So. Literary Places I Would Like to Visit. Let's talk about them. Because they are all probably way, way awesome.
1. Emily Dickinson's House. Am I even that big a fan of Dickinson? Nope. Can I quote any of her poems? I think...maybe like a line? Something about hope being a bird? Whatever, the point is when I called her museum last year, the people intimidated me, and I respect that. Plus there's this bit of tabloid-like gossip, and I'm all about that.
Also, this basically looks exactly like Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's house -- a place I have weird associations with because I had an emotional conversation with a friend in his back garden until we were interrupted by a very forward sort of rabbit.
2. Haworth Parsonage. Um, obviously. If I don't wander on the same damn moors that Charlotte Bronte did at least once in my life, I will have failed. I don't care if someone has to wheel me up there -- when they do, I want to be spun around in little wheely circles, because that is what I would do if I had working legs. And then I will get my friend to hide behind a hill and yell in a deep voice "JAAAANE!" and I will say "I AM COMING! WAIT FOR MEEE!" And then we will visit Branwell's grave and I will scold him for having acted like a tool and worrying his sisters when really they just loved him, and if he HADN'T been so horrible, we wouldn't have Heathcliff foisted upon the world or the suckier bits of The Tenant of Wildfell Hall.
3. Rochester, UK. This is the town that the town in Edwin Drood is based on. It was founded in Roman times. Saint Augustine established its Bishopric. There's a castle from just after the Norman Conquest. THAT IS A THOUSAND-YEAR-OLD CASTLE. There's a cathedral that's also a thousand damn years old. People used to have pilgrimages there. People for a thousand years have been going to that cathedral for the same reason. So basically, if I ever go to Rochester, I will immediately faint. From too much AWESOMENESS.
4. Nuneaton, UK. George Eliot lived here. I don't know if I've actually expressed how much I love George Eliot, but it is a whole lot.
|me and George Eliot|
5. Salinas, California. Do I need to explain this? Steinbeck basically wanted to make out with Salinas, and so I do too. I'm not sayin' it'll look the same, but I'm also not expecting the highway near George Eliot's childhood home to ring true to her experience of the area. If I see one really pretty valley, I'll be all set.