My charming, patient Post-War British Fiction-studying undergraduates are currently becalmed in the brackish waters of Lawrence Durrell’s Justine, the first novel of his Alexandria Quartet. I say “brackish” because Mr. Durrell can scarce forbear to use the adjective when Alexandria’s salt-sea breezes blow off the torpid waters of the port. Torpid—there’s another word to conjure...
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May 1, 2009June 20, 2022Vital Signs
A Teacher Complains
November, and my undergraduates’ glazed expressions are as good as a calendar. They’re limping through to Thanksgiving. So am I, and perhaps my eyes, too, are glazed. I find myself uneasy about teaching, for the first time in a while. In my experience this is the way with teaching: a dozen good classes, one after...