I am in complete agony and I am not sure I can let them go. I am obsessed and drawn to them for some reason. I remember reading, Hawthorn's, Scarlett Letter, for the very first time not believing it was until college I read something this great. I remember how changed I was by, Bernhard Schlink's, The Reader, and how amazed I was I have never considered some of those ideas before. I am not really a poetry fan, and labored through John Dunne and Sylvia Plath but enjoyed reading Dickerson, and sitting in class and discussing and analyzing what each line might mean. What was the author trying to convey? What about James Joyce, I can say I did not enjoy my Irish Lit Class, what was I thinking, but I have been glad many times that I knew what people were talking about when I heard the Joyce or Dubliners. The knowledge made me feel sort of smart. Romeo, Romeo where for art thou Romeo, cried Juliet in Shakespear's, Romeo and Juliet how often have I thought, " Hateful to me as the gates of Hades, is the man who hides one thing in his heart and speaks another," from Iliad and the Oddessy.
I fell in love with Susan Glaspell and the Southern Literature of Eudora Welty, Flannery O'Conner and William Faulkner's, "As I Lay Dying." I love that book it is narrated by a dead lady. Tell me that's not funny. Oh, how I miss Susan Glaspell's "Jury of Her Peers" and "Trifles." I may re-read them all again!
Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm I am not sure I can let them go!
