Dear diary, properly humbled myself tonight, rereading a nineteenth century text I’d confidently dismissed years ago as minor and unremarkable, only to find it genuinely brilliant on this considerably more careful second reading.
I wrote up the whole reassessment in a piece on exactly how I reread a text I’d dismissed years ago and found it genuinely brilliant this time, considerably more so than I’d been prepared to actually admit at first, and I think tonight’s whole reversal deserves proper, honest documentation rather than quiet correction.
What I actually missed the first time
A specific structural choice, properly, one I’d originally read as clumsy rather than deliberate, failing entirely to notice how carefully the author had actually calibrated it until this considerably more patient rereading revealed the genuine intention behind it.
I think younger scholarly confidence sometimes mistakes unfamiliarity for genuine flaw, dismissing technique that simply doesn’t match whatever critical framework happens to be fashionable at the time of first reading.
What I’m doing about my original dismissal
Issuing a proper, public correction, honestly, rather than quietly revising my opinion without acknowledging the original error, since I think readers who encountered my earlier dismissal deserve to know I’ve genuinely changed my mind.
What I’m rereading next with this same fresh attention
Several other texts I’d confidently dismissed around the same period, properly, on the theory that tonight’s humbling discovery probably isn’t an isolated case.
What I think actually changed between my two readings
Not the text itself, obviously, but my own considerable growth as a reader, a patience I simply didn’t have years ago when I first dismissed it, arriving at exactly the moment I actually needed it to properly appreciate what the author was doing.
What I’m telling my students about this whole experience
That confident early judgments deserve genuine revisiting, properly, and that admitting you were wrong about a text is a considerably healthier scholarly habit than quietly defending an outdated opinion simply because it’s the one you published first.
What I think actually makes this specific text so brilliant now
A structural patience the author clearly trusted her readers to have, properly, the kind of considerable confidence in craft that only reveals itself fully to a reader willing to slow down and actually sit with the text rather than rushing toward an efficient, premature judgment.
What I’m doing with my original dismissive review, specifically
Publishing a proper follow-up piece, honestly, that quotes my own earlier wrongness directly, since I think the genuine value of this reversal depends on readers seeing exactly how confidently mistaken I originally was.
I think there’s genuine value in modeling this kind of public reversal for younger scholars, properly, showing them that intellectual growth sometimes means publicly contradicting your own earlier published work rather than quietly hoping nobody notices the shift.
Goodnight, diary. One text properly rediscovered, one earlier dismissal honestly corrected, one small but genuine act of scholarly humility I’m considerably more proud of than the original review I’m correcting.
I keep rereading the specific passage that changed my mind tonight, properly, purely for the pleasure of it now, no longer weighed down by the dismissive judgment I’d originally, confidently attached to it.
Sleep well, diary. One text redeemed, one earlier wrong opinion properly corrected, one genuinely better reader heading into tomorrow’s work.
Lights off now, properly, one genuinely humbling reversal filed away for tomorrow’s writing, one small reminder that certainty, however confidently held, is always worth revisiting eventually.
Goodnight properly, truly, one text properly redeemed, one small ego quietly humbled, one considerably better reader falling asleep tonight than the one who confidently dismissed this book years ago.
I think I’ll keep a small note about tonight properly pinned above my desk, a genuine reminder that first impressions, however confident, deserve considerably more scrutiny before they harden into settled opinion.
Rest well, diary. One brilliant text properly recognised, considerably later than it deserved, but recognised nonetheless.
Bed now, properly, one earlier judgment properly retracted, one text genuinely appreciated at last, tomorrow’s follow-up piece already forming somewhere quietly in the back of my mind.
I think I’ll actually thank the specific colleague who recommended I revisit this text, properly, since without her genuine persistence I suspect I’d have continued quietly ignoring a book that turned out to deserve considerably more of my attention than my earlier, dismissive self ever gave it.
Goodnight, truly, properly, for real this time, one genuine reversal properly documented, one text finally given the honest, careful reading it always actually deserved.
I think I’ll properly recommend this same text to my own students tomorrow, honestly, with the specific caveat that even I, its harshest early critic, eventually came around to seeing what it was genuinely doing all along.
I think there’s genuine value in teaching my own intellectual history alongside the text itself, honestly, showing students that even confident scholars change their minds when the evidence and their own patience eventually catch up with each other, genuinely, honestly, truly, properly, entirely, wholly, completely, absolutely, finally, utterly, genuinely.
Sleep well, properly, honestly, truly, for the actual last time tonight.