Analysis of War Photography

Analysis of War Photography War photography has existed since the nineteenth century, when Roger Fenton set out to photograph the Crimean war in 1855. From the beginning of war photography questions have always been raised about their representation of the truth. Compared to modern day cameras the exposure time required to take a photograph ensured that action shots were not possible. The images could only be of dead on the battlefield or posed for. This was apparent throughout Alexander Gardeners photos of the American Civil. The photographer, who created the book Photographic Sketch Book of the Civil War, was famed for staging various shots. The image which was captioned, The home of a rebel sharpshooter was proved to have been staged. Civil war experts reviewed the image revealing that Gardner had dragged the body into the shot and twisted his head towards the camera. The gun also within the image was placed strategically by Gardner. During World War two the staging of photographs continued. The cameras used during this war were a significant improvement and allowed for action shots to be taken but still questions were being asked about the authenticity of some of the photographs. Yevgeny Khaldeis famous photograph of a Soviet soldier placing the Soviet Unions flag atop of the Reichstag building in Berlin was in fact staged. The photo was taken three days after the Soviets had firstly placed a flag at the top. The image was taken at such an angle to prevent showing other Soviet soldiers who were looting and the soldiers were handpicked by Khaldei. Another of a photo which is circled by rumours of being staged is the most reproduced photo in the world. Jim Rosenthals photo of the flag rising at Iwo Jima was claimed to be, too perfect. The image taken was not the first picture of a flag being raised. Marine Photographer took the first picture of a flag being raised earlier in the day while the marine were under heavy fire. Rosenthals photo was taken later in the day and pictured a much larger flag. There has always been a partiality of representation in major wars simply because usually only one side is reported on by journalists representing news institutes from the same country as the army they report on. This begs the question of what is the purpose of war photography. Is it to inform the public or to provide morale for troops and the home public? The purpose of war photography has shifted throughout the years. During earlier wars photos were purely used to inform the public. Images were sent back to keep the public updated on what their troops were doing. In contrast, recent war photography, due to censorship and embedding, has become nothing more than propaganda. Staged and altered shots are created in order to show the military in a positive light, therefore limiting the offence they create to the viewing public. Other factors need to be taken into account, in order to determine whether war reporting is purely for morale of the country or to inform the public, such as the safety of the nation. For instance the World wars threatened national survival, so therefore reports and photographs released and published were intended to create a sense of morale and keep the war effort going. This was mainly as everyone would have been affected by the war., while wars being fought in foreign countries such as Iraq and Afghanistan lead to a sense of anonymity as it is out of direct view of the public. Reports and images published from these photojournalists need to carry a certain amount of truth to inform the public back in their home countries. The Vietnam War is known as the war that was lost on TV. The media was allowed to publish all kinds of images. During Vietnam the press was given remarkable freedom to report the war without any government control. Vietnam was the most heavily covered war in which reporters were not subject to extensive censorship. Pictures of decapitated bodies and civilians injuries were being broadcast back in America causing the public to think twice about the war that was taking place. President at the time Richard Nixon stressed this issue by saying, In each nights TV news and each mornings papers the war was reported battle by battle, but little or no sense of the underlying purpose of the fighting was conveyed. Eventually this contributed to the impression that we were fighting in military quicksand, rather than toward an important and worthwhile objective. The severity of the images was one of many factors that contributed to the American government losing the will to fight on in the war. Many journalists generally reported what they saw both positive and negative, according to James Reston, journalists didnt think it was their mission to serve the war effort. The freedom they were given was interpreted in several different ways, with the majority reporting the war in a completely subjective way. Reston goes onto say, for better or worse it was the journalists views that prevailed with the public, whose disenchantment forced an end to American involvement. This was especially prominent in independent photographers, as they would not have an editorial agenda to adhere to. Inevitably during military briefings they would lose the idea of the big picture. Although it can be argued that military briefings are often thinly disguised as propaganda anyway. The general stance on reporting the war started to change as the war progressed. The longer the conflict continued the more graphic the images and reports were. The offensive and disturbing reports from Vietnam as well as conscription and the fatality rate led to many people staging an anti war protest and voicing their concerns about the war. The largest of which was at Washington DC when a reported two hundred and fifty thousand people gathered in joint protest. Although it is claimed to be one of the contributing factors Professor Daniel Hallin of the University of California at San Diego conducted a study into the Vietnam coverage. He concluded that the war coverage was almost completely sanitised on television, due to the need not to cause any offence to any of the soldiers families. As a response to what happened in Vietnam, the censorship put upon the press by the British government during the Falklands war was at an extreme. Every inch of columns and pictures had to be check thoroughly by army officials before it was then passed onto the