David Copperfield a Return

I had a bit of trouble in school with the old, British classics. When forced to read "Great Expectations" in the sixth grade Charles Dickens and I became bitter enemies. "Beowulf," while not necessarily British, still drove me insane to the point of wanting to take a hostage. "Jane Eyre" established Charlotte Bronte as my nemesis. Once out of school I avoided all dusty, British tomes like the plague. I haven't even been able to find entertainment in the various movies. They seem just as dusty, as in the case of the various incarnations of Jane Eyre, and equally as ridiculous (see: Beowulf the "movie") as the original texts.

But there's something about willfully ignoring the old classics that makes you feel guilty, isn't there? Something shameful about turning your back on those revered pages of the Western canon, yes? And so, I've tried again with astounding results. I did not return (at least I haven't yet) to those books that made me sweat and shake my fist and plot the destruction of various English teachers in my high school days, I didn't want to take on too much at one time. Right now I'm in the process of reading "David Copperfield" and I'm loving every word.

I took advantage of one of the few sunny days we've seen here lately and was reading "Copperfield" outside. I'm sure my neighbors think I'm out of my mind because when I reached the part where poor David has run away to find the aunt he's never met, he bursts into tears as he's explaining his story, his aunt, so agitated by his outburst, starts pouring various liquids down his throat and I absolutely could NOT stop laughing. Sitting outside, alone, laughing hysterically every time I think of the poor boy tasting "anchovy sauce and salad dressing" because his aunt was desperately putting anything she could in his mouth to stop his crying I'm sure drew more than a few raised eyebrows from over the fence.

I'm not sure if this is one of those instances where maturity makes all the difference in the reading or if "Great Expectations" was altogether different and forever unlovable for me. I am certain, however, that I am removing Charles Dickens from my archenemy list immediately. Who knew?

I'm sure I'm not the first person to feel terrorized by long dead authors to the extent that they shun any other works by said authors or similar authors and I hope I'm not the first to try again and be pleasantly surprised. I will also admit there is a vast difference between reading for enjoyment and reading for something that might cause you to perspire at the sound of "pop quiz."

I officially apologize and hereby remove any and all hexes and or voodoo I might have placed on any number of English teachers at any given time. It seems you did know what you were doing after all.