..about the reading load for my Victorian novel class. We’re reading 11, yes 11 novels, 4 of which are over 900 pages EACH. How in the world am I going to keep up with the reading and have any semblance of a life? The answer is, I don’t think I will have any semblance of a life. (I’m sure poor Stephen is already mourning the loss of our treasured phone time.) The good thing about this class: the professor is hilarious. He has this really great witty sense of humor, which you definitely need when you’re reading something as dull as Dickens. Don’t get me wrong, I know Dickens is a literary genius, yada yada yada, but he was so darn verbose! And he sold thousands of books during a time when people were still using candles to read by if they didn’t have the money to have a lot of windows in their homes. I can’t imagine reading Bleak House by candlelight. I think I would have to take up knitting or something instead. Wouldn’t that be sad. I was going to sit down and figure out exactly how many pages I’ll be reading for this one class, but then I decided that a) this would depress me, and b) my time would perhaps be better spent actually reading said books. Oh well. Farewell, life, it was fun while it lasted!
