My life as an Illiterate Academic

Today I received an email from the University of Manchester, attached to which was the required reading list for the 2010 second year English Literature and American studies course 'American Literature and Social Criticism': basically, the subject on which I have worryingly managed to base my academic future around. 

Taking this into account, you might imagine that I would be quite enthusiastic, or at the very least vaguely inclined, to look through the list and make a geeky englishy start, as is characteristic of most of my classmates- maybe form some opinions, do some background reading, the usual. But this was not the case. I am sad to say that instead, I have a dirty, disgusting confession to make, one which I have only just managed to admit to myself but can barely conceal any longer.

I'm not really into reading.

The fact that I could finally recognise this unfortunate flaw in my character really began to make me think. Where was it along the line, presumedly somewhere between reading Wuthering Heights 'just for funsies' circa summer of Year 9, and dissecting the social context of 'Frankenstein' for six long, hot, stuffy weeks at the end of my first year at university, that I lost the ability to read and write? No less, after studying within an inch of my sanity for A level exams, to ensure the two A's and a B necessary to study literature at a higher educational institution; how could I have been so wrong in judging my own character and interests?

A phase, my well-meaning mother says. Lack of maturity, say others, and this is very possible. It may even be down to, as I sometimes suspect, a deeply rooted resentment for the fact that an educational degree is actually necessary nowadays when i'd much rather be out singing in bars, gigging happily and mindlessly tree hugging on weekends, imagining myself like Joni Micthell in her heyday. But ultimately, I know there is really no excuse for burying oneself thousands upon thousands of pounds in debt to pursue an interest- when the interest was nothing more than the imaginative illusion created by public schools and pushy parents.

This blog is therefore a reaction to the illiterate monster I have become. An outlet for the creativity that is so contradictorily stifled in an 'Arts degree'. And hopefully, a helpline to all those out there whose direction in life is completely and utterly directionless.

To all the uninspired artists, and anyone who is lost or lazy.