I have been given a Herculean task -- I'm writing an essay on a 15th century Scottish poem written by a poet that may have been blind. Other than his name (Blind Hary) we don't really know much about him except that he occasionally got paid for something. I have to construct a paragraph that says "We don't know what books he may have had access to or known. We don't really know much about his education. But since a chunk of my argument hinges on him knowing some things about a series of saints, we're just going to assume that he knew their fairly obscure biographies in detail. And for two of the series who may each be one of two saints, we're just going to go with the one I picked, yeah?"
I can't see it.
But then, neither could he.
Unless that was just a nickname.
So I am going to hie me to the library tomorrow with an agenda: I'm not leaving until I have come to some conclusion about things, and framed it in brilliant prose.
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2 comments:
Okay, I admit it. I had to look up the word 'hie.' I hope you're happy.
One of my goals in life is to be a nineteenth-century novel.
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