Every once and a while I have a moment where I realize that I really am meant to work in literary theory. I was watching the latest episode of Doctor Who, and I had a great idea for a paper. I'm going to have to do a little research for it (read up on Foucault and the gaze, and probably have a look at one of my best theory books Ways of Looking), but I think I can swing it. I don't think it'll be a very long essay, but I want to write it, all the same, if only because I think it's a good idea and because I've never heard anyone apply theory to Doctor Who. I'm not up on British studies, so possibly someone has, so I'll have to do some research there too. Possibly someone's come up with this before me, but I suspect not, given the episode just aired yesterday. More likely, someone did something similar with other episodes, and I can draw on that to write a more informed and interesting essay.These moments make me happy, make me feel like I might be teetering on the edge of genius. Even Erin, who read an early draft of the paper I mentioned a couple posts ago, was impressed with one of my observations about Toni Morrison's Sula and "Recitatif." Last night, as I was working on my paper, I felt like I was really doing this, really applying theory to a work, really creating an interpretation. I love this feeling. I love other related feelings, like that feeling of yes, I understand this and yes, I've created something worthwhile. Ta-da! I'm an emerging scholar, and an enthusiastic one at that.
Also, I cannot believe I am past fifty posts already! I feel like this blog just started. Maybe I am capable of keeping this up.
