Showing posts with label Why Do I Teach?. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Why Do I Teach?. Show all posts

Monday, January 29, 2024

Syllabi Alert!

It's been a while since I shared my syllabi here, so without further ado, here are my syllabi since my sabbatical in AY 2021-2022:

This will be my last semester of my second one-year term as chair of the Fredonia University Senate, so I'll return to a full teaching load in Fall 2024 for the first time since Spring 2015 (I was chair of the Fredonia English Department for two three-year terms from Fall 2015-Spring 2021).  See my c.v. for all the details....

Saturday, May 23, 2015

I'm Baaaaaaack!!

Hey folks, my apologies for the radio silence for most of the spring semester.  I decided to keep a low profile after helping organize Fredonia's answer to National Adjunct Walk-Out Day for a variety of reasons:
  • I was teaching over 30 novels, graphic novels, short story collections, and other books this semester and meeting regularly with students on their writing and other projects, so keeping up that pace required me to sleep whenever I could (yep, I'm really in my mid-40s now!);
  • negotiations over the appointment, reappointment, and promotion of contingent faculty at Fredonia went into an even higher gear and I didn't want to come close to skirting our ground rules of keeping negotiations confidential while they were ongoing;
  • thanks to an extension, the first draft of a  group-authored article on university-level shared governance I was working on got submitted almost in time;
  • the election/appointment process for Chairperson of my department ground away this academic year and I chose to devote my time to meeting individually with all my colleagues after my department held an election and recommended me to the Dean to prepare for the transition and assemble my leadership team;
  • I got appointed to a Title IX and Sexual Violence Task Force and an Academic Affairs Review Committee, both of which were (and are) vitally important and added to my time commitment;
  • my younger daughter broke her forearm in two places on the same day my Nissan Versa's engine melted on the Thruway;
  • I tried keeping up with as many new graphic novels as I could (including Saga, The Unwritten, Black Science, Morning Glories...) along with classics I missed by Grant Morrison, Warren Ellis, and Kurt Busiek....
  • I tried keeping up some semblance of an exercise schedule and family life outside work....
No wonder I needed to sleep so much!  But it all came together.  My students kicked much butt this semester, particularly in my Major Writers course on Alan Moore and Neil Gaiman.  Negotiations concluded successfully and our new Handbook on Appointment, Reappointment, and Promotion goes into effect 8/1/15 (on which much more later).  The President appointed me Chairperson and the department approved new minors and restructuring of the major.  Imoto's cast came off and she's working hard to get full range of motion back in the joints of her left arm.  I might even find out soon if Nissan USA will replace an engine that didn't even make it to 50,000 miles in just over 6 years, despite consistent and quality service from my Nissan dealer in WNY.  Plus, I won an election to become the new University Faculty Senator for Fredonia, representing the campus on the SUNY University Faculty Senate and returning to the Fredonia University Senate's Executive Committee.

I'll close this post with my election statement:

I ask for your vote in this election for University Faculty Senator. I welcome the opportunity to represent Fredonia in Albany as a voting member of the SUNY University Faculty Senate. I am prepared to shoulder the official and unofficial responsibilities that accompany such a privilege. The former are defined in Fredonia’s and the UFS’s Bylaws. The latter can be learned only by experience.

As a former Chairperson of Fredonia’s University Senate, I have attended multiple UFS plenaries and UFS-sponsored conferences in the last seven years. I know many Campus Governance Leaders, Senators, and current and former members of the Governance Committee--and the UFS Executive Committee. And they know me.

They know that I can be counted on to do my homework, to pull my weight, to step up to the plate, to listen to and engage my colleagues with respect and care, to remain calm and constructive in the midst of chaos and controversy, to develop reasoned positions on complex issues, to generate innovative solutions to pressing problems, to use persuasion, diplomacy, and charm to move the body and its leaders to speak and act on behalf of SUNY’s mission and faculty, and, above all, to do what it takes to make shared governance and public universities work--better and better.

They know that I wouldn’t become Fredonia’s UFS representative only to stay on the sidelines. They would expect more from someone...
  • ...who challenged a newly-appointed Chancellor to consider incorporating into her campaign for the power of SUNY Christopher Newfield’s case in Unmaking the Public University (2011) that robust state investments in public higher education were crucial to America’s post-WWII prosperity and expanding middle class.
  • ...who pushed a then-President of United University Professions to risk opening a window of opportunity for strategic partnerships with new SUNY leadership.
  • ...who encouraged UFS leaders to stake out common-ground positions that could bring all the organizations representing SUNY together to change Albany politics.
  • ...who helped upgrade Fredonia’s Bylaws and helped Fredonia win SUNY’s first-ever Shared Governance Award.
If you don’t know me, I invite you to examine my c.v., web page, academic blog, and twitterfeed. If you don’t know what to expect from me, I invite you to find out from the Fredonia University Senate Executive Committee (on which I served from 2008-2010 and 2011-2014), the Executive Board of the Fredonia Chapter of UUP (1999-2006, 2009-up), and the English department (1998-up; Chairperson as of this fall).

If you know me, I hope you share my confidence that my decades of experience in department-level and university-level shared governance, as well as chapter- and state-level union service, will serve you well in--and keep you well-informed about--system-wide shared governance. I hope you trust me to bring your views and voices not only to the UFS but also to the Chancellor and Chairman of the SUNY Board of Trustees. I hope you’ll make me your advocate for affordable quality public higher education in Albany.

Tuesday, December 23, 2014

Fredonia's Got Talent!

My students in Fantasy Fiction and Novels and Tales did some amazing work throughout the semester, and particularly at the end.  Unfortunately, most of them chose not to do web authoring projects, so I can't share their work here.  Fortunately, a good number did; here are links to their work:
Please check 'em out while you're waiting for me to finish grading!

[cross-posted at Mostly Harmless and sf@SF]

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Kids These Days!

Check out what my students from my American Identities course have been working on this semester over at the American Identities blog when you get a chance.  The vast majority of the posts from this month are their Identification Projects, but I've also put up a list of the blogs some of them have created for their Final Projects.

Monday, November 01, 2010

Tuesday, February 02, 2010

Hesse, Allende, Haiti: Student Reflections on Natural Disaster and Narrative

I asked my students in this semester's ENGL 209 course, Powers of Narrative, to write a response essay featuring their reflections on the following questions:

How did Allende's and Hesse's very different portrayals of responses to a massive natural disaster affect you as you read them? How would you compare your reactions to these fictional accounts with your initial and evolving responses to the news coming out of Haiti since the massive earthquake of January 12th? What implications in your answers would you highlight for fellow Fredonia students?

Here are some of their writings.

***

Student 1: Distance Can Divide Us

The earthquake that struck Haiti on January 12th brought the Haitian people the greatest reason for sorrow that I will never know. Unimaginable hardships and losses have flooded the lives of the victims of this natural disaster. I cannot know the pain these people are feeling and I am at a loss for any way I could contribute to ease their suffering. They are hundreds of miles away, a distance that leaves me feeling helpless, and at times makes the event seem almost fictitious, as if it happened eons ago on a planet on the opposite edge of the universe. I share these feelings with the author of “And of Clay We Are Created”, and the protagonist in “Strange News From Another Planet”.

Isabel Allende, the writer and narrator of the story “And of Clay We Are Created” watches the aftermath of a disaster through media coverage, the same way I have witnessed the tragedies and chaos amongst the rubble of Port-Au-Prince. Much like myself, she has moments of overwhelming sympathy, and moments where the disaster seemed very distant. She describes this range of emotions as she observes her friend, who is reporting at the site of a deadly volcano eruption. Allende writes, “At times I would be overcome with compassion and burst out crying; at other times, I was so drained I felt as if I were staring through a telescope at the light of a star dead for a million years.” These words capture the back and forth between empathy and detachment which I believe many people experience while following reports on the results of a disaster.

A similar sense of detachment is expressed by the boy in “Strange News From Another Planet”, written by Herman Hesse. In the midst of his own town’s disaster, the boy reflects on the old legends he was told as a child. The legends told of great evils, far worse than anything the boy or his people had ever experienced in their time. He recalls feelings of horror and fear when he heard about all the terrible things that used to take place in the world. However, he also remembers having a “pleasant feeling of comfort”, because all of those sorrows and turmoil were “infinitely far away from him”. He never worried that he would witness terrible things because trouble always seemed very distant from his life.

Ultimately, it is normal for people to feel removed from another group’s tragedy. Distance can make it hard to feel sympathy for people whom you do not know and will never meet. The most important contribution that can be made to Haiti is spreading the sentiment that distance cannot overcome our sense of empathy for what has happened there.

