I wish I were a girl again, half savage and hardy, and free; and laughing at injuries, not maddening under them! – Catherine Linton, Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte
So, this semester, I decided to take an English Victorian Novel class. The course is an intensive writing course but that didn’t faze me.
My 8-year-old-self called them “big books” or “chapter books”, and the first classical “big book” I read was Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens. I’ve reread it a couple times since then, and the book was my first introduction to Victorian novels.
I guess taking this class is an attempt to return to my childhood and rediscover why I love stories in the first place, and what that passion means for me as an adult. I remember I first wanted to be a fiction writer. I’ve since moved on to a pre-med track in college, but it’s nice to satiate my humanities side once in a while, too.