There's a joke in the English department about Mary Shelley's most famous novel: How many professors does it take to teach you Frankenstein? The answer: All of them, apparently. Since I began college three years ago, I've been assigned the novel no less than four times; at one point, I was reading it for two classes at the same time. So when the professor of my Fantasy Literature class assigned it yet again, I assumed that I could skip the reading, and use that time to catch up on all my other homework. When I got to class this morning, I quickly flipped through the pages were supposed to have read, hoping to jog my memory before the discussion began. But skimming proved easier said than done, not because I had forgotten the details of the novel, but because I'd forgotten how damn good it is.
That's the great thing about great books. Each time you read a great novel, you pick up on things you didn't catch on your first reading. For example, while I was flipping through Frankenstein this morning, I caught myself laughing out loud at the absolute egotism Walton shows in the first few pages. I had never recognized the humor in that opening section; it adds a touch of irony when contrasted with Victor Frankenstein's own God complex.
Anyways, I got to thinking about all the other books I need to reread - Blood Meridian and The Scarlet Letter, of all things, came to mind. Then I remembered that I have no time to read on my own. But it was a nice thought, while it lasted.
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