Thoughts from the criminology team

Home » Posts tagged 'Fiction'

Tag Archives: Fiction

Power, Punishment and Panopticism in Roald Dahl’s Matilda: A Foucauldian Reading

Roald Dahl’s Matilda (1988) tells the tale of a bright young girl’s discovery that she has psychic powers as she seeks to improve the situation of herself and those around her. From an unhappy home life with parents who fail to understand her, to the overthrow of the tyrannical Headmistress of her school, the book explores themes of resistance, rebellion and empowerment. It also subverts the idea that in adult/child relationships the adults hold all the power. Let us consider how theories of power are played out in the story and whether Matilda can affect real and lasting change for herself.


Matilda’s parents do not care for her physically or emotionally and make no attempts to understand her; she is treated as an inconvenience, and her cleverness is mocked and denied. Matilda’s refusal to conform with the wishes of her parents illustrates her own strength and self-assuredness and that despite the many restraints and obstacles placed on her, and on children in general, she continues to be true to herself. Despite her parents’ best efforts, she continues to speak out of turn when she knows the answer, asserts her morals when she realises her father is tricking his customers and continues to borrow and read books from the library after she has been forbidden to do so. Before she has even uncovered her telekinetic powers, she applies herself to devising “suitable punishment[s] for the poisonous parent”, in the hopes of correcting her father’s behaviour and teaching him a lesson.
In Discipline and Punish, Foucault makes several references to the ways in which schools can function as institutions, maintaining power through discipline. Claiming “the prison is like a rather disciplined barracks, a strict school […] but not qualitatively different”.


Crunchem Hall then, is the reverse: a strict school that is not qualitatively different to a prison. It is run as such, and both the children and the staff think of it in these terms. The name of the school itself represents the headmistress, Miss Trunchbull’s, educational philosophy of strict discipline and a breaking down of the children – quite literally ‘crunching them’. She relies not on mutual respect and natural authority but on public spectacles of punishment to keep them in line and Foucault reminds us to “regard punishment as a political tactic”. Examples in the text abound of the ways in which the children and Trunchbull frame the school as prison, as evidenced in the 10-year-old Hortensia’s: “welcome to Borstal”. Hortensia’s role is to warn Matilda and Lavender and tell them of the things she has done to fight back, including putting itching powder in the Trunchbull’s spare underwear and putting golden syrup on her seat: all reasons that she has ended up in “the Chokey”.


As an older character with many stories to tell, the reader is given the impression that things have always been this way and that resistance, though satisfying, is futile. Like a crude iron maiden, the Chokey itself represents the spectacle of punishment, much like Foucault’s spectacle of the scaffold, and is enough to control most of the children and ‘keep them in line’. Hortensia describes it as:


a very tall but very narrow cupboard. The floor is only ten inches square so you can’t sit down or squat in it. You have to stand. And three of the walls are made of cement with bits of broken glass sticking out all over, so you can’t lean against them. […] The door’s got thousands of sharp spiky nails sticking out of it.


A legend within the school and the threat that anyone could be punished at any time, is sufficient to mitigate the children’s behaviour. Aside from Hortensia’s stories of the many times that she has ended up in the Chokey, we hear of no other children being placed in this torture device. It is a symbolic instrument which serves the purpose of controlling the children just by existing. The Trunchbull bases her punishments on hunches and does not care if she is correct, so long as someone gets the blame. Matilda observes that this is what makes her so dangerous to the children, she is unpredictable almost to the point of madness.


Trunchbull repeatedly refers to the students with derogatory and dehumanising names: wart, poisonous pustule, foul carbuncle and othering them in the process. She uses language of crime and punishment when she refers to Bruce Bogtrotter as a “robber bandit” and a “pirate” for stealing a slice of her chocolate cake. Bruce’s punishment is being forced to consume an entire chocolate cake in front of the school, receiving no support or reprieve from the other members of staff – another example of the use of public punishment as spectacle and a means by which to control the children and make it clear who is in charge. This scene frames the battle as adults vs. children; the children united by their status as ‘crusaders’ cheering Bruce on to victory, while Trunchbull remains alone.


