I'm getting excited about the range of ideas the class is working on for the research essay. There is very little overlap in the various fandoms being explored, so I'll learn something new with each essay! I suspect that I might even be convinced to venture into some of the primary materials I've neglected so far. (I will admit to checking the kindle prices on George R.R. Martin's books and adding Glee to my Netflix queue.)
Our discussions, as everyone gives their presentations, are generating so many lines of inquiry and potential arguments. I feel like everyone really has embraced the challenge of exploring as they are getting their research underway.
The hard part--pulling all of the research together and creating a coherent argument is just ahead. I though this would be a good time to talk about some of the strategies for doing this.
One of the most common pitfalls in doing a research essay is failing to make an argument; the research overwhelms and by the time you've sorted through it all it can be hard to see what you can contribute. A working thesis helps--and sometimes a working thesis can have only the smallest gesture toward evaluation--this seems strange, this is good, this is a problem. But some kind of evaluation is necessary to move toward developing that more complex, arguable thesis.
The first stage of drafting is also a good place to think about MOTIVE. Why is this issue important? What larger problems does it touch upon?
Finally, given this particular topic of fandom, it seems important to keep thinking about why some authors, shows, books, books series, or even entire cultures, hold such lasting appeal. Can you capture and explain that in some way? Can you open this world up to your readers and make them want to enter it?
Thursday, November 7, 2013
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
The Thrill of the Chase
It is time to start the research essay. I fear that students may approach this unit with dread. It is a long essay and, here at the beginning, it looks like a long road. But I envy students just getting started on research. It's a world full of possibilities and interesting new ideas and arguments. I'm always most excited by the the research phase--it is only second in excitement and satisfaction to finally being finished!
Research is exciting because every avenue is open. You should approach your research with an open mind--the interesting possibilities will be missed if you simply go into your research hoping to find support for a pre-existing idea or argument. In fact, this approach--using research to back up an argument--is exactly the opposite of academic inquiry. In academic inquiry, in general--and academic essays, in particular--arguments and theories should develop from a close examination of the evidence. If you don't approach your research with an open mind, willing to see ALL of the different existing perspectives on a topic, you'll be shortchanging yourself, and--more importantly--misleading your reader. While misleading your reader may not seem like as big an issue as actual plagiarism, the end result is similar. Plagiarism makes it seem that someone else's ideas are yours. Ignoring important lines of thought in your sources makes it seem someone else's (or many people's) ideas don't exist. In both cases, the end result is a distorted picture of the actually existing evidence. As a writer, your job is to try to provide the clearest picture you can of your topic.
This doesn't mean, of course, that you have to agree with every source your use. In fact, some of the best arguments--and thus the best productions of new knowledge--come from strong disagreements. But such a disagreement MUST start from a strong understanding of the source as well. To dismiss a source, or a line of argument several sources take up, is to indicate a failure of understanding on the writer's part.
But I've gotten ahead of myself and into the more difficult territory of evaluating arguments and figuring out your own position amongst them. Here, at the beginning, dig in and try to enjoy the ride for a while.
Research is exciting because every avenue is open. You should approach your research with an open mind--the interesting possibilities will be missed if you simply go into your research hoping to find support for a pre-existing idea or argument. In fact, this approach--using research to back up an argument--is exactly the opposite of academic inquiry. In academic inquiry, in general--and academic essays, in particular--arguments and theories should develop from a close examination of the evidence. If you don't approach your research with an open mind, willing to see ALL of the different existing perspectives on a topic, you'll be shortchanging yourself, and--more importantly--misleading your reader. While misleading your reader may not seem like as big an issue as actual plagiarism, the end result is similar. Plagiarism makes it seem that someone else's ideas are yours. Ignoring important lines of thought in your sources makes it seem someone else's (or many people's) ideas don't exist. In both cases, the end result is a distorted picture of the actually existing evidence. As a writer, your job is to try to provide the clearest picture you can of your topic.
This doesn't mean, of course, that you have to agree with every source your use. In fact, some of the best arguments--and thus the best productions of new knowledge--come from strong disagreements. But such a disagreement MUST start from a strong understanding of the source as well. To dismiss a source, or a line of argument several sources take up, is to indicate a failure of understanding on the writer's part.
But I've gotten ahead of myself and into the more difficult territory of evaluating arguments and figuring out your own position amongst them. Here, at the beginning, dig in and try to enjoy the ride for a while.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Defective Understandings
I recently came across this bit of wisdom from I.A. Richards: "We are with difficulty persuaded that we have much to learn about language, or that our understanding of it is defective. And this illusion re-forms whenever is is shattered, though any efficient educational procedure ought to have no trouble shattering as often as is needed. The first condition for improvement in the adult's use of language must be to disturb this ludicrous piece of self-deception" (335, Practical Criticism, 1929).
