Teaching, Training, Telling--towards a theory of elearning Genres

Teaching vs. Telling.  The division is deep.

Context
From December to May, I was teaching an online class in early British literature that required me to devise ways for students to learn in an online-only environment--and really learn, or why were we going through the motions?  I was concerned with making students' means of acquiring information as interactive as possible, and with assigning activities that reinforce the learning while also getting them to think a bit deeper about the ideas, and make connections--all of the things a good instructor is supposed to do.

During this time, I was involved--at my 8-5 job--in ongoing revision to a training certificate program for entry-level adminstrative professional staff.  In the process, the business writing class that we teach was moved to the "II" certificate from the "I" certificate--and I took exception, because even staff who are not writing long documents spend a significant amount of time communicating by email--both internally and externally.  So I proposed something like an "Email Best Practices" class, which would either be taught in person (maybe for an hour) or could be an online course.

When our director said no to a traditional class and yes to the online training, I envisioned something that would allow the user to make choices between good and bad email practices while delivering the essential information--something really interactive that would actually teach.  I don't really think that the 6-hour, 1- or 2-day business writing class accomplishes much in the way of making the participants' writing better, but it does give them strategies for more effective communication.  With the email training, I wanted to actually curb some bad email practies.

Dilemma/Problem
Because the online class is part of a certificate program, and there are people who need to finish in the next few months, there was a bit of anxiety among participants in the program.  This led to the director of my department giving--well, more an ultimatum than a deadline.  At any rate, it has a very different feel than most of my deadlines, perhaps because of how arbitrary it is.  And it's not like it's the only thing on my plate--quite the contrary.  So speaking to my direct supervisor, who is a reasonable person, I received a recommendation (only more forceful than a recommendation, becuase it is bound to the aritrary deadline): just throw some information into PowerPoint and we will convert it to an online class from there.

Just. Throw. Information. Into. PowerPoint.  That's the elearning equivalent of an all-lecture course, and not at all what I had in mind for this course that was really supposed to teach something--to help people to communicate better via email.  I protested.  I bargained.  I philosophized.  But no.  This is the task I have been given--use PowerPoint as an information dump.  I co-presented at a conference earlier in the year about making PowerPoint more interactive.  I have been trying to use PowerPoint to develop interactive tutorials that I can post in Blackboard to give my students an interactive, self-guided lesson.  This upsets me so much.

The Crux
What I realized, speaking with my boss today, is that the contrast between what I want to do and what I have time to do taps into my conception of teaching, and my perception of myself and my role as a teacher--even in designing online materials.  I want to help people to learn.  I don't just want them to fill a checkbox.  This isn't like the type of compliance training that only requires that the information be available, and gives you a checkbox to acknowledge that it has passed in front of your eyeballs.  I wanted more from this.  So my level of satisfaction from this project has just decreased dramatically. It is no longer a teaching problem; it is an efficiency problem.

Solutions and Theorizing...
I could, of course, just create this first version and then revise it and make it as great as I want...  That option was offered, but I don't think that will happen.  I simply don't work like that.  I need purpose and momentum, and once it's up, and not really mine any more but the property of the department (all of you "#altac" people out there, take note--this is life outside of academia), I will simply feel done with it and ready to move on.

Our compromise is to call the training "Tips for," and to change what I saw as the overall purpose.  Instead of teaching, we will simply be listing best practices, more or less.  It won't stick.  It's not designed to.  So it maybe doesn't matter? *sigh*  Not ideal for my original intention.

But I was thinking... There is a place and a time for giving information, and it can be accomplished in different media differently.  As soon as I stopped thinking of it as a "course" and started thinking of it as an "FYI" (more or less), my purpose manifested itself in interesting ways.  Sitting down to introduce the slide show (which will be without sound, because who has time for that?), I immediately asked the question, "Why do we need to write better emails?"  This lead me to investigate statistics on how much we use email in a typical business day.  Email is professional communiation.  So my purpose became, "Let's make it professional communication--and here are some tips."

I can tell people things--I do it all the time.  But I do have to have a purpose in doing so, whether or not it is well-articulated.

Then, there's elearning itself.  There are the really interactive courses (some of them taking up to 30 minutes because hey--the more time you spend clicking through, the more you learn, right? or not...) and the less interactive.  There are some that simply talk to you and others that have you play games.  Some are literally just words on the screen. But each fulfills its purpose.  Some compliance training is like the screen that you sign before picking up a prescription.  Anyone know the information that they're referring to?  Anyone care much?  But someone needs that signature for their records.  Similarly, people dealing with biohazards need to have several text-heavy screens floated past them so that they can click "acknowledge."  I'm not making this up.  It's scary, and I don't believe in it, but that training is fulfilling its own legalistic purpose--which is most emphatically not to teach.

So elearning, you might say, has different genres.  And those different genres make distinct use of the capabilities of the software, some extremely minimal, others extensive.  And maybe compliance training isn't bad training, it's simply what it is--driven by its own purpose which has eveything to do with the liability of the provider and absolutely nothing to do with the increased understanding of the user.  So... genres.

It doesn't make me happy to have to shift from elearning as a teaching platform to elearning as an information dump, but at least I have a way to reconcile myself to the circumstances and something to think further about.  Genres of elearning.

Small Successes I: Paper Activities

So I realize that I haven't had much to say in a while about my class, and in part, I want to record the successes that I've had along the way--things that I hope to repeat in the future.  I know that last time I checked in I was on the verge of despair.  *sigh*  I still have more moments of weariness than enthusiasm, but I haven't felt that bad since that week.  I have also been allowing myself to read for pleasure more, and not forcing myself to read along with everything I assign.  The latter makes me feel like a bad teacher, but it's not as if I'm lecturing on it, so I'll give myself a pass.

One thing that I feel I have done the right way is breaking the steps of the paper down for them and requiring students to "check in" (more or less) to demonstrate that they are working on the paper.  These assignments help them to stretch out the work on the assignment rather than saving it until the last minute.  They give me the opportunity to monitor progress--or not, because for the most part the burden is on them (which I'll explain).  Because they are wrestling with the paper over time, I do, in fact, hear more from them when things aren't going quite right, if they get stuck, etc.  This is definitely a success in an online course.  

What I'm proposing is something that was standard in composition classes--Topic Proposal Memo, Thesis Statement, List of Sources, Outline (maybe), Rough Draft, Final Draft.  Besides teaching time management and giving the opportunity for feedback along the way, we were also making sure that if a student was inclined to plagiarize, the supporting materials would have to be plagiarized, since a paper would not be accepted without them.  That's not really my rationale, since my paper is fairly unique and probably can't just be downloaded.  What is unusual is requiring these steps for a sophomore-level class.  Sophomores are supposed to be able to do these things on their own, right?  And sink or swim?  Well...  not really.  Not in reality. 

One of the amazing things about the online-only class is the opportunities I have along the way to correct what they're thinking about things, how they're interpreting things, how they are expressing their ideas in writing.  In class, if they don't speak, I don't know what they're thinking. Because the class meets every day, there are no assignments designed to let me know what they're thinking--whether they're getting it.  As a result, they don't necessarily get it, and I don't know until the test.  Heck--they don't know until the test.  In this case, I know.  And if we can have a discussion about it where other students can see, I'm actually teaching.  Yay!  This is how being a "guide" instead of a "sage" can still be an important function, requiring a teacher who is insightful and engaged.  

This paper was a beginning lit review, if you will.  My intentions (objectives, really) were to have them be able to write a research question, use it to do research, find scholarly sources on a literary topic, read and summarize, and begin to synthesize the sources in a very basic way in order to present the articles to an audience who wishes to know more about the literary topic in question.  It took a bit of wrangling to get them there, and I haven't graded the papers yet, but I know that learning has happened along the way.

