Poe’s Popularity

Since attending the 4th International Edgar Allan Poe conference in New York a few weeks ago, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about why Poe has become such a cultural icon in recent years.

Yes, Poe was always one of the more important American writers of the 19th century, despite being dismissed from consideration as “serious literature” for so many years. Instead, and somewhat strangely, Poe’s enduring popularity caused him to be classified as juvenile literature, which his work is absolutely not, but along with scaring (and scarring) generations of readers, foisting him off on the young had the somewhat perverse effect of only making Poe more widely influential. Having such a lineage and coming in an era dominated by YA fiction certainly boosts Poe’s current reputation. He offers dark magic for kids schooled with Harry Potter, and grim cultural critique for teens enthralled by the dystopian visions of Hunger Games and the Divergent trilogy. So, that’s probably part of Poe’s secret, but there’s more.

Poe also wrote the very first recognizable detective stories. His trio of Parisian mysteries featuring C. Auguste Dupin and his nameless sidekick who narrates the tales, starts with the locked-room case of “The Murders in the Rue Morgue” first published Graham’s Magazine in 1841, these stories introduced the idea of mysteries where the detective (and along with him the reader) encounters a series of clues which he must them assemble into a solution told in the form of a narrative that accounts for each piece of the puzzle.

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It’s worth noting that Poe referred to these detective stories as his tales of ratiocination. He always preferred the word “tale” to indicate a short story. Meaning “logical reasoning” and pronounced with a hard T so the first syllable sounds like rat, the word “ratiocination” was cumbersome and unfamiliar even in Poe’s time, so it’s no wonder we’ve shifted over to calling them detective stories or mystery stories; however, these newer descriptions subtly place the focus on the central figure of the detective in the first place or on the puzzle itself in the latter. Poe’s awkward word “ratiocination” still has the advantage of emphasizing the mental thought processes that interpret the story’s clues in order to produce the mystery’s solution, and that’s exactly where Poe wanted to place focus. For Poe, detective stories are always primarily about how we analyze the word around us, reading information in order to deduce hidden truths.

Writing fifty years later, Arthur Conan Doyle followed Poe’s model with his enormously popular and influential Sherlock Holmes stories and novels. Conan Doyle was quite open about his debts to Poe, but he cleverly renamed the detective’s process “deduction” which was already familiar from philosophy and has proven a much more manageable term for most people. In the 20th century, writers like Agatha Christie and Rex Stout turned the production of detective novels into a fine cottage industry with a ravenous readership. Interestingly, after the 1930’s most American crime writers veered down the path of detective as action-adventure hero, following Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler down a path that perhaps has as much in common with the Leatherstocking novels of James Fenimore Cooper (Last of the Mohicans, etc.) as it does with Poe’s more intellectual tales. In any case, with his three Dupin stories, Poe essentially invented a genre that has become dominant in our times. Every country in the world writes and reads detective stories and novels these days.

The significance of this contribution by Poe cannot be overstated. No one invents a genre! And mystery stories have become one of the main staples of popular entertainment ever since. No wonder the Mystery Writers Association named the award they give out to the best crime fiction every year the Edgars. Imagine a world without Sherlock Holmes and Hercule Poirot, without Perry Mason and Columbo, without Law & Order or CSI. It’s nearly impossible to fathom how Poe changed our way of thinking about crime and police work. He not   only introduced the figure of the detective to the popular imagination, but by focusing on the details of how detectives think he revealed how virtually every profession had become altered by the rise of the scientific method. Now, now matter what job you do, you probably imagine yourself as something of a detective, at least sometimes.

Only perhaps Mary Shelley can make a similar claim for science fiction with her 1818 novel Frankenstein, and that novel owes as much to its roots in Gothic horror as it does to the rise of modern science.

