Saturday, May 20, 2017

Three more days...

... and I will be on my way to Green Country with my colleague from the history department, her family, and 16(!) students from the Honors program. This is more than double the number we had last time, and even though a couple of the students are technically peer mentors (i.e., juniors / seniors with prior study abroad experience, who aren't taking the classes but are instead along to help with interpersonal stuff, RA-style), it's starting to feel a little overwhelming.

I hadn't even really thought about the logistics of getting twenty people with all associated luggage onto buses / to our lodgings / to the right meeting points for our various excursions until yesterday, and now I am thinking about it, and ... OMG. Also, in just over a week I will be teaching a whole class that I also haven't thought very hard about since the last time I taught it.

There seems to be more parental involvement, and more anxiety, with the Honors students. I taught Honors comp for the first time this spring, and I noticed the anxiety thing there as well. I mean, I sometimes wish our non-Honors students were MORE inclined to stress out about their grades, but ... there has to be a happy medium somewhere, surely? (I don't remember my parents getting this involved when I went to Spain for a semester in college, although my mother definitely has the right temperament for it -- but maybe I've blotted it out? I think it also helped that my parents had both lived in Europe, and were very comfortable with travel as a concept, whereas for many of our students / parents / SOs, this is all New and Strange territory. It's cool in many ways -- you can see the horizons getting wider -- but it also means they think everything is much scarier than it is.)

One of our students was apparently cautioned by her family not to drink any alcohol on the trip, because it is VERY DANGEROUS. (Whether drinking alcohol in general is dangerous, or just drinking it in Green Country, was unclear.) As these are all nineteen- and twenty-year-old students, going to a country where they will be able to drink legally for the first time ... good luck with that.

I hope they are less-stupid about drinking, and about walking home alone at three or four or five in the morning, than I was when I was their age. But I also hope they learn to explore, and to be fearless.

Friday, April 21, 2017

Shrew'd

The theater department's first performance of The Taming of the Shrew was last night, and I got to join the cast for a talkback. It was a bit disorienting being on stage, especially in a theater where I've been dozens of times as an audience member (those lights are really bright! Blinding! And people are looking at me!), but I enjoyed it. The actor playing Petruchio seemed to have come, independently, to a very similar take on the play to mine, so that was nice. And I got to say some things about feminine-obedience-as-performance and playtexts-as-literature that were, I hope, at least vaguely coherent.

I like the way this production shaped up. It seemed more energetic, and more broadly comedic, than the early rehearsal I'd seen. I suppose that is one of the things the process does: makes everything a lot bigger. Or maybe it's audiences that make plays bigger, like mirrors reflecting a space back at itself.

Shrew reminds me of The Importance of Being Earnest, in a weird way. It's all about using language to break social rules and shape alternate realities (this is one of the things the Petruchio-actor and I agreed about, that Petruchio is first and foremost inducting Katharina into a game where words mean whatever the heck you want them to mean), and sometimes those realities grow out of control and take on lives of their own. I really wish it had been possible to fit the Christopher Sly framework into this production, but I had to cut it down to 90 minutes.

I am, as always, in awe of actors. They do something magical.

Sunday, March 26, 2017

The Conspiracy Theory

So, as many of you probably know, there is a moderately popular conspiracy theory that touches upon my field of study. Every now and then, students ask me about it, and I try to explain reasonably and neutrally that there isn't any evidence for it, and then move on. Less often, somebody makes a movie or TV show about it, or a complete stranger e-mails me out of the blue to Discuss Their Theories, both of which are situations that can be ignored.

Anyway, this particular conspiracy theory is relatively benign as such things go; that is, it doesn't involve denying historical atrocities, or accusing real people of fictional atrocities. (In its most common form, it does have a certain level of classist subtext, although there are a few variants that don't have the classism, and one or two that would be awesomely feminist if they weren't, you know, wrong.)

So why -- why -- do I always get Someone Is Wrong On The Internet Syndrome whenever I encounter it, such that I find it hard to concentrate on anything else? Aargh.

