Classic Does Not Equal Great.

I had the great presence of mind during spinning class yesterday to phrase what I dislike about classics: classics are classics for their importance, not great writing or stories. They can be important in a number of ways and for a number of reasons, but that does in no way equal great story-telling or phrasing; Great importance does not equal great art. And, figuring skinnebein'd kill me if I handed her an essay on why I think "Hunger" is a bloody awful book, I analyzed Hedda Gabler.

And I saw "Shakespeare in Love" with Line, well, we finished what we started. It's good, very charming, and there's rows upon rows of pretty people. I hate having to admit the fact to Vigdis when she asks.

Christmas break is more or less here - omitting a French exam - and I shall read. If I can't write, then damn it, I shall read! I shall drown in books till I can write again.

I've, most probably, had my final class with Margrethe. It must feel much like this when The Grand High Witch (from Dahl's "The Witches"), rids the world of a child, or when George cooks up his plan to get rid of Grandma (Dahl again, "George's Marvellous Medicine"). No more, I'm done. No more idiotic childish classes.

Classic Does Not Equal Great.

I had the great presence of mind during spinning class yesterday to phrase what I dislike about classics: classics are classics for their importance, not great writing or stories. They can be important in a number of ways and for a number of reasons, but that does in no way equal great story-telling or phrasing; Great importance does not equal great art. And, figuring skinnebein'd kill me if I handed her an essay on why I think "Hunger" is a bloody awful book, I analyzed Hedda Gabler.

And I saw "Shakespeare in Love" with Line, well, we finished what we started. It's good, very charming, and there's rows upon rows of pretty people. I hate having to admit the fact to Vigdis when she asks.

Christmas break is more or less here - omitting a French exam - and I shall read. If I can't write, then damn it, I shall read! I shall drown in books till I can write again.

I've, most probably, had my final class with Margrethe. It must feel much like this when The Grand High Witch (from Dahl's "The Witches"), rids the world of a child, or when George cooks up his plan to get rid of Grandma (Dahl again, "George's Marvellous Medicine"). No more, I'm done. No more idiotic childish classes.