How To Read Literature Like A Professor Chapter 1 Summary の小説・ストーリー

After typing away for so long, he decided to go for a water break before returning to read all that he had written. As his eyes scanned through the work, he gulped in air multiple times. Everything he had written down was literal filth. Filthy literature that shouldn’t see the light of day ever because why would anyone ever want to read the fantasies of a professor about his student. This was the type of shit that made people get locked up and thrown behind bars.

While the mean girls sit in front, the jerks sat behind, so that third row was the perfect place for me. “Good day class.” Professor William greeted, then began to lecture. I usually love his literature classes because of the many meanings he gave to lines in books and poems that initially felt shallow and bland. It sometimes feels like he knows the mind of the writer or was even with him during the conception of the book. His class was interrupted just a few minutes after it started by the ice hockey boys, Jax and his crew. They completely stole the attention of every classmate and even professor William, who paused to let them settle in.

I walk to one of the free seats at the back and place myself in it. A bad move, but a move all the same. I shut Safira Hussain up. A woman who has gone far in her career and in the acting industry as a whole. A formidable person and a scary individual, I stood up to her. What's a bunch of mean school girls compared to that? Luckily they all leave me alone and when the professor comes in, his eyes flitter to mine immediately. Literature is a class I like. I mean I love literature, but not so much the technical parts of it.

At the moment where everyone else was so busy, his eyes drifted to me for a couple of seconds and I shamelessly stared back, unable to look away, trying to communicate with him without using words, and trying to read whatever thoughts are racing through his mind at the moment. His throat bobbed and he raked his fingers through his hair, messing it a bit, before he walked to the computer and closed the slides, "Since it's our first lecture, I think this is enough for today," He started and I swear I could hear the disappointed sighs echoing from around me. I almost rolled my eyes, no one wants Mr. hot professor to leave, "Next Monday, we can start with chapter one, I will see you then," He ad

She then sipped on her juice. "I don't think so," Flint replied. I tried to act like I don’t know a thing. I’m not ready for any confrontation. - One of my professors announced that he will be conducting our chapter exam next week. We just finished our first chapter so he said he will see if we learned anything. Hence, the chapter exam. It will be a cover to cover coverage for the chapter, as he said. Since the exam will be next week, I have the rest of the week and the weekend to prepare so when the class was over and I had a few hours vacant, I headed straight to the Library.

and opened it. My jaw dropped as I began reading the story. It was twenty-five pages, according to the little bar at the bottom of the document. But those pages were full size, so I figured it would probably be something closer to a hundred page novella. Fortunately, I was a fast reader. And once I got halfway through the first chapter, I was completely hooked. The story was about a college professor who was being seduced by a young girl in his class. By "young", I mean early twenties. My age. Which made the scene descriptions very easy for me to relate to.

Today she was in her morning lecture and I was in an empty classroom on the second floor of the arts building with my textbook open in front of me and my notes spread across the desk and my pen actually moving across the page. “The only way is to read your book.” Professor Marcus always said. I was reading the book. It was slow and painful and about thirty percent of it made sense to me on the first pass. It was not my natural habitat, this kind of quiet focused effort. I kept wanting to check my phone or find a reason to be somewhere else. But I stayed and I kept the pen moving and told myself that this was what people who wanted things did. They sat in empty classrooms, mornings like this

“Take a seat.” I found an empty chair in the back room, hyper aware of his eyes following me. When I finally settled in and looked up, he was staring at me with an expression I couldn't read. “As I was saying,” Professor Vane continued, “Gothic literature explores the forbidden, what the world as we know it now calls abnormal, the desires we tell ourselves we shouldn't have. The attractions that defy logic and morality.” Each time his eyes flicked back to me, my cheeks burned.

Escorting her to a seat right on the front row on a chair in front of his desk, he cleared his throat after he made sure she was comfortably settled. Sinclair blushed harder. "Good morning. This is advanced literature, where we analyzed, evaluate, scrutinized every world-famous sonnet, poem, script, text, and writings, and so forth. Nope, we are not going to do role-playing. We are too old for that. And we are not in high school anymore." He began. His diction was precise and his posture was commanding but relaxed. Everyone sighed in relief. She had clearly heard the amusement in the professor's voice.