I read AS Byatt’s Still Life during April, towards the end of my first year at university. Behind me lay a turbulent seven months, a period where I had never questioned my own identity so much. In school, I had a very firm understanding of who I was — nice, prudent girl who read books for fun, dabbled in acting, was enthused by French. That was about it. Coming to university, that was all in the air. Things I’d held to for my entire adolescent existence — the maintenance of ‘dignity’, a burning desire to study books all the time, the knowledge that I was, by nature, a solitary person — were undone. First semester, I had never been so wrapped up in absolute trivialities, so deeply
Frederica Potter, doubt, certainty, love
Frederica Potter, doubt, certainty, love
Frederica Potter, doubt, certainty, love
I read AS Byatt’s Still Life during April, towards the end of my first year at university. Behind me lay a turbulent seven months, a period where I had never questioned my own identity so much. In school, I had a very firm understanding of who I was — nice, prudent girl who read books for fun, dabbled in acting, was enthused by French. That was about it. Coming to university, that was all in the air. Things I’d held to for my entire adolescent existence — the maintenance of ‘dignity’, a burning desire to study books all the time, the knowledge that I was, by nature, a solitary person — were undone. First semester, I had never been so wrapped up in absolute trivialities, so deeply