My theory postulates winter is coming. Image: HBO
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Is winter really coming? The science behind the weather in Game of Thrones

Warning: spoilers. 

"Winter is Coming": the prophetic motto of House Stark. The meaning behind the motto is the warning of the darker days to come. The motto was first uttered by the late Ned Stark in the first episode of the first season of Game of Thrones. It is the pillar that holds the complex amalgamation of Game of Thrones' corrupt politics, brutal truths, allegiances, love, and sex. Lots of it. (Well, in the TV series that is.)

At face value, the meaning is starkly obvious: things are going to get cold as fuck for an extended period of time (many years – a year in Game of Thrones is measured the same way as it currently is for us – 3651/4).

In George RR Martin's continent Westeros, the seasons are long, extreme and unpredictable. On Earth, seasons are mostly quite the opposite. So can science explain Game of Thrones' seasons? Sure.

A wobbly axial tilt

The Earth's fixed axis is tilted at an angle of 23.5 degrees from the plane of its orbit around the Sun. This fixed axis is further stabilised by our imposing moon's gravitational tug. The intensity of light energy received in the northern and southern hemispheres is dictated by Earth's location on its orbital plane.

In this example, summer solstice occurs in the northern hemisphere on the left side of the Sun and winter solstice on the right. Both the spring and autumnal equinox receive equal (hence equinox) amount of light energy on the northern and southern hemisphere (seasonal growth changes in plants, ie phenology, mostly give each season its mien):

Image: Nasa

If the Earth's axial tilt wasn't stable, its tilt would be extremely wobbly, resulting in arbitrary seasonal lengths much like in Game of Thrones.

Tilt all over the place. Image: Reddit

In A Game of Thrones (A Song of Ice and Fire, Book 1)/"The Kingsroad" (the second episode of the first season of Game of Thrones), when Daenerys Targaryen's dragons were nothing but embryos gastrulating in eggs, she heard the legend about a world where Westeros and Essos had two moons, "but one wandered too close to the sun and cracked from the heat. A thousand thousand [one million] dragons poured forth, and drank the fire of the sun." If the legend is true, some sort of cataclysmic celestial event could have caused the loss of the second moon, shifting the planet's axis in an irregular fashion.

It is believed that about 5bn years ago when the Earth was young, an asteroid crashed into Earth, giving it the tilt it has today. The accident was nothing short of a miracle. However, if that same accident (or equivalent, say a nuclear explosion powerful enough to tilt the Earth) were to happen today we wouldn't be so lucky...

An elongated orbit

It would be reasonable to assume that the further away the Earth is from the Sun, the cooler the Earth is. But as science is the opposite of common sense, this isn't the case. The Earth's orbit isn't a perfect circle – it's a little lopsided. Our distance from the Sun at the aphelion point, ie Earth's farthest point from the Sun, bears little to no impact on the Earth's climate (though climate scientists believe it could account for the southern hemisphere's moderate winters). In fact, the Earth is farthest from the Sun in the summer and closet to the Sun in the winter.

The world of Game of Thrones may have an elongated orbit:

Diagram by Tosin Thompson; planet image from Reddit

This elongation would mean the world of Game of Thrones is extremely far from its sun at the aphelion point, which would explain Westeros' long and severe winters. Conversely, during perihelion, ie Earth's closest point to the Sun, the world would have a prolonged summer. This weather pattern is evidenced on Mars.

The problem with this theory is that, unlike what we witness in the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, it is patterned and predicable. The people of Westeros would experience typical seasonal cycles of a fixed length. So although feasible, the theory on its own isn't very plausible.

Complex Milankovitch cycles

Milankovitch cycles were developed in the Thirties by Serbian mathematician Milutin Milankovitch and describe the changes in the way the Earth orbits the Sun. The concept suggests that (1) every 100,000 years, Earth's orbit changes from nearly circular to slightly elliptical (eccentricity), affecting other planets in the Solar System, (2) every 41,000 years, the angle of tilt of the Earth's axis changes from 22.1 degrees to 24.5 degrees and (3), every 26,000 years, the direction of the tilt of the axis changes.

Milankovitch cycles slowly change the climate on Earth, normally resulting in colder winters in the northern hemisphere. The cycles are indicative of the fact that ice ages occur every 100,000 years (we're apparently slap bang in the middle of the cycle – the current warm climate we're experiencing may last another 50,000 years).

Game of Thrones seemingly has much shorter Milankovitch cycles in a decade or less, therefore the cycles are likely to be more irregular and complex. 

Oceans, currents and winds

Oceans, currents and winds are factors that can profoundly influence a region's climate, and are themselves, subject to cyclical variations. Currents such as El Niño and La Niña impact on regional climates across timescales as long as five or more years. Westeros may be subject to such long-term weather trends. 

Westeros' geography may be quite different from Earth's; it could have larger oceans, taller mountains, more violent currents and more blustering winds – all of which is a potential recipe (with a sprinkle of magic) for unpredictable and long-term weather trends.

A combination of some or possibly all these factors could be explanations for Game of Thrones' seasonal variability. So winter might be coming.

Tosin Thompson writes about science and was the New Statesman's 2015 Wellcome Trust Scholar. 

Photo:Getty
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Britain's diversity crisis starts with its writers. Here's why

What happens on the casting couch draws the headline, but the problem starts on the page, says James Graham. 

I’m a playwright and screenwriter, which – pertinent to the issues we’ll be discussing in this enquiry – still feels weird to say. I get embarrassed, still, saying that, in a taxi or hairdressers. I don’t know why I still carry that insecurity about saying I’m a writer, but I do, because it sounds like I’m lying, even in my own head.

