...I'm trying to pull myself together for the end of the semester and I'm putting together a few notes about the rise of the novel, which totally puts me back in my 18th Century Public Sphere class at the U of C. I went to my bookcase and busted out Ian Watt's Rise of the Novel, the one book that made real sense to me in grad school. It's quite stuffy, totally diachronic, really self-important, but I love it. Watt makes it all make sense. Anyway, I'm looking through it and looking at my really eager notes ("ridotto?? look up" and "8 hanging days at Tyburn?") and I was momentarily transported back and for a few minutes, grad studies weren't so bad. It made me slightly sad, like the smell of pineapples.
1 comment:
You write very well.
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