This term I am taking an advanced level course in Medieval Mediterranean history. So far we have read the two hefty volumes of Braudel's The Mediterranean, which felt like a grandfather story but was largely coherent and very understandable. This week however, we need to read Horden and Purcell's The Corrupting Sea. So far I have made it to page 475. It feels more like page 4750. Goddamnit.
I cannot recall ever having felt so frustrated and so stupid from reading a history book before. I feel like I don't know what the fuck is happening, meanwhile the super dense narrative style of the book makes me want to projectile vomit all over the fucking tome. If I read the word "mutable" or "teological", or "insert-word-that-most-normal-people-require-a-dictionary-for" one more time, I might just go out and murder the next human being I see. Or fling the book out of my window and watch it fly seven stories down and hit the pavement of Amsterdam Avenue. I am that frustrated.
Best of all, we need to do a book review on The Corrupting Sea as a mid-term paper. As the only non-American trained historian (hello British very-different-school-of-thought!), non-Medieval person, non-fucking Columbia College person and non-reader of French/Latin/German/whatever fucking else language, I already feel vastly inferior compared to my classmates. This book just compounds all of my worst intellectual complexes, and makes me feel utterly like shit.
Who knew words had such great and terrible power?
I cannot recall ever having felt so frustrated and so stupid from reading a history book before. I feel like I don't know what the fuck is happening, meanwhile the super dense narrative style of the book makes me want to projectile vomit all over the fucking tome. If I read the word "mutable" or "teological", or "insert-word-that-most-normal-people-require-a-dictionary-for" one more time, I might just go out and murder the next human being I see. Or fling the book out of my window and watch it fly seven stories down and hit the pavement of Amsterdam Avenue. I am that frustrated.
Best of all, we need to do a book review on The Corrupting Sea as a mid-term paper. As the only non-American trained historian (hello British very-different-school-of-thought!), non-Medieval person, non-fucking Columbia College person and non-reader of French/Latin/German/whatever fucking else language, I already feel vastly inferior compared to my classmates. This book just compounds all of my worst intellectual complexes, and makes me feel utterly like shit.
Who knew words had such great and terrible power?
