daydream ( perry. )

v. a malevolence to j. evans pritchard phd

CHAPTER FIVE 
A MALEVOLENCE TO J. EVANS PRITCHARD PHD

"GENTLEMEN, and lady, open your text to page 21 of the introduction," Mr. Keating called to his students at the front of the room. He sat on top of his desk with his back straight and legs swinging back and forth. 

Eliza sat in his chair behind the desk, looking over at the clipboard while her own textbook was open to the introduction.

"Neil Perry,"  she called with a grin, his name popping off the page first. "The opening paragraph of the preface is all yours. Entitled: Understanding Poetry." 

Neil looked up with slightly widened eyes behind the glasses that had been perched on his nose. He smiled when they made eye contact and nodded. 

"'Understanding Poetry by Doctor J. Evans Pritchard PhD. To fully understand poetry, we must first be fluent with its meter, rhyme and figures of speech. Then ask two questions: One, how artfully has the objective of the poem been rendered, and two, how important is that object,'" the boys in the class begun to take after Eliza, who sat at the front, her eyes closed as Neil read, "Question one rates the poem's perfection, question two rates its importance, and once these questions have been answered, determining a poem's greatness becomes a relatively simple matter.'"

Mr. Keating slapped his text lightly before setting it beside himself so he could jump off the desk and make his way towards the board.

"A sonnet by Byron may score high on the vertical, but only average on the horizontal. A Shakespearean sonnet, on the other hand, would score high both horizontally and vertically—'" Neil, along with the sleepy boys around him, drew their eyes to the dark board where Mister Keating had scratched the chalk to what Neil was saying. He turned, motioning for Neil to continue his enticing read. " yielding a massive total area, thereby revealing the poem to be truly great. As your ability to evaluate poems in this matter grows, so will, so will your enjoyment and understanding of poetry," Neil finished, his thick book set neatly back on his desk, along with his glasses. 

Mr. Keating turned back to his students on his heel, finished with his diagram. 

"Excrement. That's what I think of Mr. J. Evans Pritchard," he announced brashly, waking his unconscious students back to life. Even Eliza jolted back to life and a few of the boys glancing her way had a few chuckles at her sleepy eyes and disheveled hair. "We're not laying pipe, we're talking about poetry. I mean, how can you describe poetry like American Bandstand? 'I like Byron, I give him a 42, but I can't dance to it,'" Keating mocked.

Charlie sitting in the far back corner perked his head up in attention, when Mr. Keating spoke there was something to listen to and it seemed Charlie had caught on to this.

"Now, I want you to rip out that page," Mr. Keating instructed.

The students were silent, eyes round and mouths parted in surprise by their teacher's sudden exclamation of obstruction to school property.