Sunday, May 08, 2005

A book for your thoughts

If I could do my degree again, without fear of having to feed myself upon graduation, I would take up English Lit.

In my childhood, when money was reserved for to more pressing needs, books were a heady indulgence. Generally local libraries were poorly stocked but I thank heavens that my primary school library saw the wisdom in getting Enid Blytons in. Poring over enchanted trees and naughty golliwogs, my lifelong love affair with books began innocently enough.

But what actually sealed it was my biggest treat yet. 1995- a college first year, English A2. I was introduced to Chinua Achebe by venerable Ms Angela.

Then I was fed with Orwell. Then F.Scott Fitzgerald. Tennessee Williams. Keats. Douglas Adams. Nadine Gordimer. And oh, Oscar Wilde. From Antigone to Wuthering Heights, such a diet can only leave one craving for more. Kids stuff for the most of my European peers but I loved every page, word and punctuation mark.

It made not being good looking, popular or even likeable for that matter irrelevant.

And as I see the same books tentatively appearing on our local shelves, I am glad but I wonder if people pick them up? I hope with all my heart they do as if the stores realise that they aren’t being profitable, they will disappear and break my heart.

And people ask me why I fancy eccentric English professors.

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