Knowing Me, Knowing You | (S/P)

Chapter 3

August 12th.

"Today we will discuss the position of women in Victorian society, as depicted in literature." Mr. Rowlins announces as he writes some key points on the board. "Please read the first 3 pages I passed in. You have ten minutes."

I pick my copies, retrieve a yellow highlighter frommy pencil case, and focus on the text. This I can do; I can tolerate him in a professional environment bossing me around with very technical orders. Very different to asking me about literally anything else.  I don't like how I feel in his presence; how my hands get clammy, or how my heart rate increases. Particularly, I don't like how he attracts my eyes like a magnet; when he's in the room, I can't look away. It's just the second class I have with him and I'm already preoccupied I'll have him the whole semester.

I finish rather quickly and distract myself working on my proposal ideas, continuing to do so even after the time comes up and Mr. Rowlins starts asking questions. It's not that I'm not interested in Victorian literature, but this project of him is being irksome since I can't seem to decide which topic I should work on. 

"A good example would be Thomas Hardy, his female characters tend to seek education or to break out of the narrow roles that allocated middle class women in the late nineteenth century." He definitely gets my attention with that, and I actually snort. I cover my mouth quickly, not wanting to draw attention to me.

"Anything funny, Ms. Saunders?" Mr. Hot Shot Professor with a sharp ear addresses me. I wrangle with myself trying to figure out if whether I should dismiss his question with a simple 'no, sir', or if I should let my opinion on the topic be clear. 

"I just find it a bit double-standard." I answer through a lump in my throat, deciding for the later.

"Mind to elaborate?" Mr. Rowlins leans against his desk, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Hardy had two sisters who managed to get further education by training as primary school teachers, and his wife also sought some independence for herself as a writer and woman of the intelligentsia, but Hardy didn't seem to have encouraged them, for the contrary." The words roll off my mouth in a single breath, being completely aware of how silent the room has fallen. 

"I see where you are coming from. However, in his literary work, he did attack social and moral conventions that condemn and victimize women and to that extent, he defended more liberal views."

"Isn't that a major theme in Tess?" A girl from the back rows interjects.

"No" "Yes" Mr. Rowlins and I answer at the same time. Is he kidding me? As much as I love Tess, there's no way he's going to tell me that the story is about female emancipation. All previous intimidation forgotten, I go on;

"The reader merely gets the impression that Tess was intelligent and could have gone on to have a career as a teacher, but she does not mourn the loss of this opportunity. Angel's perspective on Tess as an 'educational project' never comes to anything and is seen as mere social pretension on his part." I refute, leaning forwards on my desk, looking intently at Mr. Rowlins. He stands straight, taking a few steps to the front.

This, I can do too. Discussing things that I like passionately and to which I hold a deep sense of identity.

"Shut it, now." Josh quietly murmurs beside me.

"We should not forget to what extent the ideal of women in a society and culture are male constructs. Alec's death symbolizes the destruction of his wrong construct of her as an object of desire. Hardy himself admitted he was very involved emotionally in his heroine."

"As I said, double standards." I have to bite my tongue to prevent me to comment any further. As much as I would love to keep this conversation going, knowing that I have tons of valid arguments up my sleeve, I have no intention of making the cut into Mr. Jude the Obscure Professor naughty list.

He gives me one last pointed look, chilling me to my very bone marrow before moving on with the lecture, and I have to fight the compulsion I get whenever this happen to drop out of the class.

"You, my friend, are such a goner." Josh comments surreptitiously as we walk outside the lecture hall.

"What do you mean?"

"Your little argument with Mr. Rowlins?"

"Hey, you know I love Tess but-"

"Buy you woke up on the wrong side of the bed? It looked like you were trying to piss him off intendedly." He cuts me mid-sentence.

"Well I wasn't."

Was I?

I was just defending a subject that is kept very dearly in the bottom of my literary obsessions. It was not at all me reacting to the over confusing sensations Mr. Rowlins provides to my brain. Which, by the way, are not the least bit funny. A voice in the back of my head keeps whispering where the roots of such stirrings lie on. But I refuse to acknowledge it. One, because I'm not like this. I've never been like this. I don't take an interest on anyone, so soon. Two, he's my professor. However much good-looking I think he is, that fact is still there. Therefore: wrong.

After my French class, I go to the student's lockers area to see if I have gotten any new mail over the past few days. When I open it, a paper the side of a business card falls down. It has something in neat handwriting.

"A novel is an impression, not an argument."

Bastard. 

Those baffling sensations I was talking about earlier flood my body once again. A part of me wants to smile; at the gesture, at the thoughtful quote. The other half wants to scream into the abyss as I picture that self-satisfied smirk of his.

I turn the piece of paper, discovering what I already knew.

Nathaniel E. Rowlins, PhD. Professor.

University of Chicago. English Department.

In this moment, I can assure you that yes, I was definitely doing that to piss him off. 

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A/N: Victorian literature is one of my favourites! Have you ever been in a situation like this, where you disagree with a professor and get into some kind of discussion?