew prefers living in the present moment where he can suppress and avoid the past. However, this difference in how the two approach trauma leads to a strained father-daughter relationship founded upon a lifetime of misunderstandings and secrecy that only deepen their inability to understand one another. 

‘Even at that young age,’ Mum told me, ‘I knew, I knew I had done something wrong.’ When she told me this her face caved in, stricken with remorse. Actors can never replicate this look. Meg didn’t punish her, but ‘Oh! The look of disappointment on my poor mother’s face.’ Now, today, more than eighty years later, my mother still feels the stinging sense of guilt. 

History repeats. That story of how, when I was six, I got blood on my best dress before a trip to take Dad to hospital. Mum slapped my leg in hasty anger. I understand now, of course, that it was herself she was slapping. Her life-loving, disobedient six-year-old self. We are bookends, she and I. (p. 346)

Intergenerational trauma surfaces as ‘patterns’ within the Szubanski family, where regret and resentment are passed down as ‘hand-me-down trinkets of family and trauma’. Magda uses the metaphor of ‘bookends’ to describe her and her mother’s remarkably similar experiences dealing with familial trauma. In other words, both Magda and Margaret are mirror images of each other, both having a shared experience of supporting and living with ill fathers. When Magda gets ‘blood on [her] best dress’ before another trip to the hospital, Margaret ‘slap[s her] leg’. Although Magda initially mistakes this reaction as ‘hasty anger’, hindsight allows her to understand that Margaret was preoccupied with a ‘stinging sense of guilt’, and was reprimanding herself - the ‘disobedient six-year-old self’ who had similarly ruined her own ‘special dress’. This realisation suggests that even though trauma ‘repeats [like]…history’, there is a generational difference in the way individuals are able to process and respond to situations of grief, poverty and war. 

‍The Namesake

And suddenly the sound of his pet name, uttered by his father as he has been accustomed to hearing it all his life, means something completely new, bound up with a catastrophe he has unwittingly embodied for years. "Is that what you think of when you think of me?" Gogol asks him. "Do I remind you of that night?"

"Not at all," his father says eventually, one hand going to his ribs, a habitual gesture that has baffled Gogol until now. "You remind me of everything that followed." (p. 124)

Just as Magda inherits Zbigniew’s harrowing war experience, Ashoke’s own ‘persistent fear’ from the train derailment that cripples him lives on through his son’s name. His chance rescue whilst ‘clutching a single page of ‘The Overcoat’’ is meaningful and life-altering. For Ashoke, naming his child after the ‘Russian writer who had saved his life’ emphasises his profound appreciation for surviving the accident. His son Gogol is a comforting reminder of ‘everything that followed’. In this way, Gogol acts as a symbol of both redemption and hope, representing Ashoke’s optimistic appraisal of his accident and his determination to make the most of his miraculous rescue. 

But for Gogol, the memory of his father’s accident is entirely foreign and lacks any real meaning for him. His childhood pet name ‘Gogol’ - which he has always resented for making him feel out of place around other kids - suddenly becomes ‘something completely new’ when he discovers the truth about Ashoke’s accident. Gogol feels enormous pressure to live up to his father’s expectations as he represents a ‘catastrophe he has unwittingly embodied for years’. This is the source of much of Gogol’s guilt, confusion and resentment (towards his name, father, family and entire culture) and gradually erodes his sense of self. However, this inscrutability of the past only deepens Ashoke’s and Gogol’s similarity, whilst complicating and straining their father-son dynamic. Ashoke is unable to recognise the burden he has placed on his child, whilst Gogol alternatively cannot appreciate or truly understand being a miracle and source of salvation for Ashoke. Like with Magda and Zbigniew, here, father and child are unable to understand each other, creating a schism in their relationship which they are never able to reconcile. In any case, Lahiri conveys that the actions of enduring and processing trauma are intertwined and often leave permanent traces across future generations.

But Gogol is attached to them. For reasons he cannot explain or necessarily understand, these ancient Puritan spirits, these very first immigrants to America, these bearers of unthinkable, obsolete names, have spoken to him, so much so that in spite of his mother’s disgust he refuses to throw the rubbings away. He rolls them up, takes them upstairs, and puts them in his room, behind his chest of drawers, where he knows his mother will never bother to look, and where they will remain, ignored but protected, gathering dust for years to come. (p. 71)

Lahiri also indicates generational similarities in how individuals relate to trauma. As a second-generation migrant who has always felt displaced from his culture, Gogol’s graveyard field trip allows him to experience a semblance of belonging in Massachusetts for the first time and relate to America’s ‘very first immigrants’. While Ashoke profoundly connects to the Russian writer Nikolai Gogol, his son Gogol refuses to get rid of the etchings of archaic names. These ‘ancient Puritan spirits’ with similarly ‘unthinkable, obsolete names’ like his own provide Gogol with a source of relief and offer proof that he is not alone in his differences. He feels protective of them - conveying his own desires to defend himself against childhood bullies, and also providing a way to preserve this first true moment of belonging. 

Just as ‘The Overcoat’ resonates with Ashoke, Gogol feels connected to the etchings and conceals this single page from his mother Ashima, who is resentful of the peculiar American school excursion. Similarly, Ashoke struggles to convey the deep significance behind his own liberating ‘single page’ from the Russian book. In this way, both pages remain ‘ignored but protected’ and, for both father and son, symbolise the power of literature and storytelling to salvage their profoundly intimate and life-altering moments that are unfathomable to others. 

2. Identity and Naming

Both Reckoning and The Namesake suggest that hasty personal reinventions can only temporarily suppress, rather than truly resolve, trauma. The ‘self-made man’ Gogol strives to be, and the ‘mostly-self created…Little Englishman’ identity that Zbigniew carves for himself, are simply ‘bandaids plastered over’ unresolved grief and hardships. Cut off from family and history, these facades only worsen their inner discontent and complicate identities. 

