Feminism, commercialism, authorial sensibility

 This Sunday's New York Times Magazine cover article confirms my worst ideas about blogging.  It also proves once again that the paper has a weakness for both unsubstantial "lifestyle" articles (like most of the ones about student life at at the Ivies) and interesting "lifestyle" topics that are written by the wrong person.

But this isn't the main topic of this post.  I saw "Prince Caspian" yesterday, which is in keeping with my fascination for literary adaptations.  There was much to be mourned, a little to be celebrated, and a trope that left me bemused and uncertain.  

In keeping with the movie franchise's aggressive commercialism, the film greatly expanded on battle scenes Lewis mentions briefly or in passing.  I was sad that many of the novel's delightful details were omitted-- like when the kids and Trumpkin have to slaughter a bear and keep "squashy" packets of bear meat with them--and the whole Susan-Caspian near romance was terrible and terribly acted.   I've always found the novels' lack of teen-romance undertones positively refreshing.  On the other hand, I thought the movie's exploration of certain psychological issues (it sucks to be a kid in London after being a king) a nice expansion of issues Lewis touches on or flat out ignores.

What struck me most about the movie, though, was the role of Susan as teen-warrior extrordinare.   Lewis resolutely keeps the girls in his novels far away from actual battle.  Susan is a good archer, but as far as I can remember, she never shoots to kill.  In fact, in the first novel Santa Claus (of all people) tells the children explicitly that women shouldn't fight in wars.  Lewis's female protagonists are resourceful in other ways, but the author's sensibility is resolutely old-fashioned: all of his children-heroes ultimately cleave to strict gender divisions. 

The feminist in me like the idea of an arrow-brandishing, man-bashing character.  But the New Historicist scholar in me feels like it's a ridiculous corruption of the author's entire novelistic vision.  Can you really appreciate Lewis unless you also understand his whole postwar, nostalgic, Christian philosophy?  For me, his portrayal of girl heroines is part and parcel of that: courageous Girl Guide types who nevertheless know their place.  As much as I chafed against Lewis' proscriptions while reading the books as a child, the myth(os) crumbles without them.  Why must we try to modernize the antiquated in order to make it acceptable?

My ever-practical husband observes that the point of the movies isn't to explore Lewis' philosophy but to sell cereal boxes to impressionable 10 year olds.  He's right, of course, but that just depresses me further.  

Marginally Central

Being a professor in the humanities means resigning oneself to a ridiculously low pay (in most cases), an often-stifling sense of job confinement, Third-World-esque funded departments, and a baffling amount of attention from conservative circles.  We are simultaneously made to feel marginal and useless and like mind-controlling leftists who exercise undue influence over the impressionable young.

This contrary (despite their fondness for labeling presidential candidates as such, conservatives are the champions of the mixed-message) perspective has asserted itself in an interesting way at the University of Colorado, where the outgoing president "Bud" Peterson is raising a fund to endow a chair of Conservative Thought and Policy.*  As is usual at CU Boulder (see the recent and ridiculous hiring of the new and very conservative president, Bruce Benson), faculty have no say in this appointment, which will supposedly serve to correct the campus' left-leaning.  The appointment seems like a double slam at the campus' Politics department and the professionalism of the faculty at large, who will now be policed from within.

 

Peterson and his ilk's vesting of faculty with such authority (and potential for mendacity) seems rooted in an almost wholly mythical, outdated, "Dead Poet's Society"-ish idea of the English/History/ Philosophy professor's personal influence over a young and pliable student body.    Contrarily, my students are a fairly diverse group-- many are older, all are struggling to acquire enough credits to graduate, several have time-consuming jobs, and most of them evince an almost-dismaying skepticism for the radical ideals of Shelley, Byron, Godwin, and co.  I would be a tremendous educator indeed if I wielded the authority to mold 50-odd different minds as I wish.  

Instead of wasting 9 million dollars on a useless, factionalizing faculty chair, perhaps Peterson and his ilk can hire more English professors so that my students can actually graduate on time.  My department doesn't have enough faculty to teach the courses offered, and there are hordes of hungry and talented English Ph.D.'s on the job markets every year looking in vain for a minimally-paying job that will allow them to live (barely), teach, and plot the coming revolution.

*This Wall Street Journal link will only be available for a few days.

Update (5/23/08): listen to Bud Peterson's interview on NPR here.  The complete lack of logic is terrifying: Peterson claims that a politically liberal academic with expertise in conservative thought could hold the position, yet he argues that the position is necessary to counter the inherent political biases in humanities departments even though he also insists that CU faculty are even-handed in their handling of political matters.  So the faculty are being judged not for their pedagogy, but on their presumed political leanings.  And if the need for parity is so great, why not fund a chair for liberal thought?  What's the purpose of the political science department, given the scenarios Peterson paints?  This sort of inane double-think is terrifying.

 

Ummm...I'm posting again?

I don't know.  My ambiguity about blogging and sheer laziness are mighty obstacles to overcome.

But...I've had an interesting year teaching, my first full year without a break for research, life, ice cream, whatever.  My brilliant conclusion is that it's much harder to teach two semesters back to back than one per academic year.

There are consolations, though.  Returning students are a big one.  I had six or seven students take a class from me both semesters.  Not only was a huge boost to my confidence (and meant fewer names to memorize), it was great to watch them develop over a whole year.  On the other hand, it made the usual semester letdown feel even worse. After spending so much time listening to and evaluating these people, having them vanish abruptly stinks (save the few obnoxious students I's happily drop-kick out the door if I could).  

The year has left me thinking a lot about pedagogy, something academics aren't really encouraged to do.  I think more students sense that than we think.  Most of them haven't a clue about the multitude of pressures academics face, but I'm still not convinced that we can simply throw teaching to the bottom of our "to-do" lists, despite all the administrative, collegial pressure to do so.  

Meh.  Perhaps I should finish grading, then ponder.