Recovering English Major

Fresh off of a Master’s in English program and what seems like a lifetime of talking, reading, and writing about books, it’s probably not surprising how often I get asked for book recommendations. However, given that I’ve spent so much of my time dealing with books in a formal, academic setting, it may also not be surprising that I’m kind of burnt out on fiction, at least for the time being. And as much fun as they may be to read, admitting to people that I’ve spent the last few months reading exposés of organizations like Scientology and FLDS is slightly less fun.

A few months ago, in an attempt to look halfway as educated as I am on a recent flight, I went to the bookstore (an actual bookstore!) and picked up Zadie Smith’s new-ish novel, NW. Since I grabbed it off of the bookshelf in a house where I was dog-sitting in high school, her debut novel White Teeth had been one of my favorites.  In fact, it is still my go-to recommendation these days.

But I could barely get through 30 pages of NW. All of a sudden, Smith’s writing style felt so contrived to me, so thinly veiled as something erudite. Sentences without subjects, pages of ungrounded, stream-of-consciousness narrative... a style that had seemed so aspirational to me only a few years ago now seemed, at its worst, weak, and at its best, annoying. I still haven’t tried to re-read White Teeth, afraid to ruin my fond memories of that book.

In some ways, I consider myself a recovering English major, someone rediscovering books, finding out that the job market these days is not all too kind to us humanities students, and struggling to balance my love for art and creative stimulation with more concrete things, the need to find a real job, get my life on track, and become an adult. I already have the professional wardrobe—now I’m just ready for a grown-up job.