Reckoning

For my father Australia was love at first sight. The moment we landed he knew he had done the right thing. The blast-furnace heat invigorated him. Only mad dogs and my father would go out in the midday Australian sun. He wouldn’t just go out in it…he would mow the lawn in it. We had a big, bumpy, untamed backyard and when the mercury hit 103 degrees Fahrenheit he’d be out there dragging the lawnmower across every inch of it. Wearing Bombay bloomers and a terry-towelling hat, singing Polish songs over the din of the mower. (p. 44)

Escaping battle-scarred Poland and the origins of his trauma, Zbigniew is a migrant who ‘could not shed his Polishness fast enough’. He ‘crosse[s] the world to get away’ from his destroyed and tarnished home. Zbigniew begins a ‘second life’ as Peter, and like the Polish amber Magda’s cousin gifts her, Zbigniew is ‘transformed by pressure’ (a metaphor for the natural formation of amber) into the ‘Little Englishman’. This persona is a role he takes with grave determination - an echo of the ‘killer instincts’ he suppressed from his abandoned life as a Polish assassin. Bewildering the rest of his family, Zbigniew relishes the ‘invigorat[ing]…blast-furnace heat’ of Australia, and acts the part of a true Aussie in his ‘Bombay bloomers’ and ‘terry-towelling hat’. This characteristically Australian ensemble essentially functions as another battle armour he equips himself with to protect his blemished soul, tainted by a history so ‘bizarrely awful’ that his only way to survive is by ‘clamping down tight’ through an ironclad persona. 

Magda recalls him ‘forever trying to tame th[e] lumpen block’ of ‘untamed’ and ‘unpredictable’ soil in their yard, ‘dragging the lawnmower across every inch’. This crystallises the truth of his life: no matter how committed Zbigniew is to perfecting any project, simply plastering order (trying to tame the lawns by mowing them) over chaos (heat + lumpen, untamed, unpredictable soil) leaves the trauma unresolved.

The rest of it went smoothly and before too long I had my entire sharpie uniform. Only one thing was missing—a Conti. This smart striped cardigan, worn high and tight, was the centrepiece of the ensemble, the definitive wardrobe item of the sharpie. But none was available, not in Croydon anyway. We had to settle for a plain cardie, rolled up at the bottom until it sat under my boobs. I never did get a Conti. I think it was a sign. (p. 126)

Like her father, Magda toys with personas herself. Identity is fluid and inconstant for Magda, often fluctuating between a form Zbigniew would be proud of, one she hopes would trigger any emotional reaction from him, and one desperate to fit within the social climate of Croydon. She cultivates a variety of comic personalities and, like her father, pursues her own ‘tennis madness’ by becoming madly obsessed with the sport and playing competitively. Magda also attempts to embrace the dutiful Catholic ‘good girl’ personality she believes would satisfy her father, but she rebels when he continues to ‘display [no] emotion at all’ and embraces the Sharpie youth gang uprising in her neighbourhood. However, Magda ruefully mocks the contradictory nature of her Sharpie persona, describing her conversion as a hybrid - a ‘convent-school Sharpie’ - rather than the ‘true Sharpie chick’ she aspires to be. But, while all of these personas attempt to unite the ‘disparate, confusing parts’ of her identity, they just suppress the ‘real girl’ behind the mask and leave her more dissociated from herself than ever before. 

Magda goes to great lengths to ‘smoothly’ acquire the perfect Sharpie disguise, but even with the ‘entire Sharpie uniform’, her facade is flawed; she lacks the Conti cardigan, which is the ‘definitive wardrobe item of the sharpie’. Her Sharpie identity becomes a parody of the authentic Australian youth gang. The flaws behind her imitation persona are worsened when Magda tries to replace the Conti ‘centrepiece’ with a simple ‘plain cardie, rolled up at the bottom’. Magda only realises this when she barely avoids a ‘beating’ by a ‘predatory Sharpie’ whilst vulnerable, dressed in her convent-school uniform, and unrecognisable as a fellow gang member. Here, she is finally able to concede that she has only been ‘playing at being a bad girl’ and laments, ‘I never did get a Conti. I think it was a sign’ - wryly foreshadowing the inevitable dissatisfaction of teenage facades. 

The Namesake

"I'm Nikhil now," Gogol says, suddenly depressed by how many more times he will have to say this, asking people to remember, reminding them to forget, feeling as if an errata slip were perpetually pinned to his chest. (p. 119)

Gogol’s place in the world as an ‘American Born Confused Deshi’ (ABCD) is his own ‘awkward [truth]’. Like his own name which he scornfully labels a ‘scratchy tag’, his status as an ‘ABCD’ is another brand he is ‘forced permanently to wear’. He is both ashamed and resentful toward his second-generation migrant identity and feels ‘neither Indian nor American’ whilst mocked for his nickname that is ‘of all things Russian’. Indeed, Gogol’s entire adolescent experience is eclipsed by his confusion about ‘who he is’ as he struggles to obtain any stable foundation for his identity. 

Unlike the costumes and disguises that Magda and Zbigniew embrace, Gogol takes action by solemnly changing his name to Nikhil, the ‘one that should have been’ given to him all those years ago. But even Gogol is acutely aware that this ‘scant’ persona leaves him having to repeatedly reinforce and assure others (and himself) of his identity. Gogol actually rejects the name ‘Nikhil’ on his first day of preschool, foreshadowing the inward dissociation he experiences later in life. He is again ‘afraid to be Nikhil, someone he doesn’t know.’

Similarly, the flask Gogol’s sister Sonia gives to him for his thirtieth birthday, inscribed with his new initials NG, becomes a symbol of his inability to ‘break from that mismatched name’. Lahiri indeed suggests that identities are unavoidably ‘engraved’ with the layered ‘randomness’ of their lives and cannot be easily dissolved. 

