austenland | junhao

二

"can someone tell me what literary theory is?" minghao spreads his arms to the ocean of students barely younger than him, silently praying they would still take him seriously despite wearing a patriotic t-shirt that is just full of irony. he recalls the first time he has to stand alone in front of this many people—eleventh grade speech competition, perhaps? it's probably as far as he can remember. it was also the year of many firsts, say, the year he first took interest in english literature after an assignment that had him reading a couple of charles dickens, first boy crush, first broken arm due to limpy and inadequate skill for wall climbing, and also the first time he met junhui.

they both graduated from the same high school and university, but minghao had taken the path for english literature whilst junhui had chosen philosophy, which minghao found to be quite astounding, because all this time he thought junhui has been using his ass cheeks instead of his neurons to think. he still does, though. kind of.

a freshman raises their hand.

"literary theory is the body of ideas and methods we use in the practical reading of literature. by literary theory we refer not to the meaning of a work of literature but to the theories that reveal what literature can mean."

minghao smiles. nothing better than good ol' ambition as your life companion. "good. you've been reading—that's the key to passing the whole major. literary theory is a description of the underlying principles, one might say the tools, by which we attempt to understand literature. but for your next assignment, i want you to pick a book and present to me your own way of understanding literature outside of theory. end of class, thank you very much."

in a matter of seconds, the class is left empty but for the young lecturer still collecting all his belongings, checking and rechecking all over again for the sake of being careful as he daydreams of watching—yet again—the handsome yet dark mr. darcy. he plays the scene at bingley's private ball, where darcy and bennet first danced and never, and he means never, took their eyes off of each other's.  he remembers bennet looking so deeply into darcy's eyes, as if she was searching for something. clarity, or maybe a sense of similarity.

minghao gets the chills again.

he just can't wait to plop on his couch and drown in tears for the 974673767th time.