We all read them in high school, then college. You know the books I’m talking about: the classics.
LORD OF THE FLIES and WAR AND PEACE and GIANT NOVELS BY RUSSIANS WHO REFUSE TO CALL ANY CHARACTER BY ANYTHING LESS THAN SIX NAMES.
I’m talking about literature, except true literary snobs pronounce it “lit-RAH-sure.”
It’s these Great Books that we all flipped through at three in the morning, cranking out a term paper fueled by beer with fish on the can and Camel cigarettes bummed from your roommate as you dream up phrases like “the author’s framework includes a subtle critique of dialectical materialism buried within the character’s clear delineation of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs” until you hit about 7:15 a.m., with the paper due on the professor’s desk at 8 a.m. sharp, so you start busting out sentences like “The last chapter’s use of the hierarchical opposition of day and night, does, in fact, highlight the artificial constructs of love/hate, life/death and hunger/satiation, when clearly there are no such boundaries except as defined by man — or woman, or cyborgs, sufficiently intelligent dolphins and chimpanzees trained in the art of ESL.”
Amanda the Nelson reads the classics for us so we don’t have to.
Then she writes about these books with insight and hilarity.