And then he returned to New York, to the apartment they’d inhabited together that was now all his. A year later, the shock has worn off, but a sense of failure and shame persists, deep and abiding. There are nights he still falls asleep on the sofa, without deliberation, waking up at three A.M. with the television still on. It is as if a building he’d been responsible for designing has collapsed for all to see. And yet he can’t really blame her. They had both acted on the same impulse, that was their mistake. They had both sought comfort in each other, and in their shared world, perhaps for the sake of novelty, or out of the fear that that world was slowly dying. Still, he wonders how he’s arrived at all this: that he is thirty-two years old, and already married and divorced. His time with her seems like a permanent part of him that no longer has any relevance, or currency. As if that time were a name he’d ceased to use. (pp. 283-284)

For the majority of his life, Gogol alternates between feeling irritation and resentment for his Bengali heritage, and profoundly longing to be truly Indian. Gogol has several failed relationships and romantic encounters: Kim, with whom he introduces himself as Nikhil ‘for the first time in his life’, then Maxine, who attracted him with the ‘gift of accepting her life’. But, like his indulgence of and immersion in the Ratliff’s self-satisfied American life, the interactions with these women feel like a ‘betrayal of his own’ culture, family and identity. 

It is ‘familiarity’ that draws him to Moushumi, a childhood Bengali family friend with whom he ’s[eeks] comfort’ in their shared culture. For Gogol, his relationship with Moushumi represents the possibility of salvaging a childhood he spent disliking, but for Moushumi it’s a betrayal of her principles of independence. She has ‘turn[ed] her back’ her Indian and American ties to embrace a third culture in France, a country with ‘no claim’ on her and none of the cultural pressures of her heritage. 

Gogol longs - ironically - for stability and ‘fall[s] in love with Gothic architecture’; he equates his failed marriage with Moushumi to a ‘building he’d been responsible for designing’. This is essentially Gogol’s way of dealing with the trauma of his divorce, translated into a form he can understand and process. And yet, even a year after their separation, a ‘sense of failure and shame persists, deep and abiding’ - Lahiri suggests that trauma, grief and heartbreak are embedded into our identities and we don’t require a set length of time to accept them. 

Both Moushumi and Gogol come to realise that they were sustained merely by ‘the same impulse’ to erase discomfort, their marriage ‘collaps[ing] for all to see’. Their relationship becomes meaningless and their time together dissolves like a ‘name [Gogol had] ceased to use’. Lahiri conveys that re-entering and recreating a life once discarded (as harshly as Gogol discards his own name) is impossible, even irrational. 

3. Memory and Retrospect

It is no surprise that retrospect and remembrance emerge as central themes in both Reckoning and The Namesake. Gogol’s resented ‘namesake’ itself is a conduit for redemptive memory, whilst Magda ascertains the value of history to ‘salvage’ the present.

Reckoning

I wanted to know; I didn’t want to know. Without realising it I plotted a course somewhere between the two. My father, unable to get any further with his own attempts at a reckoning, had simply closed the door on the past. And now I was about to open that door. (p. 290)

Retrospect specifically becomes a vital motif in Reckoning as Szubanski uses her memoir to ‘join up the dots of [her]self’ and gain perspective on her father’s ‘unresolved and unexamined feelings’. Through her adult perspective, she reflects on her early doubts as she is finally able to appreciate and understand her heritage, reading ‘Dni Powstania’ and ‘Exodus’ on the Poles’ shame. Although Magda and Zbigniew ‘[pull] in opposite directions’ for most of her life, only by becoming the ‘collector of [Zbigniew’s]…stories’ and taping his ‘confession’ are the two brought to some level of understanding. Magda is finally able to ‘rozumiesz’ (to understand) that her father had ‘never helped the Nazis’, and on some level, ‘feel the feelings [her] father could not allow himself’. Perhaps more importantly, Zbigniew is able to share the paradoxical nature of his guilt - ‘what he had done in the name of good’ - feeling neither ‘ashamed’ nor ‘proud’ of his past. His reflection through the outlook of a ‘half old, half young’ version of himself mirrors Magda’s own introspection - in this sense, the ways in which Magda and Zbigniew are resolving (or at least learning to accept) trauma are ‘repeat[ing like]…history’ in their family. 

I was never told anything much about Luke. But my mother’s eyes—beneath the humour—were haunted by a deep, fretting sadness. Behind the querulous hypervigilance, the nitpicking, the irritability, there cowered a terrified child. A child full of panicky uncertainty about everything. I wanted to reach back and grab her hand and pull her through time and…what? I wanted to hug my mother when she was a child, to tell her everything was all right. (p. 336)

Szubanski observes how generations of poverty and war have shaped her mother’s ‘flinty’, unyielding determination to ‘just…get on with it’ and move on from adversity. Her ‘deep, fretting sadness’ hidden ‘beneath [her] humour’ is compassion and grief for her father, Luke, who ‘woke every night screaming’ after the war. This resonates strongly with Magda because her own father’s war experience mirrors Luke’s. The two families (Magda’s family, and her mother’s family) are forced to ‘[walk] on eggshells for fear of detonating [them]’. 

However, Magda is able to understand that her mother’s capricious tendency to ‘cling like a python then turn and snap like a crocodile’ is a product of her trauma, which allows Magda to understand Margaret’s character on a more intimate and genuine level. Magda, as a neglected and ‘terrified child’ with ‘panicky uncertainty’ herself, empathising with Margaret’s own troubled childhood allows Magda to offer her mother the comfort and support she craved when struggling alone beneath Zbigniew’s ‘exacting…standards’. Through this, Szubanski seems to suggest that although the legacy of trauma is an ongoing and deeply complex process, ‘reach[ing] back’ to process unresolved traumas together becomes a precious and vital way to ‘salvage’ bruised relationships. 

The Namesake

There is no question of skipping this meal; on the contrary, for ten evenings the three of them are strangely hungry, eager to taste the blandness on their plates. It is the one thing that structures their days: the sound of the food being warmed in the microwave, three plates lowered from the cupboard, three glasses filled. The rest of it—the calls, the flowers that are everywhere, the visitors, the hours they spend sitting together in the living room unable to say a word, mean nothing. Without articulating it to one another, they draw comfort from the fact that it is the only time in the day that they are alone, isolated, as a family; even if there are visitors lingering in the house, only the three of them partake of this meal. And only for its duration is their grief slightly abated, the enforced absence of certain foods on their plates conjuring his father's presence somehow. (pp. 180-181)

Even in death, Ashoke’s spirit is able to heal his fractured, grief-ridden family - truly and ultimately ‘transcend[ing] grief’, fulfilling the destiny his name’s meaning set out for him. Surrounded by meaningless condolences and forced sympathy - the ‘calls’, the ‘flowers’ and the ‘visitors’ - the Ganguli family is left ‘unable to say a word’ or process their loss in a safe and judgement-free space. The ‘mourner’s diet’ that sustains them, even in all its ‘blandness’, is able to ‘slightly [abate]’ their grief; it ‘conjur[es Ashoke’s] presence’ and unites the ‘isolated’ Gangulis ‘as a family’. Ironically, these cultural traditions that young Gogol so adamantly refused become the ‘only thing that seems to make sense’. Preserving and honouring Ashoke’s memory, this forsaken custom becomes an unanticipated lifeline for a family torn apart by cultural expectations, irreconcilable differences and shared tragedy. 

