a thing with feathers

I’ve decided to make these posts a little bit less melodramatic. If not for an attempt to cure my own sense of continued melancholy. I just read a 20 page journal article that argued for the destruction of the American Literature canon. It was 20 pages of absolute pretentious crap that essentially said “American literary scholarship depends upon, and reproduces, the oppressive nationalistic ideology which is the nightmare side of the ‘American dream’, and that our goal should be rather to construct a multicultural and dialogical paradigm for the study of writing in the United States.” Naturally, I agree whole- heartedly with this argument, however it was so unnecessary to write about it for 20 pages. But in my reading it occurred to me how much I fear taking a class from someone that is fundamentally unaware of this thesis. And secondly, how much anxiety I have for the one day that my own child is in school studying his little fiction or poetry reader interpreted by his teacher (someone from my generation no doubt) that has been drowned and resurrected by this neo-conservative cesspool of idiots bent on destroying everything interesting about literary theory.

“Susie, will you indeed come home next Saturday, and be my own again, and kiss me as you used to?” I was doing a little research on Emily Dickinson’s letters to Higginson but came across this little jewel instead, which of course, I find much more interesting. This is what I like to think will be included in the shiny new multicultural literacy canon. At least I still have my hope. Thank you Pandora.