I promised I would be taking you all with me on this reading journey through grad school and now I’m making good on that. A little bit. I have a lot of reading to do, guys, you can’t be my first priority all the time (I love you, please don’t leave me).
To give you an idea, in my first week as a grad student, I have read Mary Barton, approximately 10% of Don Quixote, and an avalanche of other readings including short stories (such as The Demon Lover) and other scholarly works from apparently eminent authors. I say “apparently” because I seemed to be the only one in the room reading Northrop Frye for the first time. I’m going to take their word for his eminence, though, what with them having degrees and doctorates in English. Meanwhile I’m over here like “I really like books…”
If my calculations are correct, which they probably are not, I have nearly 7,000 pages worth of reading to do by the end of November. That’s fourteen books, two coursepacks (collections of readings), and a smattering of articles and excerpts. To date, I’ve read about 1,440 (20%) of those pages (remember, I’m in week 1, also I’m bad at math).
Tragically, with the exception of Tale of Two Cities (which I’ve already read) and Don Quixote (of which I only read an excerpt) none of those texts appear on The List.
We are reading Dickens, but not what’s on the List. We are reading Bronte, but not what’s on the List. We are reading Marques, but not what’s on the List. We are reading James Joyce, but not what’s on the List. We are referencing Middlemarch and A Fine Balance in some courses, but not reading them (damn!!). There are no Shakespeare courses being offered this year. Of course, the one course I decided not to register in to is reading Cloud Atlas.
I know, I know. You’re disappointed and sad for me. Don’t be. My life is awesome right now.
I’m still spending all of my time reading and talking about books, and when I’m not doing that I’m thinking about what I’ve just read and what I’m going to read next. And when I’m not doing that I’m going to be writing about books.
I have nothing to complain about – read Mary Barton, or The Inconvenient Indian, or anything about the Komagata Maru – those people have things to complain about. I, on the other hand, am living in my very own belle époque.
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