Their supporting activities were:

1. A research question posted to a forum.  Each student had to post a question in order to see others' questions so that they were not influenced beforehand.
2. A bibliography submitted as an assignment to the instructor only.  This gave me the opportunity to check to see whether the sources were scholarly and whether the bibliography format was correct.
3. A rough draft/peer review wiki.  While it did not really function as a peer review, it could have.  Students posted their rough draft to a new page in the wiki.  They could also make changes to theirs (technically they could have to others' as well), and make comments on their and others' drafts.  If they wanted my feedback, they had to solicit it, and one did.  I could have forced each student to comment on another's draft, but feedback-by-coersion is not typically good quality stuff, so I let it go.

I had many questions during the first two stages.  Some were caught up in adhering to the question or making it perfect, so those people learned that research ideas do mutate.  Many, many students learned to construct better database searches.  And at least half of the remaining students had a rough draft in time.  All in all, a success--they did not drift away completely.

These supporting assignments were only worth 25 points each.  At first, I was going to roll these in to the daily grade equivalent--a pathetic 10% (which should be more given the effort).  Instead, I decided to reward their efforts by making the 75 points part of the paper grade, which is 15% of the overall grade.  I believe that the effort of staying on task and the learning activities involved deserve to be 3/7 of the 15%, because they are being rewarded, here, for the considerable effort of learning on their own, being engaged, and asking for assistance when they needed it.

Because I can't not be...

Lately, the conversation going on around me (online) has centered, to a large degree, on an article about the writer's life, and particularly, how writers treat, or lie about, the sources of income that allow them to write.  While this doesn't directly apply to me, it has spawned some conversation that does apply to me, and also some thought.

I am not a writer.  I mean, I am a writer.  I call myself "a compulsive writer in search of a subject," and that works for me rather nicely.  Sometimes, I have to write.  I am also a compulsive blog-creator, though I have two right now that are actually active.  I am also trying to put together a story (I guess you would call it a novel, but for now it's just a story), which means that I do sneak 10-minute intervals at lunch and sometimes at work.  But I have never deluded myself that I could make money by writing, even though I was an English major and seriously considered the creative writing "track" (which would have required a class on the history of the English language, and I wasn't up for that at the time).  Even now, the idea of writing fiction for profit seems laughable to me, although I know people who are doing it, trying to do it, or claiming to do it, as the case may be.  Each and every one of them does, in fact, have another source of income though, so the claims are dubious.

It might be because I grew up in New Orleans that I was never deluded about "making a living" as a writer.  I'm not sure that my crowd ever aspired to the kind of lifestyle that everyone seems to want these days--at least in Texas.  A modest house and the ability to eat and pay the bills while not working so hard you were miserable seemed to be what most of us wanted--except, of course, that we were also creative types who could not imagine living without writing or acting.  My English teachers never made it sound like writing for a living was a thing--creative writing or otherwise.  All of the writers I knew were teachers.  I never felt deluded for a moment, even when our junior English class attended the gala for the Pirate's Alley Faulkner Society as a reward for stuffing envelopes.  The writer's lifestyle was normal living and this, too.  But we were certainly encouraged to try.  And I have, though not with as much dedication as when I was an undergrad getting rejection slips from The Southern Review.  

So in New Orleans, which has a literary culture, I was never told that writing would or could or should be my life.  Frankly, I thought getting advanced degrees and teaching college was a much more practical plan that would still make time for include necessitate writing.  It might be that I was a poet--no one makes money from poetry.  Poets write poetry because poets have to write poetry.  I thought that was simply how it worked.  I am a writer because writers have to write and I have to write.  (No, that's not exactly a run-on.)  And, in a similar vein, I got a Ph.D. becuase I had to get a Ph.D.  Not because I was particularly... whatever people think.  It was simply something I had to do because I couldn't not do it.  (Not doing it would mean getting a real job, and I'm still not ready for that!)  I guess I feel sorry for starry-eyed people who think they can make a living writing novels (some do, but I would bet even fewer than those who land tenure track positions).  Except I don't really feel sorry for them because hello? Reality.  It's all around us.  People.  Working.  Again, I call myself a "cynical idealist."  This might be why.

So working to write.  I get that.  Having someone else working so that you can write.  I guess I get that, but to a lesser degree.  That kind of lifestyle requires more privilege than I have ever had, if only so that the bills that you have in order to have home and food and transportation are not greater than the one income, or to avoid massive student loan debt because there was help from other places.  It's not something I envy, it's simply something I didn't have.  And yes, I made the choice to have more student debt.  I don't really regret that either.

What I find strange and unsettling is that having a Ph.D., aspiring to make a living as an academic, whether or not one lands a tenure track job, is regarded as just as ridiculous as aspiring to make a living as a writer, if not more so since there's a glamour about writing, and academics are subject to more negative stereotypes in many corners.

What I also find strange and unsettling is that I'm a teacher--and I'm a teacher because I can't not teach.  Like being a writer.  Like when I thought I would be a poet.  And so I adjunct.  Which means that I have to have a day job.  Some adjuncts teach many classes at ALL of the colleges so that they can scrape together a living while retaining the purity of their pursuit.  These are the ones starving in the hedgerows and complaining about it.  I'm a scab.  A strikebreaker.  The one who goes to work while others are picketing outside.  Because I don't really need the pay, I rather feel as though I'm supporting a corrupt system that exploits the abundant overeducated labor force.  Writers don't really have to face that.  Writing is a glamorous, solitary occupation with a "high and lonely destiny." Teaching requires an infrastructure.  And I'm also an online teacher. For an online only branch campus that wants its online academic instructors to be adjunct only.  That's a whole different level of scabbiness.  But heck.  The adjunct-only adjuncts probably do more to support a system that keeps me (and themselves) out of teaching full time, simply because they're there to exploit, whereas I said no.  I would not be exploited.

So what I keep coming back to is this:  I am working full-time, not to support my writing habit, but to support my teaching habit.  My unglamorous, slightly suspect, scabby little teaching habit.  Because I'm a teacher, and teachers are compelled to teach.

Food for thought.

Another New Literacy-chic Blog

I wanted to pop back over to the blog that started it all and mention that with my blogging taking a more professional-personal slant, I have fragmented still further to create another blog in addition to Booknotes from Literacy-chic, which is going strong as I blog my way through Diana Gabaldon's Outlander novels.  The new blog is a bit shakier--I am not sure how much material I will have for posts, or how regularly I will post. With a book blog, it is easy--if I need material, I read another book.  But the new blog, Teaching, Training, Blogging, will be notes on my current job as a software trainer, submerged in professional and organizational development techniques and lingo, and how insights from my current job could potentially influence undergraduate education.  I have a few good ideas to start out with, and after that... who knows?  I know I will be discussing the following topics:

• Classroom communication
• Composition and REALLY using computers/software
• Rhetoric and Communication Styles
• Personality-type reflections
• Collaborative course guidelines/class rules

And hopefully, more things will present themselves so that I don't have to feel guilty about cluttering up the internet.  Yes, this is something I think about!  

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Banking Model (Sort of)

I read Paolo Friere as part of my graduate composition pedagogy course that taught me much more about research methodology and writing about pedagogy than it actually taught me about teaching.  The idea is that traditional models of education commodify knowledge (go figure) and create a system by which the teacher makes deposits into the student (who is an empty shell), and the students must then provide a return on what has been deposited.  There are any number of ways that this metaphor could be modified.  The idea is that this is bad because the student is a passive recipient and does not actually process the information (cash?) received (except that the student would have to do something with it in order to make a return, which implies interest, but that's not really the point).  Freire is used as one more theorist supporting the student-centered classroom, where the focus is on student engagement and involvement and not so much what the instructor has to offer by way of information.  Now, as the student who wanted to sit at the feet of someone wise and learn the ways of the world, the model proposed by my professor in grad school was not one that I would have found appealing as an undergraduate.  As someone who lacked confidence in my own persona as a teacher, however, it had a lot of currency (haha) because it shifted the burden from me to the students--I didn't have to give them the knowledge, they had to discover the knowledge, and all I had to do was to set up the right conditions!  And that, my friends, is much easier.  Ten years later, I'm quite adapt at orchestrating and arranging; I can really impress in a job demo (when everything goes as it should) and I can pedagogy with the best of them, and though I do sometimes give a lecture, they are not my forte by any means, especially in literature courses.  Because, in part, I teach required courses--at least for now.