***

Student 2

Disasters have a deep emotional impact that follows the initial physical damage seen in the soulless bodies of the departed and the empty ruins in which men once stood. Grief, fear, and helplessness can all envelope the consciousness of those left behind, especially to those who have lost everything they once took for granted. Others though may see things in a different perspective, possibly have the optimism to notice the beauty in the cycle of life and death. This was the difference in my reaction between the two short stories, “And of Clay Are We Created” by Isabel Allende and “Strange News from Another Planet” by Hermann Hesse. My reaction to these written examples of disaster also mirror my reaction to the devastation caused by a 7.0 earthquake that shook the Haitian landscape on January 12, 2010.

Allende’s short story portrayed a newscaster whose responsibility was to report on the devastation caused by a natural disaster that left many dead and one little girl trapped chest-deep in a pit of mud and debris. This little girl would become the newscaster’s focus, fighting for her life as if it were his own, and in the process fighting his own demons. Through reading this struggle I felt a deep fear of my own mortality and wondered if I was like the girl; helpless to control my own fate. This was also like some of the questions I asked following the devastation in Haiti. It’s estimated 170,000 souls were lost in the quake, and I could not help ask but why the Haitians. They themselves have seen much grief in their lives between their poverty and their unstable homeland. Many innocent people died, all with their own faults but most of them undeserving of their fate. Disasters such as that show the fragility of life, a fact the newscaster must have seen as that powerless young girl succumbed to her own mortality and passed away.

Hesse’s short story on the other hand brought different emotions. In the story, a province in a world without hatred, murder or jealousy, would be shook by an earthquake which would kill numerous of their inhabitants. The people of this planet do not fear death but embrace it, seeing the beauty in the cycle of life and death, only asking that their dead be adorned with flowers to they may be reborn into another existence. It is the task of one young man to request enough flowers for this mass burial from his king, but this journey would take him to another planet filled with the evils that his planet is without. This journey is like that of our own where we go through life with the faint idea of these evil but will never know them until we encounter them ourselves. It is not to say we are not so ignorant as to believe hatred, murder and jealousy do not occur but rather we believe that is not what makes up our lives. We all have the innate hope for the miracle of a paradise that this young man lives in. This was seen in the short story when the other-worldly king spoke to the young man of his own hopes that one day his planet will see this peace. When I read this I had a great yearning for this existence also, I want a world where war doesn’t occur and death is not to be feared but rather is celebrated for its role in life since without death life would have no meaning. The Haitian disaster was exactly that, a disaster, but it also showed in many ways the ability for men to put aside war and greed and show the inner good we all possess. Great humanitarian efforts are being launched by nations and people who all want to help their fellow human being. For every man, woman and child who have passed there have been numerous more acts of random kindness that preserve those left behind. I feel as though disasters such as these bring together people who would otherwise fight about their politics and beliefs but above all naturally have the unexplainable need to help those that need it the most. It was the fate of the unlucky Haitians who were caught in this quake to die, a process that life allows.

Those who witness these disasters are reminded of their own mortality and also may be given the inexplicable need to save those who need it. In the face of great catastrophe men will show their true characters and these events have shown that we are not necessarily evil people; we only need to understand the gravity of our existence and the futility of hatred, murder and jealousy. None of those things will save us from death, nothing will save us from death, we can only improve our lives by ridding ourselves from what we see as “human nature.” The nature of man is not to do evil, it is to seek happiness, to help those who are in need, a path which will bring happiness more than hatred, murder or jealousy will ever bring.

***

Student 3

Natural disasters, like recently with Haiti, have happened within the contexts and worlds of literature and stories throughout time. In both the short stories titled "And of Clay Are We Created" and "Strange News from Another Planet" as a reader there were new conclusions to draw about what society can learn from natural disasters. Furthermore, the stories helped to draw some more insightful conclusions about the disaster of Haiti that I witnessed on the news, twitter accounts, etc. since the natural disaster occurred on January 12, 2010.

While reading these stories I did envision along with the description in the stories the pictures of Haiti that were seen on the newsfeeds, twitter accounts, online, etc. However, the stories helped me to better understand some key concepts on how to get over the grief I saw with Haiti. When just seeing the news footage of a natural disaster, a person only feels grief. However, reading a short story or a narrative form about the event can help a person learn a lesson, a way to become stronger from a disastrous event. When watching Haiti news footage, I felt overwhelmed and didn’t know how to learn from the disaster, or what there was to learn from it. Reading these short stories, like the messenger’s wisdom about the King or the bravery and acceptance that was seen in the victim Azucena when she faced death, are lessons about strength that can be extracted from disaster. These lessons can teach people to become stronger people after reading.

Even though these stories are fictional, I now look back on the newsfeed and see the faces and think about the lives they had that just shattered when the disaster struck in Haiti, and how they didn’t give up even after their houses were destroyed, their family members hurt or killed, and how their country became uncertain and stricken of resources. I also learned that being vulnerable sometimes as sad and scary as those moments are, is the best way to become strong. In the story "And of Clay Are We Created" there is a important line that reads, “I knew somehow that during the night his defenses had crumbled and he had given in to grief: finally he was vulnerable.” This quote seems so important because the character that was stuck in the rubble and mud, Azucena, was a character of strength not because she acted invincible or possessed superhero qualities and miraculously survived, but because she accepted her life, gave in to her grief and let go. The photographer in the story after sitting with her for her last night truly changes his mindset after her story. He is no longer interested in becoming a person on the sidelines, just capturing the moments. This is an important life lesson for anyone; to become a person that values life, even in times of disaster, stress or loss. This idea seems to be further explained in the other short story, when the King who has seen plenty of war and destruction tells the messenger

People are indeed killed here…but we consider it the worst of crimes. Only in wars are people permitted to kill…still, you’d be mistaken if you believed that my people die easily. You just have to look into the faces of our dead, and you can see that they have difficulty dying. They die hard and unwillingly.

The King in this excerpt can help to emphasize that people can gain wisdom on how important and valuable life is when they are faced and confront death and loss every day, like the soldiers in war on the “alternate planet.”

The most important point that was further drawn to my attention as a reader after reading the short stories while was that like the bird told the messenger, there can always be much worse. It seems important to remember this when students stress out about trivial, smaller, matters like a test or a breakup. Instead, people should try to remember what truly is important: living life purposefully even in the darkest moments.

***

Student 4: Worlds Full of Tragedy

The two short stories, "And of Clay Are We Created," by Isabel Allende, and "Strange News From Another Planet," by Hermann Hesse, depict the effects of natural disasters in very distinctive ways. Not so different from these effects are the ones recently shown of the earthquake that destroyed Haiti. By each portraying the responses to devastating natural disasters as they did, Allende and Hesse, have influenced my thoughts on how people, like the ones in Haiti, react after their whole worlds have crumbled.

In Allende’s story, "And of Clay Are We Created," the idea of natural disaster is portrayed in a very dark and touching way. Allende does this, by the way in which she describes her characters. From the first sentences, “They discovered the girl’s head protruding from the mudpit, eyes wide open, calling soundlessly. She had a first communion name, Azucena Lily” (30). Allende introduces the readers’ into a world of horror and disbelief. The picture of a young girl’s head sticking straight up from the ground while her body is trapped below her, immediately brought darkness into the mood of the story. In addition, the statement of the girl’s communion name represents the innocence of the victims involved in this tragedy. By bringing this darkness and innocence into the story so early on, Allende provokes a feeling of sadness and sympathy towards the young girl.

Along with this, Allende portrays the harshness of death. To do this she states, “In that vast cemetery where the odor of death was already attracting vultures from far away, and where the weeping of orphans and wails of the injured filled the air, the little girl obstinately clinging to life became the symbol of the tragedy” (30-31). Allende affected my feelings towards disaster by getting my sympathy. She allowed me to make connections with the victims and develop attachments to both the young girl and the reporter, and trigger feelings of deep compassion for these people.

Different from Allende’s heart wrenching account of the aftermath of disaster, is Hermann Hesse’s "Strange News From Another Planet." Though he also describes the affects of a natural disaster, he does so in lighter way. Hesse introduces us to a place, where even though death is a bad thing, it can also be celebrated. Hesse’s affect on myself was less personal and moving. Though he did trigger feelings of sadness and compassion for the victims of the tragedy, he did so in a much happier way. He left me with a feeling of thankfulness for what I have and the idea that things could be much worse.

Although these two stories are not true accounts of disasters that really took place, they have affected me in a similar way to the news of the earthquake that took place in Haiti earlier this year. After a horrible disaster, the people of Haiti have been left with nothing. No clean water, food, shelter or bedding. In a lot of cases, many children were left without family members to take care of them and are newly orphans. Other than the physical injuries that people have acquired, many are left emotionally scarred after experiencing the loss of just about everything they worked and lived for.

