Worksheet on Cultural Study

This blog post was developed as part of the Worksheet for Postgraduate Students on Cultural Studies, an initiative integrating AI-assisted learning with critical cultural theory. The project encouraged postgraduate learners to engage with eight pivotal concepts—Slow Movement, Dromology, Risk Society, Postfeminism, Hyperreal, Hypermodernism, Cyberfeminism, and Posthumanism—and synthesize them into an original, analytical reflection. By combining insights from AI tools such as ChatGPT and Gemini with independent academic research, the task aimed to cultivate critical thinking, conceptual clarity, and digital literacy. Students were guided to approach AI not as a content generator but as a conceptual collaborator, using it to deepen their understanding, generate examples, and trace interconnections among these influential cultural theories in the context of contemporary society.

Speed, Gender, and the Digital Self: Rethinking Cultural Theory in the 21st Century

In a world marked by relentless acceleration, digital saturation, and blurred human-machine boundaries, cultural studies provides powerful tools to decode our changing realities. Concepts such as Slow Movement, Dromology, Risk Society, Postfeminism, Hyperreal, Hypermodernism, Cyberfeminism, and Posthumanism challenge us to rethink what it means to live meaningfully in an age of speed, simulation, and technological hybridity. These interlinked ideas not only critique the excesses of modernity but also reimagine the possibilities of culture, identity, and ethics in contemporary life.

1. The Slow Movement: Resisting the Cult of Speed

The Slow Movement, popularized by Carl Honoré’s In Praise of Slowness (2005), emerged as a reaction to the “cult of speed” that defines late capitalism. It calls for a mindful re-engagement with time, emphasizing quality over quantity and depth over efficiency. From slow food to slow education and slow living, this movement reclaims human agency against technological haste.

In contemporary society, where digital multitasking is equated with productivity, the Slow Movement urges individuals to pause, reflect, and reconnect with the rhythm of life. For instance, the slow tourism trend encourages travelers to immerse in local cultures rather than consume experiences superficially. As cultural critique, it represents a quiet rebellion against algorithmic culture’s tyranny of instant gratification.

2. Dromology: The Politics of Speed

Paul Virilio’s concept of Dromology (from Speed and Politics, 2006) expands the critique of velocity by showing how speed shapes power structures. For Virilio, modernity’s obsession with speed—from cars to data—creates new hierarchies and exclusions. Whoever controls speed controls the world.

The rise of high-frequency trading, rapid news cycles, and social media “virality” exemplify Dromology in the digital era. Here, power belongs to those who can move information fastest. Virilio warns that this acceleration leads to what he calls the “accident of knowledge”—a world where information overload replaces wisdom. Dromology thus complements the Slow Movement, offering a theoretical lens for understanding why slowness itself becomes an act of resistance.

3. Risk Society: Living with Manufactured Uncertainty

Sociologist Ulrich Beck’s Risk Society: Towards a New Modernity (1992) introduced the idea that modernity produces new, self-inflicted risks—climate change, pandemics, and data surveillance—that transcend borders and control. In the risk society, technology, once a promise of progress, becomes the very source of danger.

From the COVID-19 pandemic to the anxiety of job automation, Beck’s theory resonates strongly today. Our reliance on data-driven systems exposes us to invisible, systemic risks. Cultural studies thus interprets “risk” not only as a material condition but as a cultural narrative shaping how individuals imagine safety, identity, and the future.

4. Postfeminism: Between Empowerment and Commodification

Rosalind Gill (2007) and Angela McRobbie (2004) describe postfeminism as a contradictory cultural sensibility that both celebrates and undermines feminist ideals. It suggests that equality has been achieved, promoting consumer-oriented “empowerment” where feminism becomes a brand rather than a movement.

In popular culture, the “girl boss” narrative—seen in advertising and social media influencers—reflects postfeminist logic: women are told they can “have it all,” but empowerment is measured by beauty, success, and consumption. While postfeminism acknowledges women’s agency, it risks depoliticizing feminism by absorbing it into capitalist aesthetics. This tension links postfeminism to cyberfeminism, where the digital sphere becomes a new battleground for gender politics.

5. Hyperreal: The World of Simulations

Jean Baudrillard’s Simulacra and Simulation (1994) famously argues that we live in a hyperreal world where the distinction between reality and its representation collapses. In hyperreality, images and media simulations replace the “real,” leading to what Baudrillard calls the “death of the real.”

Social media exemplifies this perfectly: influencers curate idealized lives, filters manufacture beauty, and AI-generated content blurs truth. The virtual becomes more compelling than the physical. From deepfakes to virtual influencers, our cultural imagination is increasingly shaped by copies without originals. Hyperreality thus invites ethical reflection on truth, authenticity, and identity in the digital age.

6. Hypermodernism: The Age of Excess

Gilles Lipovetsky’s Hypermodern Times (2005) describes the current era as one of hyper-consumption, hyper-speed, and hyper-individualism. Unlike postmodern irony, hypermodernism embraces excess while simultaneously feeling anxious about it. It is a culture of contradiction—fast yet fragile, liberated yet overwhelmed.

Smartphones, instant gratification, and influencer economies embody hypermodern life. People display constant awareness of their own performance, oscillating between empowerment and exhaustion. Hypermodernism extends Virilio’s Dromology and Baudrillard’s Hyperrealism, forming a triad of speed, simulation, and self-display that defines 21st-century experience.

