heart of darkness.

I have temporarily banned myself from any sort of novel that I want to read, as this is the week where essays deadlines begin to loom and test dates start to arrive like ominous-sounding mosquitos in the night. The only reading I should be doing is academic. I manage to keep sane by breaking that unbearably dull-and-intellectual reading with the occasional short story. (Recently received a book of Raymond Carver short stories for my birthday... but more about that later). But for English, we just finished reading Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad. For the second time.

We did Heart of Darkness in First Year. However that seems to have gone unnoticed because now, two years later, our lecturer asks the class casually what Conrad we did in First Year. The large class dis-jointed-ly but semi-coherently mumbles 'Heart of Darkness' in response, our lecturer looks slightly concerned, whoops, ah well. Administrational slip-ups do happen.

So, as much as it is annoying to repeat a book it has - at the same time - been pretty fantastic. As a first year student reading Conrad, I was pleased with myself for managing to understand something of the plot. Set in "olden days", this British guy travels along a river into Africa to meet this other guy who eventually dies. Nor did I mind reading it so much, as it was short. So last weekend when I settled down to re-read it, I was overwhelmed and surprised at the sheer beauty, imagery and general brilliance of this controversial book. How did I possibly miss out so much in first year? Did I even read it? It felt like the first time I had ever read that horrid book because I do not remember it being that ... well ... good.

This comforted me. I have definitely become more intelligent since first year which is proof that on some level, university maybe works. Hm. An interesting idea.

I think you know when a book is really good which is it completely terrible yet simultaneously beautiful. That awful racist misogynist still manages to keep you reading. I'm not quite sure how. In literature conversation, there is the faded but never-ending debate "Should We Read Heart of Darkness?" I think any book that makes so many people start ranting excitedly probably deserves to be read.

Lolita is also one of these books. I know I mentioned Lolita in my previous post and I was going to write about it. But I don't think I am capable of commenting on what I think is the most complex and almost definitely the best book I have ever read. (Ok, so everyone knows such a thing does not exist, but if a best book ever was to exist, it might possibly be Lolita). Sick and exquisite Lolita is another one of those books that I will read again in two years and think to myself, "Did I even read this before? How could I have missed out on so much?"

But now I must go back to the books. Not the books I'd like to go back to though. I must return to the thicker, musty, vital and useless library books that hold very little exciting plot and fascinating characters but will nontheless help me write an essay.

Oh, yes... I assumed none of my house-mates would be bothered to read this blog but I was proved wrong when an affronted Tessa yelled from her room, "Nicky! I have never giggled in girlish rapture!" So, I apologise. People who read this, that was obviously a mistake. My darling Tess has never 'giggled in girlish rapture'. She probably just chuckled casually.