‘Dundee Terminus’ takes a dip into the literary life… and a strong drink.
As of yet, I have not met our latest Master… but I have had a Magarita. After my fifth reading of this fantastic book, I had an epiphany: the Master is our Master; the Magarita is our Magarita.
The story is deftly cleft in twain, much like our sanctified undergraduate and postgraduate communities. The first book – the undergraduates – concerns the arrival of the Devil at Trinity College, disguised as a greasy fresher from Eton, along with his fiendish entourage of demons, school-boy rowers, and flirtatious succubi. The second book – the postgraduates – reflects on the decaying morality of the college, and the beacon of faith and light that surrounds the Master, our Master.
In the first book, the Devil’s prophesying and black magic is a clear demonstration of the ills of British public schools, churning out silver-tongue monstrosities and investment bankers like a factory farm. The Satanic Variety Show, performed at the ADC Theatre, is the wittiest denunciation of student theatre, humourless comedy, and ham acting that has ever been put to paper.
Of course, under our previous Master, The Master and Magarita was banned inside Cambridge, with public book burnings occurring termly on the Backs. This was purportedly because it ‘brought the college into disrepute’, but was most likely since the book revealed the Master’s love for a midday (and pre-speech) Magarita.
In the interest of full disclosure, I, myself, am sipping my third Magarita of the day, in a forlorn attempt to step into the shoes (and hopefully the mind) of the great Orbhill, himself a graduate of this esteemed college.
My favourite chapter deals with the lecherous social climbers at the Union Society. These worthless, bankrupt souls are so devoid of morals that they accept the Devil as their own, electing him as President and permitting him to run tiresome debates on the minutiae of far-left and far-right politics. An echo of Orwell as felt by the chapters close as the union members are revealed for the vapid swine that they are, and are brutally butchered by postgraduates and feasted upon at the Master’s inaugural dinner.
In the second book, the Devil organises a grand May Ball – the most decadent all-night party that the world has ever seen. Some obscure hardly-singer-certainly-not-songwriter (whom the youths somehow adore) is brought in as the headliner. Meanwhile, Margaritas, spiked with sulphur, are served at every corner. In the grand finale, after the heavy metal hellfirework display, the Devil bewitches the whole college by throwing money, fine clothes, and internship sign-up forms into the braying crowd.
Peace is restored as the Master rides out into morning light, astride the Pony of Purity, untainted Magarita in hand, to reveal the material wealth for what it is truly worth – a pittance against the glory of eternal salvation (a First-Class degree). Suddenly, the money vanishes, the fine clothes crumble to dust, and the interns never receive the coveted return offer. All but the engineers and lawyers – who are too far gone into the corrupt, debased, soulless world of capitalism – are saved by the love of the Master.
The second book closes with a heart-wrenching speech from the Master – pleasingly lacking any references to ‘yes means yes’, ‘snowflakes’, or the ‘proper use of condoms’ – that spans 120 pages. Exhausted, the Master returns to his lodge, finishes his Magarita, and ascends forever into heaven.
A truly stupendous piece of writing. 5 stars. Bravo. I cannot wait to read The Master and Magarita for a sixth wondrous time. Now for another Margarita before I return to bed and ascend into unemployment.
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