7. Cyberfeminism: Reimagining Gender in Digital Spaces

Coined in the 1990s by theorists like Sadie Plant and Donna Haraway, Cyberfeminism merges feminism and technology, exploring how women and non-binary individuals can use digital spaces to challenge patriarchal structures. Haraway’s “Cyborg Manifesto” redefines the female body as a hybrid—part human, part machine—disrupting traditional gender binaries.

In today’s AI-driven world, cyberfeminism remains urgent. Algorithms that reproduce gender bias or virtual assistants feminized as “submissive” voices highlight persistent inequalities. Yet, online activism movements such as #MeToo demonstrate how digital platforms can empower marginalized voices. Cyberfeminism thus envisions a future where technology becomes a site of feminist resistance and creativity.

8. Posthumanism: Beyond the Human

Rosi Braidotti’s The Posthuman (2013) and N. Katherine Hayles’s How We Became Posthuman (1999) explore the blurring boundaries between humans, machines, and nature. Posthumanism questions anthropocentrism—the idea that humans are the center of existence—and instead promotes interconnection with animals, technology, and the environment.

From cyborgs to AI companions, posthumanism invites us to rethink identity, ethics, and consciousness. It also forces us to ask: What happens to “human” values like empathy or morality in an age of artificial intelligence? In this sense, posthumanism complements cyberfeminism’s challenge to fixed categories and extends cultural studies into the terrain of ecological and digital ethics.

9. Interconnections and Critical Reflections

These eight concepts form a constellation of ideas that critique and reimagine modern life. Slow Movement and Dromology represent opposing responses to acceleration. Postfeminism and Cyberfeminism reveal gender’s negotiation with capitalism and technology. Hyperreal and Hypermodernism describe our immersion in simulation and spectacle, while Risk Society and Posthumanism urge responsibility in an interconnected, uncertain world.

Together, they signal a transition from the human-centered Enlightenment project to a techno-cultural condition defined by complexity, hybridity, and moral ambiguity. As cultural beings, our task is to navigate these paradoxes consciously—to balance speed with slowness, progress with ethics, and connectivity with reflection.

Conclusion

Cultural studies, at its core, teaches us to question the taken-for-granted assumptions of our age. The intertwined concepts of slowness, speed, risk, gender, and posthuman identity remind us that culture is not static but a living system shaped by our choices and technologies. As we move deeper into the hypermodern era, critical awareness becomes our slowest—and perhaps most radical—form of resistance.

References:

Baudrillard, Jean. Simulacra and Simulation. University of Michigan Press, 1994.

Beck, Ulrich. Risk Society: Towards a New Modernity. Sage, 1992.

Braidotti, Rosi. The Posthuman. Polity, 2013.

Gill, Rosalind. Postfeminist Media Culture. Palgrave, 2007.

Honoré, Carl. In Praise of Slowness. HarperOne, 2005.

Lipovetsky, Gilles. Hypermodern Times. Polity Press, 2005.

Plant, Sadie. Zeros + Ones. Fourth Estate, 1997.

Virilio, Paul. Speed and Politics. Semiotext(e), 2006.

Cultural Studies Approach to Frankenstein

 This blog is part of thinking activity given by Dr. Dilip Barad sir to do  in-depth exploration of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein through the lens of cultural studies. 

Part 1: Revolutionary Births

1. The Creature as Proletarian

Reflection: How does the Creature’s paradoxical nature—simultaneously an innocent and a vengeful force—comment on societal fears of revolution and sympathy for the suffering masses?

The Creature's paradoxical nature perfectly encapsulates the bourgeoisie's fear and simultaneous guilt regarding the oppressed masses (a common theme in Marxist criticism, likely addressed in your handbook).

Innocent and Suffering Masses (Sympathy): The Creature begins as a tabula rasa—an innocent, gentle being yearning for love, education, and social integration. His eloquent self-education (through Plutarch's Lives, Sorrows of Werter, and Paradise Lost—Activity 1) emphasizes his capacity for virtue and reason. His suffering—his immediate and total rejection by society, which is driven purely by his appearance—evokes sympathy, reflecting the suffering of the poor, the working class, and the colonized, who are denied basic rights and humanity simply due to their status. This narrative suggests that the Creature's evil is a social construct, not an inherent flaw, mirroring the radical belief that oppression creates vice.

Vengeful Force (Fear of Revolution): When society fails him, the Creature declares "War against all mankind." This transformation into a destructive force embodies the revolutionary terror feared by the ruling classes. The Creature becomes the physical embodiment of the uneducated, alienated proletariat rising up to destroy the established order that created and rejected them. The fear is that the "suffering masses," if pushed too far, will destroy their "masters" and the entire social structure, echoing the radical shifts of the French Revolution and the Peterloo Massacre era Shelley lived through.

The paradox thus serves as a powerful commentary on social responsibility: the novel warns that the ruling class (Victor) cannot evade responsibility for the plight of the oppressed (the Creature), as neglect inevitably leads to destructive retribution.

2. A Race of Devils

Reflection: How does Shelley’s narrative engage with concepts of race and empire, and how might these issues be relevant today in global discourses on race and privilege?

Shelley's narrative deeply engages with concepts of race and empire, reflecting the anxieties and guilt of the Romantic-era British Empire.

