The Victorian Imagination

Rosenberg does read much of his lectures off stacks of yellowing looseleaf, but my God, I want to get my hands on them and send them to a publisher. I loved this class. I walked in every day and for a glorious hour and fifteen minutes let that mellifluous and undefinable accent stoke my interest in Victorian literature and in the sheer joy of language. Rosenberg's relish for language comes out in his obsessive close readings, in those lectures which ought to be published essays, and in his constant asides which betray an incredible wealth of knowledge and a droll, understated sense of humor. The class covers essays, social criticism, and poetry, rather than the usual novels, and very quickly does away with the widely accepted view of all Victorians as repressed hypocrites. (With that out of the way, they become much more interesting.) One downside to the class: Rosenberg relies almost entirely on office hours to get to know his students, so go or he won't know you from The Lady of Shalott. But even if you don't get chummy with him (and I didn't get the chance, since I had a class during his office hours), the Victorian Imagination is a marvelous, intellectually stimulating, enjoyable experience.