Herein lies the problem.  I teach required courses.  Some students enter my courses with a real need of the skills in analysis and writing that I offer.  Most if not all have not thought of literary genres or rhetorical concepts in the ways in which I present them.  All have had some experience with literature and writing--for better or worse.  Some have all of the necessary writing and analytical skills, but still seek to learn something from the required course, because they will learn from all available situations.  Some have many to most of the necessary writing and analytical skills, and are completely unable to learn from the required course which is, as far as they can see, a waste of their time.  In the current model of university education, I can not simply take these students who see my efforts as a waste of their time by the scruff of the neck and shove them down some hallway to a person who is qualified to test or interview them to give them credit for what they already know.  I can not reprogram them to think that what I say and do has value--yes, even for them.  And while I can not teach them, I at least must put up with them.  If my syllabus is designed for maximum student initiative in the creation of knowledge--if their major grades are paper and presentation grades--they may in fact not need me in order to get the grades they desire.  Drawing only loosely on half-heard course concepts, they can finesse their major grades--even with a hardass grader like me--and get a "B" pretty easily.  Will they learn anything?  No.  They will merely pair their own preexisting notions with what knowledge they already possess and complete busywork.  My course will, quite literally, have been a waste of their time.  These students do not so much need to be taught the information; they need to be taught how to learn.

Every undergraduate course must have a bit of the banking model present.  Students must have some incentive to pay attention to concepts introduced, and the instructor and student must both acknowledge that the instructor does, indeed, have something to add that is valuable, otherwise, why do requirements exist?  Why are Ph.D.s granted and those who have them employed?  And why does higher education continue to exist in the age of Wikipedia and Google?  Those may be valuable questions in themselves, but I am not the one to answer them.  The banking model does have value, though students are not empty shells for the deposit.  Perhaps we can think in terms of the building and combination of assets.  The funds should be available for withdrawal at any time, but what counts should be the interest from the instructor's--and students'--investment of time, effort, and attention.

After the Fallout

Things are settling down here. The semester has ended. Grades are due soon, but I only have final papers to evaluate, which tends to be easier than the papers during the semester, both because the quality is often better and because I don't have to make the extensive comments that I make on earlier papers, since most of the final papers will never be seen or retrieved by students. The children's schools will be winding down also. My son is looking forward to an orchestra competition out-of-town at a festival next Monday, and has his end-of-the-year concert tonight, in which he performs the solo! He had to try out for it, so we are very proud. Doodle is also practicing for an end-of-the-year program, and we had our "Mother's Day Tea" at her school last Friday. It was so neat having her serve me tea just as my son had done for years while he was at the same school. I wish I could send all of them there, but the job search won't permit. We are still looking for housing for the fall--ideally cheaper housing than what we currently have. It's a challenge, but we have some viewings lined up for Saturday, so we'll see. . .

I am recovering from the stress of two weeks ago. I had the dreaded meeting with the advisor, but it was not so bad. Instead, what I think has happened is that he has realized that I do indeed need help with this whole process. I was told that he will work with me on the answers to some anticipated questions to help me to better survive interviews. I had started thinking of some of this anyway, but my preparation may have been off. The random nature of the interview process leaves me very insecure, and I don't take comfort from the fact that it's like this for everyone. I think of myself as someone who thinks well on her feet and can communicate effectively, but I feel like I can't be completely honest in answering or I will jeopardize my chances of getting hired. That is singularly uncomfortable for me. If I conceal my thoughts about something, I feel like I'm being hypocritical and dishonest. I probably come across as smug or judgmental, too (imagine that). Because really, I'm judging them as much as they are judging me--that's too much judging for someone like me. But maybe if I'm not in the kind of "fog" that I was in last time, I will be able to think of responses that work. *sigh*

I have come to realize the depth of my insecurity. I think it has been building during all of the years I was away from coursework. It perhaps had its seeds in coursework, as I realized how different, and in many ways, agenda-driven, most of the scholarship in my field was from what I had imagined myself doing, and tried to fit myself into it. I developed a defensiveness, realizing that I would be judged according to the fact that I was not doing what others were doing. But I have not ever seen literature as a vehicle for social change, and I did not use it to critique society or to lobby for a more enlightened existence. I wonder--had my undergraduate courses been more overwhelmingly political, would I be here now? But I had professors who were contentedly thematic or New Critical in their approaches. Or even subtly New Historicist. I can't think of any who were overtly feminist--and this includes the lesbian poet who once tried to teach me to dance in a bar in New Orleans. I realize that even those professors--one art historian comes to mind--who tried to adopt a feminist perspective failed miserably by most standards, and I was allowed to write a paper refuting the agenda of Eva Keuls' Reign of the Phallus (but not refuting its research, which I found fascinating) in my freshman honors seminar. In those days, I didn't even like literature that was overtly political--Animal Farm, for example--because that's not what I was looking for in literature. Now I adore dystopia, so that has changed drastically, but I'm all about the context of the work. Though I do admit that I see an enduring message in many of the dystopian works I teach! So I was not out of line with my undergraduate professors, who preferred to teach interpretation rather than theory, and who did not structure their courses thematically to promote certain ideologies or worldviews or whatever. Would it shock you to know that I never read "The Yellow Wallpaper" in an undergraduate course? I did read The Awakening in high school, and utterly rejected it. I believe I had to read it again in an American Lit course, but I probably did not repeat the task. And I didn't like Emily Dickenson.

In graduate school, things changed radically. The goal of papers was completely different, and left me rather befuddled as I tried to figure out what, if anything, I had that was worthy according to the different standards I was confronting. My papers were (predictably, perhaps) reactionary. I proposed "different" ways of looking at feminist issues, focused on areas that were less politically charged (to me), and rejected Marxism except in the rare cases when it seemed to fit the author's own agenda. But I became dismayed by it all. Some of the versions of Marxism I encountered in guest speakers, etc., impressed me by their absolute futility, and the selections of texts in my graduate seminars were often uninteresting to me. I have a very short list of courses that I enjoyed, and even fewer texts that inspired me. And then there was the teaching. When I taught literature, I had a considerable amount of freedom, except the limitations imposed by the Intro to Lit anthologies. (Would it surprise you to know that I have never taught "The Yellow Wallpaper"?) In an era when any designated "greatness" of literature is considered suspect, the question of how to introduce literature to non-majors becomes complicated. And as far as I can tell, it comes down to introducing ways of viewing the world, reshaping the way students view the world by introducing, celebrating, or promoting certain perspectives, or using literature to try to make sense of life experiences, which some anthologies do try to do even though this is kind of a universalizing impulse. My problem with both approaches is that presenting literature with such specific purposes imposes a way of reading on the text. This limits the potential for discovery of meaning. I do not believe that there are infinite ways to read a text, but I also do not believe that the critics always have it right. That's why my interpretations of texts in my dissertation are not linked in any way to the criticism of the authors whom I study. That's probably why one of my committee members wrote so many little X's in the margins, though he seemed to like the overall dissertation. I do believe that the greatest literature is universal in a sense, in that it taps into the things that are common to humanity. And I do not think that the idea that there are things common to humanity contradicts the singularity of individual experience. But I'm a very empathetic person, and a very empathetic reader, so perhaps this desire to get inside others' heads and understand them makes me see the question of universality a bit differently. I want to see how we as individuals connect while understanding the differences that we face as individuals or as members of different communities. If there is no universal connection, then literature is pretty much meaningless.

