I’ve put it off as long as possible. When the last week of August rolls around, I begin the final semester of my master’s program. Normally, that would be cause for (slight) celebrations. But on September 13, I get to take a six hour exam. The exam covers material that is different each time it is given (twice a year, September and January), and you get four months to prep. There is no class associated with said test, and, the professor’s grading said test (they also change each test) do not, in fact, lecture to the student at all. Basically, you get a list of stuff to read then, on that fateful morn, you show up and have to write three essays, the prompts to which, you have never seen and have no idea what they might cover.

Behold my reading list:

Devotions and Emergent Occasions by John Donne

The Revenger’s Tragedy by Thomas Middleton or Cyril Tourneur (no one has a definitive answer on the author of this text)

Middlemarch by George Eliot

To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf

Omeros by Derek Walcott

The Dialogic Imagination by Mikhail Bakhtin

That’s a lot of damn reading between now and September! I mean, Middlemarch is big, and that Bakhtin ain’t light reading folks. Not too mention that I have to read To the Lighthouse for a THIRD TIME, and I wholeheartedly believe that it is the worst “literary” novel ever written in the English language. Stupid Virginia Woolf, I hate her with a fury like that of 10,000 exploding stars!

I guess it’s my own fault, waiting for the very last opportunity to take the test I was bound to get a reading list that I absolutely despise. And if I don’t pass I can always…panhandle, I guess.

Fugazi – Bulldog Front