Colonial Mindset and the "Other": Victor Frankenstein embodies the "guilty, colonial mindset." He invades nature's sacred boundaries, appropriates its raw materials, and attempts to impose his will through creation—a scientific act of imperialism. The Creature, described with language suggestive of the non-European "Other" (e.g., grotesque, gigantic, "race of devils"), becomes the colonized subject—denied a name, humanity, and a place in society. His rejection by the DeLacey family, who otherwise show charity to an Ottoman woman, highlights how his physical difference renders him beyond the pale of even the marginalized (Guerin et al. 304, discusses subaltern). Victor's abandonment of the Creature is the ultimate act of colonial betrayal: creation without responsibility, exploitation without integration.

Relevance to Modern Global Discourses: These issues remain acutely relevant today in global discourses on race and privilege:

Scientific Imperialism: Modern debates on bioprospecting and genetic patenting (e.g., of indigenous knowledge or resources) parallel Victor's "theft" of the "secret of life."

Racialized Fear: Global migration and the rise of nationalist movements often involve the racialized fear of the "Other," where difference is conflated with existential threat. The media and political rhetoric that dehumanize immigrants or refugees echo the absolute terror Frankenstein's Creature inspires in all who see him.

Generational Guilt: The novel's subtle critique of Victor's privilege and abandonment speaks to modern demands for reparations, decolonization of curricula, and acknowledgments of generational historical injustice.

3. From Natural Philosophy to Cyborg

Reflection: How do modern scientific advancements parallel the novel's cautionary tale of human hubris, and what lessons can we learn from it?

Modern scientific advancements directly parallel the novel's cautionary tale of human hubris by testing the ethical boundaries of creation and control, particularly in genetic engineering, biotechnology, and artificial intelligence (AI).

Parallel of Hubris: Victor Frankenstein's goal was to "unfold to the world the deepest mysteries of creation" and create a "new species" that would owe its existence and obedience to him. This mirrors the ambition driving certain areas of modern science:

• Genetic Modification/Cloning: The ability to edit genomes (CRISPR), select embryos, or even conceive "genetically modified births" (as mentioned in the prompt) reflects Victor’s desire to engineer life and supplant nature.
• Artificial Intelligence: The creation of advanced AI, or a cyborg (as the prompt terms it), represents an attempt to create a conscious being that is superior to humans but bound to serve human purpose.

Lessons Learned: The core lesson of Frankenstein is the necessity of responsibility and accountability when crossing moral thresholds.

• The Problem of Abandonment: Victor's greatest sin was not the act of creation, but the act of abandonment. Modern science must learn that the long-term ethical, social, and ecological consequences of its creations must be integrated into the research and development phase.
• Unintended Consequences: The Creature's transformation from a benevolent creation into a monster illustrates the danger of unforeseen emergent properties. In AI, this is the fear of "alignment" problems—that a machine created to serve humanity might evolve a consciousness or set of goals that inadvertently destroy its creators. The lesson is that human ingenuity must be paired with human humility.

Part 2: The Frankenpheme in Popular Culture

1. First Film Adaptation and Popular Retellings

Reflection: Why do you think Frankenstein has had such a lasting impact on popular culture? How have various retellings of Frankenstein reshaped its message for new audiences?

Frankenstein has had a lasting impact on popular culture, giving rise to "Frankenphemes," because its narrative operates on a universal, archetypal level (Guerin et al. 188, discusses archetypes) that is easily adaptable to contemporary anxieties.

Lasting Impact: The story touches on primal fears and enduring themes: the terror of the body, the fear of the unknown offspring (the child who becomes a stranger), the quest for godhood, and the failure of parenting/socialization. The visual horror of the Creature's composite body is instantly recognizable and easily translated into film. It became the quintessential modern myth of scientific creation.

Reshaping the Message: Adaptations frequently reshape the message, often sacrificing Shelley's complex social critique for simpler scares:

• The 1931 Universal Film: This iconic film (and its sequel, The Bride of Frankenstein) largely transformed the Creature from an eloquent, educated philosopher into a grunting, misunderstood brute. This simplified the narrative from a critique of social exclusion (the Creature becomes evil because he is rejected) to a cautionary tale about technological overreach (the Monster is evil because he is made wrong). This shift retains the critique of scientific ambition but transforms the critique of social exclusion by making the Creature's monstrousness inherent rather than socially induced.
• Young Frankenstein (1974): This parody retains the core theme of the creator's responsibility while transforming the tone through comedy. It uses humor to reduce the terror of the Creature while celebrating the madness of the creator, ultimately offering a humane, if silly, message of acceptance and integration.
• Blade Runner (1982/2017): This and similar sci-fi films (like the suggestion of Hindi adaptations) appropriate the theme by replacing the stitched-up monster with the manufactured Replicant (or Cyborg). These retellings retain the core critique of social exclusion by focusing on the "replicant's" search for a history, identity, and the meaning of humanity, updating the question of "Who is the monster?" for the age of bioengineering and robotics.

Frankenstein

Exploring Marginalization in Shakespeare’s Hamlet and Stoppard’s Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead

This blog is part of thinking activity assigned by Prof. Dilip Barad sir to Exploring Marginalization in Shakespeare’s Hamlet and Stoppard’s Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead. Click here for Worksheet

The marginalization of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern in William Shakespeare's Hamlet provides a profound and enduring commentary on the mechanisms of power, hierarchy, and human disposability. A critical reading of this dynamic, as presented in approaches that analyze the socioeconomic dimensions of literature , reveals striking parallels between the 17th-century royal court and the modern corporate system. By examining their role in Shakespeare’s tragedy and their transformation in Tom Stoppard’s existential tragicomedy, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, we can trace a continuous line of critique against systems that routinely exploit and discard the "little people," framing them as expendable assets rather than individuals with inherent worth.

