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In high school, I went though a period in which the prose plays of Henrik Ibsen seemed like the best art in the world. I've since moved on to work that is more radical at a formal level, as well as some that feels more proximate culturally. But the place in my heart for The Wild Duck, Hedda Gabler, and Ghosts has never been pushed aside. I decided to teach An Enemy of the People and The Wild Duck this semester. It will be my first time teaching Ibsen. At the time I picked the readings for the course, I couldn't have told you why I suddenly felt compelled to incorporate such personal material into my professional existence. Now, though, as stress fractures start to show in the corners of my life, I understand what motivated my choice. I was getting ready to return, while desperately hoping not to have to make the trip.
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