"Try to remember it always," he said once Gogol had reached him, leading him slowly back across the breakwater, to where his mother and Sonia stood waiting. "Remember that you and I made this journey, that we went together to a place where there was nowhere left to go." (p. 187)

Unlike Magda and Zbigniew who are able to reconnect in life, Gogol’s own poignant flashbacks with his father are cherished only after his death. However, it is only with this hindsight that Gogol is truly able to appreciate these initially resented, perhaps forgotten, moments as meaningful connections to his family. Gogol’s relationship with his father is tragically underpinned by a lifetime of misinterpretations and misunderstood trauma, the two unable to understand each other’s disparate outlooks on life and culture. However, when they visit Cape Cod both Gogol and Ashoke are, if only momentarily, pioneers. They are exposed to the world, just as Ashoke had been when he migrated to America; the two travelling ‘together to a place where there was nowhere left to go’. 

Gogol indeed grapples with a desire for stability and meaning throughout his entire life, bewildered by the ‘unintended’ series of ‘defining and distressing’ events. However, family indeed becomes the source of true security for Gogol. ‘Remember[ing]…always’, he preserves the memory of his father, and resistant to time and change, it remains a comforting constant amidst the ‘randomness’ that characterises and complicates his family’s life.

Contents

1. Summary
2. What Is Magical Realism?
3. Themes
4. Symbols and Analysis
5. Quotes
6. Sample Essay Topics
7. Essay Topic Breakdown

1. Summary

Flames is a bit of an out-there story right from the beginning: Levi is attempting to build a coffin for his sister Charlotte because the women in their family come back to life after dying. Neither of them is that close to dying - both are young adults. Charlotte doesn’t really want a coffin so she runs away from home, as far as she can while still remaining in Tasmania at least, and Robbie Arnott takes us on this adventure through interweaving perspectives and rich imagery of his home island.

Some of these perspectives are surprising and unexpected, ranging from a hardcore private investigator to a river god in the form of a water rat, but each of them earns their place in the story. Our job when studying this text is to follow these shifts in perspectives and make sense of how they contribute to the overall text. If you’re writing creatively, you may want to play around with this sort of structure as well in your piece.

2. What Is Magical Realism?

Before we get stuck into the text itself, it might be useful to first discuss its genre. Magical realism books tend to be extremely confusing if you’re not familiar with the genre (and sometimes even when you are!). This is because authors in this genre will typically set their stories in the real world (in this case, in Tasmania), but they’ll add supernatural elements, which vary wildly from story to story.

Let’s unpack the genre a bit more, in particular, what it involves and why it’s used.

Elements of Magical Realism

The most important element of magical realism is that it blends the real world with fantastical elements. In Flames, the most obvious example is gods: gods don’t exist as far as we know, but they walk among humans and play key roles in this text. Less obvious examples of fantastical elements include the wombat farm at Melaleuca (fortunately nobody actually skins wombats) as well as the Oneblood tuna and (unfortunately!) the pet seals.

The fact that these examples are narrated as perfectly normal is another element of magical realism: the author usually operates as if the fantastical elements are perfectly real. We, as readers, enter a world where the existence of these magical things is taken for granted by the characters.

Purpose of Magical Realism

This blurring of the lines between real and magical is primarily supposed to suspend our disbelief: we can’t really be sure what’s real about the novel’s world and what isn’t. All we know is that in many respects, it looks like our own. Within this familiar setting, Arnott lets his own imagination run wild and leaves the reader to figure out the rest. This helps to create a sense of wonder, as if these elements could be real and as magical as described.

These elements also contribute to the story in other ways: in particular, they open up new possibilities for commentary. For example, the voice of the South Esk god is used to highlight the impacts of colonialism and the “blood-tasting tang of iron” that was brought with it.

Other Magical Realism Books

If you’re liking the sound of this genre and/or if you enjoyed Flames, there’s plenty more to discover in the way of magical realism. It’s a hallmark of Latin American literature (Isabel Allende, Gabriel García Márquez), and it’s also been picked up in Japan by the likes of Haruki Murakami. A prominent Australian example is Carpentaria by Alexis Wright.

3. Themes

Death and Grief

Let’s move more closely into Flames, starting with its central theme of death and grief. It’s what defines this central point of tension between Levi and Charlotte throughout the novel, since it starts with their divergent responses to their mother’s death (and reincarnation etc.). Their divergent responses suggest that there’s no one way to cope with death, and their father’s reaction on top of that introduces further complexity: he disappears from their lives altogether, “not want[ing] to be close to them when they [died]”. Between the three of them, there are three very different expressions of grief.

But Edith McAllister is not the only death of significance in the novel. Another standout is the passing of Karl’s seal, after which he becomes haunted by “clicks”; he subsequently leaves tuna-hunting behind. The death of the South Esk god is also explored as causing grief, this time in the form of divine emotional outpouring, “a cloud’s sorrow”. Arnott is thus exploring many processes of grieving, from solitude and callousness to physical and emotional labour.

Family Relationships

Outside of these moments of grieving, Arnott explores the background relationships between family members as well. Again, Levi and Charlotte are central to this. As siblings, they don’t always see eye to eye: “Levi and I have never understood each other”. However, that does not diminish their love for each other, particularly as they were left alone after their mother’s death. Their father Jack again makes this dynamic more complicated: he sees an “unbridgeable gap” between himself and Levi for example, but the omniscient third-person narrator in that chapter knows otherwise. Consider what difference it makes when Arnott writes in first person from within these relationships (as he does with Charlotte) versus when he writes in third person, observing from outside.