The reaction that I had towards this news was similar to the ways in which Allende and Hesse’s stories influenced me. Similar to my reactions towards Allende’s "And of Clay Are We Created," I felt an immediate sense of sympathy and compassion towards the people of Haiti. I cannot imagine the pain they must be enduring after losing loved ones and still trying to live their lives one day after the next. I also felt sadness come over me after I saw the innocent people in the pictures, of the aftermath of Haiti. These same feelings of sadness were evoked after reading Allende’s story. I also feel that the reactions that I had towards Hesse’s story, were shared reactions towards Haiti. After hearing about all of the horrible things that these people have had happen to them all so suddenly, makes me feel a sense of gratefulness for what I have. I feel for these people, and at the same time I am appreciative that I still have my parents, and a shelter I can call my home.

After reading both short stories, and after being able to connect those reactions to ones towards the news of Haiti, I have a greater understanding and compassion for what the victims of Haiti are going through. It is important to recognize, that even though this disaster did not happen to us, it should and has affected us all. It may be easy to look the other way and pretend that it didn’t happen, but it did. And if we can only look harder and try to help the victims of this tragedy then we can grow stronger as individuals and as a human race.

***

Student 5: The Human Element of a Natural Disaster

A natural disaster provides an opportunity to unite humanity. It can strike anywhere, at anytime and to anyone. The earthquake which occurred on the island of Haiti and devastated the capital city of Port-au-Prince is not that characteristically different from any other natural disaster, except in one critical aspect: the social and governmental structure of Haiti is in shambles. Haiti, already a third world nation, finds itself at a need for administrative control and global aid at this critical hour. Isabel Allende’s “And of Clay Are We Created” and Hermann Hesse’s “Strange News from Another Planet” show in radically different ways the affects natural disasters have on communities. From both of these short stories, the reader can achieve a better understanding of the human element to natural disaster.

Allende’s story “And of Clay Are We Created” presents an almost mirror picture to the events occurring in Haiti. In it there is talk of media coverage, aid response, and volunteer efforts. While reading this story, the thing that affected me the most profoundly wasn’t the magnitude of the disaster described. Instead it was how the severity of the disaster is encompassed in the struggle of the little girl, Azucena. Allende states that journalist Rolf Carle “exhausted all the resources of his ingenuity to rescue her,” and in this I was able to see that his effort to save one person represents the world’s effort to rescue this community from tragedy (32). It was similar to watching correspondents from Haiti report on the efforts to rescue people from the rubble. However, in the case of Azucena, her eventual death represents the failure to provide timely aid. I was as angry when I read about the unnecessary death of Azucena, who could have been saved by the deliverance of a pump to drain the water from her muddy grave, as I was to read and hear about the death of those in Haiti that could have been saved if the modern world had acted with greater haste. When all of the debris and rubble is cleared in Haiti, there will surely be a rise in the death toll. Allende’s story also makes greater emotional ties with its audience, another similarity to my evolving response to the plight of Haiti. When the people portrayed on television become not just people in our news feed, but instead flesh and blood beings with needs and feelings like ourselves, is the only point in our mental process of tragedy where we can make a difference. My reaction to Azurena in “And of Clay Are We Created” was similar to the reaction I had when seeing the suffering of the people in Haiti: the Haitians are part of our human family and they need our aid.

Hesse’s story “Strange News from Another Planet” affected me differently when I first finished reading it. The story itself doesn’t seem as focused on the nature of the disaster, as it does on the nature of the response of those who were affected by it, particularly the boy who journeys to find flowers for his community’s burial rituals. I made fewer personal connects with the disaster in this story and the earthquake in Haiti. However, I can see how someone who was affected personally by the earthquake in Haiti could find similarities with their own feelings from this reading. The one idea that I did take away from Hesse’s writing was that no matter how bad natural disaster is it can never compare to the devastating effects of war. In war, humanity battles among one another; a natural disaster has the affect of bring humans from different cultures together to begin healing and rebuilding. At the end of the story, when flowers have been brought from all throughout the country to aid in burying the dead, the young man is left to contemplate what he saw on the foreign planet, where war devastated the land in a similar way natural disaster had ravaged his own. The young man states that “a shadow of sadness has remained within me, and a cool wind from that other planet continues to blow upon me, right into the midst of the happiness of my life” (145). In his distress, I can see similarities with the response that I had to how the people of Haiti were suffering. Although the effects of natural disaster can be devastating and cannot be viewed as positive, the response that it produces from the world community is something positive. People helping others are something that is seen in the continued relief of Haiti. However, in the case of war, relief is much slower to come and arrives in less quantity.

There are a few ideas that I would want Fredonia students to take away from this. The first is the importance of forming human bonds with those affected by disaster and do what is within their power to aid those in need. As we see in the Allende reading, and more so in the Haitian disaster, prompt responses to disaster are crucial to saving lives. Another point that I would highlight for student recognition would be that while there aren’t many positives to disaster, people coming to the aid of other can always be viewed as a triumph of humanity at work. This is portrayed well in the Hesse reading, as well as the evidence we can see in a comparison of the earthquake in Haiti versus what would be seen in war. Seeing the small bit of positive in something so seemingly negative is important.

Fictional and non-fictional depictions of natural disasters can shake the core of human society. However, they also provide an opportunity for the generosity and kindness of humanity to shine through. In the stories of Allende and Hesse, as well as the tragedy currently taking place in Haiti, we can see elements of fear, loss, love, perseverance and hope in the actions of ordinary people. These are qualities that every SUNY Fredonia student can sympathize with, which helps them gain a better since of understanding of the level of tragedy that can strike the human community.

***

Tuesday, September 08, 2009

Look for My Students' Writing at American Identities and sf@SF

I've got students in both my undergraduate classes this semester signing up as co-authors on the sf@SF blog, which is now on "science fiction--and more--at SUNY Fredonia." I've just posted a brief observation on the odd choice of commercials that run during Onegai My Melody on veoh.com and Ouran High School Host Club on youtube.com, just to kick things off. We should have several posts per week from a variety of student writers up there this semester. I'm also going to start posting identification projects from last semester's American Identities course over on the blog of that name. Check both out when you get a chance!

Thursday, May 07, 2009

Random Responses to Wai Chee Dimock's Recent Work

Wai Chee Dimock is visiting Fredonia this week as the keynote speaker for "Remapping World Literature," the 4th annual Mary Louise White Symposium organized by the English department. I'll be on a roundtable with her and several of my colleagues in a few minutes, as we examine together the implications of her work for teaching strategies, course design, curriculum, professional development, and strategic planning in English at Fredonia. Although I'll be improvising my comments, I thought I'd better take a shot at organizing them, however haphazardly, here first. But first some ideas that aren't going to be making it into my talk. Better to get them out here so I'm not tempted to use up my 5-7 minutes on them.

Free Association

For much of my first year in grad school, I was so overwhelmed by all that I was trying to take in that I could only think associatively. It was actually a pretty pleasant experience, if exasperating, mostly because it was a shared one: all my friends in the entering class had the same condition. We'd get together and start making whatever random connections between literature, theory, music, video games, tv, film, and sports came to our minds. It was our way of making sense of what we were learning and living through, I guess. Group brainstorming, or something. Sometimes we'd even come up with good ideas, but that wasn't exactly the point.

Reading Dimock's Through Other Continents brought to mind that time in my life, but also reminded me how much had changed since then. I read it in airports and on airplanes on my way to the Reworking the University conference in Minneapolis--and I read it in one gulp, with the excitement and pleasure I associate with reading really good science fiction. And, indeed, I was reminded of science fiction on almost every page, whether it was Neal Stephenson's blend of Sumerian mythology and cyberpunk in Snow Crash, Kim Stanley Robinson's exploration of an alternate history in which Chinese and Islamic civilizations rose and fell in the centuries after the plague depopulated Europe in The Years of Rice and Salt, or efforts by Guy Gavriel Kay, Dan Simmons, and Samuel Delany, in their very different ways, to combine myth, literature and fantasy and/or science fiction. And more: I was reminded of Neil Gaiman's graphic novel series Sandman, Amitav Ghosh's mix of memoir and history In an Antique Land, and Theresa Hak Kyung Cha's unclassifiable Dictee.