She gets away with the punishments she enacts because they are so outrageous and unbelievable that parents wouldn’t believe their children even if they told them – and perhaps they are just as scared of her! Trunchbull epitomises discipline and control, always watching and always ready to deliver a cruel and imaginative punishment, swinging a child by the pigtails, throwing a boy out through the classroom window, picking a child up by the ears and stretching them etc. Education, for her, is about control and stamping out the ‘childness’ in her child pupils. She abhors cleverness and the traits which mark the students out as individual from one another.


The main action of Matilda unfolds within the family home and at school, locations typically associated with adult control and discipline. Ann Alston, following Foucault, notes that families are small institutions where children are first immersed in ideology and learn that there is the possibility of constant surveillance. Children’s bedrooms, she argues, can be simultaneously a source of refuge and safety and a cell within which the child is separated from the adults and a potential site of punishment. The ways in which home and school spaces are organised reconfirm adult power and control; from who has access to which rooms, to the different discipline and rules applied within them, adults appear to hold all the cards. For Foucault, school often involves “enclosure” in a protected place of disciplinary monotony to reduce the inconveniences that come with trying to control a group of bodies in space. The very history of schools and educational establishments points to an exercising of control and power over subjects.


Matilda has limited positive adult role models available to her. A mother who favours looks over books and ignores both her husband’s illegal activities and her daughter. Miss Trunchbull who, whilst representing a self-sufficient woman with a career and an Olympics sports background, loathes children and metes out cruel punishments with no remorse. Not to mention her abuse of Miss Honey and the stealing of her estate. There are many other indicators of Trunchbull’s ‘badness’; she is large, strong, dislikes children, dresses unappealingly and is unmarried – all traits which are unacceptable to the feminine ideal. And finally, there is Miss Honey who, though kind and a good teacher, is so meek and subservient as to be completely ineffectual at saving herself or fully helping the children whom she cares for. If Miss Honey represents the perfect woman, it is damning that she is trapped by her life’s circumstances and unable to break free without the assistance of a child. Trunchbull is made monstrous by her activity and Miss Honey is stuck because of her own passivity.


Matilda is at once a story of supernatural power and a domestic story of the search for a happily-ever-after. Although Matilda achieves many things over the course of the story her goal is to find herself a loving family and the quiet home life she has been missing. Her powers recede once she has liberated Honey and adopted her as a surrogate parent; they were borne of frustration and temporary – “the power had gone. I think I have lost it completely”. Once her life is back on track and her dreams of a perfect family have been realised, she can get back on with the serious business of being a girl. In the ways in which Matilda is, on the surface, just like any other girl with “no outward signs” of her brilliance – she is quiet, unassuming and sensible – Dahl adheres to existing stereotypes of femininity without challenging them. Dahl builds limitations into the powers he gives Matilda, they will be effective just long enough for her to get her happy ending but without having to deal with the implications of a child wielding these powers into future adulthood. “But the fact remained that any five-year-old girl in any family was always obliged to do as she was told” – the message remains in place that children ultimately must defer to their parents. If she were able to keep her abilities, she would remain in a position of greater power over the adults around her and potentially struggle to fit in with the domestic mundanity of her life going forward. Would Miss Honey be so keen to care for her if she were able to wield this power at will? Dahl allows her enough, but not too much. Despite Matilda’s rejection of, or rejection by, her biological family, the end goal for her is still a traditional happy family. Leaving aside the fact that Miss Honey is single and unmarried, she can meet all the requirements that Matilda’s own parents were lacking; an appreciation for fine literature, home cooked meals, cosy domesticity and an active interest in the child’s life and interests.


Matilda reverses traditional adult and child roles by having Matilda (age 5) outsmart her parents, frighten the immovable and dangerous Miss Trunchbull and emancipate her beloved Miss Honey. Repeated references to Matilda being a somewhat “grown-up child” suggest that Dahl sidesteps the issue of giving all the power to a child by making her different and exceptional enough to not really be a child at all. She can talk, read and do advanced mathematics earlier than her peers and is shown to be just as competent, if not more, than the adults. Miss Honey feels comfortable and able to share her very adult worries and concerns with Matilda on an equal footing, but at what cost to Matilda’s childhood? By making Matilda’s achievements far beyond the reach of most children, Dahl ensures that, whilst the character is both empowering and empowered, she is no real threat to the status quo of adult dominance.