So, these are both huge reasons for us to admire and respect Poe’s literary achievements, but I’m still not sure they adequately explain why Poe’s face appears among that pantheon of cultural icons featured on the cover of the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s album, much less why the Baltimore Ravens would name their team after the title figure from Poe’s 1845 poem “The Raven.” Of course the poem is a masterpiece that was hugely popular when it was first published and it has remained an American favorite every since, but it still seems so culturally improbable that we would have a football team named for it. I mean, what other 19th century American writer gets name checked by the NFL? Or any other writer by any other sport for that matter?

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But the current mania for Poe doesn’t end there.

A number of historical crime novels include Poe as a character and countless more mysteries center on the discovery, theft or forgery of rare Poe books and manuscripts. A few years ago, John Cusack played a crime-solving Poe in The Raven. Recent television show The Following focuses on the exploits of a college professor turned serial killer who controls an enthusiastic cult of students obsessed with Poe. One of Lou Reed’s final albums even pays homage to Poe’s work.

Of course there are tee shirts and coffee cups, but everybody who’s anybody has those. Poe has gone even further. Now you can even buy no end of Poe memorabilia from Poe action figures and Poe bobble heads to Poe-ka dotted iPhone covers and book bags. I personally own a few of these items thanks to my lovely wife Petra and to my kind friend Jean, with whom I worked for years at Murder by the Book. Becoming the object of such cultural fixation is usually reserved for movie stars and rock musicians, but Poe’s current popularity is undeniable.

Yet unraveling all the precise reasons for this 21st-century infatuation remains a task worthy of Poe’s own Parisian detective. Fear not! I’m on the case and will reveal more next time.

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Why Are There Police in Monty Python and the Holy Grail?

I recently revisited one of my favorite comedy films with my friend and colleague, Dr. Meg Roland. Meg is presenting a short talk at the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry (OMSI) this week in advance of their screening of Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Meg is probably one of the top medievalists on the west coast, so it’s no surprise that she would be asked to give her professional opinion of the English troupe’s take on the legend of King Arthur.

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Meg’s a good friend and I was happy to play along, but I didn’t expect watching the film to touch on my own scholarly interests as heavily as it did. I hadn’t actually watched Holy Grail for probably twenty years, but I’d seen it so many times in high school that my friends could quote long passages from it verbatim in outrageous British accents.

Okay, yes, I might as well admit it. I was one of those socially awkward nerdy kids who felt more at home with the tabletop adventures I had playing Dungeons & Dragons than I did venturing across the darkened auditorium at a high school dance to brave asking one of the girls to dance.

This was way before being a nerd was cool. Believe me, it was painful at the time.

This was also long before I found that my endless fascination with detectives and with crime and horror fiction could translate itself into a rich academic life. (N.B.: I mean “rich” here in the sense of fulfilling, not remunerative; the scholar’s life these days seems to include a vow of poverty.)

In the old days, when I would watch Holy Grail with my friends and quote the lines along with the actors, we tended to ignore the strange intrusions of the stuffy historian killed by the knight and the subsequent interruptions by the uniformed police trying to arrest the professor’s killer. But imagine my surprise in discovering upon re-watching the film now that these oddly modern intrusions by the cops, the weird interludes that formerly seemed to disturb the magic and humor of Arthur’s quest, can actually be seen as advancing a relatively insightful argument very closely related to my own scholarly interests.

A lot of the laughs in the film derive from the conflict between pre-Enlightenment and post-Enlightenment modes of thought. The witch trial scene, for example, gives us poignant parody of scientific thought where pre-Enlightenment thinkers struggle to understand cause and effect. The rabble, of course, doesn’t care about mastering logic. They just want an officially sanctioned excuse to burn the poor woman they’ve dressed up as a witch. King Arthur and Sir Bedevere are earnestly trying to gain a deeper understanding of natural laws, even as their bumbling attempts spark our laughter.

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But this push toward post-Enlightenment thought is telling because the rise of science and rationality ultimately spells the end of the myth and magic of King Arthur and his knights as well as the pageantry and glory of monarchy and church.

