Doom; or, The Four Papers I Must Write

Beastly British education system. I have to write four papers for when I get back from Easter break (that is, April 25).

For my American Literature since 1850 class, I will be writing on the themes of suicide and oblivion in selected poems of Sylvia Plath. There was quite a lot of suicide and oblivion in her poetry, and eventually she indeed committed suicide. (I apologize, Phone, for using the word “committed”, which suggests that suicide is a crime.) I can also (if I desire) select only one of these themes (suicide or oblivion) and write upon it exclusively. You see that I am given much leeway in my depressing essay topic.

For my Sociology, Literature, and History class, I will be writing on whether it is appropriate to see Aphra Behn’s Oroonoko as a critical exploration of inhumanity and oppression. It is certainly something of inhumanity and oppression. In the end the main character kills his wife rather than let her be raped by his enemies (she agrees to this so it’s okay), and he lies by her side until he gets all stinky and gross, and then his enemies arrive and take him away and torture him and I think eventually draw and quarter him, while the narrator, who used to be his friend, refuses to go see him or try and help because he’s too icky. Though in her defense, he does get his nose and ears cut off, which is thoroughly unpleasant to witness if you are apt to fall into fits of dangerous illness upon any extraordinary melancholy, as she says she is.

For my Early Modern Culture class, I shall be writing on how the play The Roaring Girl responds to contemporary attitudes about gender relations. The main character, Moll Cutpurse, is supposed to be very jolly, but in fact she just gets on my nerves. She is so hearty it is aggravating, and although she saves a dude from being killed by some other dudes, the guy she saves is not really worthy of being saved so it does not make me give a cheer for her brave antics. I want her to die or have her nose and ears cut off in front of the narrator of Oroonoko.

For my Symbolic Imagination class (this one is really the prize, and by prize I mean I may cut my nose and ears off rather than write it), I shall be writing on the relation between imagination and reality in two or more poems of the Modernist period. If that doesn’t work out I shall evaluate the presence of mythic concepts and patterns in two or more poems of the Modernist period. The thing is, I do not like any of these Modernist poems very much (I would like some of them (NOT Wallace Stevens) if I didn’t have to explain them all thoroughly. They are evocative but I do not want to interpret them because I am a failure at it.), and I am not good at knowing what the hell these crazy men are talking about. I wish I could go back in time and urge Wallace Stevens to stick to his main occupation of lawyery businessy guy rather than venturing into the realms of the poetic. That would save us all a lot of headache and nuisance. I would actually rather be reading Wordsworth, and if you know my views on Wordsworth you know that’s saying quite a bit.

See how many there are? And did I mention they will each be 3000 words long, meaning I have to write 12,000 words in the next month? Which is only 400 words a day, I grant you, but there is also researching and making up theses and supporting points and all that jazz. And furthermore I must study for the exams that are going to DESTROY MY SOUL with their vicious evilness. To make myself feel better, I picked out classes for next year that include a short story writing class and — I’m very excited about this one — a parapsychology class! I can practice my phone psychic skills! Yippee!