It is a truth universally acknowledged that Jane Austen is always right.
She just is. Analysing people’s behaviour in society, she becomes an astute
observer of individual desires, beliefs, kinks. Once you start reading Austen,
you’ll never be able to shake her off. You won’t want to shake her off. Only
give her time.
Showing posts with label Frances Burney. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Frances Burney. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Thursday, April 12, 2012
The Decline of the Novel in the Unipark Library
Having worked in the
university library for almost two years now, – first only for the English
Department, now for the whole of the Unipark – I’ve noticed that I’m getting
strange. I start remembering and paying attention to weird things. Things like
the exact shelf marks for nice or even not-so-nice books. Things like the
general inability of art history students to find shelf marks A-D in their
section of the library. Things like the belief inherent in library users that
merely because there are currently no baskets available they can just walk in
with their bags.
The
most recent trend is much more shocking, though. It’s a notion that’s been
steadily creeping into my consciousness for a few months, a notion that I’d
been fiercely rejecting because of its absurdness.
Labels:
books,
Charles Dickens,
Daphne du Maurier,
David Lodge,
E.M. Forster,
Elizabeth Gaskell,
Evelina,
Frances Burney,
Jane Austen,
library,
Margaret Drabble,
novel,
the Brontës,
Thomas Hardy,
Unipark
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