What I've Been Doing Since My Last Update · 9:27pm Jan 30th, 2013
>Sits down to do Literature IA, which is a critical response of a critical review of the play Ohtello done by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
>Reads first paragraph of the guy's essay.
"Roderigo, without any fixed principle, but not without the moral notions and sympathies with honour, which his rank and connections had hung upon him, is already well fitted and predisposed for the purpose; for very want of character and strength of passion, like wind loudest in an empty house, constitute his character. The first three lines happily state the nature and foundation of the friendship between him and Iago,— the purse,—as also the contrast of Roderigo's intemperance of mind with Iago's coolness,—the coolness of a preconceiving experimenter. The mere language of protestation—"
...
First note: "Fuck critics. Fuck Literature. Fuck this. Imma be a stripper."
School. Friggin school. It's a valid excuse, and it's actually honest this time. Work has to have priority, and I'm sorry for that. Until I can somehow learn to wrap my mind around the literary vichyssoise that is this guy's review of the play, and find a way to respond that DOESN'T get me expelled for overuse of crude language, I can't indulge in writing as I'd like to.
Just an update.
Literary analysis. It has an abstract kind of feel.
Literary Analysis, IOW, Making Shit Up because Nothing Really Matters.
One wonders if perhaps you could make up a "death of the author" diatribe about the review itself and what it 'really means' as a piece of literature on its own merits? That ultimately whether or not it really matters that it's a review of Othello... doesn't matter?
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It feels less like being judged on my ability to form and justify an opinion and more like being judged on how eloquently I can phrase said opinion. It's essentially Purple Prose or bust, but I'm not going to whore myself out and go against my own principles in writing for a couple marks. I mean, why take a thousand words to get across an idea that can be transmitted just as well in only fifty?
Literature just comes across as the most pretentious of academic subjects to me. Nothing riles me up more than having the meaning behind my words ignored in favor of the pretty colors I put across their vessel.