We also see interesting relationships between Karl and his daughter Nicola. Unlike the McAllisters, the two of them are remarkably close despite his ongoing grief for his seal: “nothing could match the blaze of love in her father’s smile”.

Romantic Relationships

Nicola crops up again under this theme, as she begins to navigate a relationship with Charlotte. In a book review for The Guardian, Sam Jordison argues that this is a bit trite, but we can think of it as one perspective on how relationships begin: organically and sincerely, and out of a desire to protect someone else. By contrast, the start of Jack and Edith’s relationship was founded on something more artificial and manipulative, a “tiny spark” which he ignited in her mind.

This is bookended with romantic relationships that have come to an end, as explored through the eyes of the private investigator: her and her ex-husband, Graham Malik, have settled into something of an “ecosystem”. With these various beginnings and endings, Arnott shows how it can be natural - or supernatural - to fall in and out of love.

Colonisation

Finally, this novel touches on the impacts of colonisation. It’s a few quiet allusions here and there, but they are important: Arnott acknowledges the impact of colonisation on the natural landscape of his birthplace. He does this firstly through the eyes of the South Esk god, who observes the “foul industries” of the “loud, pale apes” when they first arrived on palawa and pakana land, the land we now know as Tasmania.

Arnott also explores colonisation through the eyes of Jack, who experiences racism when taking on the human form of an Aboriginal person. He wanted to learn more about how European colonisers were using fire, but he found “they reacted poorly to his dark appearance”. Meanwhile, First Nations people in Tasmania were being “hunted in their own homeland”, and he chooses not to intervene.

As immortal outside observers, their perspectives are the only ones in the novel that can really trace this history. Arnott might be including them so readers take his descriptions of nature with a grain of salt: even as we appreciate Australia’s beautiful landscape, it’s worth acknowledging its custodians who have kept it that way for tens of thousands of years.

4. Symbols & Analysis

Supernatural Creatures

We’ve traced the major purposes of these deities already, but to reiterate them here these ‘gods’ symbolise different parts of nature and the wonder Arnott derives from them. Although nature is already alive, these figures help it feel even more so. They also serve the important purpose of highlighting and acknowledging Tasmania’s colonial history, as well as the disconnect between humankind and nature.

Water

The one natural element worth discussing as its own symbol is water. There are many bodies of water identified in the novel, from rivers and lakes to the ocean, and they each have their own significance. For example, rivers connect parts of the natural landscape while lakes (particularly Crater Lake) represent a getaway, solace, solitude and peace.

The ocean is the most complex of these symbols though: it’s all around the island of Tasmania, and it appears to be a vicious and unforgiving place filled with orcas and tunas the size of “mountains”. But it’s also a place that brings calm to Edith and Charlotte, and even Levi as a child. Arnott canvasses all of these different relationships to nature through the different manifestations of water. Water even exists as rain, which in the novel’s denouement represents a new beginning, a washing away of past tensions and conflicts.

5. Quotes

Levi

• “My sister is struggling to cope with the loss…I cannot allow her pain to continue.”
• “They (Levi and Jack) were so alike” 

Charlotte

• “The tears were flames, and they were coming from within Charlotte.”
• “Levi and I have never understood each other” 

Gods

• “Some wore fur and feathers and watched over the creatures they resembled… Some, like a blood-hungry bird spirit he encountered deep in the southwest, were cruel. Most were calm, seeking only to care for the creatures and land that they felt drawn closest to.”
• “He (the South Esk god) continued on, soothing his rage in a simple, humble way - by nipping screws out of the hull of an idle jetski”
• “Living with humans did not work”
  

6. Sample Essay Topics

• More than anything else, Flames illustrates the importance of family. Discuss.
• Levi McAllister is the hero of Flames. Do you agree?
• How does genre contribute to the storytelling effect of Flames?
• What is the effect of shifting narrative perspectives as used in Flames?
• “I could have spoken to him but he would not have listened.” What does Arnott say around family? 

7. Essay Topic Breakdown

Whenever you get a new essay topic, you can use LSG’s THINK and EXECUTE strategy, a technique to help you write better VCE essays. This essay topic breakdown will focus on the THINK part of the strategy. If you’re unfamiliar with this strategy, then check it out in How To Write A Killer Text Response.

Within the THINK strategy, we have 3 steps, or ABC. These ABC components are:

Step 1: Analyse

Step 2: Brainstorm

Step 3: Create a Plan

How does genre contribute to the storytelling effect of Flames?

Step 1: Analyse

When talking about the genre of this text, we’ll definitely need to discuss magical realism. The question here is about how magical realism enriches or contributes to the story, so it might be worth breaking down the elements of magical realism and thinking through each of them one-by-one. The fact that this prompt is framed as a ‘how’ question (one of the 5 types of essay questions) also means we’ll have to bring in Arnott and how he chooses to tell the story.

Step 2: Brainstorm

One magical realism element Arnott adopts is the gods, who play a few roles symbolically in the novel, but there are other elements too: the seals, the flames, the cormorants and so on. Do these elements add as much as the gods, and if so, what are they adding?

Consider also not just the elements as they appear, but also how Arnott is treating them. The fact that a lot of them are taken for granted as perfectly normal is in itself another genre element.

Step 3: Create a Plan

Instead of talking about the elements too disparately or separately, I think a lot of them revolve around this central question of how humans relate to the earth and to one another. This will help connect my ideas to one another.

Paragraph 1: Elements of magical realism show how humans adversely impact nature

• Nature is a huge part of the story: around the island, we see everything from beaches and rivers to “undulating moorlands of peat and buttongrass”. Sometimes, these elements are personified as deities (e.g. South Esk god) – this is where genre comes in, since these deities are supernatural or ‘magical’, though they are written to exist in our world.
• These voices, made possible by magical realism, highlight the impact of human industry on the environment: for example the “blood-tasting tang of iron” that seeps into Tasmania’s waterways.
• Even Jack and Edith’s relationship could be seen as a metaphorical take on our incompatibility with nature: “living with humans did not work”.