At the core of the cultural shift during the Enlightenment is a radically new way of understanding truth. No longer would Truth come from on high, handed down by God through his chosen representatives on earth. The new truth becomes understood as a narrative construction told from interwoven and sometimes contradictory points of view.

After the Enlightenment, instead of Truth with a capital “T,” we are left with a contingent and fragile truth, now forever with a lower-case “t.”

Consider how the scientific method works. We come up with a hypothesis and then we test it against evidence. If the original hypothesis doesn’t account for all the available evidence, we must revise it.

Our courts of law start to work in the same way. Rival lawyers develop competing narratives. Juries decide which story seems to best explain every existing piece of evidence. Once the jury votes, the judge declares that version to be the verdict in the case and pronounces a sentence.

The post-Enlightenment gives rise not only to new forms of government, like American democracy, but also to police forces charged with maintaining law and order on behalf of the citizenry. Initially the police are only charged with preventing unrest and stopping crimes in progress, but fairly quickly it becomes clear that the police and courts need a way to deal with crimes that have already been committed but for which there is no clear culprit. They need specialists who can apply the scientific method to solving mysterious crimes and serve as consultants to the police. They need the detective.

Not coincidentally, the detective figure becomes the hero of our new post-Enlightenment literature. The Enlightenment had already destroyed the magic of Arthurian romance, so we needed a new heroic to populate a new sort of “realist romance,” a figure who could embody the ideals of the new era.

We need somebody who can arrest our long-standing enthusiasm for these ridiculous stories of knights and sorcerers and holy grails.

That’s precisely the exchange enacted by the close of Monty Python and the Holy Grail. After all the fun and laughter and silliness, we need to be serious grown-ups who establish law and order. The film’s tweed-clad historian is slaughtered by a knight after he breaks the fourth wall, addressing the audience about Arthurian stories as if they were fiction.

The irony, of course, is that the historian and his ilk are the ones actually killing off the old tales (at least metaphorically), even if the knights are better armed. Culturally speaking, Arthur and his knights are living on borrowed time. Eventually, the police arrive at the end of the film to dispel illusion entirely as they stop the action, throw Arthur into the back of a police van, and then break the film’s fantasy entirely by shoving the cameramen away, and placing a hand over the lens, and saying it’s all over. There’s nothing to see here, folks. Move along.

But of course we can’t give up on these tales. We love our heroes. We need somebody who can replace the old quests with a hero’s quest of this own, which is precisely what detective stories do and why they follow almost exactly the same pattern as the older quest stories.

We swap the holy grail for the Maltese Falcon and we’re back in business.

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Teaching Video Game Theory, Part Two

What Video Game Study Can Do for Academia

In my last post (“Teaching Video Game Theory, Part One: What Academic Study Can Do for Video Games”), I argued that video games deserve critical attention. But the question remains whether video games have anything essential to offer in return. What benefits can the inclusion of video games offer to Culture & Media Studies?

Well, in many ways the humanities are suffering. It’s no secret that universities around the world are in financial straits. While cutting budgets and raising tuition, administrations are looking at the numbers. And the liberal arts are not pulling their weight. According to a New York Times article about the global crisis in liberal arts, the number of students studying the humanities at Harvard has halved in the last 50 years. Yet another NYT piece about waning student interest in the humanities reports that although nearly half of faculty salaries at Stanford University go to professors in the liberal arts, only 15% of recent Stanford grads have majored in those disciplines. Those are alarming trends and suggest the humanities are fundamentally unsustainable. At least as they are currently imagined.

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In response to this crisis in the humanities, the American Academy of Arts and Sciences issued a report last year stating: “At a time when economic anxiety is driving the public toward a narrow concept of education focused on short-term payoffs, it is imperative that colleges, universities, and their supporters make a clear and convincing case for the value of liberal arts education” (32). This report also stressed the importance of facing the new challenges of the Digital Age.

