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« December 2007 | Main | February 2008 »

January 31, 2008

Not elementary

I'm teaching A Study in Scarlet this semester, for the first time in several years, and so I am contemplating the utter strangeness of Part II ("The Country of the Saints").  Which has led me to further contemplate the fictional authorship of A Study in Scarlet.  (Incidentally, I'm not a member of the Baker Street Irregulars, and this is not part of the Game.  If you want to see how someone playing the Game solves this question, see Ben Vizoskie, "Who Wrote the American Chapters of A Study in Scarlet?" [PDF].)

1.  A Study in Scarlet may or may not be A Study in Scarlet--that is, within the novel's world, we may not be reading Watson's actual narrative of the case, but instead his memoir of how he came to write it up.* After all, A Study in Scarlet is supposedly a reprint from the reminiscences of Dr. John H. Watson, MD, late of the Army Medical Department.   If A Study in Scarlet is A Study in Scarlet,  then the novel forms a nice circle (since it concludes with Watson announcing that he is about to write...the text in front of us). 

2.  But then, is "The Country of the Saints" in A Study in Scarlet--that is, in the narrative that Watson publishes (again, within the novel's world)? Doyle tells us explicitly that Watson is not the author: "As to what occurred there [London], we cannot do better than quote the old hunter's own account, as duly recorded in Dr Watson's Journal, to which we are already under such obligations" (ch. 5).  It appears that our fictional author has a fictional editor,  and that "The Country of the Saints" has been interpolated into the text at a "later" date.   (Moreover, this interpolation also suggests that we aren't reading Watson's A Study in Scarlet.) 

3.  To make matters even odder, there's nobody in the novel who could have written "The Country of the Saints."  The closest candidate is Jefferson Hope--dead by the time A Study in Scarlet is "published."  Everyone else involved has passed on into the fictional next world; moreover, "The Country of the Saints" has an omniscient narrator, which disqualifies...well, it disqualifies everybody else in the novel, including Watson and Holmes.  An omniscient narrator suggests that there's a novelist somewhere about. 

4.  In the midst of a fiction staged as a memoir, we have a sensationalist inset narrative overtly written as fiction--and that fiction purports to explain the murders.  On the narrative's own terms, "The Country of the Saints" inserts a pointedly unanswered question into the text (just who is writing this, anyway?) in the act of supposedly answering another question (why did Jefferson Hope kill two men?).  So much for clarifying the mystery.    In a sense, the blatant fictionality points up Holmes' limitations: his powers stop short of full-blown authorial omniscience.  Watson, meanwhile, has no claims to omniscience, even when writing in the past tense.  Doyle winks at the audience, metafictionally speaking.  (Whether this is an intentional effect is an entirely different issue; as Iain Sinclair notes in the introduction to the Penguin Classics edition, Doyle was desperately trying to make his book longer in order to increase its saleability [viii].)

*--In dramatized versions of the Holmes stories, what appears on the screen is not, in fact, whatever Watson is "writing."  (The Jeremy Brett adaptations make this point explicitly, since the Watson we see has a much better grasp of Holmes' methods than the textual Watson.) 

Even I have my limits

Despite my reputation as an inveterate book-buyer, I do maintain a sense of proportion (occasionally, anyway).  This, for example, is a little beyond my financial pale.  And the auction hasn't even hit the seller's reserve price yet!

January 28, 2008

Short faculty, unite!

Our campus has added Smart  Carts (computers, projectors, etc.) to just about every classroom.  This is a Good Thing.

However, I was just in a classroom with a Smart podium, which is a hulking piece of gray furniture fixed in the center of the teacher's space at the front of the room.   That, in and of itself, is an Inconvenient Thing.

But to complicate matters, I could barely see over the Smart podium; it was unclear if the students could even see me.  Apparently, someone forgot that not all faculty are six feet or taller.  This is Not a Useful Thing. 

(I suppose I should mention that one of the only good things about teaching in the preschool building is that the chalkboards are, for once, a convenient height.)