Which I guess brings me to another breaking point of sorts with my discipline. Because I believe in a some kind of universal human experience, albeit mediated by particular circumstances, I think that there is inherent value in reading to seek those connections, to find ourselves in others, to find others in ourselves, and by evaluating ourselves and our experiences through reading, to grow as fully realized individuals. This is very outdated. But I feel that in order to function in a community, which is where the emphasis is these days in teaching and studying literature, we have to know who we are, and that's a complex question. I can't teach this, and I don't try. But I also don't try to stress difference to the point that it annihilates the self. I don't want to change anyone's worldview, but I do want to help students to put their worldview in perspective, and I think literature has infinite potential to give individuals perspective, as long as they are open to it and recognize it for what it is, and in order to accomplish this, we need to be non-threatening, by which I don't mean subtly subverting their worldview while pretending to be sympathetic. Not at all.

So I didn't really come into this profession to introduce or promote certain ideas, though I have dabbled in and do enjoy ecocriticism and postcolonialism. I don't think that by teaching certain texts in certain ways, that I stand to improve anyone's social condition. And I'm not terribly invested in the idea that everyone needs to tolerate everyone else's beliefs and ideas to the suppression of one's own, because that doesn't lead to understanding of any kind. And frankly, there are a lot of things I'm not interested in talking about with students. And wouldn't you know? Every one of them is represented in the standard composition text. And typically, they are represented in such a way that it is clear what the authors of the book want the student to think. In teaching argument, the arguments presented make a case for a certain worldview. And the students sometimes accept it without opposition, because the claims are so persuasive. Or they get mad because their opinions differ and they don't know how to articulate them. Now, a lot depends on the student and how the materials is presented, but I'm just not interested in negotiating any of this. Perhaps the issue is that while I can find universal experience in art, I can not find any evidence of that same interconnectedness in the diatribes that litter composition texts. So there's no room for sympathy or empathy, and there's no art. Granted, there is some clever use of language, which I can appreciate, but that is not the same as art, because art has an element of beauty or at least awe. Art evokes rather than stating, which is why popular music is not art these days! So this is why teaching comp and resolving to find a job in comp represents such a defeat for me.

And really, friends, I have felt disillusioned for so long, and read so many bleak accounts of the "realities" of the academic job market, and the promotion and tenure process, that the sense of futility has been overwhelming at times. The fact that I did not quit one of the many times I considered doing so is a small miracle. So perhaps I have something to do here before it is all over? Perhaps. I don't know.

But I entered into this meditation because I have been told twice by professors recently--my advisor and then my direct supervisor in Writing Programs--that I needed to work on my self-confidence. Now, when I was in high school, people didn't think I was self-confident, because I had some self-doubt, and some social insecurity. But that didn't mean that I didn't think I was at least as good as the people around me, I just didn't think anyone else was likely to recognize it in any kind of meaningful way. I guess not much has changed. But I felt pretty confident in coursework, and I have always felt that I could at least accomplish whatever I put my mind to. I'm not so sure about that anymore, though I did write what one friend of mine calls "the big book report" (which mine was *not*). I wonder if that is because I don't have sufficient relish for the task before me? And I can't imagine what circumstances could help me regain that relish. So perhaps the problem is that I am unsure of whether I want to put my mind to the task before me. Is that the same as a lack of self confidence? I'm not so sure. But it doesn't matter if I relish the task before me or not. At this point, my options are severely limited, and feeling like I don't have a choice motivates me to inaction--a choice in itself, no?

Busy Days

I have been busier than usual lately in some ways. I have a project that I need to wrap up before the end of the month, and also my class to whip into shape before the end. This has been a terrible semester for me for teaching because of family illness, mostly, and also travel and other distractions of the job search & whatnot. But I am having my students meet with me during class time instead of having a class meeting. I find that the one-on-one interaction over a paper sometimes does more than any generalized instruction I can provide. These appointments mean that I don't have to prepare for class, but the sessions are intense. I am also thinking more about research, publishing, conferences and other professional activities. Some of this is in response to the campus visit--to show what can be done with literary scholarship so that one does not have to rely on teaching tired versions of feminism, and to connect research and teaching so I can answer those darned questions competently, and so I can get a sense for how long it will take me to turn a dissertation into a book, in case I'm asked, and so perhaps schools that are more suitable to me will find me suitable. But this is not the only reason I have been thinking more. After days of feeling so exhausted that I could barely motivate myself to leave the house, to get the necessary coffee, or to make a meal, my mother suggested that I take some iron. I felt as bad as when I was last pregnant, and I am always seriously anemic when I am pregnant, with the last, I believe, being the worst. I have not felt motivated since Chiclette was only a few months old--since shortly after I finished the dissertation. It has gotten worse rather than better. Except that since I have been taking iron every day, I suddenly seem able to think. I seem better able to accomplish the daily tasks I have and to work on longer term projects. And I have ideas again. So if the campus visit only benefited me by giving me an awareness of my health, that is perhaps enough.

This was intended as a preface to some conclusions about the campus visit experience, but alas! my new-found energy does not carry me much past midnight (waking before 8 on weekdays and before 9 on any given day!) and it is after 1 A.M. now. So I will be back when I can to share some reflections.

Remembering What I Like. . .

I love poetry. I love talking about poetry and teaching poetry. I only enjoy rhetorical analysis insofar as it resembles close readings of the language of poetry and discussion of how the poem "works." I like that poetry comes in small packages (usually, that is), and can be read quickly, even on the spot, and yet packs in so much meaning that you can spend hours pondering words and ideas, and always have something to come back to. I love the rhythm of poetry, the way sounds work together. I have not spent so much time working with poetry that I no longer enjoy it--and I don't think that will happen. I fact, I'm not entirely sure I could write a long, conference-style paper on poetry. It's not something I've had the opportunity to try, actually. So the irony is, I'm not technically "qualified" to teach poetry. But I do love it, all the same. . .

Working is like Exercise for Me

I came to this conclusion yesterday, at the end of the long weekend, after an unexpected holiday on Friday for the hurricane that went away east. Because for 3 weeks I've been pretty well into the swing of things, managing to get the course prep done, grading a reasonable number of things, and enjoying the classroom dynamic. Admittedly, I'm getting worn down a bit from always being on the go. I have classes to teach 5 days a week, just like in the summer, except that in the summer I gave them Fridays off, and it was only 1 class, not 2. Having 2 classes makes it easy in a way--I don't have to come up with material for one class to fill 5 days' worth of discussion/lectures/activities. On the other hand, when I'm finished with teaching one course, it's time to turn around and work on the next one for the next day. This would be more of a pain if I was less familiar with the material. Although I am teaching from a new syllabus for composition, I have taught composition a hundred times. So I have activities ready-made that I can slip in as necessary. Also, there is a set of ready-made lesson plans to go along with the standard syllabus, though I have problems with some of the examples used, which introduce bias into the discussion in a way that has potential to be used well or poorly. Teaching children's lit similarly requires less prep than it did over the summer, though the classroom dynamic--35 students instead of 10--is vastly different and does not lend itself to the same kinds of activities. Many of my students come from education, and have a very different way of thinking about children's literature, so I have to steer them almost constantly away from the, "This is a good book because it can work well in a classroom in this way. . ." and try to induce them to think about it as literature, not as a prop for teaching. Also, spending the same number of class periods on a topic, but having those class periods spread over 2-3 weeks instead of concentrated in a single week gives everyone the feeling of going nowhere fast. And it's getting depressing. So I'm looking forward to moving on to poetry. But I'm feeling a little discouraged all the same.