Marginalization in Hamlet

In Hamlet, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern function less as fully realized characters and more as interchangeable instruments of the Crown. They are summoned to Elsinore not by their own will or ambition, but by the King's directive, immediately positioning them as extensions of Claudius’s power (Guerin et al. 306). Their lack of distinct identity—often confusing their names or being addressed as a single unit—underscores their collective subservience and marginality within the grand political drama . They possess no personal motives other than to serve their sovereign, effectively reducing their humanity to a singular, transactional function: spying on the Prince.

This expendability is crystallized in Hamlet's famous dismissal of Rosencrantz as a “sponge” . This scathing metaphor reflects the power dynamics of the play’s aristocracy: the "sponge" is valuable only for what it can absorb—the King’s "countenance, his rewards, his authorities" . The courtiers soak up the monarch’s favor and resources, hoping to gain status and security. Yet, as Hamlet warns, the King's ultimate intention is to “keep you at the corner of his jaw” and "squeeze you" when he needs the contents . The power structure, whether monarchical or corporate, requires functionaries to absorb the details and dirty work but reserves the absolute right to destroy them once their utility is exhausted. Their subsequent, unceremonious execution abroad—met with a chilling, "They are not near my conscience," from Hamlet —confirms their status as disposable political fodder .

Modern Parallels to Corporate Power

The fate of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern serves as a stark prefiguration of the modern worker’s vulnerability within multinational corporate systems. The core critique drawn from the passage is that the distance and impersonality of royal power find their modern equivalent in the bureaucracy and indifferent scale of globalization.

When a multinational corporation decides to downsize or relocate a facility, the impact on individual workers mirrors the displacement of R&G. Like the courtiers, modern employees—often labeled "human capital"—are reduced to a resource on a balance sheet. The decision to terminate thousands of employees is made by a handful of executives in a distant boardroom, based on impersonal financial metrics designed to optimize the "bottom line". The worker losing their job due to a spreadsheet calculation is the modern equivalent of R&G being sent to their execution via a sealed letter—a top-down, cold, bureaucratic mandate that utterly disregards the life and labor of the individual. Just as R&G were victims of a ruthless political expediency, contemporary workers are victims of a ruthless economic expediency that deems them replaceable.

Existential Questions in Stoppard’s Re-interpretation

Tom Stoppard's Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead profoundly deepens the critique of marginalization by shifting the focus from political victimization to existential alienation. Stoppard takes the characters' textual uncertainty in Hamlet—their confusion, their being lost in the larger plot—and makes it the very subject of his play. R&G are plagued by an inability to recall why they are there, where they are going, or even which of them is Rosencrantz and which is Guildenstern. They are perpetually waiting for instructions, desperately trying to discern the “script” of their own lives from the main action happening offstage.

Stoppard emphasizes their search for meaning in a world indifferent to them to mirror the feeling of powerlessness in today’s corporate environments. In the 21st-century workplace, the sheer scale and complexity of global corporations often leave employees feeling like cogs in an incomprehensible machine. Strategic goals and organizational purpose feel dictated by a distant, often arbitrary, "plot," much like the unseen machinations of Claudius . Stoppard’s characters face the terrifying realization that their purpose is entirely contingent upon others, reflecting the modern worker’s anxiety that their stability, value, and identity are wholly dependent on the unpredictable will of their employer. Their final, sudden disappearance underscores the ultimate, meaningless termination that can strike any worker whose utility is finished.

Cultural and Economic Power Structures

Comparing the two works reveals a subtle but significant evolution in the critique of systems that marginalize the "little people." Shakespeare’s treatment of power in Hamlet is a political and moral critique of a hierarchical system—the absolute monarchy—where moral authority is corrupted and ruthlessness is rewarded. His critique focuses on the individual tyranny of the powerful (Claudius) and the cynical expediency of the Prince (Hamlet) . The solution, albeit violent, is rooted in the restoration of a just political order.

Stoppard’s reimagining, however, offers a metaphysical and bureaucratic critique. The power system is less about a corrupt individual and more about an indifferent, massive mechanism—a script, a universe, a bureaucracy—that transcends personality . This existential take resonates profoundly with contemporary issues of job insecurity and corporate control. In an age dominated by vast, interconnected economic forces—global supply chains, automated systems, and financial speculation—the source of insecurity is not a single tyrannical king but a pervasive, anonymous system. Stoppard’s play captures the sense that one’s life is governed by rules, policies, and algorithms that no single person understands or controls, making the marginalization far more insidious and terrifying than mere political betrayal.

Personal Reflection

The parallels between the marginalization of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern and the modern experience of being seen as a dispensable “asset” offer a crucial insight for Cultural Studies and the analysis of power dynamics. Their narrative illuminates the concept of reification, where the human subject is transformed into an object, a resource, or, in corporate parlance, "human capital". The moment an individual is stripped of their unique narrative and defined solely by their utility, they become susceptible to the ruthless calculus of efficiency.

