Last week, reading distractions notwithstanding, I managed to hand in the first essay of my MA. It was only a short one, a mere two thousand words (which is how long the longest of the undergrad module was), worth only 10% of my final mark for this module. A taster-essay, if you will, to practise post-grad research skills and ease us into the MA.
Naturally, then, last week, Tiny and I both came down with something M brought home from work. Even if I was half-way through my word count when that happened, not really what I needed for a deadline-week.
However, these things happen. I got the essay finished, edited, handed in. On time. Nothing to worry about.
Except, of course, then I started thinking of all the things I could have written. All the points which would have bolstered my argument. Made it better. The links I could have made across the book and to other critics. Isn't this always the way?
As soon as you throw your hands in the air in frustration and resignation and hit upload and the pressure of the deadline is no longer upon you, you can see what you should have said.
And I know, no matter how much I think well I'll know for next time, I also know that the same thing will happen next time too.
But then, having reached the first min island of the module, we took a reward trip to Waterstones, to spend a birthday book token. I actually can't remember the last time I took a trip to Waterstones and rummaged through the books. And then spent money. Fortunately most of them were on offer, so it wasn't as unkind to the wallet as it could have been. And there was the book token.
I've been adding to my To Be Read pile for the last week or so. Lots of light reading.
The full set of Narnia, of which I've previously only read The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe and The Silver Chair, and then so long ago I don't really remember either very well, especially not The Silver Chair.
Katherine Rundell's newest, Impossible Creatures, which comes in a pretty Waterstones edition. AF Steadman's Skander and the Unicorn Thief. The Vanquishers by Kalynn Bayron. There were several others, and several for Tiny, like The Very Young Person's Guide to the Orchestra, which has ten extracts for each of the sections/instruments.
I would say nothing that really requires too much concentration, but that does a disservice to books marketed at children. Children are usually quite discerning readers, and they can spot a patronising writer at twenty paces. Just because the protagonists are younger doesn't mean the stories aren't any less "adult".
I mean, To Kill a Mockingbird's Scout is a child, not even 10 if I recall correctly, and nobody would say it was "just" a children's book. Or, probably, give it to a 10-year-old to read, on the grounds of being the same age as Scout.
Of course, now I also have Wilkie Collins' The Moonstone, Edgar Allen Poe's Selected Short Stories, someone's translation of Judge Dee, and Agatha Christie's The Murder of Roger Ackroyd to read too, for the next essay.
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