So how is working like exercise? Well, when I'm in the middle of it, in the "swing of things," so to speak, I feel pretty excited & good about what I'm doing. It energizes me. After a good class, I'm on a kind of "high." I talk about the class for hours. My husband gets sick of hearing about it! ;) But when I'm away from it, even for a long weekend, especially if I have unexpectedly "gotten out of" teaching for one day, it feels impossible to get back into it. The same thing happens to me with exercise. The same thing happens to me with research and writing. It's why the dissertation seemed to drag--I spent more time dreading the work than actually working on it. Even blogging is like this for me--if I've missed checking on blogs for a number of days, it feels like a huge task to get back into them, even though I know I enjoy it!!

I know this is not the case with exercise, though it can be time consuming, but one of the things that research, teaching, and blogging share is a huge commitment of mental energy. Answering emails is the same. I know, quite often, that if I let myself get started with a blog or an email, I will keep going until it's done, expending a great deal of mental energy and becoming engrossed for hours at a time sometimes. So sometimes, I prefer not to start. Research and writing are similar--the mental effort is considerable, the time commitment is significant, and there doesn't ever seem to be an ideal time to start. Truthfully, sewing is the same for me. When I start a project, I want to know that I can finish the project in a reasonable amount of time--a few days, usually. And that means from cutting out the fabric to pressing the finished item. If I leave something just slightly unfinished, I hate to go back to it. Doodle has a jumper without loops to hold the loose ends of the shoulder straps, and a dress that needs a hook-and-eye above the zipper to look "finished"--minor details, and not very time consuming, but if I haven't gotten the details finished with the rest of the garment, I don't want to go back. I would rather start something new. And if I put a project aside earlier--watch out!! I have to force myself, trick myself, reward myself with the prospect of starting the thing I really want to work on--or it never gets done.

Looking over this, it seems like I have a strange combination of procrastination, obsessive-compulsive tendencies, and perfectionism--the kind of crippling perfectionism that leads one to avoid starting the project for fear of being engrossed in details. I never completed an incomplete because I couldn't find the "perfect" topic to write about. I had set pretty high standards with another paper for the same professor, and didn't want to fall short. So I couldn't do it. The mental block was huge. I think I stopped writing poetry because I stopped thinking that my ideas were poem-worthy--I rather got out of that way of seeing the world.

I got over this to a degree with the dissertation. Remember Dori from Finding Nemo? She sang, "Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, just keep swimming, swimming, swimming. . ." Eventually, I just had to force myself to keep writing, reminding myself that my mediocre writing was usually sufficient for the job I was trying to get done. Teaching has its built-in motivation, thank goodness. The students will keep coming, the semester continues to progress. I can't just stop and dread what needs to be done. Then there will be good days, and I will think, "How is it that I dreaded this so much?" I will go the library to do my archival research and return home excited by all of the ideas that I have had while reading and try to hold on to that enthusiasm until the next week. It's about rhythm, really. It's about routine. Like exercise. But I never can stick with it, somehow. . .

Teaching The Little Mermaid by Hans Christian Andersen, and other things. . .

If you haven't read the original, you can read it here. I assigned an essay on "The Moral Simplification of Disney's 'The Little Mermaid,'" and had them read the original text. I don't think any of them had read it before.

My first surprise was when it was argued that the Disney version was better by virtue of its simplicity because without the immortality of the soul as a subtext, it would be more accessible to those who were atheist or agnostic, and so did not wish for their children to be exposed to difficult questions that would then require explanation. Also, the replay value of a text with such an unhappy ending--one that instructed rather than amusing--was called into question. This rather put a damper on the prospect of discussing Andersen's text on its own terms, but then, with such a popular version as a comparison, I guess the original was at a disadvantage. The essay argued that the happy ending does rather a disservice to the reader, creating expectations that wishes will always be fulfilled, and attributing misfortune to the will of a single malevolent force. We wound up discussing the issue of representation of parental authority, and why parents feel threatened when fictional characters disobey (and get away with it)--not an issue in the original. Another point was that it contains more relevant topics--like not to talk to strangers--than the immortality of the soul. I tried to compare the complexity of the two issues. Even if you're not interested in the immortality of the soul, you can still concede that the question is more complex, no? The issue of why the mermaid could not achieve both a soul and true love was raised--the dichotomy was seen as a false one.

I admit that I felt a bit at a disadvantage because the Andersen text was being charged with not being politically or socially relevant. Maybe that's why it was excluded from the anthology!! But then, I think it's a problem when the expectation is that the world should be fair, and fiction is expected either to create a safehaven where the world looks fair, or becomes more fair (just), or acknowledges its unfairness in a way that places blame or suggests a remedy. I never had a problem with the notion that toils and suffering could be fruitless, even as a child--except that her toils were not fruitless, as she was granted the opportunity to gain for herself an immortal soul. But if that consideration is alien to your worldview, it's rather difficult to entertain that as a concrete gain. So how to discuss texts with a Christian subtext in a secular university context?

I was particularly interested in the nature of love and the representation of marriage. Observe this passage:

“So I shall die,” said the little mermaid, “and as the foam of the sea I shall be driven about never again to hear the music of the waves, or to see the pretty flowers nor the red sun. Is there anything I can do to win an immortal soul?”

“No,” said the old woman, “unless a man were to love you so much that you were more to him than his father or mother; and if all his thoughts and all his love were fixed upon you, and the priest placed his right hand in yours, and he promised to be true to you here and hereafter, then his soul would glide into your body and you would obtain a share in the future happiness of mankind. He would give a soul to you and retain his own as well; but this can never happen. Your fish’s tail, which amongst us is considered so beautiful, is thought on earth to be quite ugly; they do not know any better, and they think it necessary to have two stout props, which they call legs, in order to be handsome.”

In this characterization of marriage, we approximate the Catholic concept of a Sacramental Marriage, I think. At least, that would be a productive way to discuss a marriage that is so bound in the Judeo-Christian notion of the soul. The Biblical imagery--or analogy--is obvious: as Adam leant his rib to make Eve, so the husband of the mermaid (who is not human, and so is not the same as a human wife would be) lends part of his soul so that she might partake with him of Eternity. Pretty profound, actually. I managed to tease out the Adam & Eve reference, but had to quickly abandon the topic (which I did not introduce in the terms described above, though I would have liked to be teaching in a context that would have allowed for that kind of discussion). Now, even wanting to talk about the story in this way is new for me, much less having the context to do so, so I did not embark on an attempt to have the students define Sacramental Marriage through the story or evoke Catholic teaching. No waaaaay I'm THAT naïve! But still, I couldn't help wondering where that kind of discussion would lead. I planted the Adam & Eve seed, though. I didn't ask why there were all of those priests & incense & ritual in this Protestant, Danish text, but I wondered to myself. . .

In order to have something to discuss, I did ask what a feminist perspective might be, but that was too easy, really. She is dehumanized--being non-human in the first place doesn't really matter, or rather, it does because the female protagonist is alienated from the patriarchal world from the very nature of her being (or non-being)--and depends on finding a husband for her very soul. Her identity depends on him. Now, the Disney version does not really vary from this--rather, it validates that Ariel's existence depends on the prince. We learn that that's O.K. I'm not happy with seeing the Andersen version as negative in this way, and I don't think Disney's rebellion theme redeems their dependence on the handsome prince to justify Ariel's transformation. I presented this poem by Judith Viorst as an alternate "take" on the story; I liked this one in high school, but (point being taken--don't change who you are, yadda yadda), it doesn't exactly satisfy me in its interpretation of the story:

A Mermaid's Tail (Tale)

I left the castle of my mer-king father,
Where seaweed gardens sway in pearly sand.
I left behind sweet sisters and kind waters
To seek a prince's love upon the land.

My tongue was payment for the witch's potion,
And never would I sing sea songs again;
My tail became two human legs to dance on,
But I would always dance with shards of pain.

I risked more than my life to make him love me.
The prince preferred another for his bride.
I always hate the ending to this story:
They lived together happily; I cried.