Richards, although discussing poetry, hits on a key problem that teachers of writing confront. Our students usually have been speaking, or at least hearing, English their entire lives. Having learned the basics of reading and writing at 4 or 5, they come to college with experience reading and writing at a sophisticated level--what is there left to learn? No one likes to be told that his or her understanding is is defective--hence the seemingly protective reformation of the illusion. I wonder how often that illusion re-forms over the course of a semester of first-year composition? Is the underlying rationale behind grading and commenting to continue to shatter students' illusions and to break through the self-deception of believing that it is easy to understand texts?
Perhaps, but I am also thinking about the advice given to readers in some eighteenth-century essays and conduct books. We've been reading commentators like John Gregory and Hester Mulso Chapone who were worried about what their audiences--assumed to be young women--were reading and how their reading might affect their characters. The fears they express about novels and sentimental fiction suggest a defective understanding not so far from Richard's. We also read Samuel Johnson's famous Rambler #4, known as "The New Realistic Novel." Johnson certainly believes that reader's understandings are defective! He doesn't even trust them to understand mixed characters.
These eighteenth-century writers have specific concerns--that young readers will be misled by fiction and fall into corrupt or vicious habits. Richards, writing at a time when literature, including novels, was more acknowledge to be edifying than corrupting, wanted educated people to be better interpreters of language, although we can easily see the anachronism of his assumption that many people are interested in discussing literature, much less poetry, at all. My purpose in pointing out certain defective understandings is usually situated in the context of academic inquiry. Students in college must be able to rigorously examine and explain the sources they use as evidence to develop their arguments. But it seems interesting--and maybe not entirely productive?--that the first step in all of these processes must be so aggressive--shattering illusions and pointing out ludicrous self-deceptions.
Richards, although discussing poetry, hits on a key problem that teachers of writing confront. Our students usually have been speaking, or at least hearing, English their entire lives. Having learned the basics of reading and writing at 4 or 5, they come to college with experience reading and writing at a sophisticated level--what is there left to learn? No one likes to be told that his or her understanding is is defective--hence the seemingly protective reformation of the illusion. I wonder how often that illusion re-forms over the course of a semester of first-year composition? Is the underlying rationale behind grading and commenting to continue to shatter students' illusions and to break through the self-deception of believing that it is easy to understand texts?
Perhaps, but I am also thinking about the advice given to readers in some eighteenth-century essays and conduct books. We've been reading commentators like John Gregory and Hester Mulso Chapone who were worried about what their audiences--assumed to be young women--were reading and how their reading might affect their characters. The fears they express about novels and sentimental fiction suggest a defective understanding not so far from Richard's. We also read Samuel Johnson's famous Rambler #4, known as "The New Realistic Novel." Johnson certainly believes that reader's understandings are defective! He doesn't even trust them to understand mixed characters.
These eighteenth-century writers have specific concerns--that young readers will be misled by fiction and fall into corrupt or vicious habits. Richards, writing at a time when literature, including novels, was more acknowledge to be edifying than corrupting, wanted educated people to be better interpreters of language, although we can easily see the anachronism of his assumption that many people are interested in discussing literature, much less poetry, at all. My purpose in pointing out certain defective understandings is usually situated in the context of academic inquiry. Students in college must be able to rigorously examine and explain the sources they use as evidence to develop their arguments. But it seems interesting--and maybe not entirely productive?--that the first step in all of these processes must be so aggressive--shattering illusions and pointing out ludicrous self-deceptions.
Monday, September 30, 2013
Novels and Education
When I heard that my proposed course on Jane Austen had been accepted for Expository Writing, I was thrilled. Austen is fun and the way her works remain popular presents fascinating questions for exploring contemporary culture and for thinking historically. And, of course, I love reading and teaching novels!
Novels play a significant role for students majoring or minoring in English literature. But the Expository Writing program is a general requirement; everyone takes it, or its equivalent. And classes need to to be not only interesting but widely valuable for a college student. Is it valuable to read novels? Does reading novels help you become a better writer? How useful is reading a novel going to be for, say a business major? Or a chemical engineer?
I struggle some with these questions every semester. But I remain convinced that these questions can all be answered with a firm YES. Interestingly, they are similar to the questions Austen herself asks in Northanger Abbey. In that novel Austen seems to suggest that the novel might play a role in the education of young people. When Catherine expresses astonishment at Isabella's deceptive character, Henry jests about her not having much experience: "Among all the great variety [of characters] that you have known and studied," he observes ironically (142). Perhaps, novels might teach their readers something about the "great variety" of characters in the world--and about those to avoid.
