Six Damn Fine Degrees #177: The definitive version

Welcome to Six Damn Fine Degrees. These instalments will be inspired by the idea of six degrees of separation in the loosest sense. The only rule: it connects – in some way – to the previous instalment. So come join us on our weekly foray into interconnectedness.

Even though these days I’m much more about film and TV, there was a time when literature came first for me. I studied English and American Literatures (as it was called at the time), and later I taught the subject. I had much more time – and, frankly, energy – to read a lot… and even better, while working at uni I was paid to read. And teach, do research, supervise and counsel students, do some admin, assist the professor who was supervising my PhD thesis. I didn’t love every single one of those tasks, certainly – but still, it was a very good time for someone who loved books.

It’s also during that time that I started to get into drama in earnest. Our department had a fairly active drama community, and while I never felt 100% comfortable being on stage myself, this is where I discovered how much I enjoy directing. Sadly, that’s something that didn’t survive my move into other professions: like so many, I had a choice between staying in academia, which would have come at a personal price I wasn’t willing to pay, or leaving and doing other kinds of work, and it’s the latter that won out. I miss a lot about my years working at university (and this site and our podcast are to some extent my way of making up for what I left behind), but I never regret the choice itself.

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The Rear-View Mirror: T.S. Eliot, “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” (1915)

Each Friday we travel back in time, one year at a time, for a look at some of the cultural goodies that may appear closer than they really are in The Rear-View Mirror. Join us on our weekly journey into the past!

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it towards some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—
If one, settling a pillow by her head
       Should say: “That is not what I meant at all;
       That is not it, at all.”
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