Paragraph 2: At the same time, not all humans contribute equally to this pollution, and magical elements also facilitate commentary on this perspective

• Before European colonisers arrived in Australia, the land had been tended to by the First Nations peoples for over 60,000 years - and pollution had been minimal. We cannot blame the entire human race equally for the deteriorating natural environment (see this Instagram post for an explanation!).
• This is pointed out by the South Esk god: it is the “pale apes” who are trying to “swamp[] over everything”.
• Jack, the deity of flame, also recognises this, although he is far more complicit: “he liked learning from the pale people more than he wanted to help” Aboriginal people.
• Magical realism adds this historical and political dimension to the narrative.

Paragraph 3: However, Arnott’s use of magical realism also shows possibilities for ‘ideal’ relationships between humans, and between humans and nature

• This paragraph gets to draw on some examples that aren’t just the deities: the seals for example coexist really poetically with humans, “the half of themselves they had been born without” (these were inspired by dogs, by the way).
• Plus, even though Jack and Edith’s relationship was founded on a lie, Arnott is able to use that as a point of contrast for the relationship between Charlotte and Nicola, born from Nicola’s “desire to help”, plus her “fast and firm” attraction to Charlotte. This relationship is highly organic, and the ‘magical’ relationship between Charlotte’s parents proves a useful foil.
• Even though some textual elements are exaggerated because of genre, Arnott still manages to use magical realism to highlight what might be possible, inviting the reader to imagine possibilities for harmony between people and nature within their own worlds.

Flames is usually studied in the Australian curriculum under Area of Study 1 - Text Response. For a detailed guide on Text Response, check out our Ultimate Guide to VCE Text Response.

Alfred Hitchcock’s classic thriller Rear Window was released nearly 65 years ago. Back then, Hitchcock was a controversial filmmaker just starting to make waves and build his influence in Hollywood; now, he is one of the most widely celebrated directors of the 20th century. At the time of its 1954 release, Rear Window emerged into a world freshly shaken by World War II. The fear of communism riddled American society and Cold War tensions were escalating between the two global superpowers, the USSR and USA. Traditional gender stereotypes and marital roles were beginning to be challenged, yet the ‘old way’ continued to prevail. The culture of the 1950s could hardly be more different to what it is today. Within the Western world, the birth of the 21st century has marked the decline of cemented expectations and since been replaced by social equality regardless of gender, sexual preference and age. So why, six decades after its original release and in a world where much of its content appears superficially outdated, do we still analyse the film Rear Window?

Rear Window is a film primarily concerned with the events which L.B. (Jeff) Jefferies, a photographer incapacitated by an accident which broke his leg, observes from the window of his apartment. He spends his days watching the happenings of the Greenwich Village courtyard, which enables Jeff to peer into the apartments and lives of local residents. The curiosities which exist in such an intimate setting fulfil Jeff’s instinctual need to watch. The act of observing events from a secure distance is as tempting as reality television and magazines. To this day, these mediums provide entertainment tailored to popular culture. At its roots, Jeff’s role as a voyeur within Rear Window is designed to satisfy his intense boredom in a state of injury. As the film is seen through Jeff’s voyeuristic eyes, the audience become voyeurs within their own right. Until relations between Thorwald and his wife simmer into territory fraught with danger, Jeff’s actions are the harmless activities of a man searching for entertainment.

So, if Rear Window teaches us that voyeurism is a dangerous yet natural desire, does the film comment on the individuals who consent to being watched? Within Greenwich Village, Jeff’s chance to act as an observer is propelled by the indifference of those he observes. Almost without exception, his neighbours inadvertently permit Jeff’s eyes wandering into their apartments by leaving their blinds up. The private elements of others’ lives, including their domestic duties, marital relations and indecencies, are paraded before Jeff. Greenwich Village is his picture show and its residents willingly raise the stage’s curtains. This presentation of Hitchcock’s 1954 statement remains relevant today. Jeff’s neighbours’ consent to his intrusion into their lives bears striking similarities to current indifference. The prevalence of social media enables information to be gathered as soon as its users click the ‘Accept Terms & Conditions’ button. Rear Window is a commentary on social values and provokes its audience to examine habits of their own, especially in a world where sensitive information is at our fingertips. Just as Hitchcock’s 1954 characters invite perversive eyes to inspect their lives, society today is guilty of the same apathy.

The characters of Hitchcock’s thriller are a pivotal element of the film’s construction. They add layers of depth to the text and fulfil roles central to the plot’s development. One of Hitchcock’s fundamental directorial decisions was leaving multiple characters unnamed – within Greenwich Village alone, we meet Miss Lonelyhearts, Miss Torso and Miss Hearing Aid. The stereotypical nature of these labels, based on superficial traits that Jeff observes from his window, exemplifies the sexism prevalent in the 1950s. Jeff’s knowledge of these women is limited to such an extent that he does not know their names, yet considers himself qualified enough to develop labels for each of them. The historical background of stereotypes is imbedded within Rear Window and shares vast similarities with the stereotypes we recognise today.

Hitchcock’s 1954 thriller Rear Window portrays a little world that represents the larger one. Its themes, primarily voyeurism, and character profiles illustrate Hitchcock’s societal messages and provide a running commentary on issues which govern America during the 1950s. In the six decades since the film’s release, the Western world has undergone significant developments both socially and culturally. L.B (Jeff) Jefferies’ perception of women and married life is inconsistent with the relations between men and women that we observe today. Regardless, the timeless views that Hitchcock’s conveys through Rear Window continue to speak volumes about our society. Jeff’s voyeurism, which comprises much of the film’s major plotline, is a channel for Hitchcock to comment about the instinctual desire for individuals to observe others. Additionally, Hitchcock delves into the flip side of this matter, presenting the theory that those he watches are just as guilty of allowing his intrusion into their private lives. Apathetic mindsets in today’s digital world are responsible for the same indifference that Hitchcock explores within his film. Let’s not forget the sexist stereotypes that Jeff develops to label certain women within Greenwich Village. Miss Lonelyhearts, Miss Torso and Miss Hearing Aid are all victims of Jeff’s narrow mindset towards women, emphasised by these superficial and demeaning names. Stereotypes remain as apparent within society today as they were within the world of Rear Window and can be identified within the media’s diverse presentation of social issues. It is easy to assume that Hitchcock’s 1954 thriller, Rear Window, lacks the relevancy we expect from films. Contrary to this perception, its ingrained messages are fundamentally true to this day.

