There are, first of all, two kinds of authors: those who write for the subject’s sake, and those who write for writing’s sake. While the one have had thoughts or experiences which seem to them worth communicating, the others want money; and so they write, for money. Their thinking is part of the business of writing. They may be recognized by the way in which they spin out their thoughts to the greatest possible length; then, too, by the very nature of their thoughts, which are only half-true, perverse, forced, vacillating; again, by the aversion they generally show to saying anything straight out, so that they may seem other than they are. Hence their writing is deficient in clearness and definiteness, and it is not long before they betray that their only object in writing at all is to cover paper. This sometimes happens with the best authors; now and then, for example, with Lessing in his Dramaturgie, and even in many of Jean Paul’s romances. As soon as the reader perceives this, let him throw the book away; for time is precious. The truth is that when an author begins to write for the sake of covering paper, he is cheating the reader; because he writes under the pretext that he has something to say.

In The Myth of the Female Hand: Forms of Female Power, Şeyda Sivrioğlu explores the symbolic representations and the significance of the female hand as a means to open up literary and critical space for the oppressed and marginalized female figure in different centuries and in different patriarchal cultures and genres. Inalterably, in a culture where creativity is defined purely in male terms, women “exist only to be acted on men, both as literary and sensual objects” (Gilbert and Gubar, 8). This comprehensive study, however, traces the origins of the female hand symbolism from a fairy tale to a play-text and finally to a science fiction novel in order to illustrate how, to borrow Margaret Atwood’s words, the hand as an extension of the brain, in this case the female brain, becomes an important tool for indicating the development of the power of women.

This book analyzes Peter Barnes’ plays, The Ruling Class (1968), Leonardo’s Last Supper (1969), Noonday Demons (1969), and Dreaming (1969), as examples of modern Menippean satire. In contrast to formal verse satire, that is defined as a rhetorical attack upon a particular vice and includes praise for its opposite virtue in the midst of an argument, Menippean satire is difficult to define because of its protean structure. Therefore, whilst defining Menippean satire it is helpful to ask what Menippean satire ‘does’ instead of what Menippean satire ‘is’. Menippean satire is a mingling of prose and poetry in its simplest sense. In addition, it always desires to reject any sort of absolutes regarding norms, cultural, religious or philosophical dogmas by creating a carnivalesque atmosphere. Because Barnes has written about similar themes in Menippean satire form throughout his career his plays may be considered as examples of modern Menippean satire.