At the Pitt Rivers

       I read the short story "At the Pitt Rivers" by Penelope Lively when I was in High School and it has never failed to enchant me with its description of the haunting maze like Pitt Rivers museum where a  pretentious hopelessly romantic young boy goes to write poetry before he discovers exactly how stupid he is.

Seeing the museum for myself, I was not disappointed. It was one of the most eclectic and disorganized museums i'd ever seen in my life and looked more like the personal collection of a crazy eccentric old person than a museum.

It was exactly the sort of place you would expect to find a pretentious poetry writing teenager.


There was case after case heaped with artifacts, some things were even stuffed under the display cases in boxes, either because there wasn't room for them in the cases or they were not deemed important enough to merit a spot.

There were even boat paddles and spears haphazardly crammed into the rafters of the roof!

Were I a character in a fantasy novel, it is exactly the place where I would have found the cursed/enchanted object that would change my life.

And were I a character in a teen romance, it's exactly where I would have met a tall dark stranger with deep knowing eyes and mysterious past.

Being neither of these things, I was thankfully allowed to browse to my hearts content without any interruptions.