Insomniac.

Grrr. For three nights running now. Am I taking too much thyroid hormone? Not bloody likely, given my post-Christmas bloating. Am I stressed? I've just completed the semester from hell, so I'd imagine I should be collapsing about now, sleeping 10 hours a night. Perhaps it's sympathy anxiety, on behalf of all y'all, for whatever ails you.

A clenched-teeth high-five of support for you job-marketers

As a member of my institution's hiring committee, I have been set for months to hit the MLA this year. But I received an email a couple of days ago indicating that my institution, like so many, has been ordered to cancel its searches and comply with a hiring freeze. So I ain't going. I've canceled my flight and my hotel and my dining reservations, and will not be packing a bag today.

I'm not a big fan of the MLA, I confess, in part because of the inconvenience of its scheduling--which I resent more and more as my kids get older and have more limited free time (but that problem will be remedied in 2 years, thank goodness!)--and in part because the MLA atmosphere is generally high-strung, even if one isn't there to interview for a job. The charge in every hotel lobby is high and fretful, and every face has is pinched and tired, if you can be both at once. So I'm not sorry I'm not going, though I'll very much miss my peeps. It being my old stomping grounds, I was looking forward to re-un-ing with a number of beloved mentors and restaurants (at the same time, in some cases). But there's more than a foot of fresh powder out my door, and several feet more than that above 9K, so I'm not going to mourn my lack of travel.

Still, I feel TERRIBLE for the job-marketers this year. It's so grim, and I know that so many jobs are evaporating before applicants' eyes. (I myself applied for one job nearer to home than the job I currently have, just to see whether I'd have options, and it was canceled a month ago.) Such a scary situation, and demoralizing.

To all who are on the market: please know that the people who would have loved to interview you, who would have loved to hear about your scholarship and who were interested in listening to you talk about your intellectual life and pedagogical excitements for an hour, know that we are upset on your behalf, and hope that you don't take our institutional crises as a lack of affirmation for what you do. Hang in there.

Merry, merry, merry....

Christmas to all. This year, I'm mostly just feeling grateful. What a fantastic world of miracles and endless opportunities to learn this is. Rock on, everyone.

Cue the hallelujah chorus!

I have just finished grading the very last paper from my fall classes, and I can honestly say I’ve never been so happy in my life to see the end of a semester. I’m having a hard time understanding why. I was stressed, of course—but that’s no departure from the norm. Teaching takes up a tremendous amount of time and energy for me, and though I’ve tried to come up with shortcuts to make it less of a time-sucker, I end up feeling unsatisfied myself, and revert to my old ways before too long. As far as I can figure it, there were three problems.

One is just pathetic and revealing of my laziness: I had a class that began at 930 in the morning. Yes, I understand that many people are at work well before 930 am. But in my (meager) defense, I live an hour from school—longer if I take the bus—and have to get up before 7 to make it to campus by that 930 class. The early hour was compounded by my night-owlness, certainly, but also by the unfortunate scheduling of one of my classes for a long block one night each week. So I would get to school exhausted and be there long, long after sundown, and drive an hour home in literal and figurative gloom.

The second problem is that the night course in question was Shakespeare. I like Shakespeare, and I like rereading plays every time I teach the course. But I’m not a Shakespearean. I’m not even a drama person. And I can’t actually spend 15 weeks on the sonnets. I have a few insights about Shakespeare, and can offer some intriguing readings of this play or that, and I think my discussions interest the students, but it’s not really where I live, intellectually. It’s not like teaching Milton, which I could do every semester until doomsday. It doesn’t help that at my institution Shakespeare is (or has been—this may be changing) a required course for English majors, so the students tend to be grudging in higher numbers than I normally see in my classes. So I end up being ON much more ferociously to keep their interest, and it seems more of a performance on my part because, as I said, Shakespeare isn’t my primary honey. It takes a lot out of me. And in a three-hour post-sunset block, it proved to be a little too much.

The third problem is that the course that was SUPPOSED to be my oasis, that has been my oasis when I’ve taught it in the past, flopped. By “oasis” I mean stimulating, exciting, intellectually rigorous—the kind of class where I could be eagerly learning something new every day. But the particular combo of students in that class just wasn’t conducive to that effect: they were shy, retiring, quiet, resistant to my every effort to charge them up, even my overt addressing of the situation. And it drained me. It ended up being another serious performance on my part, but (in contrast with the Shakespeare class) this time to unresponsive students. I don’t know if they got anything out of it at all, and that’s a shame, because it’s a class that tackles very cool issues close to my heart.

