Doing a Bachelor of Arts at the University of Notre Dame- Sydney, i'm taking four subjects a semester. Last semester they were new and different; this semester, they are different again, though some not as new. Children's Literature, World Literature, the Theory and Practice of Modern Theatre, and Philosophy, (which is one of the three core subjects that all ND students will study, along with: Ethics and Theology).
You could say that in all UNI subjects there is a lot of reading. Clearly, three quarters of my subjects this semester are English Literature subjects. Hence, reading, and lack of reading material are two things i can not complain about for a while. Apart from the reading, however, i have been presented with the opportunity to re- live some of my childhood. Children's Literature is giving me the opportunity to re- read: "The Chronicles of Narnia", "Matilda", "The Bridge to Terebithia", and a few other great novels, not of my time, but childhood classics nonetheless.
Of course, this reading will be a breeze. In truth, it is. However, it was something that my unit lectureer said in our introduction lecture that caught my attention. Reading these books in year five or year six, in other words as a "child", there were different things we noticed and different things we may have liked, or understood. Reading these books again, but as an adult, there will, again, be different things we understand, notice and like.
So far, however, not only have i enjoyed them, much more than i did when i was first introduced to them, but i've come to appreciate them and appreciate the style, techniques and didactic lessons that i can extrapolate. The childish laughter and enjoyment only returns, stronger than before. Beatrix Potter, Ursula Le Guin, Roald Dahl, Katherine Paterson, and yes, even J. K. Rowling. They are all childhood favourites of mine. Undoubtedly, Potter's images, Le Guin's style, Dahl's humour, Paterson's heartrending story of friendship and strength, and Rowling's dish of cat- and- mouse, all make for a banquet of fine reading.
Feeding the mind with images of "the old- days", when i'd be sitting in class listening, or when i'd be in my room reading, it felt good to re- connect with something i lost, but hadn't forgotten. Whilst i lost my childhood, i'm pleased to say that i haven't lost the memories i have, nor have i lost the excitement of reading books, that i first read in primary school. Two things happen to me when i read these books again, after so long. Not only do i see the story playing out before me, i also see the younger me, in the various environments that i would sit and read, or sit and listen to these stories.
If a good writer can be judged so by their ability to make the reader feel as though they are seeing the action of the story taking place in front of them, then is it fair to say that a great writer can be judged so by their ability to take you back to "days of old", when you first read the story, and make you feel just as excited?
My imagination is extremely limited! All this admiration for people and things. For so much admiration, it's no wonder to me, looking back, why there are certain things, of a creative nature, that i can't complete. My imagination is not made for being admired, but rather to be the admirer. It's not so bad, thinking about it for a while. At least i have fond memories to look back on and cherish. Always looking ahead to the next thing that comes along to be admired.
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I tend to find that stories that were 'magical' when you were young tend to lose that 'magic' very quicky under the sharp light of analysis as required by some of these so called 'literature appreciation' based courses. More so since their sole raison d'ete is to seemingly to suck all the appreciability out of a story.
I have a copy of the first 'real' rook I ever read at home...you think I've read it as an adult: no chance! Sometimes magic works best when it isn't questioned. By the way you should read 'Boys Life' by Robert McCammon or 'Imajica' by Clive Barker if you want a real story of magic and wonder
See now i've heard that a lot from other people too. The thing is, i, personally, can't say that has ever happend at all PT. I can see why this would happen, and i understand totally why it's the cause for most people actually staying away from these english literature subjects.
Having said that though, i will be honest and say that when i analyse something, like a book, (not critique it), but analyse it for meaning; the exact opposite happens. I like it more, i love to read it more and more.
This isn't a bad thing is it? :(
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