The Study of Literature

The Study of Literature

I finally understand the study of literature. As an English major, a reader/ writer/ poet who has spent a great deal of time reading the works of others and writing about them, I am reminded of something I have heard my father, a teacher, say repeatedly about the modern American attitude toward education. "Nobody learns just to learn," he observes sadly, pointing out the way in which students often view particularly higher education as some kind of training ground for a career. I know exactly what he means. Every time someone asks me what I plan to do with a degree in English, I am reminded of the inquisitive student who interrupts a classroom lecture to ask in earnest "Is this going to be on the test?" or the equally deplorable "Do we have to know this?" The clear message in these questions is that nobody wants to waste their precious time learning something that won't immediately benefit them in some way. The majority of students insist on expediency and efficiency in education. Our goal oriented society has resulted in a student that retains necessary information in short term memory long enough to regurgitate onto an exam, pass the course, grab a degree, get a job, make money, prosper. Next.

Occasionally, however, there comes the English major the enigmatic, bookworm type, who puzzles his classmates by carrying fiction while they tote science, mathematics, and Business. They examine this strange creature, fascinated by one who displays such a blatant disregard for wealth and success. They poke this animal, wondering why he would live this way,

and what possible good can come from poetry. And once in a while, the prodding and gawking gets to him. The English major is forced to ...

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...ve to know this?” my answer is a resounding “yes.” “Will this be on the test?” Daily. The test is daring to live in a world where sometimes it seems that all is lost. Love, friendship, sadness, grief, even contentment are better understood in the context of a heartfelt poem or story. Thoreau's Walden romanticized my isolation; however, it may have been Updike's Rabbit or Edith Wharton's sad portrayal of cold in Ethan Frome that brought me to that state.

Poetry and literature are so passionate as to inspire the reader in spite of himself. I can no more control the effects they may have on me, than I can the way in which I react. They are practical guidelines, manuals of living. They can hurt or heal, create or destroy. When one has a better understanding, though, the experience is wonderfully enlightening. And I need to know. I use them everyday.