In any case, I now need to turn my attention to Spenser, since I’m teaching all of the FQ next term to a grad class. I’m curious: this could either fall totally flat or turn out to be the most fun and quirky class of the year. I’ll keep you posted.

Great solution? Or just laziness? Not sure I care....

For years, I found myself enraged as the weeks following the end of a term spooled out. Why were the students not coming to pick up their papers from me? After all, I had spent so much effort making good comments on each one, spending an hour, sometimes more, to read thoughtfully and carefully and critically, and to write comments that would provide good direction for future writing. But every term, in every class, a large portion--a horrifyingly, frustratingly large portion--of the students didn't ever come to pick up these monuments of my investment in their continuing education. I routinely watched my goodwill evaporate, to be replaced with resentment.

But no more!

Starting last spring, I began to make an announcement in class the final day, as they were rummaging through their backpacks to produce and turn in their papers. "Listen," I now say, "If you know yourself, and know that you in all honesty, being totally realistic, aren't going to come pick this up when next term gets under way, please write me a little note at the top of your paper indicating that you're not going to pick it up, so that I don't waste all that time and energy writing comments you're never going to read."

And they do. Between a quarter and a third of them admit that they're probably not going to come near my office again. Which saves me the work, and keeps me happy about the kind of feedback I give to the ones who DO come pick up the papers.

I read JW's recent post on the troubling morality of his recent experiment on a final exam. And though I confess that I feel a twinge of conscience about actively trying to get out of student-oriented work, it's ameliorated by my knowledge that those little poops would've stuck me with it if I hadn't asked them to tell me in advance.

The Walk: iPod protocol

LisaB. did this sucker over at Facebook, and somehow implicated me (I'm unclear as to how all that works. I may not actually belong in the 21st century.) But I'm putting off cleaning my house, which task is so overwhelming and monumental that I may hire in someone out of desperation. Or ask my mommy to help me.

1.Put your iPod/iTunes on shuffle to get the first answer.
2. For each subsequent question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT SOUNDS!
4. Tag 10 friends who might enjoy doing the game as well as the person you got the note from.

IF SOMEONE ASKS YOU FOR SPARE CHANGE, WHAT DO YOU SAY?
Now I Can't Find the Door (Sam Phillips)
WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERFECT DATE?
Stable Song (Death Cab for Cutie)
WHAT DO YOU LOOK FOR IN A JOB?
Turn Your Face to the Sound (David Garza)
WHAT IS YOUR LATEST DILEMMA?
Shoe Box (Barenaked Ladies)
WHY DON'T YOU HAVE MORE MONEY?
Don't Answer the Door (B.B. King)
WHAT IS YOUR SECRET NICKNAME?
Bring It On Home (Chris Whitley and the Bastard Club)
WHERE DO YOU GO AT NIGHT?
Angels' Candles (Maire Breathnach)
WHAT IS YOUR EMERGENCY PLAN?
Danny Says (The Ramones)
WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR YOUR FRIENDS?
My Life in the Suicide Ranks (Tears for Fears)
WHAT DO YOU DO FIRST THING IN THE MORNING?
Baby Britain (Elliot Smith)
WHAT IS YOUR RINGTONE?
Music (Madonna)
WHERE DO YOU WANT TO BE IN FIVE YEARS?
A Free Man in Paris (Joni Mitchell)
WHAT IS YOUR POLITICAL AFFILIATION?
Serenade in Blue (Glenn Miller)
WHAT CAN YOU DO FOR YOUR COUNTRY?
Just a Test (Beastie Boys)
WHAT CAN YOUR COUNTRY DO FOR YOU?
Discotheque (U2)
WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT?
Wide Eyes and Full (Matt Nathanson)
WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM, PAL?
What will you do when your suntan fades? (Beulah)
WHAT IS ON YOUR CHRISTMAS WISH LIST?
Kid A (Radiohead)
WHAT'S THE BEST SONG TO MAKE LOVE TO?
Who's Your Baby Now? (Mark Knopfler)
WHAT WOULD YOU DO FOR A KLONDIKE BAR?
Please Return It (The Posies)
WHY DO FOOLS FALL IN LOVE ?
Take A Ride (Luscious Jackson)
WHAT MAKES YOUR BLOOD BOIL?
Golden Age of Radio (Josh Ritter)
WHAT MAKES YOUR LOINS ACHE?
Fire (U2)
WHAT'S THE SECRET OF YOUR SUCCESS?
No One Said It Would Be Easy (Sheryl Crow)
WHOM DO YOU ADMIRE MOST?
Love Henry (Bob Dylan)
WHO IS YOUR MORTAL ENEMY?
Mayfair (Nick Drake)
WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH YOUR LIFE?
I Hear the Bells (Mike Doughty)
WHAT HAVE WE LEARNED?
Has Anybody Here Seen Hank? (The Waterboys)
WHAT WILL YOU POST THIS AS?
The Walk (The Cure)