But I have some advice for modern mermaids
Who wish to save great sorrow and travail:
Don't give up who you are for love of princes.
He might have liked me better with my tail.

For all the validating of identity for girls, it is an oversimplification--likely by design. So how to avoid that kind of oversimplification in classroom discussion? We discussed (briefly) ecofeminism, which is so over the top that it's really about use of language rather than perceived oppression, and so is fun for me. Briefly, briefly we discussed Matthew Arnold's "The Forsaken Merman." I think that comparison could have been fruitful on the religious front, with the contrast between nature/paganism and humanity/religion, and all of the various associations. But we wasted too much time talking about Disney. :P

My previous post about politics, perspectives, worldviews in the classroom was kind of poking (admittedly smug) fun at myself, though it did culminate in a very real frustration with what I see as the limitations and expectations of my teaching in my discipline. I worry about including texts that I don't like or with which I don't feel familiar enough to teach simply in order to represent a diversity of voices. I worry that when I include multi-ethnic selections or female authors as an afterthought, that I'm being a phony--or that I will come across that way. And that's a lot of baggage to add to the already considerable pressures of teaching.

And what about Catholicism? If to teach is my vocation (or part of my vocation), and I'm supposed to live my Faith, how do those things work together? As far as I can tell, it doesn't mean that I have to be nicey-nicey in the classroom (or on the blog, for that matter). I certainly DO have to engage with these questions, and this is a good format for me to do so. But what about subject matter of research and teaching? Surely I shouldn't shy away from the Christianity, though I can't really pursue the themes in more than superficial terms in my current position. And I have a problem with texts being taught simply for their Christian elements (usually in a simplified form)--like is done with the Chronicles of Narnia, which are typically embraced or rejected by scholars or teachers for their Christian elements. That is a bit simplistic on both sides.

With research, it is easier than teaching, I think. If we are selective in our research, well, that's part of being specialized. And I'm not sure how we can live the Faith through academic publishing, unless it means not publishing that thing I wrote about S & M in the films of a certain Spanish director. Yeah, that topic has been shelved permanently for a few years now.

It's a funny thing about my last post. . .

They don't really have me pegged. At least, they don't think twice about any of what I mentioned in my previous post. I rather knew that. I'm speaking to my own recognition that I'm ideologically at odds with my discipline--and my own discomfort about representing perspectives that I'm supposed to believe (on a level), but don't. I had this interesting conversation with a student (yes, the same one) after class in which she admitted that she has difficulty getting outside of her own contemporary perspective when she reads about women, and love, and mer-people lacking souls. Then we continued to discuss representations of female complexity as a historical literary development. Go figure.

They Have My Number. . .

I didn't do anything to announce my personal views. I try to avoid the kinds of discussions that reveal how at odds I am with the presumed politics of my discipline--the kind that my students expect from English profs and (especially) grad students. But they know--perhaps because of my avoidance. I can talk the talk, I assure you. I took ALL of those graduate classes & played along. Truthfully, I used to be better at the playing along than I am now. I find myself giving lip service to the theories, while my attitude is subtly dismissive. I can't teach Herland anymore because there's too much that I find disturbing. I can't say, theoretically, "Well, under what circumstances MIGHT it be good for the babies to be raised by someone other than their mothers?" without betraying that I can't really entertain this as a valid possibility except in the most extreme of cases, which is not what Charlotte Perkins Gilman had in mind.

So the other day, one student told me about a news story in which a child was suspended from school for playing cowboys & Indians, or cops & robbers, or some equally politically incorrect game and making a handgun motion with his hand. I incredulously asked where this occurred, and she replied that it was in Texas. Then she asked, "You would have felt better if I had said California, wouldn't you?" Yes, yes I would. How did she know? Not that I think Texas wins any kind of prize for just discipline of children, or leads the nation in healthy attitudes toward violence, but I would have been comforted to know that the incident was further removed from where I am now. Of course, a harsh backlash is usually the strategy to correct something that's seen as an extreme problem, and some administrator probably meant to nip "Texas gun culture" in the bud. But that's not the point. How did she have me pegged??

I gave admirable lip service to the notion that the canon should be deconstructed. I mean, I put in some good words for the traditional canon. But for the most part, I think I gave a pretty convincing account of why the canon (or the notion of a canon) should be questioned, and I talked about representing a multiplicity of voices to more accurately represent who was, indeed, writing. I don't think they believed me. Truthfully, I like models that acknowledge the influence of certain writers on others, though this is admittedly uneven representation. I do not believe in including mediocre works just to add diversity, or because they represent marginal opinions. I am all for diversity when it is appropriate, and I do see value in exploring cross-cultural perspectives, but not simply for the sake of doing so. There are times when we are all talking about the same things, albeit from different perspectives, and it's good to compare, as long as you acknowledge a basis for comparison--typically, Western Culture, since that's the tradition our discipline grows out of. I don't see why ANYONE should have to read Gloria Anzaldua. Or Kate Chopin, for that matter.

I brought in very inclusive picture books! But only the best examples. Okay, some of the environmentalist titles were bad. Really bad. But I've published in ecocriticism and children's lit, so I'm entitled.

Today, we were talking about fairy tales. I encouraged them to retell a story with emphasis on some "-ism." I guess this was inviting mockery. So one group took a proto-feminist tale with some ambiguities and complexities and suggested removing the complexities to make it a more blatantly feminist text. The female character was more self-sufficient, did the accounting for her father, opened her own business after being rejected in marriage. When she admired her beloved, she noted that he had a nice butt. Nice. So I blurted out, "You're objectifying him!" Well, one of my group members, English major, the same one who made the California crack (above), BURST out laughing--and was joined by the rest of the class. Including myself.

I can't help thinking that I'm actively working against what others in my department--er, discipline--are trying to accomplish. Not sure what that is or how I'm undermining it, but you know. . .

Earlier in the class, I argued with a student that to use "proletariat" to mean "peasantry" or "lower class" or "working class" was inappropriate because it invoked a specific theoretical perspective or methodology. You can't talk like Marx without invoking Marx in my class, especially when discussing "Beauty and the Beast" (the 18th Century version). Umm, yeah. So he argued that he just thought that Marx was pretty accurately representing history (see Literacy-chic's head explode), at which point I corrected him and said that Marx was using the term to describe his perception of history, but when you say "proletariat" it is not a neutral term, and does not merely invoke Marx but all who come after Marx.

They have so totally got me pegged. I don't know how I'll ever find an academic job in my field.

Too Tired to Post, Too Busy to Read

Everything is going very well, but in every free moment during the week, I'm prepping to teach or getting things settled with the family. On MWF, Doodle has been in our parish's Child Development Center from 9:30-2:30. Today was our third day, and things are going well. I wasn't too sure until today about her teacher, who is very hard to "read," but today I got a better "feel" for her dynamic with Doodle in particular, and it put me at ease quite a bit. It's really not a lot of time for her to be away--by the time I'm finished teaching, it's just about time to pick her up! Still not sure where she'll be for the fall, but I've got a few weeks. It depends on the potty training situation, which is going well. We have largely overcome the fear of the toilet flushing underneath her, mainly by taking it slowly. Accidents are minimal these days. That's quite a relief. On the days when Doodle is at the CDC, Chiclette and big brother (BB) are with my husband at work--one little 8-month-old doesn't cause too much of a disruption--for about 2 hours, give or take. On Tuesdays, they all stay home with my youngest sister to watch them, and on Thursdays they are with a friend, playing with her 3! They always have fun when they're together. BB is a big brother to all of them--and is introducing her 5-year-old to Pokemon!