That probably sounds too simplistic--even if one considers how quiet and isolated life was before easy transportation and mass media. Catherine is innocent, but are we really meant to perceive her understanding as entirely limited when it comes to the obvious deceptions Isabella weaves through everyday conversation? Maybe.
But the "lessons" for the novel reader don't bear a one-to-one relationship to the lessons the characters within the novel learn. Particularly when those lesson apply, as in Austen's case, to social norms and modes of life long past. But maybe learning about that past is, in itself, important? Novels do not provide the facts of history; but, as Austen herself point out in Northanger Abbey, sometimes history needs the approach of the novel to keep it interesting. Eleanor finds the "embellishments" of historians to pleasurable and they seem to contribute to her understanding of the events (74). Reading the novels of the past can work to help us understand the ideas and the problems of the past on an individual level rather than from the perspective of the grand sweep of political and military history.
That deeper understanding of history may not be precisely pertinent to writing a business plan, or working out a chemical formula, but it does help make the reader a more generally educated person. I would argue further--although I don't have time right here--that reading novels gives one a larger vocabulary of words and ideas for understanding the world. And, while very few of those taking writing in college go on to be novelists, reading novels provides a deeper understanding of how language works and that produces better writing in all endeavors.
Novels play a significant role for students majoring or minoring in English literature. But the Expository Writing program is a general requirement; everyone takes it, or its equivalent. And classes need to to be not only interesting but widely valuable for a college student. Is it valuable to read novels? Does reading novels help you become a better writer? How useful is reading a novel going to be for, say a business major? Or a chemical engineer?
I struggle some with these questions every semester. But I remain convinced that these questions can all be answered with a firm YES. Interestingly, they are similar to the questions Austen herself asks in Northanger Abbey. In that novel Austen seems to suggest that the novel might play a role in the education of young people. When Catherine expresses astonishment at Isabella's deceptive character, Henry jests about her not having much experience: "Among all the great variety [of characters] that you have known and studied," he observes ironically (142). Perhaps, novels might teach their readers something about the "great variety" of characters in the world--and about those to avoid.
That probably sounds too simplistic--even if one considers how quiet and isolated life was before easy transportation and mass media. Catherine is innocent, but are we really meant to perceive her understanding as entirely limited when it comes to the obvious deceptions Isabella weaves through everyday conversation? Maybe.
But the "lessons" for the novel reader don't bear a one-to-one relationship to the lessons the characters within the novel learn. Particularly when those lesson apply, as in Austen's case, to social norms and modes of life long past. But maybe learning about that past is, in itself, important? Novels do not provide the facts of history; but, as Austen herself point out in Northanger Abbey, sometimes history needs the approach of the novel to keep it interesting. Eleanor finds the "embellishments" of historians to pleasurable and they seem to contribute to her understanding of the events (74). Reading the novels of the past can work to help us understand the ideas and the problems of the past on an individual level rather than from the perspective of the grand sweep of political and military history.
That deeper understanding of history may not be precisely pertinent to writing a business plan, or working out a chemical formula, but it does help make the reader a more generally educated person. I would argue further--although I don't have time right here--that reading novels gives one a larger vocabulary of words and ideas for understanding the world. And, while very few of those taking writing in college go on to be novelists, reading novels provides a deeper understanding of how language works and that produces better writing in all endeavors.
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Fog and Castles
Northanger Abbey is often off-handedly called "Austen's satire on the gothic." That makes it sound so simple!
The more I read this novel, the more I find so many additional target of satire from the relatively small detail of "being denied" when calling upon someone to the larger issues of coercion among people who claim to have affection for one another.
Making fun of gothic conventions and gothic definitions of heroes and heroines is the obvious part of this novel. It is also the funny part--we laugh when Catherine finds a long lost manuscript that turns out to be a laundry list. But I don't find myself laughing when John and Isabella Thorpe physically hold her to prevent her from undoing John's rude canceling of her plans with the Tilney's. Surely this is plain cruelty.
Northanger Abbey, I think, challenges readers to figure out the distinctions between real and imaginary dangers.
The more I read this novel, the more I find so many additional target of satire from the relatively small detail of "being denied" when calling upon someone to the larger issues of coercion among people who claim to have affection for one another.
Making fun of gothic conventions and gothic definitions of heroes and heroines is the obvious part of this novel. It is also the funny part--we laugh when Catherine finds a long lost manuscript that turns out to be a laundry list. But I don't find myself laughing when John and Isabella Thorpe physically hold her to prevent her from undoing John's rude canceling of her plans with the Tilney's. Surely this is plain cruelty.
Northanger Abbey, I think, challenges readers to figure out the distinctions between real and imaginary dangers.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Permission
Around the time the first draft of the first essay is due I start hearing questions that all start the same way: Can I . . . . ? The student then, almost inevitably, voices a "rule" about writing that he or she is worried about breaking: Can I use I? Can I use "you"? Can I use "we"? Can I use contractions? Can I use the word "because"?
