Not too often does literary theory inspire me. Don't get me wrong, I love it. I do. It's the stuff that keep me awake at night tossing and turning. But it doesn't exact move passions in the soul.
'The attention which post-colonial theory pays to factors which disrupt, undermind and speak back to monolithic cultural structures surely makes this possible, not only in terms of gender and class, but in the competing ways in which notions of ethnicity and authenticity are constructed.'
Certainly I like Colin Graham's 1995 Irish Studies Review article as much as the next theory nerd, but it doesn't, you know, set my heart a flutter.
On the other hand...
Every once in awhile I catch something that sticks with me. That something that makes me nod my head, moves me to write stars and exclamation points in the margin, inspires me to use the pink highlighter instead of the regular yellow one.
'I don't compare myself to the dead. I hardly compare myself to the living. I would hope my writing is my own.'
I like that. A lot.