In My Dreams

On Tuesday, October 7, 2008, at about 3:23 in the afternoon, I finished the last page of the last book on my Oral Comps reading list. For this part of the Candidacy Examination, Ole Miss requires students to choose a discrete period of literary history, and then to read the fiction, non-fiction, drama, poetry, and attendant criticism pertaining to it. In my case, it was an era in British Literature often called “The Long Eighteenth Century,” a literary period bracketed by two historical events—the restoration of Charles II to the throne in 1660 and the death of Jane Austen in 1817. My list took me four months of steady reading to cover. Reading was my job, my hobby, my life. It took total precedence over everything else. (If you don’t believe me, come write your name in the dust on my furniture or check out the empty pantry.)

When I turned that last page, I felt relief and a great sense of accomplishment—for all of about one minute. Very quickly, the realization that I had only two weeks to review and study for the two-hour oral exam and the fact that my “study sheet” had grown to 129 pages dampened all feelings of elation.

It’s been an arduous but interesting process. Never before have I spent so long a time so intensely involved in the study of one particular area. Obviously, the literature generated over more than a hundred years is extensive, in both breadth and depth, and widely varying in style, intent, and content, but in plugging away through the material day after day, I began to see patterns emerge, themes appear and develop; I could discern an overarching historical movement and trace connections between authors. I don’t kid myself that I’ll be able to remember everything I’ve read, but I’m amazed at what I’ve learned, and when I found myself lecturing about 18th century literature in my dreams, I thought something must be going right.