FoolsCap

A response–or maybe, a harmonic reply–to Collin’s post here.  One thing that’s interested me, given my own educational history, is the curious phenomennon that Collin describes: namely, the conversion of the aspiring literary scholar to an aspiring rhet/comp scholar.

Collin, as I’m sure he knows, is not unique in this.  Jeff Rice and Richard Marback have described their own conversions to me, and I hear tell that even Gwen Gorzelsky began her studies as a student of medieval lit (as did friend and colleague Mary Karcher).  This, of course, prompts the question: what is compelling about rhet/comp work to lit folk?

For Collin, it was a realization that he could pursue an interest in literary theory while doing rhet/comp work (something that rings true for myself as well).  For my own history, in addition to the interest in theory, I’ve found that rhet/comp is also a good space for someone whose interests are. . .hm. . .to be kind, voracious, though some might say I’m terminally undeclared. Rice’s 6010 was a good place to get a feel for the variety of work being done in the rhet/comp field, so in that sense I owe Jeff a debt similar to the one Collin owes to Susan Jarratt (I too, have handy access to the readers from Jeff’s course).

A point, though, that I find interesting.  Collin’s introductory and closing comments:

I was thinking the other day about the choice I made to get into the Rhetoric/Composition game, and while it was undoubtedly a gradual and only semi-conscious process, I think I can pin down the semester that would feature in my Secret Origin.

At any rate, as a theoretically minded young MA student, SJ’s course convinced me that I could follow that interest in R/C just as easily as I could in literature, and while I don’t know that this counts as "conversion," it’s the one point I recall where I "chose" R/C.

I like, I want to point out, Collin’s use of the phrase Secret Origin, a little nod to comic book lingo that reminds me, again, that there’s a pleasurable synchronicity btw my own interests and those of other scholars. 

More significantly, however, is Collin’s emphasis on the "gradual and only semi-conscious" nature of his conversion.  In part, of course, this points to an assumption we have anout conversions as being a dramatic and epochal moment–archetypically, we might look at Saul’s conversion on the road to Damascus, right?  Blinding light, paradigm shift, voice from above.  While I do have the benefit of having gone through something like the Pauline epiphany (which you can reread here), I again find Collin’s description of the gradual conversion to rhet-comp eerily familiar, esp. given the juxtaposition between (for Collin) Susan Jarratt’s "Theories of Reading and Writing Course" and Edward Tomarken’s "LIterary Theory" course, much as Jeff’s "Theories and Practices of Writing" practicum was the same semester as Barrett Watten’s "Intro to Graduate Literary Studies" course.

What I also find valuable, of course, is that I have had the opportunity to blog through my gradual conversion, and, in fact, careful readers could probably point out moments on the blog that suggest the swing from lit/cult studies into rhet/comp with little difficulty.  Of course, speaking about the "conversion narrative" in this way makes it seem as though I’ve finished the process . . . in fact, I admit my ignorance of much comp theory and the occasional urge to turn back to the comforting arms of literary scholarship.

But then, I think: Nah.  I want a real job.

I’m not trying to describe a sense of personal kismet between Collin and myself, but I think the points of similarity between our respective conversion narratives are striking, and I wonder how many other rhet/comp scholars would describe a similar conversion narrative.

So, in that sense, I’m suggesting to the three or four of you that read this, that if Collin’s narrative or my own sound familiar, that you take a moment on your own blog to revisit the scene(s) of your own rhet/comp conversion narratives.