This is the wrap-up week for my British Literature online class. I cannot believe that the eighth week of school is upon us and midterms are already here. My block one class will now transition into block two and I will continue to blog as part of my class requirements.
That being said, I would like to conclude this facet of blogging for British literature with some thoughts over what I learned.
Namely the fact that I am irredeemably an Americanist in regard to literature. I had thought that due to my rabid Anglophilia stemming from an early age that I would absolutely detest American literature. I have to admit when I have never been more wrong.
British literature is wonderful. There are things that are authored by the people on this tiny island that cannot possibly be replicated anywhere else–due to class conflicts, cultural norms, and having lots and lots of female rulers.
However, American literature takes the basis of what British literature does and builds on it. It removes all the things that make it inherently stodgy and stale, and add a breath of life to it. There is a refreshed enthusiasm for the craft of words seen in most American literature–the Puritans being the exception not the rule–that is seldom witnessed in British literature. Maybe from my minuscule sampling of this field, I just haven’t found it yet.