English Ravings of a Witty Nature

Well, I believe I have had my weekly allotment of classical music. My sister had two concerts this weekend. I love listening to her play it is the other twenty kids that I wish I didn't have to hear. Not that they played poorly but it isn't nearly as enjoyable as listening to your own flesh and blood.

Caution: The rest of this post should be read with a British accent, a humor of dry wit, and a slightly pessimistic countenance.

As I'm sure you have taken note I have been perusing a great deal of English literature written about the time of Jane Austen. Namely the Bronte sisters' numerous works. The last book to be finished was Agnes Grey which much to my pleasure turned out all right in the end. At the half way mark I was sure that the youngest Bronte sister (Anne) must have been quite disillusioned with the world in general and the most pessimistic and dull of all three girls. However, upon finishing the book I was very pleased to discover that she was not as disenchanted with the world as I had previously thought.

Before reading Agnes Grey I once again had the pleasure of reading Wuthering Heights. I am not at all sure why I enjoy this work of fiction because I thoroughly disliked the majority of the characters. And no matter how many times I wished whole-heartily that Cathy would not make the same mistake of following Linton home that she had done on my previous perusal she still walked blindly through Heathcliff's door. What I wonderful adventure into the inner workings of the heart's desires is Wuthering Heights.

Even after reading those two wonderful works, my favorite remains Jane Eyre. Without a doubt Charlotte's romantic imagination is most closely aligned with mine in most manners. But the heroine alone makes this story compelling. Jane's steadfast morality, sensibility, dry witty intelligence are enough to make any person wish themselves her equal.

The odd effect that reading so much British literature has on my literary style has now become obvious. The rule is simple: what I read, I written. Not the the attributes of the story, but the stylings of the writer. I have always fancied myself to be astutely aware of the different literary styles, but this taking on of them has come to be ridiculous. I can only hope for your sakes that I never take a liking to literature written in a southern black dialect.


Cheer-e-o!

Your Slightly Bemusing Literary Junkophile.

Amendment 1: If anyone is wondering, my fanatical and very English ravings should be over for a time. I have now gone on to an Asimov book.

Amendment 2: Asimov writes science fiction for you non-science types.

Amendment 3: Now is you will excuse me, I must finish this blog post-haste.