Ministry of Defence, who then proceeded to check it again before it could be published. The censorship in the Falklands was so extreme that it led to the word censored actually being censored. Due to the negative press that was created throughout Vietnam, the British government made a deliberate attempt to stop people knowing what was going on. The government were keen to project a positive picture back the British public and it did this by starving the press of any influential information. This was evident on the 14th of May 1982 when an Exocet missile hit HMS Sheffield. The military ensured that the news was delayed in reaching the reporters present. All reporters were also kept at arms length any live footage sent back to Britain was shot from a few hundred metres away. Very few clear picture of HMS Sheffield were shown back in Britain. Before the invasion of Iraq it was decided that journalists would be embedding among soldiers The concept of embedding reporters was an initiative proposed by the US defence secretary Donald Rumsfeld. The concept was introduced after initial pressure from the countrys news media. The press were disappointed with the level of access that they were granted in previous conflict zones. The concept of Embedding reporters was not a new on but it was never carried out on this kind of scale before. After deciding to embed reporters among soldiers Rumsfeld explained the reasoning behind his decision, We need to tell the factual story-good and bad-before others seed the media with disinformation and distortion, as they most certainly will continue to do. Our people in the field need to tell our story-only commanders can ensure the media get to the story alongside the troops. The main concept of embedding reporters is that they would identify with the troops around them. Each journalist would be assigned to a company of soldiers and would experience the war first hand in the frontline. Each reporter would be issued with military equipment; they would also eat and sleep alongside their respective soldiers. By assigning a journalist to a troop, it meant that the reporter could be placed anywhere. This meant that the position of the embed could be decided by the military. Around six hundred national and local journalists were embedded with troops as they entered Iraq. The system of embedding reporters tended to have a psychological effect upon reporters causing them to lose the ability to remain objective. The system also led to reporters having tunnel vision especially when reporting on tactical operation. Journalists would only see one or two units in action, and therefore only reporting upon what they were doing. Gordon Dillow an embedded reported said, I fell in love with my marines I wasnt reporting; the point was I was reporting the Marine grunt truth which had also become my truth. The following images and articles will be analysed using Roland Barthes theory of semiotics. Building upon Ferdinand de Saussures linguistic theories Barthes constructed his own theory of semiotics. According to his paper Myth today (1957) the theory consists of a signifier, the signified and the sign. The signifier is the term used to describe the image, which is being examined, and the signified is the term used to describe any ideas which are raised by the signifier, and the sign is the correlation of the signifier and the signified. Barthes also noted that anything signified by the signifier is culturally specific, Signifieds have a very close communication with culture, knowledge, history, and it is through them so to speak, that the environmental world invades the system. Barthes (1967) This would suggest that whatever is being signified may change over time and that different people would interpret signifieds differently. For example within an Indian culture cows are perceived as a sacred holy animal, while in western culture the cow is simply a provider of food. Due to the fact that each signified is culturally specific Barthes theory also takes into account the uses of denotation and connotation. Denotation is a literal description of the image or object being examined while connotation is the ideas associated with the image or object. When analysing press photographs it is important to also include the caption, as Barthes claims that the image and the caption are two different structures. Barthes uses the terms anchorage and relay when referring press photograph captions. Anchorage refers to when the text within the caption, directs the reader through the signifieds of the image causing him to avoid some and receive others. Barthes (1977). Relay describes the addition of something in the caption, which is not actually present in the image. Barthes also included in his theory of semiotics the element of myth. Myth is described as, a second-order semiological system. Barthes argues that signification is divided into two different sections connotations and denotation and myth is signification in the connotative level. Myth sees the signifiers in its raw form. Similar to signifieds myth is divided into two categories, the language object which is the linguistic system and myth itself which is described as metalanguage because it is a second language which talks about the first one. Barthes described the use of myth as, When he reflects on a metalanguage, the semiologist no longer needs to ask himself questions about the composition of the language object, he no longer has to take into account the details of the linguistic schema; he will only need to know its total term or global sign (Barthes 1967) When using Barthes theory two competing myths can be attained about war. One myth is based upon General William Tecumseh Shermans quote that reads, It is only those who have neither fired a shot nor heard the shrieks and groans of the wounded who cry aloud for bloodWar is hell. The competing myth to this is that war can be fought in a morally acceptable way. Making a war morally manageable is minimising the risk to casualties and soldiers and hence political and electoral risks to their masters. By using various photographs and articles from differing conflicts such as Vietnam, the Falklands, and Afghanistan, this essay will use Barthes theory of semiotics to test the theory that images from non embedded reporters will support the myth that war is hell and embedded photographers will show that war can be fought in a morally acceptable way.