I'm forgetting what other works I wanted to remind myself to let Dimock know about or find out if she knew about, mostly because I was borrowing a colleague's copy of her book and didn't write in it or take any notes on it. Instead, I was revelling in the feeling of witnessing ideas I'd been working on over the past decade precipitating in somebody else's solution--ideas I never would have come up with on my own, but which shared a family resemblance to those of the many writers I've been tracking whom I've been connecting to debates over globalization and literary studies. I hadn't experienced such an intellectual rush since I read Thomas Bender's A Nation Among Nations--a feeling of things falling into place, things I had figured out taking on a new significance or relating to new context, things I had never considered before taking on a new interest and urgency. So while both works inspired all kinds of free associations, they also helped me identify large-scale patterns I had been groping towards, sharpen points I wanted to make, and imagine new possibilities for connections between times and places we usually think of as disjunct.

Teaching/Curriculum

In my contribution to today's roundtable discussion, I'm going to be highlighting some of the unexpected ways the courses I'm teaching this semester connect with issues raised by Bender's and Dimock's work. Of course, I taught Bender in my American Identities course, but it was actually the juxtaposition of class discussions on Gish Jen's Mona in the Promised Land and Sherman Alexie's Reservation Blues that I'll be focusing on as a counterpoint to and way of looking differently at a key moment at the end of Samuel Delany's Atlantis: Model 1924 from my Harlem Renaissance course, which in turn will lead into a consideration of why I organized my Black Women Writers course the way I did and what it was like teaching it. My goal will be to raise the question of what we consider to be the ends of teaching world literature and make a case for a modest, minimalist starting point.

I'll use that starting point as my entry into a more programmatic proposal to reexamine the Fredonia English department curriculum, specifically the way we bridge our introductory-level world literature core (all of which is in Fredonia's general education program) with our required and elective upper-level courses, many of which are in national literatures.

But more on that later! Time to head out for the roundtable....

Saturday, April 25, 2009

Just a Little Experiment...

...by which I mean this post, its connection to my contribution to the Tactical Teaching roundtable here at Reworking the University, and my Intro to Grad Studies in English course, which I'm introducing to the conference participants this afternoon. Let's see how using this post in place of a handout or powerpoint presentation to report on the context, purposes, design, teaching, and results of my particular approach to tactical teaching works out....

One way I hope it works out is that the faculty and students hearing and/or reading this consider why and how they would approach relating the history and politics of their fields, disciplines, profession, and institution in all the intellectual, activist, and other work they do, on campus and off. I'm talking about relating as comparative/interdisciplinary/theoretical work in their own research, as expressive/narrative/creative work in their own writing, and as curricular/design/pedagogical work in their own teaching, mentoring, and service, but most of all as an effort to recognize the differences between these domains and discourses and yet still make connections across them, for themselves and for others. So just as I hope my students will continue the work of my courses (not just complete the work in them), so, too, am I hoping that my readers and listeners will want to work through the issues I'm raising, work up their own approach to teaching the university, and see how it works out.

One thing listening to yesterday's panels, roundtables, and workshops brought home to me is how important--and difficult--it is to situate ourselves and our work in ways that effectively link the individual, local, regional, national, and planetary. What follows is one attempt to combine self-reflexivity and contextualization, to connect theories and strategies to tactics, and to contribute to the ongoing conversation about teaching--and reworking--the university.

Context

So what do you need to know to make sense of my 1.5-credit, half-semester, required master's-level seminar?

First, you need to know a little bit about SUNY Fredonia, a public regional university within the 64-campus State University of New York. We're located right off the New York State Thruway, southwest of Toronto, Buffalo, and Rochester, and northeast of Pittsburgh, Erie, and Cleveland. So if you're thinking rural rust belt, you're not too far off. Over 40% of our 5100 undergraduates and 350 graduate students come from Chautauqua and Erie counties and roughly 75% come from the small towns, suburbs, and cities of western NY. For all too many of them, the Fredonia campus is the most diverse place they've ever been.

OK, so what about our English department? We're a pretty large department for a school of our size, with 25 tenure-stream faculty and more than 300 majors in English and English Adolescence Education and concentrators in English from the College of Education's Childhood and Early Childhood Education majors. Many of them have switched over to us from other departments and programs, often because they like the way we teach our courses they have taken for general education credit. Because we cap our class sizes at 30 when we're teaching three courses in a semester and 25 when we're teaching four, we're able to be fairly flexible in the classroom, with our readings and assignments, and in our office and on-line interactions with our students. With the core of our undergraduate major a set of introductory-level genre-based world literature courses, we don't subscribe to the coverage model. But because we've been able to do a lot of hiring in the last decade or so, particularly in American literature, creative writing, and English education, students have access to a wide range of courses, approaches, traditions, texts, and media each semester.

I should say that our undergraduate students do. Budget cuts and hiring freezes in the 1980s pared down what had been by all accounts a thriving a vibrant graduate program in English. When I first arrived at Fredonia in the fall of 1998, our graduate enrollments were increasing, partially in response to a proposal, eventually shot down, that the state requirement that all English teachers in NY must qualify for professional certification within three years of gaining provisional certification rather than five. But even when enrollments dipped a little this decade, we still struggled to offer enough stand-alone graduate seminars. Now that they're increasing again, this problem is even more urgent, particularly when New York State's fiscal crisis management means we can't hire our way out of it. Although this year we're seeing more off-campus applicants than usual, for many of our best undergraduates, staying at Fredonia for two more years is an attractive option. My colleagues and I have been brainstorming for the last decade how to impress upon them the difference between undergraduate and graduate study, while trying to impress upon ourselves and each other what it means to teach graduate seminars in a program where the master's is the terminal degree, where our teaching load is much heavier than that of our graduate professors, and where our students have a wide range of educational foundations, learning expectations, and career aspirations.

Purposes

ENGL 500, Introduction to Graduate Studies in English, is one attempt to address these challenges. For faculty who might teach it at the same time as they teach another 1.5-credit course (such as its undergraduate equivalent or the graduate capstone), it provides a way to manage their teaching load in additional to its pedagogical purposes. For graduate students, it provides a common initiation into Fredonia's graduate program in English, whether they are going for professional certification, planning to apply to Ph.D. programs, or figuring out their next step. To mash up the catalog copy, course description, and goals:

Introduction to research methods, strategies, and faculty expectations for reading and writing as a graduate student in literary studies. The course will also explore critical and pedagogical approaches, as well as historical and current trends in literary studies and related disciplines.

This required 1.5-credit seminar aims to help graduate students achieve a deeper and broader perspective on the English department at SUNY Fredonia through consideration and contextualization of department goals and practices in curricular, professional, and institutional frames.

ENGL 500 is designed to prepare students for their future endeavors as English graduate students and new professionals in the field. Students will develop an understanding of the history, purposes, and domains of the discipline of English studies and of the current goals, requirements, structure, components, and content of the English major at SUNY Fredonia.


The last two paragraphs are my own; they signal a desire to embed a survey of methods, approaches, and trends in reading, writing, research, and teaching in the discipline within curricular, professional, and institutional frames. Last semester, I conceived of ENGL 500 as the graduate equivalent of my fall 2005 English Composition course, Writing Matters, where I offered my new undergraduate students opportunities to explore connections between the stakes, purposes, and ideals of higher education, critical and civic literacies, and global challenges of the 21st century--and, in so doing, to question who they were, why they were here, and what they might learn and do. I wanted my new graduate students to have similar opportunities to make sense of this transition in their lives, its identificatory and interpellative structures and situations, and to continue developing a sense of agency and project.

Design

Given the contraints of 8 weekly 150-minute meetings, limited further by my decision to set aside the opening class meeting for a simulation and the final class meeting for student presentations, as well as to build in a library session in the middle, I actually had a little less than 6 full sessions to move us from a consideration of the Fredonia English department's goals and mission in the context of disciplinary histories and debates to a broader examination of how our approaches and practices are informed by and take various positions on the history of debates over curricula in the humanities, the profession of English, and the politics of academic institutions.

In the former 3 sessions, my plan was for students to use Donald Keesey's Contexts for Criticism and M.H. Abrams and Geoffrey Harpham's Glossary of Literary Terms to map different approaches to reading and to use the course ANGEL space to compare their critical travel narratives as a prelude to the session on "reading"; to share samples of their undergraduate writing and, in light of Joseph Gibaldi's MLA Handbook for Writers of Research Papers and our own locally-produced (mostly by English grad students) writing guide, Beyond Normal: How to Make Your Writing Devilishly Good, as well as a class visit from the professor who was the driving force behind the latter and some youtube clips on new media, to explore their own expectations for writing as a graduate student; and to research how our departmental goals and mission compared to those of other master's programs and report their findings on the course ANGEL space in annotated bibliographies as a prelude to discussing with two professors from the department who have ties to Women's Studies and American Studies how they might consider connecting their reading of literature and theory with their own emerging research interests and focuses.