The answers are: Yes, No, Yes, Yes YES!
Actually, the answers are all YES. I only make a tiny exception for "you" because it is difficult to use well and even more difficult to use it and maintain a sufficiently formal academic style.
I really hate these kinds of rules. Yes, of course, you (breaking the "you" rule here) have to abide by the basic grammatical conventions of standard English. But otherwise, there's an awful lot of ambiguity and flexibility in how we use language. Why put up obstacles to expressing meaningful ideas with all of these little rules?
More disturbingly, students frequently ask some variation of this: "Can I actually tell my reader what I'm trying to argue?" I know that some writing instructors come up with lists of rules and "Don't use the first person" or "Don't use contractions" might be on that list. But, "Don't tell your reader what you are up to"?!
Somehow, somewhere along the line, students get the sense that writing is about a set of tricks and isn't about trying to convey meaning to a reader. One the most literal level, I think students have been told to avoid "metacommentary"--saying what the essay is doing or arguing ( I will argue that . . . This essay will then look at . . . .). I fail to understand this rule given that most PUBLISHED academic essays use metacommentary extensively. If your ideas are complicated, giving your reader these concrete handhold really helps.
I also worry that this belief that writers have to disguise their ideas under fancy terms or convoluted sentence structures and follow a bunch of arbitrary rules means that beginning writers are afraid to fully engage in the messy work of drafting BEFORE editing. All of these rules can makes a writer stop and second guess every sentence before she has even worked out the main substance.
Stopping to take a breath and write "Okay, what I'm trying to say here is . . . ." can lead to great revelations. If you been taught to avoid using the first person or to avoid using metacommentary, you've been deprived of this tool. You can always go back and take the main idea and edit out the thinking. But do the thinking first!
So, whatever it is, if it helps YOU say what YOU want to say--yes, you can do that.
The answers are: Yes, No, Yes, Yes YES!
Actually, the answers are all YES. I only make a tiny exception for "you" because it is difficult to use well and even more difficult to use it and maintain a sufficiently formal academic style.
I really hate these kinds of rules. Yes, of course, you (breaking the "you" rule here) have to abide by the basic grammatical conventions of standard English. But otherwise, there's an awful lot of ambiguity and flexibility in how we use language. Why put up obstacles to expressing meaningful ideas with all of these little rules?
More disturbingly, students frequently ask some variation of this: "Can I actually tell my reader what I'm trying to argue?" I know that some writing instructors come up with lists of rules and "Don't use the first person" or "Don't use contractions" might be on that list. But, "Don't tell your reader what you are up to"?!
Somehow, somewhere along the line, students get the sense that writing is about a set of tricks and isn't about trying to convey meaning to a reader. One the most literal level, I think students have been told to avoid "metacommentary"--saying what the essay is doing or arguing ( I will argue that . . . This essay will then look at . . . .). I fail to understand this rule given that most PUBLISHED academic essays use metacommentary extensively. If your ideas are complicated, giving your reader these concrete handhold really helps.
I also worry that this belief that writers have to disguise their ideas under fancy terms or convoluted sentence structures and follow a bunch of arbitrary rules means that beginning writers are afraid to fully engage in the messy work of drafting BEFORE editing. All of these rules can makes a writer stop and second guess every sentence before she has even worked out the main substance.
Stopping to take a breath and write "Okay, what I'm trying to say here is . . . ." can lead to great revelations. If you been taught to avoid using the first person or to avoid using metacommentary, you've been deprived of this tool. You can always go back and take the main idea and edit out the thinking. But do the thinking first!
So, whatever it is, if it helps YOU say what YOU want to say--yes, you can do that.
Monday, September 9, 2013
Bridget
Of the various adaptations and continuations of Pride and Prejudice we are reading in class this semester, I have to confess that I like Helen Fielding's Bridget Jones's Diary most. I don't think this is simply because I remember the 90s in way that many students, most of whom were tiny babies when the novel was written, can't--although there is a certain nostalgia in my attraction. What I really like about Bridget Jones's Diary is that it is a riff on Austen, but it stands entirely on its own. It works as a novel without slavishly following the plot of Pride and Prejudice; in fact, many readers have to be told that it was inspired by the earlier novel. This same sort of relationship exists between Emma and Clueless, and, I think, is partly why Clueless has found so many fans. It holds its own as a self-contained film and finding out that there are parallels to an Austen novel only adds depth.
And then there is Bridget herself. What a complicated character--are we meant to laugh at her? Once that voice gets into your head it is so hard not to fall in love with her.
And then there is Bridget herself. What a complicated character--are we meant to laugh at her? Once that voice gets into your head it is so hard not to fall in love with her.
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