Books. Botley. Britain.: December 2010

The place of martyrdom.

Now that the last few weeks of the semester have kicked into gear, I am thinking back on the Oxford days when finals didn't involve Scantrons, #2 pencils or really uncomfortable chairs. Instead, they amounted to an oral presentation, where we presented the culmination of our entire term's work in front of fellow students, professors, and our individual tutors. Not only was my audience extremely intelligent, but there was no way I could B.S. a single ounce of information. Oh no... not when your audience includes people employed by Oxford University Press, are published writers, respected world-class scholars, men in tweed blazers who always maintain a raised eyebrow... you get the picture. (And lest you forget, these people have English accents, making them sound all the more dignified and brilliant.) As intimidating as this final presentation was, it was among the greatest final I've ever had to prepare for, if not the greatest I've endured. It took place in a creaky, old room a floor below the bell tower of St. Mary's Church, tucked away upstairs from the main sanctuary through a wooden door on heavy hinges, a narrow passageway, and several flights of sagging stairs. In other words, I was giving my final presentation at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. St. Mary's stands at the physical center of the city, marking the midpoint of when the old Roman walls were still intact and surrounded Oxford. It's quite the historic place.

The Old Library of the University Church of St. Mary's.

By the early 13th century (the 1200s) St. Mary's had become the seat of university government, academic disputation and awarded various degrees, yet still functioned as a parish church. It's also famous for being the place of trial where three Anglican bishops were tried for heresy, two of which were martyred... or burned at the stake. The cross in the above picture marks the place of martyrdom on Broad Street on 16 October 1554. It was a surreal moment to stand in the Old Library before tutors and fellow students to share my term's worth of knowledge with them, the thinkers and writers and curious people that I had come to deeply admire.

Vahni Capildeo.
At her own poetry reading in Trinidad.

Although our final presentations focused on our primary tutorials, there is no way I can mention my experience at Oxford without also mentioning Vahni Capildeo. A Trinidad-born poet, lover of the spoken word, speaker of countless languages, and my tutor, Vahni truly redefined the way I approach and read poetry, no matter its author, literary era, structure, theme, rhyme, or lack thereof. My weekly assignments with Vahni often included close readings of a single poem, which I would read over and over and over, analyzing the poem down to the individual syllables within a single word of a single phrase within a single line within a single stanza, etc. As tedious and mindnumbingly dull this may appear to some (and I was skeptical of these so-called "close reading" too at first), I soon found this method of analyzing to be unbelievably enlightening, if not necessary to really pick apart a poem and discover how layered a poem's meaning truly can be. It's amazing what concentrating on a single syllable can reveal, or how the etymology of one word can completely change your perspective on the poem's entirety. To say the least, I am overwhelming indebted to Vahni Capildeo for her sheer brilliance and patience in putting up with a mediocre mind like mine. Her observations of effective writing are unparalleled. And once we got business/academics out of the way, she had a wicked sense of humor. By wicked, I mean both exceptionally cool and unexpectedly offbeat. She always surprised me with the way she caught my attention: after making several scholarly and analytical statements, said in a serious tone with a serious expression as I just nodded and tried to keep up, she'd make some offhand remark about Victorian sexuality and how thankful she is that she doesn't have to act the part. Hah! She'd then go into detail about the subject of Victorian sexuality, providing plenty of examples regarding proper Victorian sexual behavior. The best was when she would realize how serious she was talking about Victorian sexuality, and she'd glance at me to see my reaction to all she was describing, and we'd both just smile, and I'd kind of laugh because some of the things she mentioned (which I won't) were just HILARIOUS and we both knew it. After we got the awkwardness/laughter off my chest, she'd look at me and say, "But really Kelly, I'm serious," which made me want to laugh all the more. Which made me respect her all the more for having such a depth of knowledge of all things Victorian.

One of the highlights of studying under Vahni was her passion to close the books and learn through firsthand exposure to history and art itself. Although it was required that we only have five official tutorials together (since she was my secondary tutor), we both agreed to meet for a sixth time simply because we could. She suggested we explore the renovated, newly opened Ashmolean Museum, which started as a small collection of paintings and portraits in the 1620s and quickly grew to be one of Britain's most respected and prized museums today. The Ashmolean was completely redesigned and reconstructed inside, with the addition of a swanky, rooftop restaurant that served some, if not the, best roasted vegetables I've ever had. Needless to say, the reopening of the Ashmolean was a big deal. How do I know this? Look who decided to don a hat and show up...

Yes, HRM the Queen of England herself. Oh boy. On 02 December 2009, at the very tail end of my term, Queen Elizabeth II visited Oxford specifically to celebrate the new Ashmolean. Notice the black glove she wears to shake people's hand. She kills me. Although I didn't visit the museum on the same day as HRM, it was still amazing to walk through the artistry of each exhibit. It was particularly exciting to have Vahni as my personal tour guide, an expert in literature and art history. (What doesn't she do, really?) Vahni could identify the people in each painting, the artist (whether notable or obscure), the era of art, and knew the artists' biographies, inspirations, and styles, and explained to me the significance of a tuft of color on so-and-so's clothing. (I generally just listened to her commentary rather than ask questions since, by this point, I knew that even if I could manage to say something semi-intelligent, it would pale in comparison to Vahni's next thought.) We moved through the galleries rather fast since she had a train to catch, and as we parted ways outside the Ashmolean for the final time, we quickly embraced, knowing this was probably it. I think about her often, wondering what she would have to say about my writing now, the poems that've caught my eye, and what project she's currently working on. I can still hear her voice in Hertford's common room, glowing in the dim light of sconces and firelight, reading and rereading "The Lady of Shallot" or Gerard Manley Hopkins aloud, letting the words linger in the air, magically articulating the meaning of each poem through the power of the spoken word.