Matilda’s revenge echoes Trunchbull’s own disciplinarian techniques: she utilises constant surveillance and the omnipresent threat of punishment when she manifests the ‘ghost’ of Miss Honey’s father, Magnus. Using her telekinesis to manipulate a piece of chalk to write on the blackboard, Matilda spells out a message from the late Doctor; he has seen how Trunchbull treats his daughter, he knows she took away the house and inheritance and if she doesn’t change her ways “I will come and get you […] I am watching you Agatha”. The idea of being watched by hidden or invisible forces connotes a similar threat to Bentham’s Panopticon, discussed at length by Foucault, which has permanent effects even when there is no one actively observing. You do not need to know you are being watched to behave as if you are. The ‘ghost’ makes visible the coercive powers that Trunchbull herself has been using against the children and she is right to fear it – who wants to live with the threat of constant surveillance hanging over them? In this sense, Matilda and Trunchbull are not so different after all; they share similar ideas of punishment and discipline, and both attempt to control or change the behaviour of those around them. Matilda’s power manifests itself in a ‘ghostly’ fashion every time she uses it, and she relies on not being seen to act, playing on the supernatural fears of those around her. The anonymity of Matilda’s actions, or reactions, towards Trunchbull and her parents serves to make them more insidious, and Matilda thus avoids physical confrontation. Readers see Matilda’s behaviour as the triumph of good over evil, as being morally justified, whilst viewing the same behaviour by Miss Trunchbull as abhorrent. But could it be that Matilda is on her way to becoming one of the oppressive adults she loathes?


Works Cited:
Alston, A. The Family in English Children’s Literature Taylor & Francis, 2008.
Dahl, R Matilda, Puffin Books, 2009.
Foucault, M, Discipline and Punish, Penguin Group, 1991.

Images from L-R A copy of Dahl’s Matilda and a blueprint for the Panopticon.

A treasure found in a Library…

Back in May, during the assessment period, where campus, whilst still abuzz, had begun to quiet down, I walked through the library looking for some print sources for some summer reading and preparation for the next academic year. The Library at UON, for those who are unfamiliar, is situated on the second floor of the Learning Hub. On this particular Wednesday, sunlight was beaming in through the glass sides, and the books shone in a magical light. The gentle buzz of students studying/revising, the sunshine warming the shelves, the books glistening away… it was quite a lovely moment. And as I stopped to reflect on the beauty of the library in that moment, my eye caught one book in particular. Raising Hare by Chloe Dalton.

Those of you who have read previous blogs, might remember that my partner and I had 2 house bunnies for almost 11 years (RIP Snuggles and Toffee). And because of these two precious little fluff balls, we adored all things bunny rabbit (mugs, pictures, pens, cushions, glasses, clothes, towels… the list goes on). Dalton’s (2024) Raising Hare, has on the front cover a side profile of a Hare. Now whilst very different to a bunny (especially a domestic one like our two fluff balls), the long ears, sharp eyes and cute button nose are quite similar hence the book stood out. I had no idea what the book would be about, other than presuming a hare – and I was right, and I picked the book purely because on this day the cover stood out. One of the beauties of libraries and books on show: they really do catch the reader’s eye and draw you in. Now, it might just be me, but when a cover catches your eye it sort of feels like the book is speaking to you. Could be a mystical force or just good advertising/publishing: either way it worked a treat this time around!

Rasing Hare is a book which takes place during Lockdown where a woman who works very long hours in the hustle and bustle of London, goes back to her remote home in the countryside (surrounded by fields, wildlife and tranquillity) and awaits the country attempting to return to ‘normal’. On one of her walks, during a harsh winter evening she stumbles across a leveret (baby hare), and she takes the leveret home to feed and shelter it. What follows is a beautiful story of mistakes, honesty, respect and wonder at the natural world. The book is based on real-events, and the reflection offered throughout is a thought-provoking account of how humans presume they rule the world (we really are quite an entitled species in the grand scheme of things). Dalton (2024) doesn’t state this, this is simply my reflection having read and learned about hares, their habits, skills and the predators (including humans) they have to out manoeuvre in order to survive quite a hazardous life. The book was charming and I learned a lot about hares, but also about how I take nature (plants and animals) for granted, and often do not consider my impact on the world outside of the human species.