In the latter 3 sessions, I eased up on the multitasking and ramped up the reading load, as we moved in successive weeks from W.B. Carnochan's The Battleground of the Curriculum to excerpts from Gauri Viswanathan's Masks of Conquest, Michael Berube's The Employment of English, and Amitava Kumar's Passport Photos to most of Marc Bousquet's How the University Works. The three assignments that were due after we completed these discussions--an essay focusing on one idea from the readings or campus events they were most interested in incorporating into their critical or pedagogical practice, a presentation relating the literary work they had chosen to read for the first time that semester to selected issues from the course and in their professional development, and a reflection on their learning in the course--were meant to supplement and build upon our in-class and on-line discussions of these works.

Teaching

Because we were trying to do so many different things in such a short time, I strove to create as relaxed and informal a classroom atmosphere as I could, get the students talking to each other as much as possible, and shift pedagogical gears often enough to keep everyone interested. A couple of examples will have to suffice.

Our opening class meeting culminated in a simulation: as I had a roughly equal number of students taking graduate courses for professional certification as not, I was able to separate them into two groups. Each group would act as a department task force charged with proposing revisions to the requirements for the M.A. or M.S. in Ed. to the Curriculum Committee (me). This role-playing exercise allowed the students to examine their graduate program's structure, identify their expectations, hopes, and anxieties, and imagine ways of doing things differently. It allowed me to share some of the rationales for and histories of the existing structures, answer students' questions, and ask them in turn to consider resource and other implications of their ideas for change. The simulation allowed us to consider relations between individual and institution, structure and agency, constraint and change, project and persuasion; it got the students thinking like professors and taking responsibility for their education. It wasn't only an ice-breaking activity (although it was that, too)--it set the stage and the tone for the rest of the course.

Things didn't always go as planned, of course. But sometimes they went better. Having worked with Bousquet on Workplace: A Journal for Academic Labor for a long time, I knew he'd be interested in talking with my students about his new book, so we set up a skype conference call the day we'd be discussing it. It just so happened that was the same day that one of the largest student protests in Fredonia history took place; a conservative Christian activist came to campus uninvited and proceeded to preach against various aspects of student life he imagined taking place, with a particular emphasis on framing homosexuality as a sin. By the time my class had begun in the late afternoon, what had started as a very small group of students listening to and attempting to engage the speaker in dialogue had grown into a much larger crowd, consisting of hundreds if not a thousand or more students and faculty who had improvised a counter-protest or just come to hang out and enjoy the unseasonably good weather. About 2/3 of my class made a case for observing and reporting on the event (and two even posted a brief report here), while the rest of us brainstormed questions for Bousquet. We had to push back our conversation with him, but were still able to ask a good number of our questions:


  • Did you ever expect that your book would be taught in an introduction to graduate studies seminar for master’s students?
  • How much do you agree with in Cary Nelson’s foreword?
  • In light of what you document, why would anyone want to be a grad student in English?
  • What’s so bad about the prevalence of nontenurable teachers in American universities today? Doesn’t their presence keep costs down and save money for parents, students, and taxpayers? Why should parents be worried about having their son or daughter taught by a nontenurable faculty member? Should they get a tuition discount when that happens?
  • What’s your central diagnosis of the problems facing American higher education as an institution?
  • On page 28 you suggest that Marxist analysis offers the best way of understanding and organizing against contingency in academia. How would you respond now to the tough questions you ask yourself right on that page, particularly “In the big picture of global exploitation, just how important are the problems of underemployed holders of doctoral degrees anyway?”
  • Is tenure part of the problem or part of the solution? How has your own tenure affected your role in the academic labor movement? What would it take for tenured faculty to stop being complicit with the trend toward expansion of nontenurable teachers in the professoriate?
  • Are unions part of the problem or part of the solution? Look at the U.S. auto industry--and the ways existing faculty unions haven’t slowed the turn toward nontenurable teachers much, if at all....
  • Do you think the disconnect between most faculty’s politics (generally liberal) and most Americans’ politics (generally conservative) is a problem for American higher ed? When Ward Churchill and Bill Ayers are the poster children of academia to a good portion of the American public, is it any surprise budgets are bad and getting worse?
  • What’s your position on the “market regulation” solution you offer on pages 208-209 today in light of the current financial/credit crisis? How do you set it up? Where does the funding come from? How do you enforce it?
  • How about pg. 47’s converting nontenurable piecework to tenure-track jobs idea? Do you anticipate any problems with implementing it?
  • Do you have any advice for SUNY, where its budget and tuition levels have always been a political football between the legislature and governor? Gov. Patterson just announced he wants to cut $2B more from the NYS budget—and we’ve already taken a 14% cut ($4.2M)....


Things didn't always work out so serendipitously, of course. Due to heavy demand for sessions with reference librarians, I had to push our library visit back to the week we were supposed to discuss Carnochan's history of curricular debates in the humanities. Students struggled to keep up with the readings, connect them with the assignments, and use both as tools for self-reflection. But overall the course went much better than expected and I'm excited to get a chance to revise and teach it this coming fall.

Results

Students had a hard time categorizing and comparing the goals, missions, and requirements of the master's programs that they researched with the ones in their program at Fredonia, mostly because few departments were as explicit about them as we are on our web site and few students were ready to unpack what was left implicit on their web sites. By and large, they didn't do a very good job of using our readings and discussions on ways of reading to analyze the underlying logic of other programs' structures.

Students wrote critical essays on Marian Wright Edelman's Convocation lecture and the vocation of a teacher; on the Eliot-McCosh debates and their undergraduate institution's balance of electives and requirements; on the exploitation of student labor and the value of literacy and literature; on the rationale for studying criticism; on Judy Shepherd's lecture at Fredonia, The Laramie Project, and queer young adult literature; on how our assigned readings framed debates over the definition of literary studies. Two practicing teachers decided to do structured field experiences, where they planned, taught, and reflected upon units informed by the course. One had her students form teams and produce their own versions of Beyond Normal, with its mix of archival history and writing guide aimed specifically at Fredonia students; the other had his students explore pastoralism and ecocriticism and produce a multimedia response to works by Thoreau, Frost, and Oliver. Some were solid, some were very good, most were in between, but all at least understood the basics of the assignment and wrote capably. Still, I was left wondering how I could better prepare them to "reflect upon and figure out how to apply a key concept, method, or strategy that you have encountered in or out of the course this semester that matters to you and makes a difference to your future plans as a scholar/critic or teacher"--particularly, to focus their reflections and specify their applications.

Students' presentations could be divided into two groups: those who were at Fredonia to earn professional certification tended to focus on works they had heard about and were considering whether and how to teach, from Lowry's The Giver to Anderson's Speak to Runyon's Burn Journals to Hartinger's The Geography Club to Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird to Stoker's Dracula (to help contextualize his students' interest in the Twilight series) to Orwell's 1984 (to address issues of censorship, propaganda, and surveillance); those who were not tended to focus on a canonical writer they had missed or avoided in the past, such as Shakespeare (The Tempest) and Swift (Gulliver's Travels), or were into, such as Leopold (A Sand County Almanac). I was impressed by the students' creativity and effort, but struck again by the gap between my expectations and hopes and what most of them produced. Once again I'll have to better explicate the key elements of the assignment:

After choosing, reading, and researching the reception history of a work of your own choice that you haven't yet read, you will prepare and deliver a 10-minute presentation on it that connects some of the key ways it has been interpreted and valued with the issues we've engaged in the course that have mattered most to you and have best helped you clarify what you intend to do while a graduate student and after.


What I was hoping for was that students would focus on issues of disciplinarity, curriculum, profession, and/or institution, using their analysis of the work they had chosen and its reception history to speak to their current identity and future plans. Understandably but regrettably, most focused on teaching or research and not on the larger frames the course was designed to disclose.

Fortunately, students' final reflections showed that whatever their struggles on individual assignments, they really had gotten a lot out of the mini-seminar. They tracked their intellectual journeys in the course and pulled together the different readings and assignments with great thoughtfulness, creativity, passion, and specificity. At times, they were brutally honest about the parts of the course that didn't work for them, giving me some excellent ideas for revision. But most of all, they confirmed for me that the general direction, approach, and structure of the course was workable, needing refinement rather than a complete rethinking.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

Tactical Teaching/Reworking the University

Heading over to Minneapolis tonight for the Reworking the University conference, where I'll be discussing my Intro to Grad Studies in English 1.5-credit master's-level seminar on a Saturday afternoon roundtable with Heather Steffen of Carnegie Mellon and Nick Hengen and Lucia Pawlowski of the University of Minnesota.

