~ Sceopellen ~

I loathe examinations. For some reason, I forget absolutely everything I have learnt in the three steps towards an examination desk. And I currently have 3 exams, all of which are mildly horrible. One of which being particularly so.

I have done quite a bit of studying, and am actually rather pleased. I could have done more, but I would probably be insane by now if I had. Unfortunately, there is a lot more to do and which I probably won’t have time for.

On the other hand, the Oxford department libraries and the Bodlean are incredible, filled with books on what i’m studying. Ironically, the only exception to this rule is Old English, which seems limited to copies of the texts. Critical theory texts are in abundance - all over Oxford. In other words, I have to hike halfway out of town to find one, and then to the other side of town for another. Less useful.

I have Middleton and Jonson coming out of my ears.

It is, as I have recently discovered, possible to become utterly fed up with both of them. They were clever, witty, intellectual men, who wrote some wonderful plays. Unfortunately, those who have written about them are rather less clever, witty and (occasionally) intellectual, and are thus INCREDIBLY BORING. Oh, and they take great delight in repeating themselves and each other at great length, and eventually manage to remark in eloquent and often baffling terms about nothing in particular.

As a general comment on the study of literature: Why on earth are we force-fed such twaddle? Surely the beauty of these plays, or indeed any text, is in the sheer amount of possibility they contain? The potential for change, revolution, subversion, tears, joy and laughter. Is that not the essence of what we read?