Thrills! Spills! Scandal! Snore.

I'm trying to read a book written by a woman who died in 1904.

Apparently, it was extra-controversial and scandalous...in 1904. It caused women to weep and men to grow weak in the knees...in 1904. Mothers shielded the eyes of their young ones from the pages of this devilish work...in 1904. It provided an insight into the scandal and adventure in the lives of upper-class women...1n 1904!
I could try to make this as full of explanation as I possibly could, but the facts are these:
The Awakening bores me. It is a boring piece of great literature. Kate Chopin was a brilliant woman and revolutionary author...who died in 1904!

I had no problem reading Macbeth, which is in fact set in 11th-century Scotland, and was written by William Shakespeare, who died in 1616. I take comfort in this, because I know my problem does not stem from the book being too "outdated" or its author being "too old" (meaning dead for 105 years). This means that I'm not TOO uncultured. It's not as if I'm rolling my eyes and saying, "This is gay. Lets go light something on fire, Beevis." I'm really trying! It's just that I can't grasp the excitement embedded in people who "stroll" and "sip" things, and "go on visits" and have "dear friends." I can't find pleasure in reading about a perfect 18-century woman who has only one flaw, and that is that she insists on talking about her ever-evasive "condition," the symtoms of which are invisible and unapparent to everyone around her! Honestly, I can't bring myself to care if Mrs. Pontellier is uncomfortable in a society of Creoles, despite her having married a Creole. Creole sounds like something fruity and delicious, if you ask me, and that makes my mouth water, which distracts me. How am I expected to read a book which draws my attention AWAY from it?! It's repellent, I tell you! This book is only 100 pages long! Why am I having such a hard time being interested in this?!

In every english class I've ever been in, with every book we've ever read, I've always been the one to practically sprint into the classroom, full of praise and wonderment at the current reading assignment. I leaped into class with To Kill A Mockingbird in my hand, yelling at everyone that would listen to me. "OH MY GOODNESS! DID YOU READ LAST NIGHT? Atticus Finch is my HEEEERO! He's all this super-cool laid back lawyer whose all like, You won't get away with this, I'll use my brain power and break you down have a nice day, and then this dog comes in and its all going crazy and Atticus grabs his shotgun and he's all BLAMO!! and the dog is gone and the kids are all like, duuude, and the sherrif's all, Ol' One Shot done it again...WOW this book is INCREDIBLE!"
When we held class discussions, my hand was in the air and my eyes here sparkling, pretty much constantly.
I give 104% on analysis essays, I adore my english teacher, and I plan to name my future pets (or anything else which requires naming, excluding children) after my favorite literary characters (Atticus Finch, John and Elizabeth Proctor, and Lennie Small). I am in love with literature. So what is this bizarre change in what has always been a perfect love?
It's never been the plot that I love so much as the underlying meanings and ironies and the different dimensions of characters. That's the stuff a book is made of - the plot is only a framework.
When I got the assignment to read The Awakening, I was promised some seriously beautiful, dense stuff. My teacher, who is a hero to me, sang praises to this book in class (She's like that. It surprised no one). My father, also a hero and an english Ph.D., promised me a rich supply of character dimension and themes similar to those in Their Eyes Were Watching God. WHERE ARE THESE THINGS HIDING?! I am seeing NO dimension, ZERO emotion, and TOTALLY skewed and irrelevant bits of information about 4 people! Mr. Pontellier wears eyeglasses. Mrs. Pontellier got a sunburn. The boys enjoyed croquet. Don't forget the umbrella, Darling. The man lived in the third house. As opposed to a dirty, muggy dungeon with a wrongly accused Frenchman and first mate of the Pharaon who later becomes a count and self-made ledgend, which would be much more exciting. Hmm...someone should do something with that. Oh WAIT! Alexandre Dumas wrote an incredible book with that very idea, and HE died in 1870! Nobody in The Count of Monte Cristo strolled or sipped things.
I'll read The Awakening. I'll get through it, even if it takes pretending I died in 1904. Literature is one of my great loves...am I wrong not to love it all the time?