Being a Literature student,
the summer break means one thing: putting Chaucer on hold for a few months and
finally tucking into those books you've been eyeing up all year. Okay, so it’s
not just books we look forward to, home-cooked
food and double beds are definite game changers, but hey, I was desperate to
recover from my roast dinner induced food coma sprawled across my double bed
with Zadie Smith’s NW in hand. Sounds
perfect, right?!
I was given NW as a Christmas gift and it took
extreme amounts of willpower to resist the temptation of throwing all my course
books aside and diving straight in. However, in fear of failing my January
exams I forced myself to forget about Smith’s previous masterpieces and
concentrate on analysing domination in fictional gay sex positions. (I kid you
not, oh English Literature, you strange, strange degree). Having fallen in love
with Smith’s writing during A-levels when I first picked up On Beauty, and consequently devouring White Teeth and The Autograph Man with the speed of a famished student opening a
Domino’s pizza box, I had sky-high expectations for NW.