Thursday, March 23, 2017

Mid-semester miscellany

I'm sorry I haven't been around much, somewhat to my own surprise. There's a bit on Phil Ochs's Live in Vancouver, 1968 (an album I've been listening to quite a bit lately, because it feels like 1968 has so much to say to 2017) where he says, "When I came back from Chicago, I thought I'd write thundering protest songs, and I didn't ... It was exhilarating at the time and very sad afterwards, because something very extraordinary died there, and that was America." And, yeah, that's pretty much how I feel; I thought I was going to write lots of blog posts about Teaching in the Trump Era, and ... not so much. I don't even know yet what I think about Teaching in the Trump Era, or whether this is the Death of America or just one of those silly seasons of history that comes along every so often.

So, some non-political bullet points of mid-semester:

-- I'm teaching an Honors section of comp for the first time. It feels like being back in grad school, in some ways: a much more international-student-heavy population, and a level of grade-consciousness, anxiety, and perfectionism that I'd almost forgotten how to deal with. On the other hand, they are very good at paying attention to detail, taking peer workshopping seriously, and actually understanding what they read. I'll take it.

-- This summer's trip to Green Country is mostly coming together. It feels easier the second time, and I'm beginning to be properly excited about it. At first, it felt like "oh joy, all this planning and budgeting and filling-out-of-forms AGAIN," but now that the date is drawing closer, I'm remembering why I liked this the first time and want to do it again. And it will be all new for the students; I need to remember that.

-- My students think Edward II reminds them of Game of Thrones. I cannot wait for Tuesday, when they will encounter Lightborne.

-- The theater department is doing The Taming of the Shrew this spring. They wanted me to cut it down to 90 minutes, so I did. (Poor Christopher Sly and the Hostess and the Lord naturally got the axe, which I feel bad about, because Christopher Sly is important, dammit.) I went to a read-through last night, and got handed the part of Katharina, which I had not bargained for (Katharina and Petruchio will be played by professional actors in the actual production, and the actors haven't arrived yet). I hope I didn't sound too awful. I did get a compliment from one of the theater professors, which was nice, but I was impressed by how good most of the students sounded, already; they clearly knew what they were saying, for the most part, and were ready to put some natural-sounding emotion into it. I'm kind of in awe of actors. I think it's a good way to be.

Saturday, December 17, 2016

Trading Austen for Auden

So. The world is changing -- in ways that I didn't will, and can't do much about -- and I am trying to plan out syllabi for classes that will be taught in that new world, without fully knowing what it will look like. Perhaps it will be very much like the Bush years; perhaps it will be very different from everything we've ever known, and very scary.

I asked one of my colleagues if she could cover my Shakespeare class on January 23rd, the Monday after the Women's March on Washington, just in case I got arrested. That is definitely something that I have never said, or had to think about, before.

But Shakespeare class will probably look much like it always has, only with more Coriolanus, and with the "you must needs be strangers" speech from Sir Thomas More to start off the semester. I just realized I'll be teaching that speech in the very last hour of Barack Obama's presidency, which is both very right and very wrong.

Brit Lit II is shaping up to be ... different. It was always going to be different this year, because I've been doing some new stuff in all of my gen ed classes, but it feels like it's been wrenched out of shape these last few weeks, woken from summer dreams. There are a couple of contemporary texts (one play, one novel) that I've ordered secondhand from Amazon and am planning to give away, because the deadline for ordering books had long past by the time I realized that I very much needed to teach them this semester. The rest of the syllabus is ... skewing later, away from the hopeful Romantics and confident Victorians, toward the catastrophes of the twentieth century and beyond. (For ages, I didn't really do much with the twentieth century. A couple of early Joyce stories, sure, and Woolf's A Room of One's Own, but the class often stopped in the 1920s. That's going to be different next semester.) I feel like I'm axing a lot of the readings I love to make room for these new ones -- maybe not forever, because I change things up all the time anyway -- but maybe it is forever. Maybe we are not going to have time ever again for comedy, or for beauty for beauty's sake. Maybe I'm not going to have this job until retirement, like I thought I would. Maybe our profession won't exist at all in a few years (because God knows, there seem to be some concerted, very specific, rhetorical attacks on universities just now, and someday it won't be just rhetoric). I don't know. I have no idea about the shape of this new world.

