I'M GOING IN...

Dearies, if you've been dropping by, you've probably wondered what's up with me and the reading.

The truth is...I've always been a reader, but thanks to a couple of podcasts and Moby Dick, I find myself going more in a Classics direction, with a bit of Literary Fiction thrown in as a palate cleanser.

Until now, I have never contemplated reading my next book, because I fell into the trap of thinking it's just to "hard" for me:

But as I was scrolling my eyeballs out on the YouTubes, a Harvard professor named Adam Walker told me otherwise. Instead of pouring over it and studying every word, line, and nuance of this book...he told me to just.read.it. Don't worry if it doesn't make sense. Don't worry if I don't get it. Just. Read. It.

(The professor's rationale is that scholars spend their entire academic careers dissecting this, and there is plenty of analysis to help one do a deep dive. But for a first read...just jump in and enjoy it and know that you will find new things and revelations every time you re-read it, and that there will be nothing like your first time through.)

So in I go...armed with nothing but a cold brew and a wink to the heavens for Professor Cronin...my Senior Thesis mentor at Notre Dame. (We had to write this Senior Thesis as part of the graduation requirement from the Program of Liberal Studies...a fact that terrified me from the moment I stepped into the first PLS class.) 

Professor Cronin had long since retired by the time I put pen to paper, but I honestly think the other professors realized that he was the only one who would know what to do with me.

And he did. He was the most delightful, brilliant, kind, lovely person I could have hoped for. He knew how far out of my depth I was in my program, so he used a firm yet gentle hand while guiding me through a look at Daisy Miller by Henry James. Our meetings were often luncheons at the Morris Inn with his lovely wife, and it was there that I first learned what "courtliness" meant by seeing a living, breathing example of it across the table from me. 

So, cheers to you, Professor Cronin! It took me almost forty years, but here I go!

(I thought this was a lovely remembrance from Notre Dame Magazine after his passing):

EDWARD J. CRONIN ‘38, a legendary professor in the Program of Liberal Studies who taught at Notre Dame for nearly 50 years, passed away on Christmas Day at age 88. He so loved what he taught —literature, especially James Joyce’s Ulysses — that in class he would often read aloud a line from a book and ask, “Isn’t that beautiful?” He said his wish was to die sitting on a bench at the Grotto reading Dickens. He actually was at a local nursing home when he died. The PLS professor was a demanding teacher, nicknamed B-minus Cronin by students because of his high standards and tough grading. As one former student recalls, he would return “themes” in a box labeled “Garbage Out” placed outside his office in the basement of the library. Students were admonished to pick up the papers quickly so as not to violate a city code prohibiting the leaving of garbage in a public place for longer than 48 hours. The devoutly Irish—he referred to Ireland as “the Holy Land” —and Catholic professor was always available to talk with students, though. He referred to these conferences as “confessions.” His teaching was so valued that it wasn’t unusual to hear a student remark, “I’ve got to get my Cronin course before I graduate.” He was a member of the regular faculty from 1949 until he retired in 1981 but continued to teach one course a semester until 1998, when he suffered a stroke. His focus on teaching rather than published research recalled an earlier age for academia, and he was old-fashioned in many other regards. Women were encouraged to wear skirts in class and men to remove their caps and hold the doors open for women. In 1983 the Program of Liberal Studies established the Edward J. Cronin Award for the best-written paper turned in as part of routine departmental course work. The professor himself would present the award at an annual dinner and make a show out of carefully opening the envelope and reading every word on the page, even the letterhead, to draw out the suspense. This year will be the first that the award is presented without him.