A Game of Thrones Chapter Eight

Bran The hunt left at dawn. The king wanted wild boar at the feast tonight. Prince Joffrey rode with his father, so Robb had been allowed to join the hunters as well. Uncle Benjen, Jory, Theon Greyjoy, Ser Rodrik, and even the queen's funny little brother had all ridden out with them. It was the last hunt, after all. On the morrow they left for the south. Bran had been left behind with Jon and the girls and Rickon. But Rickon was only a baby and the girls were only girls and Jon and his wolf were nowhere to be found. Bran did not look for him very hard. He thought Jon was angry at him. Jon seemed to be angry at everyone these days. Bran did not know why. He was going with Uncle Ben to the Wall, to join the Night's Watch. That was almost as good as going south with the king. Robb was the one they were leaving behind, not Jon. For days, Bran could scarcely wait to be off. He was going to ride the kingsroad on a horse of his own, not a pony but a real horse. His father would be the Hand of the King, and they were going to live in the red castle at King's Landing, the castle the Dragonlords had built. Old Nan said there were ghosts there, and dungeons where terrible things had been done, and dragon heads on the walls. It gave Bran a shiver just to think of it, but he was not afraid. How could he be afraid? His father would be with him, and the king with all his knights and sworn swords. Bran was going to be a knight himself someday, one of the Kingsguard. Old Nan said they were the finest swords in all the realm. There were only seven of them, and they wore white armor and had no wives or children, but lived only to serve the king. Bran knew all the stories. Their names were like music to him. Serwyn of the Mirror Shield. Ser Ryam Redwyne. Prince Aemon the Dragonknight. The twins Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk, who had died on one another's swords hundreds of years ago, when brother fought sister in the war the singers called the Dance of the Dragons. The White Bull, Gerold Hightower. Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. Barristan the Bold. Two of the Kingsguard had come north with King Robert. Bran had watched them with fascination, never quite daring to speak to them. Ser Boros was a bald man with a jowly face, and Ser Meryn had droopy eyes and a beard the color of rust. Ser Jaime Lannister looked more like the knights in the stories, and he was of the Kingsguard too, but Robb said he had killed the old mad king and shouldn't count anymore. The greatest living knight was Ser Barristan Selmy, Barristan the Bold, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Father had promised that they would meet Ser Barristan when they reached King's Landing, and Bran had been marking the days on his wall, eager to depart, to see a world he had only dreamed of and begin a life he could scarcely imagine. Yet now that the last day was at hand, suddenly Bran felt lost. Winterfell had been the only home he had ever known. His father had told him that he ought to say his farewells today, and he had tried. After the hunt had ridden out, he wandered through the castle with his wolf at his side, intending to visit the ones who would be left behind, Old Nan and Gage the cook, Mikken in his smithy, Hodor the stableboy who smiled so much and took care of his pony and never said anything but â€Å"Hodor,† the man in the glass gardens who gave him a blackberry when he came to visit . . . But it was no good. He had gone to the stable first, and seen his pony there in its stall, except it wasn't his pony anymore, he was getting a real horse and leaving the pony behind, and all of a sudden Bran just wanted to sit down and cry. He turned and ran off before Hodor and the other stableboys could see the tears in his eyes. That was the end of his farewells. Instead Bran spent the morning alone in the godswood, trying to teach his wolf to fetch a stick, and failing. The wolfling was smarter than any of the hounds in his father's kennel and Bran would have sworn he understood every word that was said to him, but he showed very little interest in chasing sticks. He was still trying to decide on a name. Robb was calling his Grey Wind, because he ran so fast. Sansa had named hers Lady, and Arya named hers after some old witch queen in the songs, and little Rickon called his Shaggydog, which Bran thought was a pretty stupid name for a direwolf. Jon's wolf, the white one, was Ghost. Bran wished he had thought of that first, even though his wolf wasn't white. He had tried a hundred names in the last fortnight, but none of them sounded right. Finally he got tired of the stick game