January 27, 2008

How the University Works

If a random academic came out of nowhere and asked me to identify the most significant claims and/or arguments in Marc Bousquet's How the University Works, I would suggest the following:

a) The need to conceptualize academic workers as workers, and not as disembodied minds engaging in some activity that has nothing to do with other forms of labor.  This is perhaps even more necessary for undergraduates who are working their way through college, argues Bousquet, because "[b]eing a student isn't just a way of getting a future job--it's a way of getting a job right now" (150).  The work-study student who mans the phone in the front office, in other words, is a worker at this very moment, and not just a future worker. 

b) Under the current regime, doctoral programs produce "flexible labor" in the form of graduate students, who work as both teaching assistants (at their home institutions) and contingent faculty (elsewhere).  In practice, this labor, not the doctorate, is the actual point  of such programs.  Moreover, the doctoral degree confers no advantage on even would-be contingent faculty, who are now outnumbered by those with MAs and ABDs (205).  The Ph.D., says Bousquet, is effectively "waste," something to be discarded after its usefulness as flexible labor is finished (27).

c) Any approach that emphasizes a supposed excess of Ph.D.s fatally misdiagnoses the problem, which is not a surplus of Ph.D.s but a scarcity of tenure-track positions: "The concrete aura of the claim that degree holders are 'overproduced' conceals the necessary understanding that, in fact, there is a huge shortage of degree holders.  If degree holders were doing the teaching, there would be far too few of them" (41).  Universities, in other words, have chosen flexible labor over tenure-track positions and non-Ph.D.s over Ph.D.s, despite optimistic rhetoric to the contrary (205).

d)  There is no "job market" as such, and references to same simply occlude the actual workings of academic hiring.

And, most importantly,

e) Any change to the current system can only come from contingent faculty and students themselves, and not from "above," as  "having administrate power is to be subject to administrative imperatives--that is, to be individually powerless before a version of 'necessity' originating from some other source" (174).  In other words, even sympathetic "managers" find themselves hamstrung by priorities set elsewhere.  Bousquet adduces the graduate student unionization movement as an example of (mostly) successful collective action, despite legal difficulties, and points to inroads made by contingent faculty unions and advocacy groups.

Of these points, I found c) to be the most provocative challenge to my own thinking, although Bousquet's own proposals to fund graduate student work, which I discuss briefly below, will reduce the size of doctoral programs significantly.  E) strikes me as correct, although Dad the Emeritus Historian of Graeco-Roman Egypt reminds me that unions at public universities are not "negotiating with the people who have the money," as California unions rediscover on a regular basis.  A) will probably work better for students than for many faculty, thanks to the "love" factor (of which more shortly)--which is not to say that I disagree.  I'll leave the empirical correctness of D) to the economists out there, but B), unfortunately, certainly seems to describe how many doctoral programs behave.  B) is even true when the doctoral program gives students few or no teaching opportunities on the campus itself, since those students then wind up adjuncting at other colleges in the area. 

Now, on my part, two queries/meditations and one growl of annoyance (the latter of which is not directed at Bousquet):

1a.  A growl of annoyance. Cary Nelson's foreword includes this helpful suggestion for fixing the financial state of affairs: "Set a $200,000 limit to faculty salaries and a $300,000 limit to upper administrative salaries.  Limit coaches to $300,000 as well.  At my institution, even the president's assistants earn $300,000; I'd cut their salaries by 50 percent" (xviii).  All of the cash saved can then be used for more meritorious goals, like hiring tenure-track faculty.  There's only one problem, which is that only residents of the most upper echelons of the academic universe will ever see anything resembling a salary of $200K.  Most of us humble academics will never see salaries of $100K.  Even most administrators will never see salaries much above $100K.   Nelson's "brave" suggestion will accomplish nothing, except perhaps at the ritziest of campuses; it sounds like a call to sacrifice for the greater good, but who on earth is going to be martyred here?

