I woke up early this morning because J was up really early–before light even attempted to peek past our blinds– getting ready to leave for some out of town meetings.  Lying wrapped in my warm blankets and listening to my wonderful husband feed and calm the children–who also woke up insanely early (what IS it with my family?)–I mentally browsed through the multiple blog posts I’d been writing in my head for a while. Writing them in my head because they usually come to mind when I’m either awake in the middle of the night, or when I’m too sick to my stomach to attempt to get the laptop out and write them down.
The topic of “What makes a book literature” is a discussion I’ve had at various times to various depths with various friends. One of my friends was told by a professor of literature that nothing after 1899 is considered classic literature (the professor also went on to say there was no such thing as American Literature). read more…