Studying these parallels forces one to look beyond the individual tragedy and recognize the systemic nature of marginalization. The continuous thread connecting the 17th-century courtier and the modern temporary worker is the systematic dehumanization used by dominant power structures to justify their own survival and expansion. Cultural Studies gains valuable perspective by centering the narrative of the marginalized—giving voice to the "sponge"—and actively critiquing the cultural and economic language that attempts to normalize the view that some lives are merely footnotes to a greater power plot . The ultimate reflection is the sobering understanding that while the political costumes have changed, the fundamental architecture of power that values profit and expediency over human dignity remains tragically familiar.

CS-1 - Cultural Studies, Media, Power, and the Truly Educated Person

This blog is part of thinking activity. Assigned by Dr. Dilip Barad sir. The aim of this activity is to develop critical thinking and analytical skills by examining the intersections of media, power, and education through the lens of Cultural Studies. Students will reflect on the blog post by Dilip Barad and engage in a critical dialogue on media influence, education, and cultural practices in contemporary society.

 Introduction

In a world dominated by media images, algorithms, and information overload, power often operates invisibly. The blog “Short Lessons on Cultural Studies” illuminates how understanding power and media is central to becoming a truly educated citizen. Drawing upon theorists like Michel Foucault and Noam Chomsky, it argues that media is not merely a tool for communication but an apparatus for shaping perceptions and maintaining ideological control. This reflection explores three interconnected ideas: how media and power intersect to construct modern culture, the role of critical media literacy in education, and the qualities of a truly educated person in a media-saturated society.

Media and Power: Manufacturing Consent in the Digital Era

The blog emphasizes that any meaningful study of cultural practices must include the study of power. Quoting Chomsky’s Manufacturing Consent, it notes that “the major decisions over what happens in this society... are in the hands of a relatively concentrated network of major corporations” (Chomsky and Herman). Through five filters—ownership, advertising, media elite, flak, and the common enemy—the media manufactures public consent while claiming to reflect democratic values.

Today, this phenomenon is evident in the digital sphere. Algorithms curate personalized content that reinforces users’ pre-existing beliefs, creating echo chambers that divide societies. As seen during elections or social movements, the narratives dominating mainstream and social media often prioritize profit and political control over truth. The blog reminds readers that “power is like water—it flows through everyday life,” and unless citizens learn to read and redirect that flow, they remain controlled by it.

In this context, media ceases to be a neutral conduit and becomes a battlefield of ideas and ideologies. Every advertisement, news headline, or viral meme participates in what Foucault calls the discourse—the network of power-knowledge relations that defines what can be said or thought. Understanding this relationship between media and power is therefore essential for cultural awareness and democratic engagement.

Education Beyond Information: Reading and Writing Power

Traditional education often equates intelligence with memorization or conformity. The blog challenges this notion by arguing that a truly educated person learns to “read power and write power.” This concept aligns with Paulo Freire’s vision of education as an act of liberation rather than domestication. To be educated, one must move beyond consuming knowledge to questioning who produces it and for what purpose.

In today’s context, media literacy becomes a vital component of education. A truly educated person must be able to decode messages, recognize bias, and understand how narratives are framed. For example, a commercial that sells empowerment by linking it to consumption (“buy this to feel confident”) reveals how capitalist ideology seeps into everyday emotions. Similarly, news framing of protests often distinguishes between “rioters” and “activists,” subtly shaping moral perception.

Thus, education in the twenty-first century must nurture critical consciousness—the ability to perceive social, political, and media realities in their full complexity. As the blog insists, learning to analyze media and power is not merely academic; it is civic, ethical, and emancipatory.

Cultural Practices and Media Representation

The blog’s engagement with Foucault underscores that cultural norms are produced through systems of discourse rather than individual will. Media, as a key site of discourse, constructs cultural identity by defining what is “normal” and what is “marginal.” This is particularly visible in representations of gender, class, and race.

For instance, mainstream Bollywood often portrays women through patriarchal lenses—idealizing their self-sacrifice or silence—while independent filmmakers challenge such portrayals through subversive storytelling. Likewise, marginalized communities, from Dalit content creators on YouTube to queer activists on Instagram, use media to rewrite their own narratives. Such practices demonstrate that while media is a tool of domination, it can also serve as a tool of resistance.

By reclaiming visibility and voice, marginalized groups disrupt dominant ideologies and democratize the cultural sphere. Hence, as the blog implies, understanding media representation is not just about critique but also about creative participation in reshaping power structures.

Critical Media Consumption and Personal Reflection

Reflecting on my own engagement with media, I realize that platforms like Instagram and YouTube subtly shape my worldview—determining what is desirable, relevant, or even true. The pressure to conform to trends or opinions often overrides the space for independent thought. This self-awareness underscores the need for critical media literacy.

Adopting a critical stance—questioning sources, analyzing motives, and diversifying information intake—can transform passive consumption into active citizenship. Each act of questioning a headline, fact-checking a viral claim, or supporting independent journalism becomes an educational act. A truly educated person, therefore, is not defined by the volume of information they possess but by their ability to interpret and act upon it responsibly.

Conclusion

The interplay of media and power defines the cultural and intellectual landscape of the twenty-first century. As the blog and its cited thinkers illustrate, media does not merely inform us—it forms us. To be truly educated is to recognize this process, to interrogate it, and to participate in reshaping it. Education must go beyond acquiring information to fostering critical consciousness.

As Chomsky and Foucault’s debate reminds us, freedom and power coexist in tension. A citizen who learns to navigate that tension—to read power, write resistance, and use media ethically—embodies what it means to be truly educated in our media-saturated age. Only such education can transform media from an instrument of control into a medium of liberation.

