Chasing Chaucer: The Plight of the English Major

So, as those in English at Penn State are aware, we are required to take a course on early British literature. As I'm trying to keep it a secret that I'm an English major who is not well versed in the classics (shhhh), I did my very best to feign excitement about this course. Fortunately, every student who has taken/is taking this course says it's terrible, except for grad students in training, who say things like "let me suggest that the agency of women..." Even my roommate, who is pretty much a literature genius, came back from that class with a look of fear in her eyes.

Needless to say, (except I'm saying it, so hah!) I wasn't exactly thrilled to face Engl 221 this semester.

As our class dove into the texts, however, a strange thing happened to me. Not only did I not want to shoot myself in the face after reading, I found myself enjoying the texts. I mean, Le Roman de Tristran let the hopeless romantics such as myself indulge themselves in the idea of true love. Beowulf was chopping off arms left and right and fighting dragons like a badass. Even Sir Gawain, a story that put me to sleep in middle school, made me want to drop out of school and start fighting green men with magical powers.

#lifegoals.

Then we got to Chaucer. And let me tell you, I have some things to say about this guy. 

Don't give me that look

First off, this isn't a direct complaint to Chaucer, but more so to the geniuses who compiled the Norton Anthology of English Literature. Every old and middle English story has been translated enough so that you can have some clarity about who the characters are and what happens--two essential traits in a story, in my humble opinion.

Then you get to Chaucer, and all of that is thrown out the window. Reading comprehension, who needs that? Why not just speak a bunch of gobbledy-gook and pretend you know a totally different language??

I know, I get it. It's middle English. But just like the middle child, it's irritating, takes forever to understand, and everyone forgets about it.

I mean, honestly. How am I supposed to read this without making my brain explode?

 

But then by time you actually have an inkling of the prologue to The Canterbury Tales, you realize it's actually dreadfully boring. Chaucer takes an entire chapter to list out every single character and describe their best/worst traits. I swear, it's like speed dating, minus the inappropriate attire. Like, if I ever were forced to meet 29 people in the course of an hour, I'd kill myself. It's certainly not any better to read about it. 

While the actual tales are slightly more thrilling, there are parts that make me question why this is presented as sophisticated literature. For those of you that aren't familiar with The Miller's Tale, basically this married girl and some guy fall in love and trick the girl's husband into thinking there's a flood so that they can spend some time together (doesn't everyone?). While they're shacking up together, some other guy who's into this girl demands a kiss from her. The girl thinks it's hilarious to stick out her behind so that the guy kisses her ass, and then when he asks for another kiss, the girl's lover sticks out his butt and farts.

That's the highly abridged version, but you catch my drift. Chaucer is writing fart jokes, everyone. I feel like I'm in the 4th grade. 

I mean, honestly! All I ask from an author is to make an insightful comment or two about the nature of love, and leave people's butts out of it. All I got from this is that these people need to cool it and learn some basic manners. Oh, and not to sleep with people when they're married, but...priorities. 

Maybe I've failed as an English major. But I just cannot for the life of me understand the appeal of Chaucer.