It is a damn shame to be this uninspired. I took 3 literature classes this semester…in only one class–adolescent literature– have I enjoyed the books. Ha, what does that say about my reading tastes?
I took an Modern American Novel class– so far the books have been somewhat boring, or I am uninspired to write about them. Nothing much to write about, at least nothing original. For this class I have read: The Awakening (eh, this was probably the most satisfying read but I didn’t care for the protagonist– too cold), The Sun Also Rises (eh, boring though I like Hemingway’s descriptions of Spain– not much to the characters or story), The Sound and the Fury (I did not finish it yet– crunched for time…kind of an unpleasant read but it may be the most interesting thus far), and The Crying of Lot 49 (I have read this one before and still don’t know what to make of it– it reads like an acid trip…and perhaps that is its only value? IDK, I just know I am not into books in which the sole purpose is to play with readers minds). Next I am to read Ragtime…we’ll see if this one is any better than the rest.
The only thing definitive thing I have learned from taking the class is I now realize why I like to read more British Literature, and pre-modern lit at that… nothing beyond the twentieth century.
I took an Irish Literature class for something different. Two of the 4 authors I have read– boring…or the novels were hard to get through without much of a point. The last book, The Infinities— UGH! I don’t even know what to say about it. The other two authors– we read many short stories of William Trevor — these were alright but I prefer novels. The other somewhat enjoyable read was Roddy Doyle’s The Commitments…entertaining but not much to write about. It was very obvious…nothing much to sink my teeth into in any of the readings thus far.
Ho hum. It sucks being this uninspired. It depresses me. It makes me think I am not cut out for the academic world. It makes me long for good old Shakespeare…
Jacquelyn's Space 