and decided to go climbing. He hadn't been up to the broken tower for weeks with everything that had happened, and this might be his last chance. He raced across the godswood, taking the long way around to avoid the pool where the heart tree grew. The heart tree had always frightened him; trees ought not have eyes, Bran thought, or leaves that looked like hands. His wolf came sprinting at his heels. â€Å"You stay here,† he told him at the base of the sentinel tree near the armory wall. â€Å"Lie down. That's right. Now stay—† The wolf did as he was told. Bran scratched him behind the ears, then turned away, jumped, grabbed a low branch, and pulled himself up. He was halfway up the tree, moving easily from limb to limb, when the wolf got to his feet and began to howl. Bran looked back down. His wolf fell silent, staring up at him through slitted yellow eyes. A strange chill went through him. He began to climb again. Once more the wolf howled. â€Å"Quiet,† he yelled. â€Å"Sit down. Stay. You're worse than Mother.† The howling chased him all the way up the tree, until finally he jumped off onto the armory roof and out of sight. The rooftops of Winterfell were Bran's second home. His mother often said that Bran could climb before he could walk. Bran could not remember when he first learned to walk, but he could not remember when he started to climb either, so he supposed it must be true. To a boy, Winterfell was a grey stone labyrinth of walls and towers and courtyards and tunnels spreading out in all directions. In the older parts of the castle, the halls slanted up and down so that you couldn't even be sure what floor you were on. The place had grown over the centuries like some monstrous stone tree, Maester Luwin told him once, and its branches were gnarled and thick and twisted, its roots sunk deep into the earth. When he got out from under it and scrambled up near the sky, Bran could see all of Winterfell in a glance. He liked the way it looked, spread out beneath him, only birds wheeling over his head while all the life of the castle went on below. Bran could perch for hours among the shapeless, rain-worn gargoyles that brooded over the First Keep, watching it all: the men drilling with wood and steel in the yard, the cooks tending their vegetables in the glass garden, restless dogs running back and forth in the kennels, the silence of the godswood, the girls gossiping beside the washing well. It made him feel like he was lord of the castle, in a way even Robb would never know. It taught him Winterfell's secrets too. The builders had not even leveled the earth; there were hills and valleys behind the walls of Winterfell. There was a covered bridge that went from the fourth floor of the bell tower across to the second floor of the rookery. Bran knew about that. And he knew you could get inside the inner wall by the south gate, climb three floors and run all the way around Winterfell through a narrow tunnel in the stone, and then come out on ground level at the north gate, with a hundred feet of wall looming over you. Even Maester Luwin didn't know that, Bran was convinced. His mother was terrified that one day Bran would slip off a wall and kill himself. He told her that he wouldn't, but she never believed him. Once she made him promise that he would stay on the ground. He had managed to keep that promise for almost a fortnight, miserable every day, until one night he had gone out the window of his bedroom when his brothers were fast asleep. He confessed his crime the next day in a fit of guilt. Lord Eddard ordered him to the godswood to cleanse himself. Guards were posted to see that Bran remained there alone all night to reflect on his disobedience. The next morning Bran was nowhere to be seen. They finally found him fast asleep in the upper branches of the tallest sentinel in the grove. As angry as he was, his father could not help but laugh. â€Å"You're not my son,† he told Bran when they fetched him down, â€Å"you're a squirrel. So be it. If you must climb, then climb, but try not to let your mother see you.† Bran did his best, although he did not think he ever really fooled her. Since his father would not forbid it, she turned to others. Old Nan told him a story about a bad little boy who climbed too high and was struck down by lightning, and how afterward the crows came to peck out his eyes. Bran was not impressed. There were crows' nests atop the broken tower, where no one ever went but him, and sometimes he filled his pockets with corn before he climbed up there and the crows ate it right out of his hand. None of them had ever shown the slightest bit of interest in pecking out his eyes. Later, Maester Luwin built a little pottery boy and dressed him in Bran's clothes and flung him off the wall into the yard below, to demonstrate what would happen to Bran if he fell. That had been fun, but afterward Bran just looked at the maester and said, â€Å"I'm not made of clay. And anyhow, I never fall.