Monday, April 18, 2005

A course in literature

When I thought of applying for ENG 440 Literary Genres , I thought that it would be a course with discussions about detectives (the genre of literature being discussed being that of detective fiction) and a lot of infromation (useless for the uninitiated but essential for the nerd) and trivia would be unearthed etc etc and on the whole it would be an exhilarating experience. When it came to the actual experience, it turned out to be somewhat akin to the proverbial omnipresent shit hitting the omniscient fan. After almost being done with the course today, with our trial coming out and being lauded for the clarity and the maturity with which issues were dealt with (thanks majorly to Moitra and Bulla, and in part to Aman for sticking the spanner into the works earlier yesterday) I am in a mood to sit back and thikn about it, reflect on it and look into how I screwed up yet again for what is like the 100,000th time in this short life. I guess I totally missed the point of it. Logically its a course in literary analysis, something that is as alien to me as was salt analysis a few years ago (and still is, though in a somewhat limited sense). It took a couple of PDC's (pre discussion chits) (couple meaning about 10 weeks into the course, in a semester spanning 16 weeks) to get a hang of what might be accepted as relevant information and what might come under the perview of useless info. I got grades like C-, and C+ majorly and I guess there was one day when I got a B- for the PDC.
Wonder if this has anything to do with my aspirations to write beautiful poems and stories some day. Come to think of it, being able to take a mahcine apart and expose all its innards doesnt mean that you can put one together and be good at it. Well, there is still some hope for the inhumanly grose and profoundly retarded writer and the sensitive poet within.
Another thing that I realise is that I have read almost nothing at all. People around me generally think that I am one of those, "read this and that and that too" types. I would tell myself that n the cosmic picture, I am but smaller than an amoeba and hence I have read far less. But this course has shoved into my face, the humbling truth that there are a gazillion writers out there who have created over the years works of genius and I, shut in my own coccoon have no idea about it. Had it not been for this course, I would never have known that Edgar Allan Poe wrote detective stuff and that a certain Hammet even existed.
Anway, so much in retrospect, guess tis time I did my assignment due sometime soon. Which just reminds me that I have no clue whatsoever as to what I will be doing.

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