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Metalanguage is language that describes language. In films, we also need to consider cinematography – the technical side in the making of the film. For a detailed discussion, see What is metalanguage? 

The prospect of writing a Text Response or Comparative essay on a film can be daunting—it’s difficult to know how to identify filmic devices let alone analyse why the director has used them to give meaning to particular scenes. To start us off, below are some filmic devices commonly used by directors that all students should be aware of when studying films.

Filmic devices

Camera shots

This refers to the amount of space that is seen in one frame, which can be used to emphasise different aspects of the film’s setting or characters.

Example: An extreme close up of a character’s face to portray their emotions.

Camera angles

The way in which the audience is positioned to view the setting or character/s. This can enhance the audience’s understanding of the relationship between characters, or the way in which a character is feeling in a particular situation.

Example: a low camera angle can be used to demonstrate how a character is feeling empowered at a particular point in the film.

Sound

Any sound where the source of it can be seen in the scene (or is implied to be present) 

Example: Voices, are diegetic. Any sound that comes from outside the scene itself, for example, soundtrack, is non-diegetic. We can analyse the way in which sound enhances the mood of the film.

In the Made in Dagenham clip above, diegetic sound such as the pouring rain, spoons tapping on cups, radio in the background are all used to offer viewers a 'real' sense that we're in the cafe too.

Lighting

The way in which the scene is lit can create interesting effects in what it suggest about the characters in the scene.

Example: if the main source of light comes from the side of the screen, lighting up one side of a character’s face, this can create a sense of mystery.

Costume

How a character is dressed in any given scene is very important; their clothes can say a lot about their present state of mind or their physical situation.

In-depth analysis using Mabo

Even once we know all this, it can still be difficult to use these devices as evidence to support our ideas in a text response essay. So let’s put our knowledge into practice and take a look at a few scenes from the film Mabo, directed by Rachel Perkins.

Opening scene: Perkins uses a series of long shots of Murray Island in the opening scenes of the film, with high camera angles. This is done to contextualise the setting, as well as foreshadow the great significance the land will have on the events of the film. The subsequent low camera angle shots of the trees on the island present them as being tall and majestic. Paired with the upbeat, vibrant native music (non-diegetic sound) that is playing, it is evident that Perkins is celebrating the beauty of the land and emphasising its importance, not just in the film, but in the islanders’ lives.

Benny Mabo and a young Eddie walking the beach: a mid-shot is initially used in this scene to show father and son walking in the water. This alludes to the strength of the connection that the Mabos have to the island in depicting them as being immersed in water. The subsequent close ups of their faces, conveying their contentment, with the waves of the ocean in the background, indicate that this connection to the land goes beyond the mere fact that they live there; the pair are shown to have a profound spiritual and emotional connection with the island. This is emphasised by the soft, peaceful music that plays alongside Benny’s recital of Malo’s law.  

Killoran exiles Eddie off Murray Island: side lighting is used in this scene to shadow some of Killoran’s face. This has a sinister effect. It suggests that his intentions toward Eddie are not honest, and further symbolises the corruption and lack of transparency in the Australian government in their dealings with the Indigenous. The cloud of cigarette smoke that surrounds him further highlights he toxicity of his presence on Murray Island, as does the solemn, foreboding music that plays throughout his conversation with Eddie. The close up shots of Eddie’s face convey the strength of his resolve in refusing to “[work] as a slave” for Killoran in penance for his crime.

Eddie on the railway tracks: this scene is all about Eddie’s internal conflict; his desire to return to his homeland, and the allure of the opportunities that the ‘mainland’ offers him (in particular, Bonita). The high camera angle is used to show him dancing across the railway tracks, which is heavy with symbolism, representing the choice between his old and new life. The close ups of his face as he sings his native song convey his emotional attachment to Murray Island and the depth of his despair at

not being able to return to it. His costume is comprised of old, dirty clothing, which is representative of his confused, weary and sorrowful state of mind. Yet the use of backlighting as he dances suggests that his decision to embrace his new life on the mainland will empower him. It further foreshadows the significance of this choice in enabling him to pursue the land rights case.

The Indigenous protest: Perkins deliberately uses archival/stock footage in this scene to enhance the viewer’s experience of the Indigenous’ protest at the Mayday march. By using real life footage from this actual historical event, Perkins adds authenticity to this scene, in order to effectively convey the importance of Eddie’s decision to participate. The high angle shots, and long shots, are used to show the sheer number of people who were fighting for change. The music quickens in pace to indicate a change, a turning point in Eddie’s life, in which he can no longer overlook the racism that his people have suffered. The close ups of his and his wife’s face during this scene express their passion and determination in supporting this cause, as well as their strong love for each other.

List of film techniques

These are just a few examples of the way in which you can use the techniques discussed to make your ideas more credible in text response essays. Some teachers may say that these filmic devices are a secondary source of evidence, but I believe they are equally as important as quotes in demonstrating a thorough understanding of the text—as long as you analyse why the director has chosen to include them.

Remember: the director only has a certain amount of time to tell the story, so every scene is important, and every technique is deliberate. That being said, don’t use these devices at the expense of quotations! 

This study guide is written by Gabrielle O'Hagen (Mabo examples), and Lisa Tran.

For a detailed guide on Comparative, check out our Ultimate Guide to VCE Comparative.

Why Is the Context Important?

Understanding the context of the texts you are studying is essential if you are to satisfactorily respond to any prompt (learn about the 5 types of prompts here). Not only does it provide an insight into the society of the time and their views and values, it also allows for greater awareness of the characters’ motivations, resulting in a richer discussion in your essays. Discussing the context of the texts also makes for an ideal comparison which can be incorporated in the introduction as well as the body paragraphs. Moreover, context paragraphs are a great tool to have up your sleeves, as they can easily be adapted to almost every essay question, a real asset when attempting to write an essay in an hour. 

