My students made me very happy today. For one, they had quite a bit of knowledge about World War I, which was very refreshing.
And then, a student asked me if I could give a few names of Modernist writers who wrote in English. I love questions that allow me to go off on my favorite tangents.
During the entire lecture, students were staring at me with those huge eyes that were starved for knowledge. At least, most of them were. They were just imbibing everything I said with incredible eagerness to learn more. Believe me, after 21 years of teaching, I can really tell when they stare vacantly and when they stare with interest.
Of course, you have to be dead not to wake up when I lecture about Modernism. I’m seriously passionate about the subject. Next week, we will talk about the Mexican revolution, and I know I won’t be able to muster the same level of enthusiasm for it.
Oh, I love my students.
Clarissa's Blog 
It is days like that which make it worthwhile. 🙂
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I’m lucky because I have more of these days than of the other kind. 🙂
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Is the length of your teaching experience really 21 years?! How quickly time flies…
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Hi, Halya, nice to have you here! 🙂
I taught my first language class when I was 14. I was substituting for my Dad. 🙂
Everybody, meet Halyna Maga, she is my relative who lives in Ukraine. Anybody who tries to be mean to her will be moderated mercilessly.
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On or about December 1920 the world cracked open and out poured a bunch of crazy awesome art. Eliot and Faulkner are basically why I started this whole lit scholar game in the first place.
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*1910, is the Woolf allusion.
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You don’t need to tell me it’s a quote from Virginia Woolf! I start all of my lectures on Modernism with this quote. 🙂
And I have read everything that she ever published.
I just wanted to show off a bit here. 🙂
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Mexican Revolution? No enthusiasm there. Students do not want to relate to poor Mexican peasants…. or to identify with Mexicans at all.
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My modernism lecturer started by showing us a chart of deaths by country during WWI but the quote came right after. Excuse me I have to do this:
What is this terror? what is this ecstasy? he thought to himself? What is it that fills me with extraordinary excitement?
It is Clarissa, he said.
For there she was.
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And I really disliked Mrs. Dalloway. 🙂
Richardson’s Clarissa is more my thing. 🙂 But I loved the quote.
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