I guess, this blog is a recommendation to read Dalton’s (2024) Raising Hare, but also a thank you to the Library Staff at UON for placing the book so perfectly that it caught my eye. It was very different to what I would usually read, but it has really made me stop and think. I wonder if it will do the same for others….

Reference:

Dalton, C. (2024) Raising Hare. Edinburgh: Canongate Books ltd

A reflective continuous journey

Screenshot

Over the last few weeks I have been in deep thought and contemplation. This has stemmed from a number of activities I have been involved in. The first of those was the Centre for the Advancement of Racial Equality (CARE) Conference, held on the 1st July. The theme this year was “Illustrating Futures – Reclaiming Race and Identity Through Creative Expressions.” It was a topic I have become both passionate and interested in over the last few years. It was really important to be part of an event that placed racial equality at the heart of its message. There were a number of speakers there, all with important messages. Assoc. Prof. Dr Sheine Peart and Dr Richard Race talked about the experiences of racialised women in higher education. They focused on the micro-aggressions they face, alongside the obstacles they encounter trying to gain promotions, or even to be taken seriously in their roles. Another key speaker during the conference was Dr Martin Glynn, unapologetically himself in his approach to teaching and his journey to getting his professor status. It was a reminder to be authentically yourself and not attempt to fit in an academic box that has been prescribed by others. As I write my first academic book, his authenticity reminded me to write my contribution to criminology in the way I see fit, with less worry and comparison to others. It was also another reminder not to doubt yourself and your abilities because of your background or your academic journey being different to others. Dr Glynn has and continues to break down barriers in and outside of the classroom and reminds us to think outside the box a little when we engage with our young students. 

Another key event was the All-Party Parliamentary Group meeting on women in the criminal justice system. The question being addressed at the meeting was ‘What can the Women’s Justice Board do to address racial disproportionality in the criminal justice system?’. It was an opportunity for important organisations and stakeholders to stress what they believed were the key areas that needed to be addressed. Some of the charities and Non-governmental organisations were Hibiscus, Traveller Movement, The Zahid Mubarek Trust. There were also individuals from Head of Anti-slavery and Human Trafficking at HMPPS and the Deputy Mayor for Policing and Crime in London. Each representative had a unique standpoint and different calls for recommendations, ranging from:

• Hearing the voices of women affected in the CJS;

• Having culturally competent and trauma informed CJS staff;

• Ringfenced funding for specialist services and organisations like the ones that were in attendance;

• Knowing who you are serving and their needs;

• Making it a requirement to capture data on race and gender at all stages of the CJS.

It was truly great to be in a room full of individuals so ready to put the hard work in to advocate and push for change. I hope it will be one of many discussions I attend in the future. 

Lastly, as I enter the final throes of writing my book on the experiences of Black women in prison I have been reflecting on what I want my book to get across, and who will be able to access it. The book represents the final outcomes of my PhD so to speak:

• To be able to disseminate the words and voices of the women that shared their stories;

• To be able to provide a visual into their lives and highlight the importance of visual research methods;

• To highlight some recommendations for change to reduce some of the pains of imprisonment faced by Black women;

• To call for more research on this group that has been rendered invisible.

Screenshot

25th Year Reflection

I have been part of Criminology at UON as BA Criminology student, then Associate Lecturer then Lecturer in Criminology for about 13 years in total. My last reflection on my Criminology journey was in 2020 as I had just embarked on my new role as a Lecturer in Criminology. Every now and then I reflect on how lucky I am to be able to have a job role which has the potential to encourage a passion for learning, reading, writing, critical thinking as well as other life skills.

When reflecting on the 25th year Criminology anniversary I think mostly of the old Park Campus that I used to frequent and study at as a student. It had quite a nice feel to it and there was also enough surrounding nature for a famous badger to make this place part of its habitat! There were less books available online when I was an undergraduate compared to today so I have fond memories of going to the library often to have a browse and coming away with as many criminology related books that I could fit in my bag at once. Finding places where I could study for hours that were less frequented than the main library also gave me a bit of a buzz. There also used to be a Pavilion bar near to where the majority of exams would take place, one of my favorite past time memories is sipping on a beer in the Pavilion just after the end of my final third year Criminology exam season, (whilst secretly thinking of how I thought the exams went much better than expected).