I'll be putting the course in context, going over its goals and design, talking about students' and my own takes on how it went, and contrasting it with an undergraduate composition course I taught back in 2005. Since I'll be getting another shot at it in the fall, I'm excited to get great ideas for revision and redesign during the conference (although I doubt any will be as funny as this one). Thanks to Nick for the invitation to participate!

Monday, September 29, 2008

The Bills Are 4-0 and Other Improbabilities

Just surfacing for a moment to note that the novel I'm teaching for the next two weeks in one of my classes--Patricia Grace's Potiki--is highly relevant for thinking through the political situatedness of the PGA event going on 15 minutes from my hometown at the Turning Stone resort complex this week. I did not plan this, but it's pretty neat.

[Update 1 (1:46 pm): Speaking of 1992....]

Friday, April 11, 2008

Nalo Hopkinson to Make Toronto-to-Fredonia Commute

[cross-posted from sf@SF]

It's official! Award-winning science fiction and fantasy writer Nalo Hopkinson will be giving a reading/lecture at SUNY Fredonia on Monday, April 21st. And she'll be making a special appearance in our Science Fiction class the following day, which we're moving to a new room to accommodate Saundra Liggins's African American literature class and any other Fredonians who want to attend.

Many thanks to the Dean of Arts and Humanities John Kijinski, the Pride Alliance, the Science Fiction Fantasy Gamers Guild, and the Mary Louise White Fund--not to mention the amazing Ms. Hopkinson herself--for making this visit possible. And to Jeffrey McMinn, Textbook Manager at SUNY Fredonia, who will have about 25 copies of her newest novel, The New Moon's Arms (which, by the way, was recently shortlisted for the Nebula and Aurora awards) and her first novel, Brown Girl in the Ring (which won the Warner Aspect First Novel Contest in 1997 and recently was one of the 5 finalists among the books selected for the Canada Reads program).

Here are the details:

Monday, April 21, 4:30 pm, Thompson W101: Reading/Lecture on race in science fiction; free and open to the public

Tuesday, April 22, 2 pm, McEwen G26: Class Visit; free and open to SUNY Fredonia students, faculty, and staff

And a bit of a bio:

Born in Jamaica, and raised in Jamaica, Trinidad, Guyana, and the U.S., Nalo Hopkinson has lived in Canada since her family moved there in 1977 when she was 16 years old. The author of four novels and two short story collections, she has branched out into essays, editing, and art in recent years.

Spread the word!

Tuesday, April 08, 2008

On Teaching World Literature/s, Part I: The Value of Just Talking

I'm still processing the 3-hour-long discussion on world literature/s that members of my department had this past Sunday (the last hour of which I missed due to a nasty sinus infection that's hit the Full Metal Archivist just as she enters the home stretch of her MLS program's semester--ugh!), and with grading and advising taking up the rest of this week, I won't be able to do more than a few quick hits on it this week here.

Our original plan was to focus in the first hour on concepts and theories of world/global literature, use the next hour for breakout sessions on how and what and why we teach what we do in the world literature courses that we teach, and then turn to issues of goals, mission, requirements, and curriculum in the final hour. The point wasn't to come up with any proposals or voting items, but to take some time to hear each other out, learn about the history of the department, consider how the issues and debates in the scholarly literature play out in our teaching experiences, and so on. What was great was that we had one emeritus professor (and former dean) and one full professor who could fill the rest of us in on the discussions and planning that went into the shift in the early '90s from a British/American-survey-based core to a world genre-based core; a handful of recently-tenured people who could speak to our intellectual journeys in our time here, partially as a result of teaching in that core; and a good number of new and relatively new hires who could bring fresh eyes to our majors (English and English-Adolescence Education). What was also great was that we could have the discussion without a sense of looming crisis: long before my cohort came here, we were one of the most influential departments in campus governance and we've done a lot of serious work to continue that tradition in the past decade; we have a very high percentage of majors per graduating class relative to the national average in English; and we just had an amazing Open House for admitted students the day before, the largest in the university's history, in which every student I talked to said that we were already their first choice. (That didn't stop those of us at my table during lunch from venting over assessment, accreditation, the SUNY system's misguided approach to general education, and NY State economics/politics, of course.) What wasn't so great was that due to travel, health, birth, leaves, and other matters, some key people had to miss the symposium. On the bright side, that meant those of us who were there could be a bit more informal and flexible than we had originally planned. In fact, we actually had an intense two-hour-straight discussion on our first two topics as a full group, without having to break out into smaller groups--or even break for a snack!

I won't use this post to get into the actual issues we discussed; what I want to focus on instead was the value of the discussion itself. When I arrived here in 1998, the new faculty had plenty of time to talk in the hallway, drop in on each other's offices, hang out downtown together, have each other over for meals, and generally get to know each other and the established faculty quite well, both in personal and professional terms. Over the course of the ensuing decade, I've found that my time is much less my own. This is not simply due to a shift from being single the first half to starting a family the second half, although the fact that so many people in my department and our wider circles of friends have been making the same shift has obviously had a huge effect. But in my experience, what's had an even bigger effect is a marked increase in workload, particularly in service. Increasingly, my time on campus has been eaten up by meetings and preparations for meetings. Even though I've eliminated union service this year (thanks to ballots for the 2007 elections taking forever to reach me in Japan) and cut back sharply on university service (I'm back on the University Senate this semester and was just nominated and voted in to be its Vice Chair next academic year, though, so that's coming to an end), the intensity and stakes of department service have taken me by surprise. What this has meant is that besides the mentoring I've been doing this year (and can I add how pleased I am that 2 of the 3 I worked with as associate chair want to continue working with me?), I've barely had time to sit down and talk with anyone in my department, including my best friends, for more than a few minutes at a time.

So just taking the time to have an intellectual/professional discussion with my friends and colleagues was--how shall I say it?--great fun. Even more fun than listening to my colleagues whom I invited to speak with my students in my introduction to the major half-semester seminar or participating in the Theory Live series one of my new colleagues organized this semester (on which more later). It's funny what a pleasure it can be to simply hear what we think and why, what we've done and how it's worked, what issues we have with the world literature core and what we ought to do about them/it. And to realize how much I missed this kind of exchange. Next in this series: what kind of exchange it was.

Saturday, March 22, 2008

CitizenSE Teaching Manifesto, Part II: Looking Forward to Teaching Obama's Speech in the Fall

Thanks to Jennifer at Mixed Race America for posting the video (and text) of Barack Obama's speech in its entirety.

Thanks to all the awesome history bloggers Ralph Luker linked to at Cliopatria, who convinced me to watch it in the middle of the night this week (and put off reading for my classes for another 40 minutes).

Thanks to Jennifer again for her follow-up questions, and to Annalee Newitz at io9 for her observations.

Thanks to Chris Clarke at Creek Running North for articulating some of the (to my mind, calculated, on which more in a second) blind spots of Obama's speech. And to N Pepperell at Rough Theory for his reflection on Obama's theorizing of affect and politics.

But thanks most of all to my chair and associate chair for giving me yet another chance to teach Introduction to African American Literature and Culture next semester. Because Obama's speech is going right in the middle of the course's "Nation" unit in the fall, not long after Election Day. (And thanks to Kenny Mostern, one of my favorite former academics, from whom I borrowed the country/city/nation/world structure of my course!)

Why am I going to teach Obama's speech? Because of its supple invocation of and subtle response to the classic debates over American and black nationalism that go back centuries in African-American political discourse. Because it'll help my students understand race and nationalism in more complex and interesting ways. Because it'll enable me to contrast Obama's rhetoric with Wright's jeremiad and draw my students into a consideration of the nationalistic uses of the jeremiad (as analyzed most famously by Perry Miller, Sacvan Bercovitch, and Emory Elliott on the Puritans and David Howard-Pitney in the African-American grain, but also more recently by Edward Blum, Ralph Luker, and Kim Pearson). Because it'll help my students understand the full force of Obama's invocation of Faulkner's line from Intruder in the Dust Requiem for a Nun (thanks to former student Charlie Wesley for the correction!) that "The past is not never dead. It's not even past" (and maybe even wonder why he added "and buried" to the first sentence, or why the punctuation linking the two thoughts vacillates between a period, semi-colon, and comma even when it's scholars doing the quoting--for more on this line and Obama, see Scott Horton). And see why that invocation was no accident, that for Obama to invoke the founders and slavery in the ways he did is to invoke Emerson, Hawthorne, Stowe, and Twain as much as Walker, Douglass, Du Bois, and King.