Okay, people. Mostly because I'm intrigued by what folks listen to, I'm going to tag some people. In fact, I want to tag you. Yes you, and you know who you are. You can choose not to accept, and I won't be hurt. But I'm really curious and I need the distraction.

You know you want to see the Grand Canyon in the spring....

Rocky Mountain Medieval and Renaissance Association

CALL FOR PAPERS: Extended deadline --Abstracts due January 31st 2008.

Join us in Beautiful Flagstaff Arizona -- in April. Conference dates:
April 2-4, 2009


“Natural and Constructed Spaces in the Middle Ages and Renaissance”

Once your abstracts are accepted, and if you are interested in participating in the proposed creation of a volume of proceedings, your completed conference paper submissions would be appreciated by March 31st 2009.

The RMMRA seeks to provide an interdisciplinary forum for the discussion of all aspects of European medieval and Renaissance studies. We welcome abstracts addressing, among other topics, the literary, historical, scientific, religious and cultural representations of space in the Middle Ages and Renaissance. However, as in previous years, abstracts, papers, and sessions on all aspects of the study of the European Middle Ages and Renaissance are also welcome. The 2009 Conference of the RMMRA will be hosted by Anne Scott and Cynthia Kosso on the campus of Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff, Arizona, nestled within the stunning scenery of Northern Arizona near the south rim of the Grand Canyon. For more information check the website http://www.cal.nau.edu/english/ or please email Anne.scott@nau.edu or Cynthia.kosso@nau.edu.

Please send abstracts of 250 words to Dr. Anne Scott, Department of English, PO Box 6032, Northern Arizona University, Flagstaff, AZ 86011-6032. Submissions via email attachments (using Microsoft Word) are also welcome. Please do not forget to include your contact information.

You could live in a soapbox this big. (Wait,...I do!)

I got into a discussion about Danielson’s “translation” of Paradise Lost with a colleague the other day, who remarked that s/he was in favor of it, in principle, and sympathetic to the enterprise of popularizing or making accessible a text perceived by so many to be formidable or intimidating. S/he expressed surprise that I would be against such an accommodated text.

Let me expand, then—just a little—on my comments from the last post on this subject. Though the poem is written in English, I do understand that its English takes a style that seems daunting. The sentences of the poem are complex, their syntax smacking more of ancient languages than any familiar or conversational idiom. They take work. Sometimes, as I tell my students, they take reading aloud: indeed, Paradise Lost often reveals its most compelling dramas when it is read aloud. (And three cheers to that good man Rich DuRocher at St. Olaf College, who knows it. Wish I were there to participate!)

But I’d suggest that the complexity of Milton’s sentences is PART OF THE POINT OF THE POEM. The poem’s drama revolves around, among other things, acts of interpretation. Satan may make for an intriguing spectacle as a talking snake, but it is only after he is figured as a rhetor that he is able to accomplish Eve’s seduction. And it happens that the serpent reports to Eve more or less what Raphael has already suggested to the edenic pair over lunch: that by means of eating they may sublimate into divinity. Eve’s problem isn’t that she’s vain, it’s that she’s an inexperienced reader. Adam, for his part, repeatedly engages in acts of profound misreading, as when he dries Eve’s tears following her dream “as the gracious signs of sweet remorse/ And pious awe,” though nothing in her breathless and thrilled narration of the dream suggests that she’s feeling sorry to have had it. Paradise Lost aims at every turn to activate our sense of the burden of interpretation, conceived in this text as an ethical burden—an argument close to Milton’s heart. Recall his argument in the Areopagitica, that heart-stopping tract against censorship:

The worthy man (St. Paul), loath to give offence, fell into a new debate with himself what was to be thought; when suddenly a vision sent from God (it is his own epistle that so avers it) confirmed him in these words: Read any books whatever come to thy hands, for thou art sufficient both to judge aright and to examine each matter. To this revelation he assented the sooner, as he confesses, because it was answerable to that of the Apostle to the Thessalonians, Prove all things, hold fast that which is good.

