Why I Studied Literature At University (June, 2025)
In an age of mass-produced AI content, to say you study English Literature, especially if you did so in the years prior to when artificial intelligence entered into the public conscience, is one that is met with a general superstition, particularly if you are a native English speaker.
“Why study English when you can speak English!?”
“Didn’t anyone ever advise you about what subject to take?”
“You should have studied business or accounting — that will actually lead to a job!”
“Isn’t that just like… reading books?”
“Ain’t that degree for women?”
“What, so you want to be a teacher?”
With the rise of AI (and its embrace by governments and institutions) to say you studied a subject such as English Literature should no longer be said reticently, but with a sense of pride. In a world which has allowed everybody to gloss fragmented thoughts with a veneer of coherence, the degree is now a badge of authenticity, a rites-of-passage, that suggests that the individual in question has done their metaphorical 10,000 hours.
Even though I understand some of the common criticisms aimed at English degrees — particularly in today’s hyper-pragmatic world — they often ignore the nuance of individual thought.
Life shouldn’t be approached with a cookie-cutter mentality, and education certainly shouldn’t be. The value of studying literature, just like any subject, isn’t universal; it’s personal - and should be treated as such. What I am trying to get at is the attempt to avoid generalisations and seek to understand the ‘why’ behind an individual’s actions.
So with that being said, why am I glad to have spend three (and at times, boring) years pursuing this discipline?
REWINDING A DECADE
My first bout at University was in 2017…
…Eighteen, fresh out of college, and full of optimism to be enrolled onto a Ba Film Production course, which I viewed as the golden-ticket into an industry I felt destined to be in.
However, it didn’t last long.
With the prevalence of YouTube tutorials substituting seminars, the only justification I could give for taking on a Bachelor’s in Film Production was the access to the camera equipment and the individuals I may have had the chance to meet on the course.
As it goes, I quickly became disillusioned with the university experience and decided to throw in the proverbial towel — not before asking my professor if he has any connections to Netflix in my withdrawal meeting (How do you think that went?).
And so, I spent the next two years studying film in coffee shops, libraries, pubs, and on park benches — reading and annotating screenplays from the likes of Billy Wilder to James Mangold. I worked in a theatre for almost a year, attended drama workshops at another of my local theatres, and studied under the likes of Aaron Sorkin, Spike Lee and Shonda Rhimes on their respective online Masterclasses .
Whilst this chapter of my life was fruitful, there were moments when I felt beaten and battered, and seriously doubting whether I should continue with this path.
Yet, anytime I questioned the route I was on, synchronous moments would happen that always gave me the fuel to keep going.
It was the origin era days.
My Act one.
And so, every-time life decided to give me a curveball, every-time I got knocked down for the count, I was able to always get back up and back into the ring.
Around 2019, after a string of dead-end jobs, and now shuddering at the thought of a potential timeline in which I’m fifty-years old and collecting a twenty-five year anniversary badge from some employer that doesn’t even know my name, I began to consider the prospect of heading back to university to take on another humanities degree.
“Are you crazy!?”
“What if you drop out again?”
“Three years!? That’s a big commitment?”
But the idea was simple:
“If I could commit to something for three years, especially a literature degree, then when the day came — when I was sitting across from an agent, or a studio executive with my material and the journey I’ve been on — it would compliment what I’m after. It would show that this ‘twenty-year old something’ is serious. That he had discipline. That he could entertain complex thoughts, handle pressure, wasn’t pursuing the entertainment industry on a whim, and had built the character required to run a show like Greenhaven.”
In a nutshell, I took on an English degree because I needed to ensure that every step I was taking for my main goal was maximising my chances of success — even if that step didn’t make much sense to anybody else at the time.
Yes, I love travelling.
I love sports.
I love martial arts.
I love gardening and being outdoors and being with people…
But I didn’t feel compelled to do a degree in any of these areas. Why? Well, not only did I not see the desire of monetising every passion of mine, I knew, most of all, that by keeping a laser-focus on the mission at hand, I could get further in what I wanted to achieve - which, in turn, would support all my other ventures and interests than by adopting a ‘scattershot’ approach
The thought of studying business or accounting, within an academic setting, wasn’t of particular interest to me.
During my GCSE years, I spent eighteen months raising more than £3000 for a personal project — an expedition to India — in which, alongside my final years of secondary school, I found myself washing cars, selling Christmas cards at the local church, organising non-uniform days, and bringing in an ice-cream man into school, haggling a percentage of his daily earnings to match (special thanks to Mr Dan Evans for all those years of mentorship!).
So, a business degree, as much as I imagine, in hindsight, would help me pick up a few more skills, wasn’t going to teach me ‘spirit’ needed to be an entrepreneur.
I knew that, in order to get into a space that is often fairly regarded as ‘elitist’, I would have to play my cards very well — and prove that my work deserves to be given the same treatment as the shows I grew up watching.
Those three years would be like a ‘training period’ — a dedicated time in my life to slow down and learn from some of the greatest minds, all in the presence of like-minded individuals.
Whilst English Literature is often reduced to just ‘reading books’, a waste of a pursuit, and equivalent to chucking thousands down the drain, it’s actually the study of humanity that draw in many of its students.
It’s about learning how to interpret the world, how to sit with complexity, and how to articulate truth in a time of noise. It’s about learning voice — both others’ and your own.
Many of us have been given the pep-talk by friends, family members and strangers about the ‘lack of careers’ that an English degree conjures — and I’m sure that I’m not alone in doubting ever doing such a degree. But it’s important to make note that not every student is doing so with a capitalistic intent.
I imagine most of us are doing it because we are genuinely interesting in knowledge, the pursuit of intellectual and spiritual growth, rather than wealth.
It’s long nights annotating passages others skim, it’s the art of close reading in an age of scrolling, and it’s knowing the difference between a sentence that merely informs and one that changes you.
It means you’ve wrestled with Milton’s angels, wandered through Woolf’s rooms, and stood at the edge of Achebe’s village.
It expands your mind.
Challenges your beliefs.
And in a world that increasingly rewards speed over substance, where humanities degrees are being underfunded and unappreciated, in both the UK and across the Atlantic, the English Literature graduate is proof of patience, of depth — someone who, I believe, has not only consumed language but has been shaped by it.
That matters now more than ever.
Studying English Literature, as sad as it appears to have to clarify, didn’t teach me my a-b-c’s or how to read.
It taught me how to endure.
It made me a better person.
And for that, I’m glad I stayed.