Obviously I’m completely biased, and probably overstating the influence and importance of my own profession, but I think so many of the problems surrounding lack of representation in the performing arts start with writers.

If we aren’t encouraging and generating writers from certain communities, classes or backgrounds to tell their stories, to write those roles, then there’s not going to be a demand for actors from those communities to play them. For casting agents or drama schools to prioritise getting diverse actors on stage. We need to create those plays and TV dramas –like the ones that I grew up with. I didn’t have any access to much theatre until I was fifteen, but I did have Boys From the Black Stuff, and I did have Cracker, and I did have Band of Gold. I think the loss of those regional producing bodies – Central, Granada – now all completely centralised into London, means that we just tell less of those stories. I remember a TV show called Boon – anyone? – which was set in Nottingham, and I would see on the TV streets I’d walked down, and think, Oh my God, that actor is walking down a street I’ve walked down. That sounds like it’s insignificant. If you’re from a town that is deprived, that feels ignored, it isn’t.

I was very lucky that at my school (which was, at the time, the largest comprehensive school in the country), from the headmaster down to the drama teachers, everyone just believed that working class kids should do plays. Be in plays, read plays, perform plays to the community. Both inside the curriculum of the school day, and outside it – drama teachers dedicating their time to staying behind. Our head of drama identified a group of us who clearly had a passion for it. We weren’t likely thesps. One lad’s entire family were made unemployed when the pit closed. Many lived on the big council estate. My parents and step-parents worked respectively in warehouses, the local council, or as the local window cleaner (incidentally, my first real job. Which I was terrible at).

Our drama teacher was encouraged and determined enough to launch the first ever Drama A-Level in our school. Based on that, about 10 or 12 of us got the confidence – or arrogance – to take our own show to the Edinburgh Festival. We were 16 or 17, and the first people in our community to ever go to visit the festival. We did a play up there, and after that, a psychological unlocking happened, where I thought: maybe I could do a degree in drama (it was the first time I had ever thought to do so) at university (the first in my family to go. Well, joint-first. My twin sister went on the same day, but I walked into my digs first).

I enrolled in drama at Hull University. A high proportion of my peers were middle class. A higher proportion from London or the South East. They talked often about institutions I had never heard of. They were talking about the National Theatre: I didn’t know we had a national theatre that my parents had been paying tax for that I had never been to. Many had performed with the (again, apparently) ‘National’ Youth Theatre, also in London. Paul Roseby, also on this panel, has made such leaps forward in getting the NYT producing in regional venues, and making auditions possible for people across the UK, but unfortunately, at the time, that wasn’t the case for me – and I was the ideal candidate to be in the National Youth Theatre.

I started writing because I had the confidence after I read texts by people like Jim Cartwright, Alan Bennett, John Godber, Alan Ayckbourn: Northern writers, working class writers that made me think it wasn’t just something that other people do.

After returning home, and working at local theatres, I moved down to London. I had to. The major new writing producers are there. All the TV companies are there. The agents are there. I was lucky to find support in a pub fringe theatre – though the economics meant there was no money to commission, so I wrote plays for free for about four years, that would get produced, and reviewed in the national press, while I worked various jobs in the day and slept for a time on a mate's floor. The first person to ever pay to commission me to write a play was Paul Roseby of the National Youth Theatre. I’m now very lucky to be earning a living doing something I love. In a way, compared to actors, or directors, it’s easier for writers who don’t come from a background that can sustain them, financially, in those early years. Your hours can be more flexible. Yes, it was annoying to miss rehearsals because I had a shift in a call centre, but it was still possible to do it. If you’re an actor or director, you’re fully committed. And if you’re doing that for nothing, there starts to be cut-off point for those from backgrounds who can’t.

I’m sure that local and regional theatres are the key to drawing in talent from less privileged backgrounds. But the range of national arts journalism that cover work outside London has been so significantly reduced. In our little echo chamber a few weeks ago, we theatre types talked about Lyn Gardner at the Guardian. Her coverage has been cut, which is very directly going to affect her ability to cover theatre shows outside of London – and so the self-fulfilling cycle of artists leaving their communities to work exclusively in London takes another, inevitable, turn.

I am culpable in this cycle. I have never done a play at the Nottingham Playhouse, my local producing house growing up – why? Because I’ve never submitted one, because I know that it will get less national press attention. So I just open it in London instead. That’s terrible of me. And I should just bite the bullet and say it doesn’t matter about the attention it gets, I should just go and do a story for my community. And if I, and others, started doing that more, maybe they will come.

I also want to blame myself for not contributing back to the state schools that I come from. I really really enjoy going to do writing workshops with kids in schools, but I would say 90 per cent of those that I get invited to are private schools, or boarding schools, or in the South of England. Either because they’re the ones that ask me, because they’re the ones who come and see my shows in London and see me afterwards backstage, or because they have the confidence to email my agent, or they have the budget to pay for my train ticket. Either way, I should do more. It would have helped the younger me so much to meet a real person, from my background, doing what I wanted to do.

I don’t know how to facilitate that. I take inspiration from Act for Change, creating a grassroots organisation. I know that there is a wealth of industry professionals like me who would, if there was a joined-up structure in place that got us out there into less privileged communities, we would on a regular basis go to schools who don’t get to meet industry professionals and don’t unlock that cultural and psychological block that working class kids have that says, that is not for me, that is something that other people do, I would dedicate so much of my time to it. That’s just one idea of hopefully better ones from other people that might come out of this enquiry.

James Graham is a playwright and screenwriter. This piece is adapted from evidence given by James Graham at an inquiry, Acting Up – Breaking the Class Ceiling in the Performing Arts, looking into the problem of a lack of diversity and a class divide in acting in the UK, led by MPs Gloria De Piero and Tracy Brabin.