Well, that's that. Another fun-filled, exciting semester of university completed. Technically, I was done as of yesterday, when I did my Astronomy exam (150 multiple choice questions) and handed in my Cold War History take-home exam. But the second exam officially closed today, so that's it. No more, finished, done.
So, now it's just a matter of waiting for my grades, and it's on to the summer term. I'm only taking a couple of courses, on Modern Europe and Ancient (Classical) Humor. I was also going to take a course in Children's Literature, since as a homeschooling parent, that's important to me. However, I was informed that I had to take a prerequisite English course first, and that course started off with a unit on Margaret Atwood's Handmaid's Tale. Yeah, I don't need the Children's Lit course that bad. I don't need anything that bad. Handmaid's Tale is exactly the sort of book I'm rebelling against in my own writing. I'm sure as heck not going to take a course that requires me to read it.
This isn't my first go-around with university-level English reading requirements. Way back when I was young and foolish (as opposed to old and foolish, as I am now), I spent a year at the University of Toronto, taking courses that had absolutely no bearing on what I wanted to do with my life. Of course, at that point, I didn't actually want to do anything with my life, so no course would have had any real impact on me.
Two of the courses I took were in Science Fiction and Detective Fiction. I rather enjoyed the detective fiction; I discovered some great mystery writers such as Rex Stout, S.S. Van Dine, and Dorothy Sayers. Stout is a strong influence on my own mysteries, by the way, so if you like Nero Wolfe and Archie Goodwin, you might like Cameron Vail and Bill Potts.
However, the science fiction reading list just didn't work for me. They skipped over the early pulp writers such as Burroughs and even E.E. Doc Smith (two of the seminal influencers on science fiction, especially Star Wars), and jumped right to the so-called 'Golden Age' of science fiction. I remember Olaf Stapledon was on the list; so was H.G. Wells, I think. I honestly can't remember any other writers or books from that course. I do remember that it was some really boring writing, though. There was no action, no excitement, just bland, dry writing that was meant to be deep and meaningful, but ended up feeling pointless. I eventually dropped the course. A course on science fiction. And I was writing at the time; Final Exam got its start back then. But this...no, it was bad.
It's an unfortunate thing that science fiction went from being about exciting adventures while exploring the depths of the solar system, and later interstellar action, down to philosophical tracts about how socialism and humanism are the inevitable fate of mankind. No wonder sci-fi went from being hugely popular in the 1930s to a neglected field today. Why would anyone want to read that?!
Well, at least the detective stories were fun. I was introduced to Edgar Allan Poe in that course, which remains eye-opening to this day. I also met Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler, which was quite the change from the genteel parlor-mysteries I was used to up until that point. I'm still not comfortable writing the hard-boiled detective stories, but I don't mind reading them.
Well, time to celebrate the end of a term, and get ready for the next one in less than a month. It never ends, I guess. Well, that's not true; it will end in about a year when I finally get my degree, thirty years after I started way back when.
In the meantime, though, I've got more writing to do. And you've got reading to do! If you haven't already looked at my first fantasy novel, take a peek at The Chronicles of Meterra: Arrival. And watch this space, because there will be something else coming out soon.
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