Among the things the speech itself and the responses to it have made me wonder about are the limits on political speech in this country--what traditions, conventions, and myths you have to invoke (and hopefully rework) and avoid (or avoid questioning) if you wish to be considered "presidential" today. Take Obama's starting with the Constitutional Convention--the literal founding of the U.S.--rather than, say, the Declaration or the founding of Jamestown or the first landing of Columbus in the Caribbean. I've already blogged a bit on the complexities of Hawthorne's relation to the founders in "The Custom-House," so forgive the self-quoting here (and the long parenthetical statement within the self-quotation):

it's not exactly right to put "The Custom-House" unproblematically in the tradition of Jeffersonian democracy (with its "tree of liberty nourished by blood of tyrants" strains), unless you see that tradition as itself problematized and strained. (After all, Jefferson blamed King George for blocking efforts by the colonists to end the slave trade yet also signalled his intent to defend American slavery by condemning the king's version of Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation; Jefferson affirmed the "self-evident" truth that "all men are created equal" in the Declaration of Independence yet called in Notes on the State of Virginia for scientific investigations to confirm his suspicions of the racial inequality of African Americans; Jefferson condemned slavery in part for its corrupting tendencies on masters yet continued to hold slaves and do more than hold Sally Hemings; Jefferson denounced "merciless Indian savages" who fought with England in the Declaration of Independence, praised American Indians in Notes on the State of Virginia, and saw them as an obstacle to the expansion of the American "empire of liberty" that he helped engineer with the Louisiana Purchase.)


Sure, Obama invoked some of this complexity and these contradictions in his speech, but his central axis for riffing on race was black and white. Although he began to problematize whiteness by reaching out to the white working-class descendants of immigrants, his references to other racially/ethnically marked groups always felt like an addendum to his core "America in black and white" focus. This seems to me to distort American history and American society, almost as much the "nation of immigrants" discourse it competes with, which, as Werner Sollors rightly pointed out, is itself a rearticulation of the "Puritan origins of the American self" thesis. "Manifest destiny" is not an add-on to these other dominant narratives of what makes the U.S. America, as I tried to make clear to my students in Japan last academic year, and as I've been trying to do with my American students, before and since. (I've blogged on some of this here and there [and there and there and there and there and there and there--and, damn, did I leave a lot of loose threads hanging on this blog toward the end of that Fulbright year!].)

The history of American Studies and American historiography bears me out. After proponents of one or another account of the origins of American exceptionalism (whether based on the Puritans, the frontier, or liberty--that is, the North[east], the [South]West, or the South) competed for much of the first half of the 20th C, attention to the blindspots in all three accounts--or, to use a metaphor I worked to death in Japan, an exploration of the shadowy areas that their jostling over the narrow-focus spotlight cast into darkness or only fitfully illuminated (namely, Indian removals, expansionist wars, and slavery)--continued for much of its second half. But rather than repeat their predecessors' competition, these scholars increasingly came to question American exceptionalism, to look for ways of broadening the spotlight's focus, to attempt to remap America and put it in a global frame.

What I'd like to see from the politician who eventually comes to replace George W. Bush as the most recognizable and representative American to the rest of the world is an overt acknowledgment of the full range of American complexities and contradictions. I'll give Obama credit for going as far as he did and for responding to the most personal and prevalent and perhaps pressing of them so brilliantly in his speech. And I'll trust that were he to become President he'd go further, that the exigencies of his speech delineated its scope in advance.

What I'd like my students to recognize and analyze, then, is the rhetoric, intertextuality, context, framing, and reception of Obama's speech. I'd like them to be able to assess its strengths and weaknesses, to respond to its call for a sustained and critical conversation on the meaning of race and ethnicity in American public and private life, and hence to participate in the (re)making of America.

[Update 1 4/3/08: Plus I get to teach Toni Morrison and Alice Walker on Obama!]

[Update 2 11/6/08: Not to mention Rob MacDougall!]

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

CitizenSE Teaching Manifesto, Part I: The Literature/Golf Mock(able)-Epic Simile

I have to admit to having been a bit intimidated by Craig Smith's recent decision to tag the humble proprietor of the obscurest blog on teh internets alongside such bloggy luminaries as Michael Berube, New Kid on the Hallway, Tenured Radical, and Sherman Dorn. When you consider how amazing Dr. Crazy's post that inspired Craig was--not to mention those in response to it by A White Bear, Aaron Barlow, Philosleft, and Craig himself, to name just a few--you have to wonder what you can add to the conversation. At least you do if you are me. So if you know where I'm coming from, you might be able to imagine how pleased I was to discover that the idea I came up with enables me to build upon one of my favorite CitizenSE posts in recent months.

Imagine, if you will, that a work of literature is like a golf course. Think of the process of designing and constructing a golf course as similar to imagining and composing a piece of writing. And think of how whether to play, which course to play, and how to play it can be compared to the kinds of decisions that go into whether to read, what to read, and how to read. What I am trying to get at through this opening analogy (writer as golf course architect, reader as golfer) is the notion that it is the experience (of reading, of golfing) that matters. What I like about the analogy is that golf's image as an elite and elitist sport corresponds rather well to the image of literature as an elite and elitist form of writing. (And if you believe Caleb Crain, reading may become about as prevalent as golfing this century.) For that matter, the humanities as a whole, like golf, still have a rather clubby image in popular culture--both are often represented as a luxury pasttime for the wealthy to dabble in, certainly nothing useful or productive or innovative to contribute to society. But that's a matter for another CitizenSE series....

Let's get back to teaching. Golf, like any sport, is neither a natural nor an instinctual activity. You have to learn how to do it, from many people, over time. You get better at it by doing it, again and again, though improvement is hard to come by and even harder to sustain. At some point, you may decide to become a serious golfer--you start playing more regularly, watching professional tournaments on television or in person, reading golf publications for tips and examples, researching equipment options, playing golf video games obsessively, betting with your playing partners, and so on. Eventually you may decide to become a competitive golfer--you start seeking perspective on your swing from a book, pro, and/or machine, getting your clubs fitted,joining a team and learning from a coach and your fellow players, playing in tournaments and learning from your fellow competitors, and so on. To extend my analogy further, serious golfers are like literature majors, competitive golfers are like literature graduate students, professors at teaching institutions are like teaching pros, and professors at research institutions are like touring pros.

Now, how does this mock(able)-epic simile help me answer the question of why I teach and why it matters? Sure, I love pushing the serious golfers and mentoring the competitive ones as much as the next teaching pro and am overjoyed when former students make a splash in academia. And I love teaching the occasional graduate seminar and sharing my limited experiences as a touring pro when appropriate with my master's students here. But what I love the most is the challenge of figuring out how to draw new golfers into the sport, helping beginners master the fundamentals and enjoy the game, and encouraging intermediate golfers to become serious golfers. That's why I teach so many introductory and general education courses here. I want all the students I teach to come away from my courses willing to consider acting on the idea that reading literature, like playing golf, can be a worthwhile and rewarding lifelong activity.

All well and good so far, but the reading literature/playing golf analogy has much farther-reaching implications, which require me to unpack some of the key terms I just used. What are some of the fundamentals of golf? Beyond obvious things like learning the rules and etiquette of the game, developing a consistent pre-shot routine, honing your grip, stance, alignment, and swing, and building your repertoire of shots, pitches, chips, scrambles, and putts, I have in mind analyzing and assessing the hole in front of you, imagining what shot you want to hit next in light of the course and weather conditions, figuring out what kind of swing you need to make to execute the shot, and learning how to focus enough to do it increasingly consistently, under various degrees of pressure and distraction, every time you address the ball. I won't try to give the literacy/literary equivalent of every one of these golf fundamentals, but I will point out that they all involve becoming more self-aware as a reader and more attentive to the text in front of you--its form, the genres and conventions it participates in, the allusions it makes to other texts and intertextual dialogues it enters into, and so on. Just as you get more enjoyment out of golf as you become better able to make solid contact with the ball and hit it closer to where you are aiming, so, too, do you enjoy reading literature more and appreciate what writers are doing better the more familiar you become with various examples of effective uses of rhythm, imagery, metaphor, symbolism, tone, point-of-view, irony, ambiguity, and so forth. The way I try to draw new golfers into the game, then, is to teach an integrated combination of reader-response, formalist, and structuralist techniques of reading and responding to literary texts in introductory and general education courses. I try to take students--many of whom, to the extent that they have been trained to read literature, have been trained to cherry-pick a poem for a metaphor or locate a story among four core themes (Man vs....) and write about it in a cookie-cutter 5-paragraph essay--and show them that there's a bigger and better rationale for understanding and acting upon the interrelation between techniques, strategies, and experiences of reading literature.

