In four years’ time — between my senior year of high school and junior year of college — I had to write three different papers for three different classes on the same freaking classic. On paper (so to speak), this book seems like it should be one of my favorites. But I hated it. I thought it was “ehhh—okay” the first time I read it. But by the third time I read it, I absolutely loathed that book and still kinda do to this day. And no...I wasn’t one of those students that was good at “winging it.” I couldn’t write a whole paper without re-reading. So yeah... It got pretty tired.
Then in my junior year at Penn State I discovered a lit class I loved so much that I actually decided to audit it (take it again without receiving any credit) the following semester. So yes...I read a lot of the same material twice in one year and didn’t mind THAT one bit. Did everybody in the class think I was a total geek? Um yeah.
So I need two answers from you on this one...
What was the title and author of the classic I quickly learned to hate? And what was the subject of the literature class I took twice?
Then in my junior year at Penn State I discovered a lit class I loved so much that I actually decided to audit it (take it again without receiving any credit) the following semester. So yes...I read a lot of the same material twice in one year and didn’t mind THAT one bit. Did everybody in the class think I was a total geek? Um yeah.
So I need two answers from you on this one...
What was the title and author of the classic I quickly learned to hate? And what was the subject of the literature class I took twice?
My clues: Laurence Olivier. And Laurence Olivier.
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