After successfully negotiating AS Levels in French, English, History and Psychology, lo and behold, here comes the onslaught of Year 13. Homework, university applications, extra reading, an EPQ are just a few things on my never-ending to-do list for the moment. In following with Paradise Prose custom (thanks to schoolwork, this has happened before), the website is going to sleep for some time. Stay tuned for more posts in the near future – once I’ve somewhat emerged from this work flood! Keep reading and readjoicing, Shreya
‘Mirror’ appears like a relatively simple poem. However, in no way does it lack depth: narrated from the point of view of a personified mirror, we witness the coming and going of a woman who looks in and reacts bitterly to what she sees. What I found most stunning about this poem were the contrasts. We never know first-hand what […]
In the literary community, there seems to be quite a debate on whether Dorothea Brooke from George Eliot’s Middlemarch is a truly “satisfactory” character. Feminist critics such as Lee R. Edwards have pointed out that Dorothea succumbs to the conservative expectations of society, ultimately becoming no more than a mother and a wife. In some ways, Eliot seems to deny […]
So, this internship began with a strange mixture of feelings: excitement, because I was lucky enough to meet someone who could give me the opportunity to intern in one of the UAE’s largest media and publishing companies. Nervousness, because I still felt like a clueless teenager trying to walk around in shoes too big for my size. There is something dizzying […]
It shocks me beyond words to think of the horror that the girls in the Muzaffarpur children’s home in Bihar have faced. This poem cannot come close to expressing the damage that such sexual, mental and physical violence does. Nevertheless, I had to write about it. This poem is for those girls and their immeasurable strength. ‘Dear God, Why Did […]
Monday afternoon, you step into the clamour of the school bus. You walk past the boys from the younger years busy with their usual jostling and jabbering. Peals of laughter pierce the air, mysterious objects are thrown around, and someone spills a packet of crisps on the floor. The older ones at the back are absorbed by a slice of […]
A pot of basil, two lovers and a tragedy. It's a plot that will always sound like you've heard it before (save for the pot of basil.) This week, read my take on the tragic Romantic-era poem 'Isabella' by Keats.