I have been looking over the dates on this new syllabus -- that list of as-yet-interchangeable Tuesdays and Thursdays -- and wondering if some of them will end up being Dates That Matter, like September 1, 1939, or whether they will all, perhaps, be days that we will forget, like the fifth of April 1868, or the second of November 1875. I hope that we will, after all, be given the grace to forget.

Wednesday, November 9, 2016

Hermione; a parable

So I have this one student in the quieter of my two freshman comp sections. I'll call her Hermione.

Hermione talks a lot, in a class where almost no one wants to talk. She raises her hand virtually every time I ask a question. I don't always acknowledge her right away, because I want to hear from the other students, but the truth is that Hermione is modeling exactly the right sort of student behavior, so I'm reluctant to ignore her. She does the reading; she's prepared; she has relevant and thoughtful things to say. Hermione is very politically outspoken, and very obviously liberal and feminist. Occasionally she expresses opinions that are slightly daft, in the way that idealistic eighteen-year-olds are sometimes daft, but they are always thought-provoking, the sort of ideas that should start an interesting conversation, except most of the other students don't want to talk about ideas.

We were doing a thing in class yesterday (I have to be vague here), where students had to propose some things, and then vote on the proposals. Hermione, naturally, jumped in with a nomination every time; perfectly reasonable ideas, in all cases. After a round or two of voting, I noticed a pattern: she was having a hard time getting the votes from her classmates (all but a handful of whom, for the record, are female). I could see what they were thinking: We don't like this person. She talks too much. She's too opinionated. We think she's showing off, and showing us up. We don't want to vote for her stuff. Maybe there was a bit of we don't trust her lurking behind it all.

I wonder how it would have gone if Hermione were Herman. I wonder if they would simply have accepted her as a leader, the sort of person they could trust to have good ideas.

Feeling utterly heartsick and angry and frightened for so many reasons.

Tuesday, October 11, 2016

Because everyone has already done the Miller's Tale comparison, here's some Macbeth

Macduff: Dude, you should totally be king. You'd be way better at it than Macbeth is.

Malcolm: You don't want me to be king.

Macduff: Why not?

Malcolm: "Your wives, your daughters / Your matrons and your maids, could not fill up / The cistern of my lust, and my desire / All continent impediments would forbear / That did oppose my will." In other words, "you know I'm automatically attracted to beautiful ... I just start kissing them. It's like a magnet." [Enter Arianne, a serving-woman.] Got a Tic-Tac?

Macduff: You know, that's a bad thing to do, but it might not be so much of a problem when you're king.

Malcolm: Really.

Macduff: Yeah, being king is kind of awesome that way. You can do "whatever you want." You won't have to assault women any more, because they start assaulting YOU. Hey, Arianne, how about a hug for The Malcolm here?

[Arianne exits in haste.]

Malcolm: I'm also really greedy for money, and I cheat good people. The more I have, the more I want. Don't you think that's a bad quality in a king?

Macduff: That's pretty bad, too, but ... we live in the real world, here. Kings are often corrupt. Being king gives you lots of opportunities to enrich yourself. As long as you don't go overboard with it, it's something the country can live with, as long as you've got other good qualities.

Malcolm: But I don't have any. I totally lack "the king-becoming graces / As justice, verity, temperance, stableness, / Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness, / Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude ... Nay, had I power, I should / Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell, / Uproar the universal peace, confound / All unity on earth."

Macduff: Oh. Well ... THAT shit actually matters.

Malcolm: So you'd say I'm not fit to govern, then?

Macduff: If that's really true, then HELL NO.

Malcolm: All right, NOW I believe you've got integrity. I'm going to tell you the truth: I was testing you the whole time, I'm not really a bad person at all, and I'm willing to go back to Scotland and be king.

Macduff: Whew!

Malcolm: I wonder what would have happened if we'd played this whole scene backward, and I'd led off with all the OTHER bad qualities first, before we got to Arianne.

Macduff: Don't be silly, anybody would have realized right away that someone with those qualities wasn't fit to be king. Why would we even need to get to Arianne?