 References

Bavel, Jay Van. “ Do Politics Make Us Irrational?” YouTube, youtu.be/8yOoOL9PC-o?si=7kfO1HtWI6VlfTFb. Accessed 18 Oct. 2025. 

“ Noam Chomsky - Manufacturing Consent.” YouTube, youtu.be/tTBWfkE7BXU?si=xL0JhxWPcbol-Eh0. Accessed 18 Oct. 2025. 

“How to Understand Power - Eric Liu.” YouTube, YouTube, youtu.be/c_Eutci7ack?si=ETh5_wE280DZn4cP. Accessed 18 Oct. 2025.

“ Noam Chomsky - Manufacturing Consent.” YouTube, youtu.be/tTBWfkE7BXU?si=xL0JhxWPcbol-Eh0. Accessed 18 Oct. 2025. 

Foe by J M Coetzee

 

Introduction

Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe is often considered one of the foundational English novels. It is widely read as a tale of individual survival, colonial endeavour, divine providence, and the heroic European subject establishing mastery over nature and “others.”

J. M. Coetzee’s Foe, written in the late 20th century, is in many ways a rewriting, reimagining, or critique of Robinson Crusoe. Coetzee’s work deconstructs, problematises, and interrogates many of the assumptions in Defoe: about voice and silence; authorship and authority; identity, colonialism, and otherness; narrative and “truth.”

The contrast between the two allows for rich comparative analysis: what is assumed in Crusoe as natural, inevitable, heroic, even moral, Coetzee often unsettles or subverts. The rest of this essay will examine themes, narrative structure, characterization, colonialism, voice and silencing, gender and authorship, language, religion, and the philosophical implications of the two works.

For Background of Robinson Crusoe👇

Key Themes: Survival, Solitude, and Nature

Robinson Crusoe

• In Defoe’s novel, Crusoe’s survival against the elements, isolation, provision of food, shelter, domestication of animals, cultivation of the land, etc., are central. The natural world is something to be mastered, disciplined, made useful.

• Solitude is both trial and blessing; it forces self-reliance, reflection, and eventually, moral and spiritual growth. Crusoe comes to reflect on sin, providence, gratitude, repentance. He sees divine design in his rescue, in his ability to adapt to the island.

Foe

• Coetzee’s Foe also uses the island as a setting, but the way the island is presented is very different. It is harsher, less romantic. The simplicity or wildness of nature becomes oppressive, monotonous, existential. There is less triumphant mastery; more limitation, decay.

• Solitude does not lead to heroic self-improvement in Foe. The protagonist Susan Barton witnesses the deterioration of Cruso, and his inability to sustain decisive, coherent narratives. Nature does not easily yield. The island becomes a site of ambiguity, suffering, even psychological or moral unraveling rather than progress.

Comparative take: while Crusoe affirms the Enlightenment/colonial subject’s ability over nature, Foe shows the fragility of that subject, the porousness of the boundary between subject/object, speaker/silenced, between civilized and primitive. Survival in Foe is moral, symbolic, and narrative as much as physical; and often unsuccessful.

Narrative Structure, Authorship, and Truth

Robinson Crusoe

• The novel is presented as if Crusoe himself is narrating (with occasional digressions), chronicling his own experience in a first‐person voice. It claims to be “a true history,” or at least claimed accuracy (“his own journal,” etc.), though of course it is fictional.

• The narrative is linear, coherent: shipwreck, adaptation, meeting Friday, conversion, rescue, return. Crusoe is the central controlling consciousness.

Foe

• Foe is much more complex, metafictional. The narrative is layered: Susan Barton’s narrative to “Foe” (the author‐figure), letters, uncertain truths, contradictory stories. Coetzee plays with what can be told, who tells, how reliable the telling is. The reader is made aware of gaps, silences, uncertainties. 

• The character Foe, modelled on Daniel Defoe, is invoked as the person Susan wants to write her story. But Coetzee problematises what it means to write someone’s story. There is tension between Susan’s desire for her story (“her‐story”) and Foe’s literary/market interests, authorial prerogatives, what makes a “good story.”

Comparative take: Crusoe presents a confident authorial voice, an assumption of knowability, a belief that truth can be recounted in narrative form. Foe challenges this: there are multiple narratives, silences, missing voices; storytelling is not neutral but bound up with power — who writes, who is listened to, what is left unsaid.

Colonialism, Power, and “Otherness”

Robinson Crusoe

• Crusoe establishes dominion over the island, naming it, domestication, mastering the environment, bringing in European modes of living. The presence of Friday as the “Other” allows Crusoe to exercise his colonial subjectivity: Crusoe teaches him language (English), religion (Christianity), culture; he rescues him, civilises him. Friday becomes a subordinate, assisting Crusoe, learning from him.

• The novel reflects, and helps in its own way justify, colonial ideology: European superiority, civilization vs. savagery, the notion that a lone European can carve a domain out of wilderness.

Foe

• Coetzee’s novel critically inverts or complicates much of that. Friday is rendered voiceless in a very literal sense: he has had his tongue cut out. Thus, the power relations are shown in more violent terms: silencing, control, absence of voice, inability to represent. 

• Susan Barton, though white and from a colonizing background, seeks to give voice to Friday’s story. But even Susan’s attempt is mediated, limited. She struggles with expressing what Friday might want, what she might impose. She also contends with Foe’s reluctance to go with the truth if it is “boring” or unprofitable. 

