My major in college was a pretty unique one, as far as I can tell. Humanistic Studies--an invented discipline in which women placed literature within the context of cultural history. A pretty fancy way of saying we read lots of "great" books from the canon, and studied about the things going on in history from the eras of the books. Legendarily light on courses (2 required courses each semester Junior and Senior year, and I think...three required electives in two years plus those.), it gave you plenty of time to take other courses, which I gleefully did. And I didn't even manage to rack up a minor, because I sort of just picked and chose, and of course, the year in Rome really did limit what you could do.
Anyhow, I loved the major, and I'm glad I did it, though of course there is little practical application for it. No one's quizzing you on Pascal and Voltaire and Decartes and Diderot and so on in a library. I don't think I've ever even discussed any of those writers with anyone save the women in my classes back then. Maybe it's a weird view of things, but it seems like the kids on this college campus aren't reading these authors, and it seems like maybe they should be--or maybe it's that if they are, they're not using the library. Which come to think of it, makes a lot of sense, because I can probably count on one hand (two if I'm being generous) the number of times I used the libraries at SMC and ND. Honestly, I don't remember ever looking in an academic database. So maybe I don't see the kids who are reading Freud and Nietzsche and Goethe. Either way, the point is, the education I got was definitely education for education's sake. I really enjoyed every single thing I read (and I read every single thing I was assigned) even if I really didn't like the book. I basically enjoyed the process of reading and learning, and if I liked the book, bully for me.
But the other day, I made an astounding connection that I simply never would have made were it not for my expensive, useless education. I'm listening to Jane Smiley's Ten Days in the Hills right now, and I'm really enjoying it, but I have to tell you, it is full of sex. Just chock-a-block. I was telling S how sometimes I feel embarrassed to listen to it, even though I'm in my car, all alone. I was telling him how weird it was, how the sex was so explicit sometimes, and how none of her other books were like that. And I was explaining the book--ten characters, ten days, lots of stories--and suddenly it popped in my head. This book is a modern Decameron. I mean, it was like a shaft of light broke through the clouds over my head. I knew that I was right before I had any confirmation of it, because it fit SO perfectly. And frankly, it's making me enjoy the book even more, knowing the Decameronic background of the book. It's also making me want to read the Decameron again, because that was a pretty enjoyable read. I don't think I've ever re-read one of the academic books from my college days, so that would be interesting.
Either way, mom and dad (and grandparents) aren't you glad you helped subsidize an education that's finally showed some use? Yep, I'm using my education to provide the background for a popular fiction title. Totally worth the 100 grand or so it probably cost.
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