At the start of September I started doing reading for the 2nd year of my course (I study English Literature at Lancaster university) and since then I’ve read nothing that wasn’t on my reading list. Although I have enjoyed some of the novels, films and poems I’ve analysed my way through; I’ve never felt connected to them in the same way I do when I discover a book for myself, take time to enjoy it, binge read it for hours, and read it without any agenda.
I am no means trying to say that studying English literature has ruined my love of books. I still love literature. I love the fact that there’s a degree programme in almost every university across the country that promotes and celebrates literature. I love studying literary theory which appeals to the truly scientific nature of my thinking (I was always better at maths than english, but hated the former). I weirdly love writing essays.
Sometimes I love the books I read and a discover a brand new author whose books I’ll be checking out when I get time off from the assigned reading list. I love books for sure, otherwise I would have dropped out months ago, but having your enjoyment and interpretation of books questioned in 6 lectures and 3 seminars every week is difficult. And that’s why I don’t post reviews of any of my coursebooks, which in turn is why I haven’t posted in so long, by the time I’m done with that book for the week. I am done with that book. I have done close readings and theme analysis, character profiles and reems of notes, and I feel like anything I would write in a review would be needlessly academic and frankly dull to an average blog post reader.
The Christmas holiday is coming up in 2 weeks – so fingers crossed I’ll be able to get some really relaxey reading done then.