I've just finished re-reading Thomas Hardy's Far From the Madding Crowd, a book that I haven't read since English Literature O-Level. Reading the book again, I was confronted by scribbled notes in margins, little insights which must have been pointed out by my English teacher (I can't imagine having generated these nuggets myself); and I was transported back to those far off days of my youth...
I mentioned that I was reading this to some work colleagues and discovered that, whilst I have a very fond memory of the book (along with Charlotteb Bronte's Jane Eyre), it would seem that I am in the minority. My sister and my wife*, for example, both hated their Eng. Lit. texts - Dickens in both cases - and consequently have a very low opinion of the classics.
I can therefore only conclude that it was my English teacher who made these books palatable to me, so here's a big 'thank you' to Mrs. Hoyes, it would appear that you have made a positive difference to my life...
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* my sister and my wife are of course different people - I didn't grow up in Norfolk you know...
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