Must. . .make. . .awful. . .pun!
On Bartholomae (who will henceforth be called Dave or David so I don’t have to type his last name over and over):
p. 39: "The student has to speak our language, to speak as we do, to try on the peculiar ways of knowing, selecting, evaluating, reporting, concluding, and arguing that define the discourse of our community." [Italics mine–MLM]
I know as a young scholar I’m entering into an establish discursive community, but. . .here’s my problem with Dave’s sentence. It’s sort of the same thought on two different prongs of attack:
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I don’t think that the student will have a very easy time learning and entering *our* discourse if we position in the insular and elitist way that, in my reading, Dave inadvertently does. And beside that: why would she want to if we’re looking down our collective noses at her?
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Do we have an obligation to meet her halfway? I invite my readers to check out Bartholomae_Inventing the University_ over at Jessica’s site. I was going to respond there but it’s come up here, so. . . .Don’t we have an obligation to meet the student half-way? I think Jessica is, perhaps, employing a little bit of irony when she suggests instructors "investigate the communities their students come from in order to accomodate them," but that’s what it comes down to, doesn’t it? I think that insisting on the students duty to make her own place in the discourse makes it all the harder for us.
p. 42: "When the writer says ‘I don’t know,’ then, he is not saying that he has nothing to say. He is saying that he is not in a position to carry on the discussion. And so we are addressed as apprentices rather than as teachers or scholars. In order to speak as a person of status or privilege, the writer can either speak to us in our terms–in the privileged language of university discourse–or, in default (or in defiance) of that, he can speak to us as though we were children, offering us the wisdom of experience."
I’ve quoted Dave at length here because I want to point out something. I want to point out that, to me, his reasoning here makes about as much sense as a duck buying an umbrella. I guess I see where he draws his conclusion from, looking at the student essays he offers us, but I don’t think this generality holds true. I can’t really adequately defend my resistance to this logic, but. . .it just doesn’t do it for me. . .to borrow a phrase from Spaceballs.
[How great is it to discuss pedagogy and quote a movie called Spaceballs in the same night?]
Here’s some more comments. I’m sure we’ve all read about free-writing as a way to start writing a paper. Supposedly, even if you don’t have any ideas, if you "don’t know what to say," free writing will get you to a point where you find something to me.
Horse puckey. It never works in my experience. All I end up with is a sheet full of weird doodles and suggestive phrases that would land me in a sexual harrassment suit if I turned them in. But thinking about free writing and the student with "nothing to say" got me thinking about two different ways to bridge that divide, one of which might make an actual honest-to-god assignment.
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[Not the assignment one.] I would suggest the following to a student who "didn’t know" or who had "nothing to say:" write about what it is you don’t know. I know that sounds confusing so let me explain. I’d ask him to try to figure out what it is he doesn’t know, and why he doesn’t know. Not actual facts, mind you, I’m not trying to breed a race of psychic super soldiers, but I’d ask this student to identify where the gaps of knowledge are. For example: I can’t make heads or tails of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. In my imaginary solution then, the work I would produce might identify the following gaps in knowledge: Palestinian culture, Muslim teaching, roots of Zionism. . .and then suggest why these things might be important to know about the conflict. On the other hand, I wonder if any assignment you can’t explain well to grad students is wise to assign to freshman comp.
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[The actual assignment one.] I like the idea of meta-assignments that ask students to examine their own writing/reading strategies. On the other hand, I don’t want to fall back on the old "tell me how you feel about writing" chestnut, so I’ve come up with a slight derivation. My first class would be the syllabus and introductions, yeah? The assigned reading for the next session would be Harris’s chapter on Process and the following interchapter. The next session of class would be discussion of the texts and the writing assignment would be this: For the first writing assignment, I want you to describe your own writing process. Explain what steps you take to prepare for writing, what behaviors you exhibit when you write, and how/whether you revise after you write. Do you use any of the models discussed in the chapter from Harris? If you do, why? You may also wish to consider the differences that arise when you write for different audiences: do you use the same process when you write for friends as when writing for school? Try to explain why you think this process works for you (if you feel it does) or identify why it does not (if you feel that it does not). Here’s why I think this could be a good assignment: it’s complex enough to start enough by asking some real thought of the students, but I don’t feel that it’s too intimidating: it doesn’t require research and I’m not asking them to draw any significant inferences from other texts or anything. I haven’t quite figured out how long I’d make the assignment though. On one hand, it is sort of complex, so I think a minimum of, say, 700 words (2.5-3 pages) is not unreasonable; but I’d like this turned in pretty quick, so that might be too long. Any advice?
p. 44:"The problem of audience awareness, then, is a problem of power and finesse. [. . . .] And they argue, implicitly, what is generally true about writing–that it is an act of aggression disguised as an act of charity."
Dave: Calm. . .the fluck. . .down.
Compare Dave here to Corder, p.12:
"Any author or teacher, for example, who thinks of writing as giving power is probably singling out a single, legitimate feature of writing, but is otherwise violating the spirit of human connection." [Italics in original–MLM]
Maybe I’m naive (maybe I’m amazed at the way I love you), but I don’t identify with these issues of power-struggles in the classroom. Of course, that may change once I’m actually teaching, but still. . .I understand that, as the instructor, I have authority over graders, expectations, et cetera, but I don’t think of it as power, per se. It kind of creeps me out to do so, actually–why would that be? I guess it’s this: If I have power, it means it can be misused (absolute power, etc.); but if I have authority, it also means I have responsibility. It’s all semantics, I guess, but I’d rather concern myself with meeting my responsibilities than wielding power.
p. 46: "Contemporary rhetorical theory [. . .] available to him."
At last, a succinct explanation of what Barthes is on about. Anyone know of a good primer on Lit Theory? Not the anthology that Barrett Watten recommends, but something more akin to "Literary Theory for Dummies?"
p. 52: On "commonplaces"
I understand Dave’s thoughts on "commonplaces," but will somene kidly explain how these differ from cliches?
I’ll more than happily comment on Spellmeyer once I get the blasted thing to print–dadgum nogood dial-up modem.
