I used to read one level above my grade always. Then when I would get into the grade, the English teacher was always impressed that I’d read everything already and I was always impressed at the extremely stupid questions they would ask about the “author’s intent” in writing this poem.
It’s a fucking poem, Linda. Chill your beans at trying to be an amateur psychologist for a man dead 300 years already.
It’s a fucking poem, Linda. Chill your beans at trying to be an amateur psychologist for a man dead 300 years already.
There was a massive crime perpetrated against high school students. Somehow, the teachers took the good idea of teaching a book and pointing out its underlying themes and historical context (that scene in great expectations where the girl plays the card game against the protagonist, as an example) to gain a greater understanding… and drove it into the ground by needlessly making everything (the infamous blue curtains) this massive deal that you absolutely had to contemplate and tear apart and put together with everything else, waaaaah!
I used to read one level above my grade always. Then when I would get into the grade, the English teacher was always impressed that I’d read everything already and I was always impressed at the extremely stupid questions they would ask about the “author’s intent” in writing this poem.
It’s a fucking poem, Linda. Chill your beans at trying to be an amateur psychologist for a man dead 300 years already.
There was a massive crime perpetrated against high school students. Somehow, the teachers took the good idea of teaching a book and pointing out its underlying themes and historical context (that scene in great expectations where the girl plays the card game against the protagonist, as an example) to gain a greater understanding… and drove it into the ground by needlessly making everything (the infamous blue curtains) this massive deal that you absolutely had to contemplate and tear apart and put together with everything else, waaaaah!