1. Intro dystopian literature

• Engels
• Upper Secondary (Key Stage 4)
• GCSE

Goals for today 

Introduction to utopian and dystopian literature

Learning what the features are of this genre 

Considering how dystopian the openings are of five novels

Rate the word 1 to 4

1. I do not know the word, and I have never seen it before. 

2. I've heard or seen the word before, but I'm not sure what it means. 

3. I know the word and can recognise and understand it while reading, but I probably wouldn't feel comfortable using it in writing or speech. 

4. I know the word well and can use it correctly in writing or speech. 

Optimistic 

Word of the day

Utopia

Write down what you see, think and wonder

F. Bate, 1838 Published by "The Association of all Classes of all Nations"

Utopia 

Utopia is a perfect world. In utopias there are not problems like war, disease, poverty, oppression, discrimination, inequality and so forth. The word utopia is made-up from Greek roots by Sir Thomas Moore in 1516. More wrote a book called Utopia. Depending on the Greet roots used, utopia can either mean 'no place' or 'good place'. 

'ou' = 'no' or 'not' and 'topos' = 'place' 

Have you happened upon the term 'utopia' in a current context? 

What do you associate it with? 

Word of the day

Dystopia

What do you see, think and wonder? 

By Viktor Öhman "City Wallpaper" 2014

Dystopia

Dystopia, on the other hand, is a world in which nothing is perfect. The problems that plague our world are often even more extreme in dystopias. Dystopia is a play on the made-up word 'utopia' using the root 'dys', which means 'bad' or 'difficult'. Words like dysfunctional or dyslexia illustrate the use of this prefix. 

Have you happened upon the term 'dystopia' in a current context? 

What do you associate it with? 

Have you come across it in literature or in film or streaming? 

Make a list, in your notebook,  of the characteristics that you think are present in a dystopian society.

Some characteristics of a dystopia

• Propaganda is used to control the citizens of society. 
  
• Information, independent thought and freedom are restricted. 
• A figurehead or concept is worshipped by the citizens of the society. 
• Citizens are perceived to be under constant surveillance. 
• Citizens have a fear of the outside world. 
• Citizens live in a dehumanised state. 
• The natural world is banished and distrusted. 
• Citizens conform to uniform expectations. Individuality and dissent are bad. 
• The society is an illusion of a perfect utopian world. 

Tour the annotated extracts, rank them from most dystopian(highest number), to least dystopian(lowest number). Write the points you give in your exercise book. We will vote on the next screen 

Look at the opening of the novel you have been given 

Identify and write down your ideas on: 

1. dystopian language 

2. dystopian themes

3. dystopian characters

3. Any emotional responses or ideas that are generated through your text.

Dystopian extracts 

1. Fahrenheit 451  -  Ray Bradbury 

2. The Hunger Games - Suzanne Collins 

3. The Handmaid's Tale -  Margaret Atwood 

4. The Maze Runner - James Dashner

5. 1984  -  George Orwell

Join, together in a group, with the other students who had your extract. Read the text and think about the mood it evokes. 

We yearned for the future. How did we learn it, that talent for

insatiability? It was in the air; and it was still in the air, an afterthought, as we

tried to sleep, in the army cots that had been set up in rows, with spaces

between so we could not talk. We had flannelette sheets, like children’s, and

army-issue blankets, old ones that still said u.s. We folded our clothes neatly

and laid them on the stools at the ends of the beds. The lights were turned

down but not out. Aunt Sara and Aunt Elizabeth patrolled; they had electric

cattle prods slung on thongs from their leather belts.

No guns though, even they could not be trusted with guns. Guns were for

the guards, specially picked from the Angels. The guards weren’t allowed

inside the building except when called, and we weren’t allowed out, except

for our walks, twice daily, two by two around the football field which was

enclosed now by a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. The Angels

stood outside it with their backs to us. They were objects of fear to us, but of

something else as well. If only they would look. If only we could talk to them.

Something could be exchanged, we thought, some deal made, some trade-off,

we still had our bodies. That was our fantasy.

We yearned for the future. How did we learn it, that talent for

insatiability? It was in the air; and it was still in the air, an afterthought, as we

tried to sleep, in the army cots that had been set up in rows, with spaces

between so we could not talk. We had flannelette sheets, like children’s, and

army-issue blankets, old ones that still said u.s. We folded our clothes neatly

and laid them on the stools at the ends of the beds. The lights were turned

down but not out. Aunt Sara and Aunt Elizabeth patrolled; they had electric

cattle prods slung on thongs from their leather belts.

No guns though, even they could not be trusted with guns. Guns were for

the guards, specially picked from the Angels. The guards weren’t allowed

inside the building except when called, and we weren’t allowed out, except

for our walks, twice daily, two by two around the football field which was

enclosed now by a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. The Angels

stood outside it with their backs to us. They were objects of fear to us, but of

something else as well. If only they would look. If only we could talk to them.

Something could be exchanged, we thought, some deal made, some trade-off,

we still had our bodies. That was our fantasy.

Alby glanced at the friends closest to him, rolling his eyes, and Thomas studied the crowd again. His original estimate had been close—there were probably fifty to sixty of them, ranging from boys in their midteens to young adults like Alby, who seemed to be one of the oldest. At that moment, Thomas realized with a sickening lurch that he had no idea how old he was. His heart sank at the thought—he was so lost he didn't even know his own age.

“Seriously,” he said, giving up on the show of courage. “Where am I?”

Alby walked over to him and sat down cross-legged: the crowd of boys followed and packed in behind. Heads popped up here and there, kids leaning in every direction to get a better look.

“If you ain't scared,” Alby said, “you ain't human. Act any different and I'd throw you off the Cliff because it'd mean you're a psycho.”

“The Cliff?” Thomas asked, blood draining from his face.

“Shuck it,” Alby said, rubbing his eyes. “Ain't no way to start these conversations, you get me? We don't kill shanks like you here, I promise. Just try and avoid being killed, survive, whatever.”

The hallway smelt of boiled cabbage and old rag mats. At one

end of it a coloured poster, too large for indoor display, had been

tacked to the wall. It depicted simply an enormous face, more

than a metre wide: the face of a man of about forty-fi ve, with a

heavy black moustache and ruggedly handsome features. Winston

made for the stairs. It was no use trying the lift. Even at the best

of times it was seldom working, and at present the electric curr ent

was cut off during daylight hours. It was part of the economy

drive in preparation for Hate Week. The flat was seven flights up,

and Winston, who was thirty-nine and had a varicose ulcer above

his right ankle, went slowly, resting several times on the way. On

each landing, opposite the lift-shaft, the poster with the enormous

face gazed from the wall. It was one of those pictures which are so

contrived that the eyes follow you about when you move. BIG

BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU, the caption beneath it ran.

Text 1: Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury

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Text 2: The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

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Text 3: The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood

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Text 4: A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess

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Text 5: Never Let me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro

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