Sustained Criticism

'In Trinity Term 2009 the Postcolonial Seminar will host authors Caryl Phillips and J.M. Coetzee.' (Oxford's English Faculty)

AAAARGH! They get a lecture from Coetzee. They have the central published academics on his works, there. Why am I not there? Boehmer has written specifically about Disgrace. Oh, and there's Bradshaw, especially interested in Modernism, Eliot and Woolf. And there's a Dr Eltis, with an interest in Wilde. Wilde! The author of The Literature Police teaches at Oxford.

What do I get? One professor that lists narratology, Woolf, modernism, postmodernism as his research interests. One. *headdesk*

Conclusion: I need to go read philosophy, and get my arse to Oxford.

I've been up and about since eight this morning. I have accomplished this:
Walked the dog; removed computer from said dog's mouth; loaded started the dishwasher; had breakfast, lunch and second lunch; read two chapters in the semi-awful sequel to Shadow of the Wind; and not written a productive word.

More Grammar must be done, and Am. Lit had to be handed in Yesterday a few weeks ago. The draft is a mess, and the disposition non-functional. All I end up doing is countering the points I intend to argue.

The study programme is heinous. There is no freedom for the next year and a half, approximately. There is grammar, grammar, more grammar and a bit of fonetics. When I finish Am. Lit. I am done with the literature courses for my BA. I intend to deal with as follows: complain, tear at my hair, be a sarcastic dimwit about it, and take additional courses that might – gasp! – interest me. Or worse, be somewhat relevant to my MA.

I just love that a BA in literature gets me nowhere, yet a BA in languages will certainly cause death by boredom. Norwegian schooling prevails all the way to university. And there is a master course on Woolf and narrative theory. Perhaps it is time I realise the education I want does not exist?