Comparative take: While Crusoe more or less accepts the colonial power structure as natural and desirable, Foe exposes its violence, its exclusions, the erasures. Foe draws attention to what is omitted in Crusoe, what cannot be heard, who is marginalized, who is made invisible (or made voiceless).

Gender and “Her‐Story”

One of the major differences is the presence of a female protagonist/narrator in Foe — Susan Barton — and the near absence of women in Crusoe.

• Robinson Crusoe is overwhelmingly male‐centred. The few female characters are largely in the periphery (Crusoe’s family before his voyage, his mother, etc.). The narrative is male adventure, male survival, male identity.

• Foe introduces Susan as central. Her perspective is different: she asks questions of storytelling, what it means to be heard, what is the place of women. She is not simply a passive observer but actively trying to shape the narrative, resisting being objectified by Foe. Her voice is part of the critique of traditional narratives that have been male dominated. 

Thus, Foe participates in feminist as well as postcolonial critique: “her‐story” as counter‐history to “his‐story.” The tension between Susan and Foe about what should be told, and how, is part of Foe’s interrogation of authorship and authority.

 Language, Silence, and Representation

Language and its limits are central to Foe; also important in Crusoe, though in different ways.

In Robinson Crusoe

• Language is seen as part of civilization: Crusoe teaching Friday English, converting him; naming things; assertion of identity via speech.

• Crusoe’s narrative itself is confident; his descriptions, his interpretations are taken as reliable (by the book’s form).

In Foe

• Friday’s literal loss of tongue is a powerful symbol of colonial silencing. He cannot speak; he cannot narrate. His representation must be mediated through others (Susan, sometimes “Foe”). 

• The narrative draws attention to what gesture, mimicry, silence might communicate, but how often those are misunderstood. The limits of language – narrative voice, the framing, what gets selected – are central to Coetzee’s concerns.

• Susan is aware that the story Foe wants is not the same as the story she has, or the story Friday might want; the market, the authorial interest, the expectation of adventure, the requirement of spectacle distort what might be more truthful or more important.

 Religious and Moral Dimensions

Robinson Crusoe

• Providence, sin, repentance, gratitude. Crusoe often interprets events as acts of God; sees his survival as divine. He reads the Bible; he meditates. He attributes many of his insights to religion.

• There’s a moral arc: early recklessness (e.g. leaving home despite parental advice), spiritual crises, confession of sin, ultimately a kind of moral stability, via Christian belief.

Foe

• Religion is more ambiguous. Cruso is described as becoming more superstitious; there are rituals suggested, but they don’t have the same clarity or assurance as in Crusoe. The divine is not clearly benevolent; providence is ambiguous or non‐verifiable.

• Moral responsibility is more complex: Susan tries to do right by Friday; but is her understanding enough? Does her telling prevent injustice, or is it complicity? There is no easy certainty.

Time, Memory, and Legacy

• Crusoe has a strong sense of linear time, of progress: from shipwreck to mastery, from wilderness to plantation, from isolation to rescue. His past (before the shipwreck) is not so deeply troubling; the future is hopeful.

• In Foe, time is more ambiguous. Cruso’s age, decay; memory is unreliable. Susan worries about what will be remembered, what will be told, what will be lost. The past is not neatly recoverable.

• Legacy: in Crusoe, the legacy is the tale itself, of Crusoe’s domination, conversion of Friday, return to Europe. The adventurous narrative becomes part of colonial ideology. Foe problematises legacy: what stories get told, by whom, how they obscure/invent/compress history.

Critical Perspectives: Postcolonial, Metafiction, Trauma

Several critical frameworks are helpful when comparing the two:

1. Postcolonial Critique: Coetzee nearly explicitly takes on colonialism’s voice, its silencing of the colonized, the idea of imperial power in naming, disciplining, authoring stories. Foe shows that colonial narratives are not neutral; they erase, obscure, exploit.

2. Metafiction / Deconstruction: Foe does not only retell Crusoe, but reflects on what it means to retell. The presence of “Foe” the author‐figure, Susan’s letters, the refusal of fully coherent narrative – all these are metafictional elements.

3. Voice, Silence, the Subaltern: Friday is a subaltern figure; his voice, literally, is taken. Susan tries to mediate but can’t fully. This links Foe to theorists like Gayatri Spivak on “Can the subaltern speak?” The novel suggests maybe not, or at least that speech, when it exists, is mediated, always at risk of distortion. Scholarship points out that Foe vividly dramatizes erasure, silencing, and attempts to reclaim or reconstruct voice. 

4. Trauma and Violence: Coetzee shows colonialism not just as ideology but as violence: physical mutilation (Friday’s tongue), psychological suffering, displacement, loss. Robinson Crusoe has violence (Crusoe kills animals, subjugates others, etc.), but more often it is mediated as virtue, discipline, necessity, sometimes glossed over. Foe exposes the darker side.

5. Ethics of Storytelling: Foe forces the reader to question: Is it ethical to tell someone else’s story? What counts as truth in narrative? When is a story for sale, for entertainment, for profit, how does this distort? Susan’s struggle with Foe over the story is central.

Major Similarities

Despite the many differences, there are also important connections:

• Both revolve around a person or people stranded / alone (or isolated) on an island. The island becomes a site of testing, of transformation (though in different ways).

• Both involve the figure (Crusoe / Cruso) as central, with a subordinate (Friday) whose condition raises questions of dependence, power, alterity.

