Sunday 19th August 2018

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I finished another book the other day.

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"Big whoop," you might say. Why yes—it is for me. It's been almost a year since I finished my MA and I feel as if my love of reading has finally been rekindled. That is not to say that university made me resent books. Far from it. 

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When doing a degree in English literature, a hefty reading list is mutually inclusive. It's a different kind of reading, however; it's prescribed and time-pressured. It can be heart-wrenching. You chose this subject all those years ago because you love reading and writing fiction, but the actual stressful process of studying puts you at risk of abhorring it all. Your brain is maniacally tuned to thinking a different way when you read these novels and poems, because you know you have to write about them. Deep down you want to enjoy what you are reading, but are distracted by your ever-whirring, methodical thoughts detecting recurring themes and references, and by your heart which jumps whenever a perfect quotation stands out. All while you know you only have a week until the deadline. 

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What I did not realise is that, since this fine-tuned mode of thinking has possessed my brain for a few years, it would take some time after my degree to switch it off. 

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Of course it will never go away entirely, and I don't want it to. I'm able to analyse and understand literature at a deep level, and I'm proud of what I've achieved. It's similar to when I studied music. We were told that, as composers, we would never listen to music the same way again. It's the same for books. Now that I have time to read for leisure, I find myself slipping into old habits. I sometimes have to stop myself deconstructing what I'm reading, or skimming filler sections, which as a busy student I would do if they were irrelevant to my research. I have to remind myself to slow down and enjoy the experience, even if the writer's sentence structure is appalling.

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What I also find strange is my present freedom. For years I had to enforce a literary self-denial, because I had to focus on certain texts for my degree. When I walk into a book shop or browse on Amazon, I'm met with a new anxiety. Not the usual one when I think where the heck I'm meant to put my new purchases on my already chocka bookcase. It's a new realisation that I can read anything. Anything that I want. I don't have to write about it or worry about it. I can now catch up with series and recommendations that I had put on hold for so long. And it's bloody exciting.

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So here I am. Eyeing up my bookcase and making my own reading list of books that I finally get to finish. My degree expanded my horizons to literature I never even knew about, and now it's my turn to take up the mantle and do the same.