October 13, 2012 § Leave a comment
Now, I know it has been a while. I have been rather lax in my blog-writing; but my reasoning is valid – my fourth and final year of undergraduate university life began a whole month ago, so it has been a rather busy month…
But, in reality, the true cause of my poor blog-attendance (“blog” is not a real word, apparently; it is plagued by that rather aggressive red squiggly line… so what I am doing isn’t even legitimised by the English dictionary. I’ll continue, regardless) is that I have very little to write about. Having finished work at the publisher’s, having settled back into some kind of library-infused study routine, and having caught up with most of my friends here, all there is to say is – I have been studying. A lot.
One thing that has been consuming most of my brain space is the dreaded ‘D’ word: the dissertation. Silently, slyly, it has crept up on me and only now am I fully realising the extent of this cursed assignment. That is the impression I want to convey. In actual fact, I am enjoying the reading, the thinking, and just want to start writing it all now. The fusion of sex and violence in the selected works of Charlotte Brontë. Or the expression and repression of violence. Or something along that line. My main focus is, of course, ‘Jane Eyre’; although there will be a large helping of ‘Villette’ and that “swarthy-browed” M. Paul – he is a passionate (passion… extreme, some may say, violent, expression of emotion… violence… a flawless connection!) “little man”, after all, and deserves due attention. Especially if he drowns at the end – still not over that. There are so many interesting theories about Charlotte’s work, not least on the significance of Bertha, the original madwoman in the attic.
I’m also studying for my other module, solely on Virginia Woolf and her works. She is fascinating. I’m going to be really pretentious now and quote a passage from her diary… I sent this passage to my friends on our ‘FRIENDZ FORUM’ on Facebook as a kind of boost – if someone has incredible and intelligent (and, sadly, sort of, doomed) as VW can feel this way, then it makes our own ‘struggles’ more focused and meaningful, in some small way:
“Why is life so tragic; so like a little strip of pavement over an abyss. I look down; I feel giddy; I wonder how I am ever to walk to the end. But why do I feel this? … It’s a feeling of impotence: of cutting no ice. Here I sit at Richmond, & like a lantern stood in the middle of a field my light goes up in darkness. Melancholy diminishes as I write. Why then don’t I write it down oftener? Well, one’s vanity forbids. I want to appear a success even to myself. Yet I don’t get to the bottom of it. It’s having no children, living away from friends, failing to write well, spending too much on food, growing old – I think too much of whys & wherefores: too much of myself.”
See this for more suitable inspiration: http://fuckyeahvirginiawoolf.tumblr.com/
My dog also died this week – but I don’t think this should be a place for sad things. That can just stay in my head… x