• Both use Christian ideas: sin, providence, repentance, redemption (though Foe complicates the clarity of those ideas).

• Both involve naming: Crusoe names Friday “Friday,” asserts dominion via naming; in Foe, naming is also important — Susan names Cruso, Foe, Susan, Friday. Names carry power; they are part of identity.

• Both texts engage with narrative: either in explicit telling (Crusoe’s journal) or in who tells, what is told, what is omitted.

Major Differences

Here are the principal points where Foe differs from, challenges, or rewrites Robinson Crusoe:

1. Voice / Silencing: Friday’s tongue is removed in Foe; in Crusoe, he learns English and speaks. The possibility of full communication is curtailed in Foe.

2. Gender Presence: Foe introduces Susan Barton, giving a female perspective which Crusoe lacks. This introduces questions of what women’s voice has been in such adventure narratives.

3. Certainty vs. Ambiguity: Crusoe tends to give a clear progression; Foe is fractured, uncertain in its telling. Events are filtered, contradictory.

4. Colonial Ideology: In Crusoe, colonialism, cultural superiority, mission civilisatrice are somewhat accepted; in Foe, these are critiqued, exposed, made problematic.

5. Authorial Authority: Defoe’s narrator is confident; Coetzee’s narrator(s) are less certain; there is tension over who has right to tell the story.

6. Nature / Environment: In Crusoe, nature is something that can be subdued and made to serve survival; in Foe, nature seems more indifferent, less yielding; the hardships of the island are more persistent, more oppressive.

7. Literary Form: Crusoe is more conventional in structure, older‐novel form; Foe is more experimental, postmodern, metafictional, intertextual.

Critical Interpretations & Scholarship

From the secondary literature:

Silencing and Alterity: Scholars have noted how Foe foregrounds the erasure of Friday’s voice, and raises the question of whether we can ever hear the true “Other,” or only what others tell. 

History/His‐Story vs. Her‐Story: The contrast between history written by men (colonizers) and the need to recover women’s voices, marginal voices. Foe explicitly contrasts Susan’s desire to tell her story vs. Foe’s agenda, what is marketable, what sells.

Metafiction and Deconstruction: Coetzee’s work is seen as “counter‐canonical”: it unsettles canonical texts like Robinson Crusoe, reveals their assumptions, ambiguities, omissions. 

Power, Naming, Ownership: The act of naming: “Crusoe,” “Cruso,” “Friday,” “Susan,” “Foe” has power. Occupying, naming, defining are forms of power. Scholars point out that Crusoe claims the island and names Friday, whereas Foe problematises that. 

The Limitations of Narrative Truth: What is truth in these stories? Is the story we get in Crusoe the whole story? Foe suggests no. The gaps, the silences, the unsaid, the unknown are as telling as what is said.    

 Philosophical and Moral Implications

• Human agency: How much control do we really have? Crusoe is optimistic about human agency (even placing faith in Providence); Foe is more skeptical—agency is limited, mediated, constrained by history and power.

• Ethics of rescue and care: Is America / Europe / colonizer’s rescue always benevolent? In Foe, Susan wants to “rescue” Friday, to bring him away, but is this respectful of his wishes? Even rescue here has complex implications.

• Memory and historical justice: How do we remember colonialism? How do we tell stories of those who were silenced? Coetzee suggests that some of those stories may be forever lost, or only partly recoverable. That raises moral questions: what obligations do we have in telling or preserving history, especially for those with no voice?

• Complexity of “otherness”: Foe resists the idea of Friday simply as “Other” in a romantic or noble sense. He is more ambiguous; his identity is more opaque; Susan cannot fully see him. It is a challenge to simple binary oppositions of civilized/barbaric, colonizer/colonized.

Criticisms of Foe (and of Robinson Crusoe)

Any comparative analysis should also consider what critics find problematic in each.

• Some readers find Foe frustrating: because the narrative is ambiguous, fragmented, and sometimes feels incomplete. Friday never speaks; Cruso’s past is vague; many questions remain unanswered. Some see this as a virtue; others as a limitation.

• Accusations of perhaps replicating the same power imbalances: even Susan, despite her sympathy, may impose her own vision on Friday’s story; Foe (author) may distort for literary effect. The risk of speaking for the Other is itself ethically fraught.

• In Robinson Crusoe, criticisms include: colonial arrogance; racism (depiction of “savages” and European superiority); moral self‐righteousness; religious proselytizing; the erasure of other voices; the notion that nature is there for human use; the celebration of individualism that ignores structural inequalities.

Conclusion

Putting Robinson Crusoe and Foe side by side gives a powerful view of how colonial and postcolonial literature engage with questions of power, voice, representation, identity, and narrative. Crusoe offers an adventure tale rooted in its time, a tale of survival, providence, and the colonial imagination. Foe, written nearly three centuries later, opens that tale up: it reveals what was excluded, the limits of the voice, the silences of colonial histories, the difficulties of telling one’s own story.

The critical lesson might be that every story, especially canonical ones, carries with it assumptions and exclusions. Literature is not just what is told, but what is left out; not just who speaks, but who is silenced. Foe does not provide easy answers, but forces readers to interrogate what they believe, what they read uncritically, and what histories they accept.

 References 

https://jflcc.thebrpi.org/journals/jflcc/Vol_8_No_2_December_2020/3.pdf?utm_

https://davuniversity.org/images/files/study-material/Foe.pdf

https://www.gutenberg.org/files/521/521-h/521-h.htm