1. Affect.   Bousquet notes more than once that contingent faculty are supposedly doing their jobs out of "love" ("I love books and teaching; it's so wonderful that they actually pay me anything to do what I do!").  If pressed, most academics would, at some point, cite "love" for their subject or discipline as a reason for choosing their careers.  Contrariwise, ex-graduate students (and sometimes not so ex) have been known to argue that professional study undermined their "love" of, say, literature.  Although Bousquet does not say so explicitly, his argument very much tends to the conclusion that the rhetoric of love interferes with the ability of contingent faculty, graduate students, and indeed t-t faculty to recognize themselves as labor.  This is much the same problem faced by elementary and secondary school teachers, who are supposed to regard the affective profits of their work as more important than their earning power.  More to the point, the pressure to choose love over other forms of compensation is both internal and external, as anyone whose students announce that they are going to teach because "I love children!" quickly realizes.  The rhetoric of love links faculty to other occupations defined as outside the so-called "real world," such as the arts.  One thinks of the bemusement that greeted the New York City Ballet dancers' strike of the early 1970s (dancers want to be paid reasonably well? really?), or of how fans ruthlessly sentimentalize that most contingent of creative work for television, soap opera acting (e.g., reading an aging actor's decision to stay for decades as a sign of "love for the show" or "loyalty to the fans," as opposed to a grim assessment of his actual career prospects). 

2.  MAs.  Part of Bousquet's project is to revalue the devalued doctorate by making flexible labor less appealing than t-t labor.  Graduate students should have "reasonable wages" and limited teaching schedules, while contingent faculty should be "more expensive" than the t-t variety (208).  Once the t-t faculty seem more cost-effective, to be blunt, administrations will hire them.  Contingent faculty with MAs only, however, play an odd role in Bousquet's discourse: on the one hand, they embody casualization at work; on the other hand, they are arguably the most exploited class in contemporary academia; on the third hand, their working conditions turn them into problematic figures in the classroom.  As Bousquet puts it near the beginning of the introduction, while one of an undergraduate's four classes may be taught by a t-t Ph.D.,

In your other three classes, however, you are likely to be taught by someone who has started a degree but not finished it; may never publish in the field she is teaching; got into the pool of persons being considered for the job because she was willing to work for wages around the official poverty line (often under the delusion that she could "work her way into" a tenurable position; and does not plan to be working at your institution three years from now.  (2)

He quickly goes on to explain that the problem lies not with contingent faculty, but with the "degraded circumstances" (4) under which they work.  But it seems to me, at any rate, that contingent faculty sans doctorates occupy an oddly marginal place in Bousquet's own thinking.  Even his final suggestions for revitalizing t-t hires and revaluing the Ph.D. rest on the silent elimination of non-doctoral faculty from four-year colleges and universities.  While Bousquet brushes off the anti-unionist claim that "organized term faculty 'are organizing themselves out of a job,'" his optimistic assessment that "[e]ven if it were true on some abstract or collective level that graduate employees and the former graduate employees working on a term basis were indeed organizing themselves out of a job, it is only to organize themselves collectively into better ones" (208) still neglects to account for what will happen to MA and ABD faculty if colleges are successfully persuaded to restore tenure-track percentages to earlier levels.  Who is going to have a better job?

January 26, 2008

Ban that question

As we all know, search committees cannot ask job candidates certain questions.  Questions about marital status, for example, or political affiliation.  (As we also all know, some search committees will ask these questions anyway.)  As it happens, Teller of Truths has an anecdote about corporate hiring that could be easily generalized to the academic job interview.  When she asks her instructor why she needs to tell an imaginary employer "why we were dying to work for them," she is told that the truthful answer--"'Because one has bills to pay, including student loans, because you work a job you don't want to build hours for a job you do'"--is hardly going to get you employed.  In other words, the desirable employee "loved the company with an almost cult-like worship."

Academic job applicants often find themselves confronted with the same question, and forced to come up with similarly insincere answers.  "I have a passionate yearning to teach a five-five load at a campus located on the edge of a desert, with no local entertainment other than watching cacti grow." Since most interviewees have no real choice about whether or not to accept an offer, given the nature of academic employment--the usual "choice" being not between multiple offers, but between one offer and continued unemployment--asking them "why do you want to teach here" is, at best, a ludicrous query.   (Anecdotal evidence suggests that it also reflects status anxiety; Harvard, Yale, and the University of Chicago are not likely to bother with this particular line of inquiry.)  Moreover, the question also suggests that the applicants are the dominant agents in this transaction--why do you want to dally with us?--whereas most of them, if not just about all of them, are are no such thing. 

January 25, 2008

This Week's Acquisitions

(Two weeks' worth of books, including some desk copies.)