In this blog post, I will be giving a brief overview of the contexts of the play The Crucible by Arthur Miller and Rosalie Ham’s The Dressmaker. Further down, I have also provided a sample paragraph as an example of a way in which I would go about writing a context paragraph in response to an essay prompt concerning the two texts. Both of these texts are set in fascinating and significant eras of human history so I invite you to conduct your own research after reading this! 

At first glance, the town of Salem, Massachusetts in 1692 and Dungatar, Victoria in 1950s Australia have little in common; however, both towns exist in stifling geographical isolation, allow myopic and parochial outlooks to flourish, and maintain an irrational but overwhelming fear of ‘the other.’ 

The Crucible, Arthur Miller

The Crucible is set in 1692 in Salem. The provincial, conservative town was established by English Puritans who, fearing persecution, fled from a Britain dominated by The Church of England. The first Puritans to arrive in Salem faced brutal conditions, including 'marauding Indians' and living on a 'barbaric frontier' that lay close to the 'dark and threatening…virgin forest' that they believed to be the 'devil’s last preserve'. In order to overcome these challenges, the people of Salem were forced to unify and remain diligent. In order to ensure efficiency, a strict and rigid way of life was adopted, where work and prayer were championed and individual freedoms and pleasures abhorred. Though this harsh way of life did allow the Salemites to stay alive, it forced them to suppress various natural human emotions such as joy and anger, so as to not detract from work and prayer. Further, the town had limited their interaction with the outside world, compelling them to instead be constantly surrounded by each other. This hazardous combination of repression of emotions and interaction with only a small pool of people spurred private jealousies and vengeance within the townspeople, and it is here that the play commences.

The Dressmaker, Rosalie Ham

In contrast, Ham’s novel takes place in 1950s rural Australia, in the fictional town of Dungatar. Despite being set centuries after The Crucible, Dungatar is rife with the same parochialism (great word to use for both texts, referring to a limited/ narrow outlook), resentment and gossip as Salem. The town’s physical isolation - it is surrounded by 'wheat, yellow plains' and seems to be a 'dark blot shimmering on the edge of flatness' - corresponded with their metaphoric isolation from global events, creating an intense fear of ‘the other’. Further, similarly to The Crucible, the stark physical isolation ensures that each individual’s social interactions are limited to the town’s small population, fostering a breeding ground for narrow-mindedness and prejudice. Ham’s description of the way 'the crowd screamed with lust, revenge, joy, hate and elation' after a local football match win reveals the underlying emotions of the town, repressed behind a veneer of respectability and perceived moral propriety. All it takes is a stimulus, which arrives in the form of outcast Tilly Dunnage, to uncover the malicious undertones of the provincial town. 

Example Context Paragraph

During VCE, I tended to use my first paragraph (in response to an essay prompt) as a way to explore the context of the texts I was studying, and relate the context to the essay prompt being addressed (learn more about the different types of essay prompts here). In this case, the prompt I have responded to is:

‍Compare the ways in which The Crucible and The Dressmaker portray divided societies. 

I was able to adapt much of this paragraph below to whatever essay prompts I came across. 

The geographical isolation of rural, parochial towns can breed a kind of myopia amongst inhabitants and promote binary thinking. Salem is situated on the 'edge of wilderness’, with the 'American continent stretching endlessly West’. The 'dark and threatening' forest which ominously surrounds the town is believed to be 'the last place on earth not paying homage to God’, inciting the irrational fear that 'the virgin’s forest was the Devil’s last preserve' (1). To combat the imminent threat of the 'marauding Indians' upon their arrival in Salem, the Salemites maintained that 'in unity…lay the best promise of safety’, and hence were governed as 'an autocracy by consent' (2). Similarly, in The Dressmaker, the town of Dungatar 'stretches as far as the silos' and is described as a 'dark blot shimmering on the edge of flatness’. 'The green eye of the oval' is a physical representation of the town’s predilection for prejudice and endorsement of slyly watching others (3). The stifling insularity experienced by both towns perpetuates a paucity of culture and 'parochial snobbery’, as well as fostering austere social expectations (4). The totalitarian regime that governed Salem and their 'strict and sombre way of life' conditioned the people of Salem to repress natural human emotions so as to conform to the conservative and rigid values of society. Indeed, Miller’s description of the 'small windowed dark houses struggling against the raw Massachusetts winter' alludes to the Salemites’ dogmatically narrow-minded outlook and their repression of any individuality. Hence, despite the veneer of propriety upheld by Salem’s 'sect of fanatics’, the town is rife with hidden resentments and 'long-held hatreds of neighbours' (5). Whilst moral respectability and piety conceal the true sentiments of the people of Salem, clothing is the mask for the 'liars, sinners and hypocrites' of Dungatar (6). Though on the surface the town appears respectable, the true desires of 'the sour people of Dungatar' are revealed through their desire 'to look better than everybody else’. Their lack of connection with the outside world forces their constant interaction with one another and means that 'everybody knows everything about everyone' (7). Thus, Miller and Ham postulate that geographical isolation inevitably forges unyielding social norms that repress human emotions and pits individuals against each other (8).

‍Annotations
(1) In these two sentences, I’ve provided the geographical context of Salem.  
‍(2) My description of the geographical location is followed quickly by describing the town’s beliefs and values, which have a large impact on the social context. 
‍(3) Here, I’ve used the geographical context as a metaphor to explain the social context of Dungatar.
‍(4) I’ve described a similarity between the two towns - remember to use lots of meaningful comparisons in all paragraphs (LSG’s CONVERGENT and DIVERGENT strategy is a useful strategy for this). 
‍(5) I’ve detailed how the societal expectations and values of the Salemites (the people of Salem) can impact the behaviour of the characters. 
‍(6) Here, I’ve outlined a subtle difference (or divergence) between Dungatar and Salem. 
‍(7) Once again, I’ve related the townspeople’s values and beliefs, as well as the physical context, to their behaviour.
‍(8) I’ve ended with a meaningful comparison between the intent of the two authors. 

Looking for more? Check out our other blog posts on The Crucible and The Dressmaker:

The Crucible by Arthur Miller

The Dressmaker by Rosalie Ham

Comparing The Crucible and The Dressmaker