† Then for a while the guards would chase him whenever they saw him on the roofs, and try to haul him down. That was the best time of all. It was like playing a game with his brothers, except that Bran always won. None of the guards could climb half so well as Bran, not even Jory. Most of the time they never saw him anyway. People never looked up. That was another thing he liked about climbing; it was almost like being invisible. He liked how it felt too, pulling himself up a wall stone by stone, fingers and toes digging hard into the small crevices between. He always took off his boots and went barefoot when he climbed; it made him feel as if he had four hands instead of two. He liked the deep, sweet ache it left in the muscles afterward. He liked the way the air tasted way up high, sweet and cold as a winter peach. He liked the birds: the crows in the broken tower, the tiny little sparrows that nested in cracks between the stones, the ancient owl that slept in the dusty loft above the old armory. Bran knew them all. Most of all, he liked going places that no one else could go, and seeing the grey sprawl of Winterfell in a way that no one else ever saw it. It made the whole castle Bran's secret place. His favorite haunt was the broken tower. Once it had been a watchtower, the tallest in Winterfell. A long time ago, a hundred years before even his father had been born, a lightning strike had set it afire. The top third of the structure had collapsed inward, and the tower had never been rebuilt. Sometimes his father sent ratters into the base of the tower, to clean out the nests they always found among the jumble of fallen stones and charred and rotten beams. But no one ever got up to the jagged top of the structure now except for Bran and the crows. He knew two ways to get there. You could climb straight up the side of the tower itself, but the stones were loose, the mortar that held them together long gone to ash, and Bran never liked to put his full weight on them. The best way was to start from the godswood, shinny up the tall sentinel, and cross over the armory and the guards hall, leaping roof to roof, barefoot so the guards wouldn't hear you overhead. That brought you up to the blind side of the First Keep, the oldest part of the castle, a squat round fortress that was taller than it looked. Only rats and spiders lived there now but the old stones still made for good climbing. You could go straight up to where the gargoyles leaned out blindly over empty space, and swing from gargoyle to gargoyle, hand over hand, around to the north side. From there, if you really stretched, you could reach out and pull yourself over to the broken tower where it leaned close. The last part was the scramble up the blackened stones to the eyrie, no more than ten feet, and then the crows would come round to see if you'd brought any corn. Bran was moving from gargoyle to gargoyle with the ease of long practice when he heard the voices. He was so startled he almost lost his grip. The First Keep had been empty all his life. â€Å"I do not like it,† a woman was saying. There was a row of windows beneath him, and the voice was drifting out of the last window on this side. â€Å"You should be the Hand.† â€Å"Gods forbid,† a man's voice replied lazily. â€Å"It's not an honor I'd want. There's far too much work involved.† Bran hung, listening, suddenly afraid to go on. They might glimpse his feet if he tried to swing by. â€Å"Don't you see the danger this puts us in?† the woman said. â€Å"Robert loves the man like a brother.† â€Å"Robert can barely stomach his brothers. Not that I blame him. Stannis would be enough to give anyone indigestion.† â€Å"Don't play the fool. Stannis and Renly are one thing, and Eddard Stark is quite another. Robert will listen to Stark. Damn them both. I should have insisted that he name you, but I was certain Stark would refuse him.† â€Å"We ought to count ourselves fortunate,† the man said. â€Å"The king might as easily have named one of his brothers, or even Littlefinger, gods help us. Give me honorable enemies rather than ambitious ones, and I'll sleep more easily by night.† They were talking about Father, Bran realized. He wanted to hear more. A few more feet . . . but they would see him if he swung out in front of the window. â€Å"We will have to watch him carefully,† the woman said. â€Å"I would sooner watch you,† the man said. He sounded bored. â€Å"Come back here.