  • Miss E. M. Stewart, The Victims of the Penal Laws; Or, Legends of History (James Duffy, [1878]).  Short stories about various sixteenth-century English Catholic martyrs.
  • Ahdaf Soueif, In the Eye of the Sun (Anchor, 2000).  Reprint of Soueif's novel about an Egyptian woman's struggles with identity as she moves between Middle Eastern and Western cultures.
  • Taichi Yamada, Strangers (Vertical, 2003).  In Tokyo, a man sees dead people.
  • Alain Robbe-Grillet, The Erasers (Grove, 1994).  Reprint of Robbe-Grillet's experimental detective novel.
  • Lloyd Jones, Mr. Pip (Dial, 2007).  A man and a group of schoolchildren cling to Dickens during war.
  • Michael C. White, Soul Catcher (Morrow, 2007).  A slave catcher forced to contemplate the implications of his job.
  • Michael Ondaatje, Divisadero (Knopf, 2007).  A family scatters after an act of violence.
  • Geraldine Brooks, People of the Book: A Novel (Viking, 2008).  A scholar traces the history of the Sarajevo Haggadah.
  • Marc Bousquet, How the University Works: Higher Education and the Low-Wage Nation (NYU, 2008).  Critique of the current state of university education.  (I'll be writing about this book at some point within the next couple of weeks.)
  • Isabel Hofmeyr, The Portable Bunyan: A Transnational History of "The Pilgrim's Progress" (Princeton, 2003).  Historical study of the translation and circulation of Bunyan's famed allegory across Europe and Africa.
  • Kenneth Hylson-Smith, Evangelicals in the Church of England 1734 - 1984 (Continuum, 1992).  Ecclesiastical history. 

Numbers, Pre-Beginning of the Semester Edition

  • Temperature in Rochester, NY when I returned home last night: 19 F
  • Temperature in my house, ditto: 58 F
  • Number of courses for which all the books are in: 3 (hooray!)
  • Number of directed studies I'm teaching: 1
  • Number of committee meetings during the first week of the semester: 1
  • During the second: 2 (and possibly 3)
  • Number of courses which have mysteriously sprouted extra days with no assignments yet, even though I've taught these classes before: 2
  • Number of courses involving novels by the Bronte sisters: 1
  • Number of courses featuring a novel by Alain Robbe-Grillet: 1
  • Number of courses in which I am sneakily assigning a film on a day I'm out of town: 2
  • Number of courses in which I am using a textbook that I swore I would never use again: 1
  • Number of courses housed in the same building as the kindergarten: 1
  • Number of conferences I'm scheduled to attend: 2
  • Number of those conferences within driving distance: 1 (the NEMLA in Buffalo)
  • Number of last semester's courses in which the students apparently believed that I was sacrificing kittens to Moloch during class: 1
  • Number of last semester's courses in which the students were pleased with me, albeit not with the reading: 1
  • Number of last semester's courses with entirely happy students: 1
  • Number of times I have attempted to reconcile sacrificed kittens with pleased/happy students: 193,202,200
  • Number of times I have done so successfully: 0

January 22, 2008

Parallel

Parallel-plot historical novels have been a fixture of the literary landscape for some decades now, although they are rooted in a tradition of "framed" historical fiction contemporary with Sir Walter Scott (e.g., Ann Radcliffe's Gaston de Blondeville [1826]).  These novels, which frequently overlap with what Suzanne Keen calls the "romance of the archives," feature characters who discover that their own lives are playing out patterns first established by other characters, who lived and died long ago.  As the parallel plots develop, the "modern" characters usually work through and transcend the difficulties faced by their predecessors.  In a way, this plot structure is a revenant, the historical novel's Gothic antecedents (with their emphasis on repetition across generations) themselves returning from the fictional dead.  Often, modernity plays out as comedy and the past as tragedy, with the difference summed up by an appropriately romantic and symbolic conclusion.  A. S. Byatt's Possession (1990) is probably the most commercially successful of these novels, although it was preceded and followed by countless other examples, like Ruth Prawer Jhabvala's Heat and Dust (1975) and Guy Vanderhaeghe's The Englishman's Boy (1996). 