When reflecting I am also reminded of how lecturers like Dr @manosdaskalou and Dr @paulaabowles can be incredibly inspirational and influential at guiding academic paths (such as my own!). The re-occurring ideas that ‘criminology is everywhere’ and that we should ‘question everything’ has boded well for helping me to make difficult decisions and in thinking about how I interacted with people when I was working within crime related industries.  

In more recent years staff and students have moved to a new campus, have worked and studied through the challenges that come with Covid-19 and contextual uncertainties. This year has had some highlights for me, such as working on a new module Imagining Crime. Whereby we used inspiration from the novel 1984 by George Orwell to task students with committing weekly ‘thought crimes’ by seeing/hearing/reading about something criminological and questioning this by using critical thinking. Listening to the development of critical thinking via the ‘thought crime’ method has been a delight. The flexible, creative and multidisciplinary nature of criminology is also quite fabulous for maintaining interest in criminology over a long period of time but also for venturing into new and less explored areas. For instance, staff and students in Imagining Crime had the pleasure of attending a guest speaker session with @saffrongarside about children’s literature and the environment this academic year – at a time when Northampton itself seemed to be struggling to cope with flooding. Of course, this did highlight the importance of seeing environmental issues as criminological issues, but also the importance of considering children’s books as criminologically cultural artifacts, was something completely new and intriguing for me. I also gained a lot from hearing what our students (who are predominantly) young people think about environmental issues outside of the mainstream media angles that I have seen.

To round up, I loved my student life whilst studying BA Criminology and I am sure many others will say ‘ditto to that’. Long may the love for Criminology at UON continue!

Book blurbs: a necessity or frill?

I have always been, and imagine I will always be, a lover of books. Until the summer of last year, it has always been physical books. The feel, the smell, the shock when you drop it as you’re drifting off to sleep, the dampness of pages when you’ve picked it up too quickly after getting out of a pool or the sea on holiday and that beautiful crinkle crisp after the page dries. Physical books are beautiful (even the ugly ones). And this holds for academic sources, non-fiction books and novels! One of the joys of selecting a book (new or often second-hand charity gems), is reading the blurb. It might give you a brief introduction to characters you are following, or if an academic source it might provide you with a brief list of topics the book navigates. The blurb might also contain some quotations and reviews expressing the ‘excellence’ or ‘gripping’ nature of the book. And whilst this is generally a positive feature, since reading e-books (where I do not read the blurb or even access the blurb), I have started to wonder if the blurb is actually a hinderance to the potential reader…

Now, this entry is not to debate the great debate of the 21st century: e-book versus book. But rather the format of an e-book not having a blurb per se versus the blurb on the back of a book. I am fortunate enough to have a Kindle: one of my most prized possessions. It’s beautiful, it can be read in all environments (warmth setting and light setting is incredible), it’s lightweight and fits in almost all of my bags and many of my pockets #notsponsored, but I have never read a blurb of a book on the Kindle, and I can’t work out if I’m missing out or if this is actually an improvement of the ‘book selection’ process.

Some positives of not accessing the blurb on the e-readers is it has opened up my reading list astronomically. I have read and loved books I am certain I would never have picked up or purchased had I read what they were about. Some have been heavy, taxing reads but so worth it in the end, others have been bizarre and wonderful but not something I would have ever recommended to myself. Had these been physical books, having read the blurb, these would have been left by me on the shelf and therefore I would have lost out on the joy, wonder and sadness that these books had to offer.

There are of course issues with not reading the blurbs and these issues reinforce the importance of the feature as a necessity and not just a frill. I have also read a number of books I quite simply wish I hadn’t. And had I read the blurb I would have known not to start these monstrosities (once I’ve started, unfortunately my brain makes me finish – commitment [even to books] is important to my brain). I have also read some incredible books but at the wrong time: again had I read the blurb I would have known that this book is not a sensible choice given my headspace.

The issue is most likely me, rather than whether blurbs are actually necessary or just frill. And I’d imagine it’s better to have them and not use them, them not have them and miss them. But if they aren’t being used, they have no purpose and become redundant. Is this a wider symptom of the rise of the e-book or just a side-effect that no one else is concerned about but me? I do not know. But I find it strange how heavily I rely on blurbs with physical books and how void they are with e-books. Are e-books the beginning of the end for blurbs or am I over think this? Penny for your thoughts?