This hasn't been a terrible summer by central-Texas standards — not at all. There was even plenty of rain in May and June. But we've had a series of 100º days recently and that's wearing on me. ♫ I'm dreaming of a fall cool-down ♫ — but that may take a while. Oh well.
The new term starts next week and I will be teaching two classes: one in our Great Texts program, a survey of (some of) (a few of) (actually a tiny fraction of) the major writings of the 18th and 19th centuries; and the other a First Year Seminar, in which we will explore The Mystery of Mysteries: Why are tales of crime and detection so enduringly popular? They weren't always; will they be forever more? Are new media and genres like "true crime" podcasts an extension of the power of the mystery, or are they something different? It'll be fun. Both classes will be fun, and I'll be blogging about them sometimes.
This summer I did a great deal of research on Dorothy L. Sayers and completed the first two chapters of my biography of her, taking her through her Oxford education. Right now I'm thinking that there will be six more chapters, but ... we'll see. She is very entertaining to read about and write about. Here's a lovely little snapshot from Vera Brittain, in her great and harrowing memoir Testament of Youth:
I took an immediate liking to Dorothy Sayers, who was affable to freshers and belonged to the “examine-every-atom-of-you” type. A bouncing, exuberant young female who always seemed to be preparing for tea parties, she could be seen at almost any hour of the day or night scuttling about the top floor of the new Maitland building with a kettle in her hand and a little checked apron fastened over her skirt. She belonged to the Bach Choir, which I had joined, and her unconcealed passion for Sir Hugh – then Doctor – Allen was a standing joke in college. During the practices of the Verdi Requiem, which we were preparing to sing in the Easter term, she sat among the mezzo-contratos and gazed at him with wide, adoring eyes as though she were in church, worshiping her only God. But a realistic sense of humor always saved her from becoming ridiculous, and at the Going-Down Play given by her year the following summer, she caricatured her idol with triumphant accuracy and zest.
More on DLS in due course.
Oh, also, my essay on mythology and "the mythical method" came out in the July issue of Harper's — I may have mentioned that earlier.
Of course, blogging and micro-blogging continue. And I am just about to plunge into the last major round of edits for my "biography" of Paradise Lost, which will appear sometime in the first half of 2025.
You know who's okay with summer, even though he has a long coat? Angus. Because in the summer he gets to play in the hose.
