A Memoir-ella: The Life and Anxiety of a Reading Reputation

As an English major, I've always had a passion to read. At first it was Margaret Brown's Goodnight Moon at the age of 5, then by 9 it went to the sophisticated Judy Blume series, and now at 20, the respectable William Gibson's Spook Country.

With all of that said, its safe to say that fiction is my reigning literary interest. However, I feel like I can safely say thats true for most people. Fictitious literature is usually what society thinks of when we use the term "reading". But why is "reading" limited to this specific type of work? Now, you may say that I'm wrong and that theres all types of reading we focus on. I challenge you.

When someone asks you, "What are you currently reading?" Don't many of us scramble through our minds...ok what am I reading?

You don't usually think of the newspaper this morning or the blog this afternoon, no. You think of the coveted NOVEL.

So...lets try again. What am I reading? What was the last thing I read?

Wasn't it...Argov's Why Men Marry Bitches in the self-help section? No. I can't say that, thats not respectable.

Shit. Okay...ummm how about - "Ohh! Well, now

that you mention it, I'm reading James Joyce's Uylsses - no big deal or anything."

Because don't we all criticize what each other is reading? Would I even really respect a sorority girl reading self-help books for the relationship impaired? Ironically, no.

I'll admit I've been in a class where I either A) didn't do the reading, B) forgot about the reading, or C) didn't understand the reading. But because of my great sorority stigma - OF COURSE I'm going to fake my way through the next hour and fifteen minutes of Dr. Adam's Contemporary Topics: Rhetoric class.

Now, mind you, I'm not saying every time I'm in a class I'm full of b***. All I am saying is that I know that people judge my reading capabilities and reading selections.

So when a senior English Literature major came up to me in the Peace-Quad today and asked, "What are you reading?" I look down at that fateful book in my Indian style lap as I sat on the grass. I flip the cover over and proudly let him see Grace and Power: The Private World of the Kennedy White House - because a political biography of the 35th president of the United States can't be bad. It shows my political intellect and broad literary range of course. He reacts, "Oh. The Kennedys? Really?"

Great Cait. Great.

Obviously my attempt at expanding my horizons is not getting me far.

Instead, I started to reflect all the times that was in a class and let my "Greek" show. I remembered last year when my music journalism class associated me with Taylor Swift. I remembered my English essay when I misspelled the author of Lolita. And I remembered yesterday when (once again) I had no idea what the hell Chris Bowers was talking about in my theory class.

It was then I realized: I didn't care. I honestly don't care what people think of my music, movie, art, or book interests are. I read what I am interested in at the time and take what I can from each selection.

I now know that Robert Frost attended JFK's inauguration ceremony. I now know that "self-help" books have been in use since 2500 B.C. I also know that if you want a white bunny to walk around your bedroom at night, well thank you Brown, you can.

So suck it avant-garde, non-conformist, brooding artist types. I'm going to read I Heart Taylor Swift and Geovanni's Room at the same time, anytime.

I just hope the next time will be on a ereader.