What to expect when you read Bulgakov's Master and Margarita

An article I wrote for Yuppee Magazine - published 28/12/12

Expect the unexpected...

Admittedly, the title is somewhat 
suggestive of Christian Grey at a cocktail party. I am sorry to disappoint all the 50 Shades fans out there, but this is not the case. As a classic, The Master and Margarita is a definitively cerebral work of literature: I fully expected it to be one of those books that would take me months to read and, on turning the last page, I'd congratulate myself on having run an intellectual marathon, cross-eyed from the confusion of nuances that only the most educated of scholars can decode. Do not be seduced by this expectation. Whilst The Master and Margarita is certainly one of the most complex books I've ever read, it is also a captivating tale of love, courage and black magic...

Click here to read the rest...



© Francesca Ebel D-504 blog

Generation XXX: should we accept that Porn is now a force to be reckoned with?

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Impressions of a lost history

Message from the writer: apologies for the long silence, I will be mainly working off my travel blog for this year http://thetrobaritz.blogspot.co.uk/

Last weekend I finally made it to Foix and Montségur. For want of a better word, I can only describe the trip as magical. When we disembarked from the train at Foix it was pouring with rain and the temperature was quickly dropping to zero. This actually made the scene more dramatic: the whistling winds and curtains of mist hanging over the Pyrenean peaks gave the fortress a slightly eerie quality - this was later reinforced at Montségur when we were reminded of the conditions the Catholic soldiers had had to endure throughout the duration of a year long seige! What struck me about Foix was how small the castle and town were in comparison to the power the Counts had once wielded: their sphere of influence stretched from Northern Spain to almost half of the Midi-Pyrenean region, yet the town is situated in one of the most isolated and uninhabited places in France.

Foix

Montségur was everything I expected it to be. Towering above a tiny village, the ruins of the castle remain a testament to the impact of the Cathars. For those of you who are interested (if you’re not then I advise you to skip this paragraph), Catharism was a religious movement that flourished in the 11th & 12th centuries (its origins have been traced back to Bulgaria) – the Cathars, or “Cathari” (the purified), believed in dualism and they rejected the material world and the sinful act of fornication… and, infact, anything that had been created through coitus (they did not eat meat or fish). As Catharism spread throughout the Languedoc region in the 1200s, the challenge to the catholic doctrine and papal authority became clearer. In 1209, Innocent III waged a crusade on the whole of Occitania. 45 years of bloodshed and massacre ultimately led to the breakup of Occitanian autonomy, the institutionalisation of the medieval inquisition and the eventual unification of France after the Treaty of Paris in 1229. As Luchaire wrote in 1905, “Everyone, from Innocent III on, had worked, struggled, and suffered, without realising it, for the benefit of the king of France.” It is for this reason that the Albigensian crusades are so pivotal in French history.

The top of Montségur: the views were incredible and the sun even came out for us!

Paradoxically, the fortress that now stands at Montségur was built by the very soldiers that massacred the "perfects" (the most zealous of all those in the Cathar hierarchy) in 1244. The skeletal remains of heretics' settlement can still be seen protruding from the steep slopes of the mountain. What I hadn't grasped was the importance of the site. Montségur had been the Cathars' official headquarters – its downfall in 1244 marked the beginning of the end of heresy in Occitania. It was a self-sufficient, highly pious society - its steep slopes and strong natural defences made it almost impregnable. With only a narrow winding road in the face of high winds as an access point, it is a wonder that a fully-armoured French army were able to besiege the fortress. The site is not without mystery: historians continue to debate how a settlement of 500 people could function without a natural source of water; whilst local inhabitants continue to search for the lost network of caves that are mentoined in medieval documents and most certainly contain the answers to the hundreds of questions that surround Catharism and the crusades.

The shrine that stands at the foot of the mountain - 800 years on, locals still lay wreaths of flowers here in rememberance of the "two hundred men and women [who] joyfully entered the flames rather than betray their religion."

© Francesca Ebel D-504 blog

Queen Viktoria

[Image from The Times]

If you’ve been following the Paralympics this month I’m sure you’ll agree that they have been a source of inspiration. Not only have the games proved that, no matter what, humanity is limitless; they have served as a platform for raising awareness about disabilities. They are a symbol of determination and commitment. Every Paralympian who has taken part is a role-model, supporting the Olympic Committee’s motto: Inspire a generation.