I'm enjoying teaching children's lit. I am teaching it like a cross between "children's literature criticism & theory" and an intro to lit or genre course. I find myself covering some of the same ground as intro to lit because they just haven't had the stuff. It's a small class, which is good, and I will be able to do some more tweaking for the fall. We have covered a general intro to children's lit, including a "how critics talk about this stuff," then talked about picture books and alphabets. Next is verse. The Norton Anthology is good, but leaves a lot of room for supplementation. You know, picture books get heavy when you carry enough of them!!

I'm starting to think that this is really what I want to do--to teach children's lit, fantasy, science fiction--all of that marginal stuff that doesn't get much attention. It's fun, and there's nothing I really HAVE to do--I can have fun with it, and for me, the "fun" is treating it like an advanced lit course by incorporating criticism & having them write analyses of the books. I'd also like to teach Brit Lit, but I'll be looking for children's lit positions.

I am trying to sew in my spare time. I have a "chicken dress" cut out and partially assembled for Doodle, who is at the perfect age for me to make dresses. It will have 3 ruffled tiers. The bodice is a brown fabric with chickens. The first tier is wheat & grasses. The second is black with chicken wire, and the third is EGGS! :) Sadly, they're not free range chickens. . . It is an Ottobre pattern. So nice to sew with my new machine! But I have to restrain myself.

I missed a Saturday of research in the Science Fiction archives (they were closed 7/05), and still haven't posted all of my notes & analysis (see other blog), but plan to get back on track this weekend.

Chiclette is growing by leaps & bounds (and I'm totally failing to chronicle it all)! She has had 2 teeth for several weeks now, is scooting & almost crawling, sitting up by herself, kneeling up & thinking about standing. Trust me, I can tell! ;) Her hair is past her eyes. When I think about it, I put it up in a Pebbles ponytail. She eats solids twice a day--had to step that up recently--and still nurses regularly. She now contests Doodle for the right to sleep next to me. :P Knew the sleeping wouldn't last.

So that's life, and you will forgive me if I grow neglectful. I hope to catch up with everyone one day!! Until then, well, this life is fun, too.

No, really. . . Stanley Fish is my hero!

Check out his own words, here and here. I understand his position perfectly.

A couple of things, though. . .

First, I just love that the inventor of Reader Response Theory has this to say:

Bob reports that he was not able “to obtain a grade above a ‘C’ until I changed my political views when interpreting, say, a Robert Frost poem.” But why should your political views have anything to do with the interpretation of a Robert Frost poem? You’re trying to figure out where Frost stands, politically or otherwise; where you stand is simply not to the point.

First thing--DEATH OF THE AUTHOR. We might try to figure out what discourses Frost's poem is tapping into, or historicize it according to issues of his day. We are absolutely NOT "trying to figure out where Frost stands" (anymore). You should know that, Mr. Fish! Second thing--Aren't the students' political views part of what they "bring to the table" in the act of interpretation in which the reader and the author collaborate through the written text in the creation of a separate but more valid text that is the result of the reading process (since how can a text exist unless it is read)? Or was all that kind of thing just an exercise in theoretical loop-de-loops?

Then, there's this piece of loveliness:

It would be no more difficult for a neo-Nazi or a Klu Kluxer to set aside his or her views and concentrate on the pedagogical task than it would be for a devout Catholic or a militant atheist.

I object to "devout Catholic" being named alongside a "a neo-Nazi or a Klu Kluxer" (admittedly, not terms supplied by Fish himself, merely repeated from comments), since the latter terms are anti-social, hate-filled ideologies and extremist positions. If one should object that "devout Catholic" was being equated, rather, with a "militant atheist," the objection doesn't improve matters. Observe the term, "militant." Is "devout" even analogous? Only if one assumes that both positions are equally invalid, and even so, devotion does not imply domination of others through belief. Or if one thinks that religious belief itself, or perhaps the beliefs of certain religions (not Islam, for example) is inherently extremist. (Anastasia has some interesting thoughts on extremism. . .)

This choice of comparisons also introduces something that Fish does not address, namely, whether the "leave personal beliefs out of the classroom" admonition applies equally to all types of colleges/universities, since religious belief is clearly included. The implementing of curricula at Catholic colleges, hence, the organization of syllabi and selection of texts may be (but isn't always, I understand) done according to a Catholic perspective. What then? I guess if you accept that a university may explicitly contextualize itself within a certain worldview (or intellectual tradition), the goal of the educational experience might shift a bit, being framed within a religious context, so one might expect to find Joyce taught a bit differently, for example. I would still consider teaching Joyce within a context appropriate to the specific intellectual tradition or worldview represented by the university focusing on the task at hand, but the task is defined somewhat differently.

Which brings me to the conclusion of this piece:

Sarah touches on what is perhaps the most urgent question one could put to the enterprise of liberal education. What, after all, justifies it? The demand for justification, as I have said in other places, always come from those outside the enterprise. Those inside the enterprise should resist it, because to justify something is to diminish it by implying that its value lies elsewhere. If the question What justifies what you do? won’t go away, the best answer to give is “nothing.”

I like this, really. I've said before that I believe that reading and analyzing text is inherently valuable, in spite of the fact that it does not directly impact the "real world"--whatever that is. And a contemplative life (which I do not claim to live) may be valuable for the individual and those he/she touches, if intangibly so. I think that some colleges and universities are able to more openly acknowledge that not only "useful" subjects are "useful." And I think that some colleges and universities are able to couch this inherent worth by framing the learning process within the context of religious belief--at least, that's how I would imagine it would work. Does that mean that I would feel confident saying in the classroom that I find Obama morally repugnant? Not a bit of it. Does this mean I would feel comfortable comparing aspects of the worldview in Tolkien's Lord of the Rings to a papal encyclical? Yup.

Stanley Fish is My Hero

From the man who brought us Reader Response Theory comes some really useful advice: Save The World on Your Own Time! And Good Lord, do I hope it catches on! At the very least, it should cause a stir. I have not had time to blog around to see what others are saying. This hat tip goes to my husband, who referred me to a blog he frequents, Instapundit, and here's the quote:

STANLEY FISH'S ADVICE TO PROFESSORS: Save the World on Your Own Time.

More on that here. "Whether anyone notices it or not or comments on it or not, the teaching of writing in universities is a disaster. [There is] the conviction on the part of many composition teachers that what they are really teaching is some form of social justice, and that the teaching of writing ... takes a back seat. And in fact in many classrooms the teaching of writing as a craft as something that has rules with appropriate decorums ... is in fact demonized as an indication of the hegemony of the powers that be. This happens over and over again in classrooms and it’s an absolute disaster."

Can I just say thank you?? I have been skeptical of professors' agendas since I was an undergrad, but since I was an undergrad when Clinton was pres. and at a university where no one really cared anymore, I was spared the more overtly political preaching. There was no Ph.D. program, either, so I didn't have activist grad student types (sorry, guys, you know they're out there) telling me what to think. And I've been the fly on the wall for too many "reprogram the Conservative Christian Students" conversations to dismiss the activism as myth. And I'm not just talking about the current generation of Ph.D.s in the department, most of whom I don't know. This stuff has been bantered about since I got here, and got worse when the fear of 9/11 wore off and after Bush won reelection. Perhaps the only thing that would come of a democratic victory would be that we could go back to teaching literature and composition and back off of the politics. (I don't believe this for one minute, btw.) Now, I do think that there can be a political dimension to literary criticism, but it's being hit a little hard, ya know?

Now Stanley Fish has in the past drawn a skeptical response from me, as he seems, elsewhere, to advocate the "anything goes" method of teaching literature, and I have never seen the use for that. It seems to me that we must have the text as a common ground, and even if we can't refer back to the author, we should at least be able to refer back to the text and assume that multiple readers, while each bringing something else to the table, can still agree on the essential elements of that text. The text, for me, does not exist somewhere "out there"--discourse surrounding the text and about the text exists "out there," but that's different; rather, it exists in the book in front of us. However, Fish posited (a while ago, this is old news) that it is the reader's engagement with the text, including what the reader brings from his/her own background, that creates a separate thing, the "text" that is the result of a collaboration between the reader and the author. I don't buy it. And I'm not alone, but it was all the rage for a while--before my time. I think the idea was to liberate something from something--the text from critics, the author from biography, the students from professors.

