Ankita Jain

Only for today!!!

God of small things

The Prince, written by Niccolò Machiavelli in 1513, is a groundbreaking work that examines politics as it truly operates, rather than how it ideally should. Machiavelli argues that relying on moral ideals in governance is risky because human nature is unreliable — people are often selfish, ungrateful, and quick to turn against a ruler when circumstances change.

From this realism comes his famous claim: it is safer for a ruler to be feared than loved, since fear is more stable than the shifting nature of human affection. However, he warns that a ruler must avoid being hated, as hatred can lead to downfall.

Machiavelli also emphasizes the importance of appearances. A successful ruler must seem virtuous — just, merciful, and honest — even if they must act otherwise when necessary. People judge based on perception, making image a powerful political tool.

On military matters, he insists that rulers should rely on their own loyal armies rather than mercenaries, who fight only for profit and lack true commitment.

Finally, Machiavelli advises that if cruelty is necessary, it should be swift and decisive rather than prolonged.

Overall, The Prince offers a stark, practical analysis of power, stripping away illusions to reveal the harsh realities of political survival.

What happens when the grand style of epic poetry is used for something trivial? You get the mock-epic — a genre that blends humor with sharp social criticism.

To understand it, think of the traditional epic: works like Iliad, Aeneid, and Beowulf. These celebrate heroic figures, wars, and the fate of nations in a serious, elevated tone, often involving gods and grand moral themes.

The mock-epic flips this idea. It uses the same elevated style, elaborate descriptions, and epic conventions — but applies them to something minor or ridiculous. This contrast between grand form and trivial content creates both comedy and satire.

A classic example is The R**e of the Lock by Alexander Pope. Based on a real incident where a lock of hair was cut without permission, the poem treats this small event like a heroic battle. Card games become wars, and supernatural beings protect beauty like divine forces.

The humor is clear, but the satire is deeper. Pope shows how society gives excessive importance to vanity and social status, treating minor issues as if they were matters of great honor.

In short, while epics celebrate greatness, mock-epics expose human foolishness — often using the very same literary tools.

Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse

Martin Heidegger asks a powerful question: are you truly living, or just going through the motions? His concept of Dasein (“Being-there”) suggests that human life is not detached observation but active involvement in the world — through work, relationships, and everyday actions.

However, most people fall into what he calls “The They,” where life is shaped by social norms and expectations rather than personal choice. In this inauthentic state, individuals follow what others think, do, and value, without questioning their own desires.

Heidegger sees anxiety not as weakness, but as a moment of awakening. It disrupts routine and forces individuals to confront their existence honestly. This leads to his idea of Being-toward-death — recognizing that death is a personal and inevitable reality. Accepting this gives life urgency and pushes people to stop living passively.

From this awareness comes authenticity: taking responsibility for one’s choices and living deliberately. An authentic life embraces individuality and finite existence, while an inauthentic life drifts with the crowd.

Heidegger’s message is clear — stop living on autopilot. A meaningful life begins when you consciously choose how to live it.

Death in Venice is a haunting story about obsession and the destructive power of idealized beauty. It follows Gustav von Aschenbach, a disciplined and respected writer who has lived a life of strict self-control. Feeling exhausted and restless, he travels to Venice in search of inspiration.

At his hotel, he encounters Tadzio, a young boy whose extraordinary beauty captivates him. To Aschenbach, Tadzio becomes more than human — a symbol of perfect, almost divine beauty. His admiration soon turns into silent obsession, as he follows and watches the boy without ever speaking to him.

Meanwhile, a cholera epidemic spreads through Venice, though authorities hide the truth. Aschenbach learns of the danger but chooses to stay, unwilling to lose sight of Tadzio. His physical and mental state deteriorate, symbolized by his attempt to disguise his aging appearance with makeup.

In the end, Aschenbach collapses on the beach, watching Tadzio in the distance. The novella explores the tension between discipline and desire, showing how surrendering completely to beauty can lead not to freedom, but to self-destruction.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s Sonnet 43, published in 1850, is one of the most celebrated love poems in the English language. But it is far more than beautiful feeling. It is a rigorous, spiritually ambitious attempt to map love’s full dimensions.

The central conceit is announced immediately — the speaker will count the ways she loves. This is not vague romantic impressionism. It is systematic, almost analytical — an enumeration that discovers love reaching into every level of human experience.

She begins with the most expansive image: love measured to the depth, breadth, and height the soul can reach — cosmic, spatial, all-consuming. Then she moves to the particular: love present in the quiet routines of daily life, in ordinary candlelight and small gestures. Love is not only transcendent. It is also humble and domestic.

Deeper still, she frames love as an active moral choice — not something that overwhelms her, but something she freely wills. This is love as agency, enacted with the full engagement of the moral self.

She then makes a profoundly moving claim: her love for another human being has restored the simple, unquestioning faith of childhood she had lost as an adult. Romantic love becomes a path back to God.
The Petrarchan sonnet form enacts this meaning perfectly — its structured argument mirrors love as thought and reason, not merely feeling.

The poem closes with hope beyond death: that love will continue, purified and intensified, after mortal life ends.
Sonnet 43 endures because it takes love seriously — not just as emotion, but as intellectual inquiry, spiritual experience, and an act of will.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​