However, it’s not just Paralympians who have defied physical hindrances. At last night’s closing ceremony, the world caught a glimpse of one of pop’s  “bravest chanteuses”: singer/ songwriter and model Viktoria Modesta. Posing within a cage of ice as a Snow Queen, Latvian-born Modesta continued to do what she is infamous for: challenging our modern perception of altered beauty. In 2007, Viktoria’s leg was amputated after a lifetime of operations and medical complications. At birth she had been pulled out sideways which resulted in the dislocation of her hip. Negligent doctors left her leg in plaster for too long, destroying the nerves and stunting her natural growth. From birth to adolescence, Viktoria’s life was dominated by nine intensive operations – on one horrific occasion her heart stopped beating mid-procedure. Talking about her early experience of post-soviet healthcare, Viktoria said “On the whole these operations were a series of terrible medical mistakes in Eastern European hospitals that made the problem worse, instead of better.” After moving to London in 1999, she underwent a voluntary amputation so that she could walk properly: she fought to convince her doctor that would make her happier. Now, instead of hiding her missing limb, Viktoria flaunts it. Consequently, she has become an icon and an inspiration to many.

The combination of her unique features and resilient character contribute to her impressive and statuesque presence: her style is entirely her own – dramatic and provocative, she pushes the boundaries as both a haute-couture and fetish model. Viktoria launched her music career in 2009 and was selected as one of the six best unsigned artists in the UK by Evo Music Rooms on Channel 4. Her recent single ‘Only You’ is an eclectic mix of influences: R&B beats, pop, synth and strings. Hailed as “a breath-takingly modern musician”,and her voice is strong and unusual with a hint of Amy Winehouse and Florence Welch welded to her own sultry tones.

At 24, Viktoria has a name in both the underground fashion and music scenes and on the mainstream stage. Her fundamental principle is “to reach your potential no matter what you’re doing” – an attitude which has undoubtedly been the root of her success. Despite her disability she has proved, like the Paralympian athletes, that any ambition is possible.

Sources

http://www.viktoriamodesta.com/

http://www.wonderlandmagazine.com/2012/04/the-rise-and-rise-viktoria-modesta/

http://www.jonenoch.com/blog/?p=131

'Who's that girl?' post @ Reene Ruin

© Francesca Ebel D-504 blog

Be not afeard, the isle is full of noises...

ALERT: a public display of patriotism is about to take place. Shield your eyes, wee and impressionable folk.

The Olympics opening ceremony inspired me to clarify how I really feel about my own country. Having suffered from a case of wanderlust from a tender age, I have never felt a true sense of patriotism. Nevertheless, reading back over my thread of tweets from Friday evening I was appalled to find I’d morphed into a monstrous drooling, brainwashed CHAUVINIST*: quips such as “Urghhh america does NOT rule the waves I tell you! #rule Britannia” can be found lurking amongst my more defiant messages of outrage at the MET’s Critical Mass arrests.

I have been apprehensive about the future effect of London 2012, not least; the financial burden it might unleash – Greece is living proof that an economic boost is not guaranteed. But for what it’s worth, Danny Boyle and London 2012 have undoubtedly managed to ‘inspire a generation’: not solely in sport (my own bum will forever remain comfortably glued to this sofa) but in remembering that we’ve all got a part to play. Symbolic of this, were Boyle’s use of ordinary citizens rather than expert dancers and actors, and his granting of the cauldron lighting honour to this generation’s most promising athletes.

Danny Boyle did Britain bloody proud, especially those of us sitting smugly in the left-wing spectrum: I was pleased to see the glorification of the NHS, the CND, multiculturalism, the industrial revolution, the suffragettes, the evolution of social media, and London’s hip-hop scene. Everything I personally hold close to my red, white and blue core was showcased to the world. It made me shamelessly proud of my country and the British people. In a nutshell, Boyle artfully presented the humorous and eccentric face of modern London that is so different to the traditional image of monarchy, bowler hats and tea. I salute him.

My contempt for the British political system was also given a well-deserved slap. Whilst our politicians are, for the most part, total slimeballs (ironically exemplified during the ceremony by Aidan Burley, MP for Cannock Chase, with his insensitive tweet: "Thank God the athletes have arrived! Now we can move on from leftie multi-cultural crap...") it was a fairly poignant moment when I was prompted by a fellow tweeter to “try counting up how many of these countries are actively killing their own citizens right now”. Indeed, the “bigger picture” question for me that evening was: what is the weight of a biased electoral system in comparison to the daily, brutal massacre of hundreds of innocent men, women and children?

My mum was convinced Kenneth Branagh was Bradley Wiggins...Can't blame her really

This moment just ROCKED.

*Readers: if this confuses you, familiarise yourself with the original meaning of this word... i implore you


© Francesca Ebel D-504 blog