The eminent Billy ShakesI am an English major. I entered this path completely of my own volition. I love to read, I generally enjoy writing, and I have a fairly good time talking about reading and writing, so I naturally thought, "hey! The English major would be a great choice for me." Of course, when I found out that the Film Studies Certificate at the University of Oregon is a part of the English major*, I realized that it was an even more perfect choice for me, because if there's one thing I like more than books it's movies. My eventual realization that I wanted to be a screenwriter (basically, I want to turn the books I love into moves) just made me feel even better about my decision to follow the noble path of the English major. After 5 months in the English major I have realized two things, and here they are. Number 1: any class that has the words "Intro to" in its title and is a part of a year-long series sucks. Number 2: I hate William Shakespeare with a passion I didn't believe possible.
*Of course, after I decided to pursue the Film Studies certificate I realized that the university I was previously attending (which I will not name but may or may not involve Huskies and slightly effeminate colors) had an actual Cinema Studies major. For some reason I didn't think about this before I transferred. This lack of common sense is yet another indication that I should be an English major. I don't know why, but I've been told by a number of people that I'm crazy.
William Shakespeare was a brilliant poet and playwright. Anyone who can write basically an entire play in iambic pentameter (possibly the most aggravating meter of all time) and then use prose with remarkable effect has a certain level of respect from yours truly. I won't lie, I can appreciate a well written play, and almost every one of Shakespeare's plays falls under that heading (I have my doubts about Measure for Measure. What? You haven't heard of it? I rest my case). Romeo and Juliet? Arguably the best love story of all time. Hamlet? A fascinating exploration of the human psyche. Twelfth Night? A brilliant interweaving of plots and characters. So why do I hate Shakespeare with such a passion? Because English majors are forced to not only read EVERYTHING HE'S EVER WRITTEN, but analyze the works until their brain fluid literally oozes out of their ears.
I am currently in the process of writing and essay that analyzes Shakespeare's Sonnet 84. Of course, by "in the process of writing" I mean "in the process of putting off by writing a blog and pretending this essay doesn't matter to my grade at all." For those of you who don't know, Shakespeare's Sonnet 84 is part of the "Young Man" or "Beautiful Youth" sequence, and a part of the "Rival Poet" sub-sequence. It is fairly obnoxious and so ridiculously hard to dissect that I actually can hear my brain cells screaming as I try to understand the perfectly crafted, meticulously metered quatrains that pay homage to some kid who was apparently so beautiful that Mr. Billy Shakes decided that even he may not be skilled enough to accurately describe that beauty. That's right, the whole purpose of these sonnets (as far as I've gathered) is for Shakespeare to try to decide whether or not he should write the poems because they may not be comparable to the actual beauty of the young man. The irony, of course, is that he wrote over 100 sonnets to that effect. So he doesn't know if writing sonnets is a fair way to preserve the beauty of the youth, but he went ahead a wrote them anyway. If that alone is making you feel like your brain might explode, here's what I suggest. Take that feeling, multiply it by ten, and you might be somewhere close to where I am right now.
So, the moral of this story is this: I hate Shakespeare to a point that if I ever become an English professor I will do my best to not mention Shakespeare at all. I entered the English major knowing full well that I wanted to study contemporary literature. Not literature from the Renaissance, not Old English literature, not English Romantic Literature. CONTEMPORARY LITERATURE. So I will not force this ancient, indecipherable sludge upon people who I know don't give a rat's hairy rectum about it. And now that I have sufficiently ranted I am going to go back to trying to prevent my cranium from imploding. Maybe I'll actually understand the point of the damn rhyming couplet at the end.
