My Homage to British Lit

I'm not sure if British Lit will be amused, but I am planning on reading Wuthering Heights over the break and doing my usual running commentary here.

I have simply had a miserable time in British Lit this semester, with mistakes and misunderstandings flying. I'm a little disappointed that I didn't give some authors due attention. I especially avoided James Joyce, Seamus Heaney, and Tennyson. I don't think I had enough time to really give these texts the close reading they demand. I had no real desire to please the teacher, which can go a long a way when you feel overwhelmed by long readings. I knew that if I did the readings we would have the same inane discussion in class that centered around a New Historical perspective, and the same dim wits would give their reader response comments that our instructor would spin according to her wishes. I had to keep myself from sleeping, doing other homework, and indulging in other diversions during this class.

I was actually interested and involved for the first half of the semester, but when she rode me so hard about the midterm mishap, I just tuned out.

Well, the entire time I have spent analyzing Moby-Dickthere has been this small voice saying, "Wuthering Heights...Wuthering Heights... ." I don't know why. There is something about childbirth, the other, and tragedy in this novel that has been echoing around in my mind as I try to understand my ideas about Moby-Dick. I started re-reading this book today, and I already see some similarities.

A full journal will follow, a chapter by chapter discussion. Maybe British Lit will forgive my behavior this past semester, and I can redeem myself with this literature that I love.