The Little Professor

Tell me ahead of time, darn it!

While I somehow managed to avoid the usual run of undergraduate psychological crises, I was once so anxious about approaching a professor about my health that I took his midterm with a temperature of over 100.  In retrospect, this was not, perhaps, the most brilliant accomplishment of my undergraduate career; come to think of it, I had doubts at the time about the wisdom of my behavior.  (What? Taking an exam while somewhat dizzy isn't a good idea? You don't say.) And so, in a very small way, I could sympathize with Ianqui's student.  Many students have a difficult time admitting that they're running a fever on exam day, let alone that their life is imploding; who wants to deal with skeptical faculty when, for once, the sky really is falling? Moreover, I suspect some students are trying to convince themselves that they can handle everything--when, in reality, they're overwhelmed.  Asking the instructor for a deferred exam or an extension on a paper would mean admitting that things are as bad as they seem.    Even when you repeatedly remind students that there's assistance available if they ask for it, a substantial number don't quite believe you (or, perhaps, fear that you'll think less of them?).  The results are as frustrating for the instructor as they are for the student; after all, who enjoys failing somebody who clearly ought to have done better?

Heresy!

I was prepared to sputter quite a bit at the Guardian's article on paintings people loathe, especially since the first painting on the list is George Stubbs' Whistlejacket (c. 1762).  How can anyone not find Whistlejacket an amazing painting?   Boo! Hiss! Then I read the explanation: "There are two categories of beasts: the terrifying and the unpleasant. Stubbs's horses belong to the former grouping and, unfortunately for me, his paintings are far too good."  If you say so.  Still, despite my predilection for all things Victorian, I have to agree that, as religious art goes, William Holman Hunt's The Light of the World really is pretty gloppy.  I much prefer John Everett Millais' Christ in the House of His Parents; it has its own problems, but strikes me as far more interesting in its conception and execution. 

Destiny

Here we have proof that I was destined for academia at an early age--ten months, to be exact.  I'll have you know that it requires special talent to be able to read a book upside down. 

SOS

Ianqui's post on blind reviewing reminds me of a related question: what do professors owe their graduate students when they venture out into the thorny fields of journal publication? If we're going to encourage graduate students to publish, then surely we need to provide feedback before the students release their papers into the wild.  (Before I hear indignant objections--of course we do that!--can I just say that while you might, I've seen evidence that others don't?) I'd suggest the following, at a minimum:

• Presentation.  We all screw up our MLA or Chicago style now and then, but faculty should make sure that students adequately grasp the basics of footnoting, works cited pages, and so forth.  This goes double if the graduate program doesn't provide a formal opportunity for instructing students in the proper care and feeding of stylesheets. 
• Revision.  Like doctoral dissertations, even highly finished seminar papers are rough drafts.  Think about it: how many high-quality articles have you turned out in the space of ten or fifteen weeks--while, in all likelihood, writing two other articles at the same time? I read and write fairly quickly, but even so, I usually expect that it takes a year to finish a 25-30 pp. article.  Seminar papers often need pruning ("but I liked that factoid!") and massive reorganization before they can work effectively as journal articles.    Moreover, a journal article requires a different sense of audience than a seminar paper.  Faculty should be willing to assist in this procedure, whether by conducting large-scale workshops or one-on-one consultations.
• Additional research.  Seminar papers often have at least one thing in common with undergraduate papers: they frequently make "discoveries" that aren't.  Graduate students don't necessarily have enough background to distinguish between the odd and the commonplace in a given literary period.  And the semester and quarter systems don't provide enough time for students to find the relevant scholarship (or, sometimes, properly evaluate what they do find).  It may well be the case that a student needs to do several months' worth of reading before a brilliant seminar paper can be a brilliant article; it may also be the case that a brilliant seminar paper should not be an article.  Faculty should offer their students pointers for further reading--or, failing that, pointers for how to find further reading.
• Placement.  When it comes to choosing journals, it's appropriate, for once, to tell the student where to go.  There's not much point in sending a Lacanian reading of a Wordsworth sonnet to Representations.  Moreover, a smaller, more specialized journal might be a better home for an article than one of the behemoths would.  Again, this is the sort of call that requires coaching, not student intuition. 

Friday Cat Blogging, Text Version: or, Feline Modes of Interfering with Academic Work

Disraeli:

1.  Observe the human lying on her stomach, reading a book.  Insert yourself between the book and her face, thereby granting her an excellent view of black fur.

2.  Lie down on the book (or term papers, if available).

3.  Carry off any pens and pencils to an undisclosed location.

4.  Observe the human reclined on the couch, reading a book.  Establish yourself on her stomach.*

5.  Observe the human typing.  Jump on her lap, then carefully drape yourself over her left arm**, thereby pinning it to the armrest.

Victoria:

1.  Bring a toy mouse over and pointedly drop it at the human's feet, meowing until she obliges by entertaining you.   Repeat if necessary.***

2.  See #3, above.

3.  Observe the human being typing.  Jump on her lap, then shove the keyboard shelf out of the way.

4.  Insist on being cradled in the human's left arm.

5.  If the human persists in inappropriate behavior (i.e., typing), rub your head repeatedly against her hands while they're occupied with keyboard.

6.  If so desired, rest your chin comfortably on the keys.

7.  Sit on the printer.

*--Have I mentioned that Dizzy weighs over fourteen pounds? This is a little hard on the diaphragm and digestive system.

