PLAIN ENGLISH
“Right girls, we’ll start with a feminist interpretation because that’s easy,” said Miss Ogunye, breezily. She brandished a battered copy of Jane Eyre that looked like it had already been used to clobber some unfortunate male on the way to class. “What do we all think of Mr Rochester?”
September light reflected off the swirling dust, timber desks, glitter pencil cases and un-raised hands.
“I mean, he’s hot,” giggled Melissa Page, to nobody and to everybody. She clicked her rickety blue fingers the way she’d seen black popstars do on TV. To this, Miss Ogunye exhaled slowly, and said simply, “Baby Jesus.” She said Baby Jesus a lot. She had
