Photo Diary: From the Near Top of the Library! And Why I am Happy I Didn't Major in English Lit

Sunday, July 28, 2013

I climbed to the very top of the parking garage at the downtown library... well, as far as they let you go, anyway. Have I mentioned how much I love libraries? I swear I have spent more time at the Lexington Public Library than any other single location here. There are many reasons for this.

1. It's beautiful.
2. I like to read (Oh hay lost friends Hemingway and Fitzgerald, I missed you guys too!)
3. It's relaxing! Seriously, where else can you have perfect peace and quiet all while surrounded by the largest selection of classic literature in town? Answer me this.

Going to the library and reading books just for fun (which is just now beginning to be a normal thing for me again) makes me remember how much I loved reading and how I couldn't wait to major in English literature and get to read amazing stuff all the time... until I realized English lit can either be either the best subject of all time, or the worst, most pretentious subject of all time. That's right. Nothing like having your hopes and dreams bashed upon a sharp rock by teachers who are so "enlightened" by the themes, symbols, metaphors, and whatever other literary terms there are, that you run away from ever picking up a Victorian poem again. Nothing like being told that whatever you have interpreted is wrong and you are clearly missing all the lesbian incest that is obviously occurring between two characters who only share the same father. Ok, I made that last bit up, BUT YOU GET MY POINT. There is nothing like an English professor to destroy your love of reading with a bunch of stuff that is, honestly, made up at least 25% of the time. At UAH I think it was closer to 75%.

So what's a girl to do who loves to read about how fucked up people can be, without actually getting fucked up herself, or making it more fucked up than it already is? Change majors stat. It wasn't until I took a class in post WWI jazz age literature with a beyond ridiculous teacher that I realized how much I LOVED post WWI jazz age-ish literature and I needed to run away before I wanted to cry at the mere sight of Tender is the Night.

So I changed my major to Spanish Language and Literature (because in Spanish, they care more about your ability to convey your thoughts on a piece than if Desdemona was secretly a vampire), and gave Hemingway, Stein, Fitzgerald, Porter, and all those other goodies a break. Until this year. It has finally been time to read it without anyone telling me what to think. Anyway, back to the point at hand, I have spent loads of time at the library this year. In fact, I put down The Garden of Eden just to write this post. And if you thought getting to enjoy great stories wasn't enough, I get to see these every time I pay a visit to my old friends.