For Milton, interpretation is an ennobling activity, bound up with the fundamental human task of choosing, of discernment. To put it reductively, reading—especially challenging reading—builds character, in Milton’s view. Reading carefully and attentively, and against the easy interpretation, and choosing according to what you’ve read, is really one of the central concerns of Paradise Lost. To smooth over the difficulty of Milton’s sentences is to evacuate the text of its careful correspondence between style and content.

And, speaking of choosing, Milton’s weird epic similes, which are unnecessarily cluttered and complex and surely ripe for simplification in “translation,” also tend to present the reader with moments of interpretive crisis. Think of the passage at the beginning of Book 4, which describes Satan leaping over the wall into Eden for the first time. The text tells us that Satan enters the garden like a wolf into a sheepcote OR like a thief into a rich burgher’s hoard. The first simile diminishes the malice of Satan, since wolves raven for hunger, but the second one problematizes the character of God, who becomes this miserly gold-stasher to whom Satan plays Robin Hood. The choice before us in this set of similes presents two unsettling and contradictory options---but again, reading and reasoning and their interconnectedness is part of the point of the poem. {Sidenote: A couple of years ago I heard Peter C. Herman give a paper at GEMCS on the function of “or” in PL; he’s recently published an article whose title is something like “The Miltonic ‘Or,’” which I assume arose from that talk. Check it out if you’re interested. He’s smart and funny.)

Moreover, to update Milton’s language threatens to lose the interpretive choices that the poem constantly puts before the reader in its diction. When Milton uses “savor,” for example, to describe the fruit, he means not only to evoke its gustatory allurement but also to activate that word’s etymological connection to “sapience,” or wisdom. Of course, it’s Satan’s argument that both qualities are simultaneous in the fruit. But you’d lose that sly bit of linguistic seduction if you read, in “translation,” that the fruit looked tasty, or even sensual or alluring or some other description lifted from food-porn magazines.

Finally, Milton’s blank verse, which positions itself against rhymed verse, repudiates the formal conclusiveness, the judgments, of rhymed verse, but maintains the tension between the headlong progress of the syntax and the arrestive properties of the line. To put it simply, the poem wants to fall down the page, but the form keeps it suspended in that progress. The form enacts a version of the drama we see performed in the poem: a tendency to fall in tension with the resistance to falling offered by adherence to rules. Obedience.

Paradise Lost is a poem, and that means that its argument IS, at the end of the day, its style. If you wanted to read Paradise Lost for its plot, you wouldn’t need to go any further than its title. But its priorities aren’t argumentatively hypotactic, they’re paratactic, completely bound up in the act/performance of saying. Which is to say, the substance IS the style.

And you can’t get that shit from a modern American prose version.

But I'm LOVING the frequent flier miles....

Off I go again, to the frozen north, to talk until people faint about Richard Crashaw (and considering that it's Crashaw, and my own topics of interest, the fainting could come early on in the program) and then to do the poetry reading thing. I've never been to the frozen north, and I hear there is good food to be had there, so I'm looking forward to it. And to the frozenness, since my winter so far has been disappointingly tepid. I want to KNOW it's December, baby. I'm excited to explore the area, and to see a dear former student who is now in grad school there, but I feel a little traveled out. And my kids need me right now, especially Thing 1, who (unlike his zen dude of a little brother) was always complex but is now beginning to deal with the complexities of life more deeply and seems to crave the security of mom more fervently. My bright side in all these travels: I intend to take Thing 1 to RSA in Italy next year. I just have to get off my ass and write a paper or panel proposal. Actually, I have to get off my ass and THINK of something that someone might write a paper on. My well is a little dry. Are there brain miles out there somewhere I should be redeeming?

Are you freaking kidding me?

Somebody felt the need to "translate" Paradise Lost into modernized ENGLISH prose, apparently. Because ordinary speakers of English just aren't smart enough to read it in lines, or to parse those Latinate sentences. Contrary to what I teach my students every term. Shame on you, Dennis Danielson; you should know better. And shame on any teacher who assigns this condescension.