The Spiral Staircase by Karen Armstrong

Author:Karen Armstrong
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9780307429391
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2007-12-17T16:00:00+00:00

5. Desiring This Man’s Gift and That Man’s Scope

The English department at Bedford College, located in a Regency house beside the Regent’s Park lake, was a haven of quiet in the hubbub of London. From the lecture rooms you could see herons swooping over the water and landing on the wooded islands, yet only a few hundred yards away the traffic roared incessantly in Baker Street. This would be the center of my world for the next three years, and very pleasant it was too. My teaching duties were so light that I had plenty of time to get on with my thesis, which was now nearing completion. The faculty was welcoming, especially Richard and Jackie, who had interviewed me and now treated me with extraordinary kindness. Since we were responsible for teaching the literature of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, we soon formed a triumvirate within the department, meeting regularly for coffee in Richard’s room, which was the largest. I was slightly disconcerted by the way the course was organized. The students seemed to run from one class to another. They could well have been still in high school. When did they have time to read and explore for themselves? To me they seemed overtaught, but I kept this criticism to myself. It was probably just an Oxford prejudice. All in all, Bedford was an amicable place and I seemed to have fallen on my feet.

In fact, it was all so easygoing that I began to look for a catch. There must be more to university teaching than this. For the past three years, my mentors had told me that I should not even think of an academic career, implying that it would be too much of a strain, perhaps beyond my intellectual capacity, and bad for my fragile nerves. But I appeared to be managing all right. I had no problems with the students, and Richard and Jackie gave me very positive feedback. Indeed, everything seemed to be going very well. Why had people been so negative about my prospects? The faculty did not seem to consist of intellectual giants. My nerves were no worse than usual. I certainly didn’t feel that I was being unduly challenged—or stretched in any way at all. It was, indeed, pleasant. But wasn’t it already a little . . . predictable? Was it not a trifle . . . dull?

I remember when I finally allowed this question to surface. It was toward the end of my first term and I was hurrying home to my flat in North London. The underground station at King’s Cross was packed with commuters and I tried to find a quiet place in my mind away from the crowds, the noise, and the bustle. Two free research days lay ahead. I could stay at home, finish the chapter that I was working on, and go to the British Library. Wonderful! Two whole days away from college! But then I stopped short: why was I so delighted? For

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