So as a guy who wants to liberate, and transfers this to the classroom, the advice seems odd, no? Except that he remains the champion of the student, in a way. Why do we have to steamroll their opinions and values--all that they bring to the table? Why should we automatically assume that we are the enlightened ones in all matters--including individual values/beliefs? When we alter their ways of thinking, must we alter their consciences? At any rate, Fish has tapped into exactly why I don't want to go into Rhetoric/Comp, although I'm technically qualified and have been groomed for it, more or less. I don't want to hang around these guys and be subjected to the enlightened assumption that everyone does or should agree with their views of the world. And--by the way--teach from their textbooks. If the meaning of a literary text depends on the reader, and if the professor should keep that in mind, then how much more should we stay out of their responses to politics, since that's not what we're called upon to teach?

[Of course, I am coming at this from a very different perspective from Mr. Fish, who scorns neoconservative blah blah blah, etc. and really thinks this king of thing only happens a small percentage of the time. But if that's so, why can't I find a decent composition text?]

Catching Up (sort of)

Well, it's been a busy (hectic, stressful) couple of weeks, but also good, and somewhat productive. I have managed to complete almost all of the necessary paperwork to graduate in August, order regalia (or at least reserve the rental), submit the dissertation, etc. I have been going to research in the archives library every Saturday to work on a research project for which I received an award for the summer. I have also managed to spend my way pretty well through that grant, mainly on basics and incidentals, so this month will be tricky. I did buy a few nice things on sale this past week so I could look nice teaching--did I mention that that starts today?? Potty training has been going well, and my Doodle is even able to use the bathroom in public, so long as she doesn't touch the seat (better for her anyway, really. . .) She starts child care ("school"?) 3x a week this week, and I hope she does well. She likes the classroom--we visited yesterday. The lead teacher is an older woman who is nice, but seems out of touch--particularly out-of-touch with potty training issues, which is bad. She was also a little pedantic in her dealings with Doodle yesterday--I have some vague apprehensions that my little girl will not be seen for what she is--spirited and very intelligent--but will be regarded as willful and defiant. We'll see. . . I clearly need to forget my fears and hope for the best, here. After all, a 10 minute meeting doesn't reveal all, right?

My mom was in town last week (and part of this week) with my youngest brother. That is always a delight and a challenge, but there's too much to be said about that, really. My youngest brother is very unique in many ways and being with him is always an experience unto itself. We had some good times this week. My mom was able to treat us to pizza, and we made taco salads. I met my mom & sister at the mall one day, which was when I bought my teaching outfits. My mom even bought me 2 shirts! I can't tell you how long it's been since she did that--or was even able to do that! She has been awarded some money, and all she can think about is what she can do for us--her children. Which makes me feel bad in a way.

She bought me a new sewing machine!! A shop in New Orleans was going out of business, and he marked down all of his Elna sewing machines. She bought herself a good machine, a backup machine, and a serger (Did I mention that she's a seamstress? She's also doing alterations these days. She makes a mean slipcover & pillows & roman shades, too!). Then she bought me a more basic model--which is just what I wanted!! It's wonderful. Basic for her, but with many more features than my hundred-dollar on-sale-at-Target model (keep in mind that Target does not sell patterns, fabric, thread. . .). It was one of those things that I looked at, thought about, but never would have bought for myself, and so is greatly appreciated. I did manage to make another blanket using the new machine, for a little boy whose first birthday was over the weekend:



One day early last week, we made buttonholes!! It does so automatically, or just about. YAY!! That was one of the things I feared the most! So now, although I have a MILLION things I would like to sew, including a three-tiered "chicken dress" for my Doodle, I have to put it aside indefinitely.

I'm not sure how much blogging I will be able to do, either. I learned during Lent that I get more done if I put the blog away. *sigh* I have a couple of posts in the works for my other blog, Booknotes from Literacy-chic, that will cover my research and perhaps some teaching ideas, too. Hope to see you there! (If I can catch up & keep up!!)

Not Teaching Sci Fi

The class didn't make--probably because History decided to schedule ALL of their summer courses at the same time as the Sci Fi. So FOUR of our summer classes didn't make. But that's okay. I'll be teaching another of my favorite "not really considered literature" genres: children's lit. And this will be REALLY fun, since many who are taking it will be doing so as part of their Education degrees--but I plan to teach it as literature, with theory & everything. ;)

Here are the texts:

The Norton Anthology of Children's Literature

Considering Children's Literature: A Reader

The Invention of Hugo Cabret by Brian Selznik

SF Course Reading List

So in July I will be teaching Science Fiction. I have officially placed my bookorder, and my desk copies of the novels are on the way (I hope)! The books I'm requiring are:

Gunn, James The Road to Science Fiction #2: From Wells to Heinlein

Gunn, James The Road to Science Fiction #3: From Heinlein to Here

Heinlein, Robert The Moon is a Harsh Mistress

Moon, Elizabeth The Speed of Dark

The anthologies are expensive together, but the two of them equal the price of the "standard" academic textbooks--except, apparently, the Norton anthology, but as they didn't get a copy to me after I requested one TWICE... I can't say I necessarily would have chosen it anyway. There still seem to be some omissions. "The Star" by Arthur C. Clarke is one that I would like to see included, and I would like to teach Bradbury's 'The Veldt," but at least I do that in my Intro to Lit course. Keyes' "Flowers for Algernon" (the short version) is one I will have to have as a supplement. It and Vonnegot's "Harrison Bergeron" will make for interesting discussion with The Speed of Dark. I admit that I have not yet read The Speed of Dark, but it comes highly recommended; it might be possible to have the author talk to the class; the author is a Texas author, contemporary, a woman, and well, the book sounds interesting. Also, book orders are due. Like, 10 days ago.

So, any thoughts??

Where do the tickers go from here?

Considering I'm now 40 weeks and counting. . . No baby yet!

I've started drinking "Labor Ease Tea" which is also supposed to "support uterine contractions." The directions say to start drinking 1/2 cup every hour on your due date, but not to exceed 3 cups in a 24 hour period! Here's hoping! I'm a little ambivalent about trying to get labor to start, though. I've had a few painful contractions (all in the middle of the night). I don't really want to go into labor in the middle of the night--I think I would get less panicky if I were fully awake. So every now and then, I'll try a pressure point or drink some tea and think, "Wait. . . I'm trying to start this??" On the other hand, I have had a lot of pain lately from the baby's bottom pushing up--and one serious heck of a stretch mark that actually seems to have torn the skin a little; clearly, she is trying to bore a hole through my belly!! Ouch!! Today I have had some relief from that. Perhaps she has dropped a bit more. Anyway, that's my update.

In other news, I stopped teaching on Tuesday. I gave my students All Saints' off--otherwise, attending Mass would not have been possible for me. Next week, they begin presentations, which will be videotaped. I told my dissertation director a while back (jokingly) that I made a deal with the baby that she wouldn't come until I was finished my current chapter. I'm hoping the baby doesn't make me keep my word!! ;) At any rate, I suppose I'll work on it some tonight. Truthfully, I'm almost finished.

Students = Germs

I have standard "Don't come to class sick" and "Don't tell me you're sick in person" clauses in my syllabus, but these don't really cover being sick and not knowing that you're sick. So there have been 2 cases of bacterial meningitis diagnosed on campus. They're letting faculty and students who teach/have class with the two know their risk, but with a 2-10 day incubation period, I'm not convinced that that's enough. I don't want to be infected by someone who is unaware that s/he is sick!! I would be worried anyway about transporting germs home (hence the clause), but being pregnant, this is really worrying me. :P