**--Yes, it's always the left arm.  No, I don't know why. We're talking about a cat, remember?

***--Vicki will "fetch" up to five times if I persist in my bad behavior (i.e., working), but she won't do it on command. 

This Week's Acquisitions

• The Papal Attempt to Re-convert England (RTS, 1896).  "Agendas," Victorian-style.  (Some of the tracts advertised at the end look rather intriguing; I especially like Alexis; Or the Danger of Indecision.  No One Ever Told Me This Before would seem to cover quite a bit of ground...) 
• Caryl Phillips, The Nature of Blood (Vintage, 1998).  Interlocking narratives about Jewish and African experiences over several centuries.
• Suzy Anger, ed., Knowing the Past: Victorian Literature & Culture (Cornell, 2001).  Victorians talking about the past; scholars talking about the Victorians.
• John B. Roney, The Inside of History: Jean Henri Merle d'Aubigne and Romantic Historiography (Greenwood, 1996).  Critical study of the bestselling historian, emphasizing narrative structures. 

Grade adjustments

In the comments to an old post, someone asked how (or if) I went about changing students' grades.  Obviously, it's much, much, much too early in the semester to even think about the vague possibility of doing something that bears a passing resemblance to assigning a grade--but still, it's a good question. 

When I agree to change a student's grade, the following circumstances normally apply:

• The grade is already on a cusp;
• The student makes a strong case that I've omitted something from the calculation, whether tangible (an assignment I forgot to record--in which case, there's no need for further argument) or intangible (usually, strong contributions to discussion sessions);
• I myself feel a little uncertain about the grade.

In other words, the student has to demonstrate that somewhere, somehow, I made a mistake in the calculations.  As it happens, that's the only justification we're allowed to cite when requesting a change.  I'm not interested in "what other students got" or, worse, "I always get an A for this sort of work!" To be blunt, students don't know "what other students got"; they only know what several friends in their immediate vicinity may have received from other faculty, none of whom happen to be me.  Skimpy anecdotal evidence does not an argument make.  If other students really are receiving A-range grades for barely intelligible prose, then, well, I'm sorry to hear that--but that's not exactly a good reason for me to discover the virtues of conformity, is it? All that aside, since I too only have anecdotal evidence about what students earn from my colleagues, I prefer to confine my attention to the internal consistency of my own grades. 

As for "I always get an A": have students ever considered the possibility that we might be able to verify that claim? Even if the student normally does earn A-range grades, it's quite possible that different classes, different assignments, or different disciplines will generate different results.  I normally did well in my English courses at UCI, but that didn't stop me from earning a B- on my first exam in CR100A--or, for that matter, flunking a physics midterm.  Students who do well in courses devoted to one genre have been known to collapse in courses devoted to another; students who can handle twentieth-century literature find themselves flailing around desperately when it's Chaucer at issue; students who write strong exams can't always write papers of a similar quality; etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.  And we've all had "A students" whose grades suddenly tumble under the pressure of work, sports, or personal problems.  I can only judge the work I find lying in front of me. 

Self-contradiction

1.  If one publishes a book, one would, as a general rule, appreciate it if someone would review it.

2.  And yet, there is something decidedly nervewracking about the discovery that reviews of one's book are indeed, as they say, "forthcoming."   

[*anxiously chews fingernails*]

Ice breaker

One job that comes with the graduate coordinator's territory: teaching the Bibliography course every fall.  We should really rename the course "Introduction to Graduate Studies," or something similar; it's been some time since the course has emphasized bibliography proper.  Nevertheless, I'd like to start off the semester by having the students look at some older books.  They'll break into small groups, look at each book in turn, and then discuss their findings.  All of the books will have some sort of instructive quirk:

• Cover.  Grace Stebbing's Denham Hall and Emily Sarah Holt's My Little Lady, both from John F. Shaw, have identical covers--in both cases, utterly inappropriate for the novel inside.  (Ah, cheap publishing...)
• Recycle.  Mrs. J. B. Webb's Julamerk is set in Turkey during the days of the early church.  It's a bit odd, then, that many of the plates feature people in eighteenth- and nineteenth-century European costumes.
• Advertise.  I haven't decided which novel to use here, but a number of them have lengthy catalogues at the back--always a good way of finding additional texts (and sometimes with interesting pull quotes). 
• Annotate (I).  An 1811 edition of the Rolliad with some of the politicians' names written in (or, why annotations can  be helpful).   
• Annotate (II).  An 1849 first edition of Constance Lyndsay, with "1899" written in over the Roman numerals (or, why annotations can be not so helpful). 
• Bundle.  My copy of Elizabeth Rundle Charles' Conquering and to Conquer neglects to announce that the publisher has bound in two other works (or, why it's helpful to look beyond the title page...).
• Type.  A late eighteenth-century edition of Antoine-Leonard Thomas' Essai..., complete with catchwords and the long "s."
• Tract.  A Victorian tract in its original paper binding. 
• Anthologize.  Somebody's personal bound anthology of tracts.
• Periodical.  A bound volume of Victorian magazines. 

At one point, I was planning to bring in a late-Victorian paperback, but decided that it might not survive the trip in decent shape.  Still, though, there will be plenty for the students to play with, and it should start the semester off on an enjoyable note. 

Eeek!

Via the eighteenth-century list: check out what's available from Valancourt Books, a new, Chicago-based publisher specializing in long-lost Gothic fiction.  Several nifty eighteenth- and early nineteenth-century novels there--and note the reasonable prices.  [*restrains self from filling shopping cart*]