Here's where my teaching--and, I believe, the teaching of the vast majority of my colleagues in my department and across the country--departs most dramatically from the paranoid vision of the David Horowitzes of the world. I'm not trying to indoctrinate my students into what I consider to be the one best way of swinging a club, playing a hole, and thinking your way around a course. Sure, I'll demonstrate a few shots, show them clips of how various golfers have played a given hole, and give them advice on playing a particular course. But I can't play the game for them. What I can do is to try to give all my students the tools and the opportunities to practice making their own decisions on how, when, and why to play the game. Because I know from experience that each round of golf is different, even when played on the same course by the same person, I take for granted that every person is going to have their own experience on each reading of a literary text. That doesn't mean they designed the course; it just means they're following a fairly unique path around it. And it's worth their time and effort to keep track of their path, compare it to others', and reflect on the similarities and differences, not just to modify their techniques and strategies for the next round, but to get a better sense of the range of experiences and emotions golf offers, as well.

This is where the ambiguity in the term reading in my mock(able)-epic simile matters most. Reading is not just the personal and individual and private process of experiencing a text, it is also the social and collective and public process of sharing one's experiences with others. Sure, there's a difference between playing alone and playing with partners, random or regular, but both are forms of golf. Very few people, that is, are satisfied with stopping after having arrived as their own construals and interpretations of a text for themselves alone--they want to share their responses with others, out of confusion, curiosity, competition, and more. The dialogue and debate that emerges from this process of intersubjective responding can have multiple effects--appreciation of the nuances of the course/text and of the various ways to play/read it, a desire to seek out other courses/texts by the same architect/author, development of strategic and/or critical thinking skills, self-knowledge of various kinds, understanding of and empathy with others, values-clarification, community-formation, and more. But there's no guarantee that any of these things will actually happen for every single golfer/reader in every one of my classes. Making people write and read each other's responses can help, as can responsible and responsive comments from their peers and professor, but writing is no panacea, either. Unless my students discover they like playing golf and want to get better at it, all the best teaching in the world won't motivate them to benefit from the byproducts of entering into the discipline that learning to be a better golfer/reader requires. (In this sense, learning to play golf is like learning fencing or chess or dance or a martial art.)

If I were to stop here, no doubt you'd be justified in responding with some version of "So long and thanks for all the [Stanley] Fish." Sure, I think Fish is seriously mistaken when he concludes his recent New York Times piece on the uses of the humanities with:

So two cheers for critical thinking, but the fact that you can learn how to do it in any number of contexts means that it cannot be claimed for the humanities as a special benefit only they can supply. Justification requires more than evidence that a consumer can get a desirable commodity in your shop, too; it requires a demonstration that you have the exclusive franchise.


And I have problems with the way he answers his own questions here:

The pertinent question is, Do humanities courses change lives and start movements? Does one teach with that purpose, and if one did could it be realized?

If the answers to these questions are (as I contend) "no"--one teaches the subject matter and any delayed effect of what happens in a classroom is contingent and cannot be aimed at--then the route of external justification of the humanities, of a justification that depends on the calculation of measurable results, is closed down.


But I think he's onto something about the implications of his answers there and when he claims here that

the value of the humanities cannot be validated by some measure external to the obsessions that lead some (like me) to devote their working lives to them--measures like increased economic productivity, or the fashioning of an informed citizenry, or the sharpening of moral perceptions, or the lessening of prejudice and discrimination. If these or some other instrumental benchmarks--instrumental in the sense that they are tied to a secondary effect rather than to an internal economy--are what the humanities must meet, they will always fall short. But the refusal of the humanities to acknowledge or bow to an end they do not contemplate is, I argue, their salvation and their value.


This is something I'll take up later in a series on assessment, but my response is actually implicit in my playing golf/reading literature mock(able)-epic simile. Is there any good reason Tiger Woods made $100M last year just for playing golf superlatively well? Should we begrudge Lorena Ochoa her record-smashing $4.36M in winnings during the 2007 LPGA season? Although we might question the motives of the corporations that invest in tournament (and televised) golf and sponsor players, or critically analyze the systems that make up the golf industry and connect it to others, we can't ignore that people around the world are inspired by Tiger's and Lorena's play, want to watch them compete against the best in the world at what they do, and want to join in the fun. Just look at how many Korean golfers have come to the LPGA following in Se Ri Pak's history-making footsteps and you can see that playing golf well has real effects. By the same token, the readings of academostars as well as the less celebrated among literature's touring pros--the entire scholarly apparatus that Fish attacks for being too specialized, too insular, too detached, too exclusive, too arcane, too impenetrable--provide examples for analysis, assessment, emulation, modification, rejection and more by beginning, intermediate, serious, and competitive readers everywhere, not to mention other teaching and touring pros.

This leads me to another turn of the mock(able)-epic simile screw, one which returns me to teaching. Even in my introductory and general education courses, I want my students to understand that there's more to reading literature than developing and sharing readings of texts. Often I start with something as seemingly simple but actually complex as authorial intent, ouevre, and influence: what can we glean from the way a course is laid out about the options for play that the architect had in mind when designing the course? what do his/her designs imply about the state of the game at that time? what characterizes his/her body of work and how does it develop over time? what aspects of his/her predecessors' and contemporaries' designs were most influential on his/her own work? This is where issues of canonization arise: who are the most influential architects in history? which are the best courses? the best holes? the best tournaments? what courses should serious golfers play before they die? and why? And this, in turn, turns us to issues in and around the golf industry, from those who commission courses to those who maintain them to those who manufacture and sell and market and review the equipment necessary to make, maintain, and play them. In the same way that a golf course is part of a much larger set of institutions, so, too, is any work of literature.

Sure, you don't need to be concerned with all these issues to become a serious or competitive golfer, much less a teaching or touring pro. But you don't need to enter an M.F.A. program to experience their relevance personally; anyone who wants to get published today (or knows someone who has tried) runs smack into them (at least vicariously). Even people who are stuggling just to get the ball off the ground should know a little bit about where the ball and club they are using came from, the history of the development of these technologies, what swing options they have and the history of debates over and analysis of them, where what is in front of them came from and the history of the development of various hazards (rough, trees, sand, water), and what the experiences of those who have gone through similar and other struggles have been like. Of course it's still up to them to get that ball in the air. But they can better appreciate the difficulty, why so many people have exposed themselves to it, and what they can learn from it if what they are doing gets contextualized and if they learn how to contextualize what they are doing. So while I strive to teach my students how to play golf in my intro and gen ed courses, I also want them to begin paying attention to the history, sociology, psychology, economics, ecology, and technology of the sport. This is why teaching literature for me is a wildly interdisciplinary activity, not just limited to the traditional humanities.

Of course, the institution of literature will persist whether or not there remain any professors in the humanities left to research it or teach it. But that doesn't mean that the teaching of literature in college and graduate school by trained professionals is valueless or that nothing would be lost by its disappearance. Given the ubiquity of advice on playing golf, teaching pros will always have to strive to figure out what they can bring to their students that they couldn't otherwise or easily get themselves, how to design their courses to make the best use of the time spent together in the classroom, and modify their plans and strategies in light of what they are discovering about the actual students in the course. Research matters because it means that courses get played (books stay in print) or restored (through textual editing) or rediscovered (through the production of new scholarly editions of forgotten texts). When scholars find something of value in such courses for players today and teachers want their students to learn from the experience of playing them, on their own and together, touring and teaching pros can help shape the future of golf/literature.

To me, the question of why I teach is inseparable from what I teach and how. When I return to this series, I'll use my teaching from last semester and the upcoming one to show how my answers vary by course and how my courses fit together.

[Update: Reading around others who have responded to Craig's call, I eventually made my way back to One Flew East and discovered a gem of a book review on video games, literacy, and learning. Read the whole thing, as someone is reputed to have once said. My first response was, "damn, why didn't my colleague and I follow through on that crazy Video Game Studies Summer Camp idea we had back in 1999?" My second was, "why didn't Sloucho and I get our act together back in the early '00s and actually write that Video Game Studies book together?" It took until the third response to realize that the author of the book Aaron reviews is actually fleshing out the ideas I'm gesturing toward here about teaching and learning, but with respect to video games rather than golf.]

[Update 2 1/27/08: Here's a line from the rookie who was playing with Tiger Woods on Saturday at the Buick and, like the rest of the field, got smoked:

"That was one of the coolest things ever, no doubt," he said. "He was fun to watch but just kind of fun to compare myself against him, as well. It's inspiring and very educational. I recommend everyone try it at least one time."


The title of Doug Ferguson's AP article from which this observation comes says it all: "Tiger Puts on a Clinic at Torrey Pines."]