The "comic" endings in these novels themselves owe fealty to yet another well-known plot, the marriage plot, which has a long-established place in historical fiction as a symbol of cultural, national, or international reconciliation; Sir Walter Scott's Ivanhoe probably supplies the most famous example.   (Joseph Allen Boone's Tradition Counter Tradition [1989] is still one of the best studies of this narrative form.)  In the nineteenth century, though, this use of the marriage plot frequently collapsed when faced with any sort of difference beyond either geographical distance or cultural surfaces.  Thus, Maria Edgeworth's anti-anti-Semitic novel, Harrington (1817), reveals that the "Jewish" daughter is actually Christian before marrying her off to the protagonist, and there's a small nineteenth-century cottage industry devoted to the evils of interfaith marriage.  Similarly, Charles Kingsley's Westward Ho! (1855) famously reveals that the beautiful Ayacanora is not Indian but half-English, half-Spanish: "The thought that she was an Englishwoman; that she, the wild Indian, was really one of the great white people whom she had learned to worship, carried in it some regenerating change..." (210-11).   (In the Victorian period, W. M. Thackeray offers perhaps the most sardonic assessments of this particular use of the marriage plot.)

This is all by way of preface to suggesting that, as it happens, the parallel-plot historical novel is becoming a little too familiar.  Some novelists have started to question the underlying logic of this subgenre, like Briege Duffaud in A Wreath Upon the Dead (1993) and Barry Unsworth in Losing Nelson (1999).  Ahdaf Soueif's The Map of Love (1999) appears, at first glance, to join with Duffaud and Unsworth.  The characters occasionally evince a metafictional awareness that they're in some sort of plot: "There are too many coincidences in this thing already.  She finds this trunk, you meet her and it turns out you're cousins.  That's enough, surely?" "What? Bad art? Is that what you're saying?" (361)  And the novel deliberately resolves nothing.  The tragedy of Anna's marriage to Sharif at the beginning of the twentieth century, cut short by political assassination, is not "healed" by the relationship between Isabel and Omar at century's end--not least because we finish the novel without knowing if Omar is alive or dead (there's a strong hint that it may be the latter).  Soueif leaves other plots hanging as well, like the mystery of the third tapestry panel and the burgeoning affair (or not) between the narrator, Omar's sister Amal, and an old friend.  The point is clear enough: no political closure, no romantic closure, no any sort of closure. 

What frustrated me, though, was that the open-ended conclusion was itself completely predictable.  That is, the conclusion inverts the familiar "comic" outcome, but does so without thinking about the presuppositions driving the parallel-plot structure more generally.   In The Map of Love, love repeats itself across generations, and so too does imperial history (with American Isabel replacing English Anna).  Without a radical change in historical conditions, there can be no successful romance across nations and cultures.  I didn't think The Map of Love was a bad novel, quite the contrary, but I've read enough novels in this subgenre to wish that it had been a better or more daring one. 

A note to Miss Sherwood, after reading one of her novels

Miss Sophia Sherwood
Afterlife Apartments #291A
310 Posthumous Street
Deceased, RIP 39103

Dear Miss Sherwood:

I'm sure that you were probably a huge fan of deathbed testimony and all.  But if a dying woman can speak only "faintly" or in a "faint" voice, then it's probably not a good idea to give her a monologue that runs on for nearly fourteen pages. 

Yes, I counted. 

Yours sincerely,

LP

January 19, 2008

Shorter CoHE First Person: When Handed Lemons, Make Lemonade

I was baffled, to say the least, by the cheery tone of this recent "First Person" essay.  Obviously, we can't argue with the author's personal experience that "the job-search process, even when it ends in disappointment, can yield unexpected gifts and plant the seed for long-term professional relationships."  It's just that the author's upbeat litany of the professional advantages he derived from being turned down--or turning someone else down--is...not likely to reflect the average jobseeker's experience.  The job wiki relates some vaguely similar accounts of rejected applicants who now hang out with the committee that did the rejecting, so Prof. Deans' career trajectory can't be regarded as totally anomalous.  But the most common complaint about rejections is that the committee refuses to have anything resembling personalized contact with the applicant.  Or waits weeks (months, years) to send that xeroxed form letter.  Or doesn't contact the applicant at all. 

In case you're wondering, I had the pleasure of receiving various form-letter or e-mail rejections, one of which came with unofficial feedback through another channel.  In one instance, after I managed to get my first (short-term, non-TT) position, I had to bite the bullet and call a delinquent department to see what was going on--although the committee chair seemed more embarrassed by the call than I was.  (As I later discovered, there was a lot to be embarrassed about.)  Alas, no profitable rejections so far.