I frequently think that my current English class might be some of the most fun I've ever had. I work hard at it, in part, because I enjoy it; I enjoy it, in part, because I seem to be doing fairly well.
Our task is simple: read between the lines.
Rather, the work is a sweater: find a gap between the stitches, cut in the middle of one, find out how to knit by pulling it apart. Then, think of who that sweater was meant to fit, decide how much weight they're going to gain, and apply all of that knowledge to re-knit a brand new garment.
Isn't this fun? Take THAT, book club.
We're applying different kinds of analysis to literature. So far, We started with poetry, which is divine: we're done with it. (See tag cloud for more on my feelings here.) Since, we've read and written about Jane Eyre, and upcoming soon we're finishing up a comparative analysis of it and Wide Sargasso Sea, a prequel of sorts.
I'm still waiting for all of the final grades to be doled out before I ask the general public to suffer the reading of the Jane Eyre paper. But I've finally revealed the title to a few friends, who have all managed to shrink back in horror:
The Construction of the Perfect Servant: Sadomasochist Themes in Jane Eyre
I know it might sound bizarre. You should have seen sweet, meek me* trying to do research on Sadomasochism.
(*oh I am such a narrator)
But it IS in there, and it may be in everything. Leaving class yesterday I had a conversation which took about all of 23 words with the professor. I think she actually dared me to write about sexual abuse in Doctor Seuss.
I'm already rhyming see? Can't resist a challenge, me....