† â€Å"Lord Eddard has never taken any interest in anything that happened south of the Neck,† the woman said. â€Å"Never. I tell you, he means to move against us. Why else would he leave the seat of his power?† â€Å"A hundred reasons. Duty. Honor. He yearns to write his name large across the book of history, to get away from his wife, or both. Perhaps he just wants to be warm for once in his life.† â€Å"His wife is Lady Arryn's sister. It's a wonder Lysa was not here to greet us with her accusations.† Bran looked down. There was a narrow ledge beneath the window, only a few inches wide. He tried to lower himself toward it. Too far. He would never reach. â€Å"You fret too much. Lysa Arryn is a frightened cow.† â€Å"That frightened cow shared Jon Arryn's bed.† â€Å"If she knew anything, she would have gone to Robert before she fled King's Landing.† â€Å"When he had already agreed to foster that weakling son of hers at Casterly Rock? I think not. She knew the boy's life would be hostage to her silence. She may grow bolder now that he's safe atop the Eyrie.† â€Å"Mothers.† The man made the word sound like a curse. â€Å"I think birthing does something to your minds. You are all mad.† He laughed. It was a bitter sound. â€Å"Let Lady Arryn grow as bold as she likes. Whatever she knows, whatever she thinks she knows, she has no proof.† He paused a moment. â€Å"Or does she?† â€Å"Do you think the king will require proof?† the woman said. â€Å"I tell you, he loves me not.† â€Å"And whose fault is that, sweet sister?† Bran studied the ledge. He could drop down. It was too narrow to land on, but if he could catch hold as he fell past, pull himself up . . . except that might make a noise, draw them to the window. He was not sure what he was hearing, but he knew it was not meant for his ears. â€Å"You are as blind as Robert,† the woman was saying. â€Å"If you mean I see the same thing, yes,† the man said. â€Å"I see a man who would sooner die than betray his king.† â€Å"He betrayed one already, or have you forgotten?† the woman said. â€Å"Oh, I don't deny he's loyal to Robert, that's obvious. What happens when Robert dies and Joff takes the throne? And the sooner that comes to pass, the safer we'll all be. My husband grows more restless every day. Having Stark beside him will only make him worse. He's still in love with the sister, the insipid little dead sixteen-year-old. How long till he decides to put me aside for some new Lyanna?† Bran was suddenly very frightened. He wanted nothing so much as to go back the way he had come, to find his brothers. Only what would he tell them? He had to get closer, Bran realized. He had to see who was talking. The man sighed. â€Å"You should think less about the future and more about the pleasures at hand.† â€Å"Stop that!† the woman said. Bran heard the sudden slap of flesh on flesh, then the man's laughter. Bran pulled himself up, climbed over the gargoyle, crawled out onto the roof. This was the easy way. He moved across the roof to the next gargoyle, right above the window of the room where they were talking. â€Å"All this talk is getting very tiresome, sister,† the man said. â€Å"Come here and be quiet.† Bran sat astride the gargoyle, tightened his legs around it, and swung himself around, upside down. He hung by his legs and slowly stretched his head down toward the window. The world looked strange upside down. A courtyard swam dizzily below him, its stones still wet with melted snow. Bran looked in the window. Inside the room, a man and a woman were wrestling. They were both naked. Bran could not tell who they were. The man's back was to him, and his body screened the woman from view as he pushed her up against a wall. There were soft, wet sounds. Bran realized they were kissing. He watched, wide-eyed and frightened, his breath tight in his throat. The man had a hand down between her legs, and he must have been hurting her there, because the woman started to moan, low in her throat. â€Å"Stop it,† she said, â€Å"stop it, stop it. Oh, please . . . † But her voice was low and weak, and she did not push him away. Her hands buried themselves in his hair, his tangled golden hair, and pulled his face down to her breast. Bran saw her face. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open, moaning. Her golden hair swung from side to side as her head moved back and forth, but still he recognized the queen. He must have made a noise. Suddenly her eyes opened, and she was staring right at him. She screamed. Everything happened at once then. ‘ The woman pushed the man away wildly, shouting and pointing. Bran tried to pull himself up, bending double as he reached for the gargoyle. He was in too much of a hurry. His hand scraped uselessly across smooth stone, and in his panic his legs slipped, and suddenly he was failing. There was an instant of vertigo, a sickening lurch as the window flashed past. He shot out a hand, grabbed for the ledge, lost it, caught it again with his other hand. He swung against the building, hard. The impact took the breath out of him. Bran dangled, one-handed, panting. Faces appeared in the window above him. The queen. And now Bran recognized the man beside her. They looked as much alike as reflections in a mirror. â€Å"He saw us,† the woman said shrilly. â€Å"So he did,† the man said. Bran's fingers started to slip. He grabbed the ledge with his other hand. Fingernails dug into unyielding stone. The man reached down. â€Å"Take my hand,† he said. â€Å"Before you fall.† Bran seized his arm and held on tight with all his strength. The man yanked him up to the ledge. â€Å"What are you doing?† the woman demanded. The man ignored her. He was very strong. He stood Bran up on the sill. â€Å"How old are you, boy?† â€Å"Seven,† Bran said, shaking with relief. His fingers had dug deep gouges in the man's forearm. He let go sheepishly. The man looked over at the woman. â€Å"The things I do for love,† he said with loathing. He gave Bran a shove. Screaming, Bran went backward out the window into empty air. There was nothing to grab on to. The courtyard rushed up to meet him. Somewhere off in the distance, a wolf was howling. Crows circled the broken tower, waiting for corn.

Relationship Between Security Of Attachment And Cognitive...

The relationship between security of attachment and cognitive development creates the underlying foundation from which individual’s operate throughout the lifespan (Carruth, 2006). The security of attachment between an infant and their primary caregiver can have profound consequences for the developing brain, impacting an infant’s future relationships, self-esteem, and ability to self-regulate emotions (Carruth, 2006). Attachment theory, first theorized by John Bowlby (1988), stresses the significance of secure attachments in relation to cognitive development. Secure attachment is correlated with a decrease in high risk behaviors, fewer mental health issues, positive coping strategies, and healthy social skills (Burkett Young, 2012†¦show more content†¦What is Attachment? John Bowlby (1969) used the word â€Å"attachment† to explain the deep-rooted bonds that develop between children and their primary caregivers. Mother–infant attachment refers primarily to the lasting bonds between an infant and his or her mother (Bowlby, 1969). During this process an infant selectively seeks his or her mother when anxious in an effort to create a â€Å"secure base† while achieving comfort and feelings of safety. The significance of the early attachment bonds between infants and their mothers, as well as other primary caregivers, on a child’s development has been documented extensively in literature (Snyder, Shapiro, Treleaven, 2012; Dozier, Lindhiem, Ackerman, 2005). A mother’s capacity to adjust, regulate, and interact with her infant has extensive cognitive and developmental outcomes (Bowlby 1988; Shapiro 2012). One’s experiences in early childhood create the foundation from which perceptions of the self and others are created. These experiences are linked with the development of neural pathways in the brain that regulate responses to stress (Marmarosh Tasca, 2013), and influence attachments and the ability to develop relationships throughout life (Snyder, Shapiro, Treleaven, 2012). Types of Attachment According to the classifications of Ainsworth and Bowlby (1991) mother–infant attachment are categorized into four types: secure type, anxious/ avoidant type, anxious/ resistant type, and the disorganized type. Relationship Between Security Of Attachment And Cognitive... The relationship between security of attachment and cognitive development creates the underlying foundation from which individual’s operate throughout the lifespan (Carruth, 2006). The security of attachment between an infant and their primary caregiver can have profound consequences for the developing brain, impacting an infant’s future relationships, self-esteem, and ability to self-regulate emotions (Carruth, 2006). Attachment theory, first theorized by John Bowlby (1988), stresses the significance of secure attachments in relation to cognitive development. Secure attachment is correlated with a decrease in high risk behaviors, fewer mental health issues, positive coping strategies, and healthy social skills (Burkett Young, 2012†¦show more content†¦What is Attachment? John Bowlby (1969) used the word â€Å"attachment† to explain the deep-rooted bonds that develop between children and their primary caregivers. Mother–infant attachment refers primarily to the lasting bonds between an infant and his or her mother (Bowlby, 1969). During this process an infant selectively seeks his or her mother when anxious in an effort to create a â€Å"secure base† while achieving comfort and feelings of safety. The significance of the early attachment bonds between infants and their mothers, as well as other primary caregivers, on a child’s development has been documented extensively in literature (Snyder, Shapiro, Treleaven, 2012; Dozier, Lindhiem, Ackerman, 2005). A mother’s capacity to adjust, regulate, and interact with her infant has extensive cognitive and developmental outcomes (Bowlby 1988; Shapiro 2012). One’s experiences in early childhood create the foundation from which perceptions of the self and others are created. These experiences are linked with the development of neural pathways in the brain that regulate responses to stress (Marmarosh Tasca, 2013), and influence attachments and the ability to develop relationships throughout life (Snyder, Shapiro, Treleaven, 2012). Types of Attachment According to the classifications of Ainsworth and Bowlby (1991) mother–infant attachment are categorized into four types: secure type, anxious/ avoidant type, anxious/ resistant type, and the disorganized type.

Alexander Pope s Translation Of The Iliad - 984 Words

Sometime last year, I started to bike to my job an hour early, in order to spend time reading before work at a nearby coffee shop. Among the books I read was Alexander Pope’s translation of the Iliad, and after a particularly cold a miserable bike ride in the winter, I came across this couplet: To labour is the lot of man below; / And when Jove gave us life, he gave us woe. That line struck me, partially because of the three thousand years of solidarity connecting my complaints to the old Greek kings, but because of how the words gained meaning to me as they carried meaning. Of course, that was not the first time I ever had a line or phrasing stick with me from a book. It was, however, the first time I realized the strangeness of being able to connect with words from an author so disparate from me in time and place who was writing about a setting completely disconnected from my own experiences. I had this little moment of clarity about my time as an undergraduate student in English. While thinking about it, I connected this couplet to a larger idea I had been circling around for a while about how works of fiction require a back and forth between a reader and text. While I underline quotes and take notes in the margins of books I read, I am adding my own words directly into the text of a book. As a great essay can change how people view an author or book, writing essays is a way to actively engage with texts in order to shape their meaning. This is what I had beenShow MoreRelatedDiscuss Alexander Popes The Rape Of The Lock as a Mock Heroic Poem.2174 Words   |  9 PagesArabella Fermor, and both she and her family had taken offence. Caryll suggested that Pope should write a poem to to make a jest of it, and laugh them together again. The result was the publication of The Rape of the Lock, in May 1712. However due to a favourable reaction, Pope published an expanded version in 1714, containing the card battle, the Cave of Spleen and the major addition of the s upernatural elements that pope refers to as the machinery. In 1717 a new edition containing the speech of ClarissaRead MoreLiterary Group in British Poetry5631 Words   |  23 Pagesfrom classical mythology; Shakespeares Venus and Adonis and the Christopher Marlowe/George Chapman Hero and Leander are examples of this kind of work. Translations of classical poetry also became more widespread, with the versions of Ovids Metamorphoses by Arthur Golding (1565–67) and George Sandys (1626), and Chapmans translations of Homers Iliad (1611) and Odyssey (c.1615), among the outstanding examples. [edit]Jacobean and Caroline poetry English Renaissance poetry after the Elizabethan poetryRead MoreOdyssey Historical Background6500 Words   |  26 PagesThe Odyssey ~ Background Information * The novel covers a 10 year period. * The novel was written approximately in 720 B.C. * The novel takes place in 1230 B.C. ~ during the Bronze age. * The Iliad (written first) and The Odyssey are based on historical events that took place about 1230 B.C. * Both novels are considered epic poems * The Odyssey is defined as a journey. This is the story of Odysseus’ journey back home after the Trojan War. From The Odyssey, Homer chose the