So, how do we do that? How do we make the case that a liberal arts education is worthwhile especially with the advent of the Digital Age?

Well, teaching video games is a start. We need to bring this powerful cultural medium into the classroom and engage students on their own terms. Over the past decade I’ve become aware that fewer and fewer of our students read for enjoyment. But nearly all of them use significant amounts of their free time to play video games. Male or female, younger or older, they choose to experience these video game “texts” of their own free will.

I already argued last time for the significance of video games as cultural artifacts. Every year more academic studies of video games are published and certain trends of intellectual thought about games have already begun to emerge.

All of this scholarly focus on video games is performing interesting and culturally important work; however, as academics we need to do more to translate this emerging discipline into the classroom experiences of our students.

They crave it. Not only that, but they deserve it. And so do we.

Video games can revitalize the humanities.

In order the remind the world how valuable a liberal arts education can be, we first need to entice students into taking our classes and then we need to make the classroom experience meaningful enough that they want to pursue degrees in our disciplines. When students are clamoring to study the humanities, financial support become available.

Three keys to attracting students are relevance, fun, and depth.

Relevance. Students want to take classes and study subject that connect to their actual lives and provide them with better ways of understanding the real (and often virtual) world they inhabit on a daily basis. For a class to be relevant, it needs to provide students with the analytical tools that help them interpret the information that bombards us from every side. Part of this is learning to ask the right questions. Part of it is learning how to understand the stuff our social interactions are made of – language and ideas and assumptions and rhetorical strategies. When it comes to teaching critical thinking and effective reading and writing skills, the humanities are not just relevant but central. There’s a reason two out of the three basic R’s of education are in the humanities! Yes, ‘rithmetic is important, but try surviving a day in the Digital Age without reading and writing.

Fun. Students learn best when they’re having fun. This is why so many young people retain seemingly endless minutia about the video games they play (which they experience as fun) and recall so little about that boring world history or chemistry class where they were forced to memorize dates or formulae. Fun lights up the brain like a Christmas tree. Just look at all those presents! By contrast, boredom shuts down the mind. “Eat your peas” and “do your chores” do not inspire enthusiasm and engagement. Psychological studies bear this out and pedagogues are already busily trying to create “useful” video games that can surreptitiously indoctrinate players with real world information.

Depth. This one is trickier, but in some ways it’s the secret ingredient because it’s key to what students crave from classes. Relevance and fun are both very important, but alone they cannot complete the circuit of education. The avid mind of a student wants to think new thoughts, to make surprising connections, to explore uncharted areas, to see the ordinary as strange and to view the strange as ordinary, to learn how to ask important questions and how to find interesting answers, to discover the mysterious joys of an intellectual life.

Video games offer a powerful way to provide students with relevance, fun, and depth. Not only is that good education; it’s where the humanities shine.

**This essay is cross-posted on the Marylhurst Blog.**

Teaching Video Game Theory, Part One

What Academic Study Can Do for Video Games

This past spring I presented an academic paper on issues of spatial representation in the video game Portal at the annual Society for Textual Studies Conference. My paper fit well with papers by my fellow panelists, including Marylhurst’s English Department chair Meg Roland, who offered important new insights on early modern maps, and recent Marylhurst alumna Jessica Zisa, who presented a smart paper on social and natural spaces in Sebold and Thoreau. As it turned out, the juxtaposition of our various analyses provoked a lively discussion with the audience. But as we jostled out of the room after our session, I couldn’t help overhearing one of the curmudgeonly older professors grumbling, “I can’t believe there was an academic paper about a video game!”

But why not? Did I do something wrong? Was I squandering my mental energies and straining my peers’ patience with a topic beneath scholarly attention?

As you can imagine, I’ve thought about this a lot for a while, but the more I considered the issue the more important it seemed to me that I continue studying video games.

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In fact, I “doubled down,” as they say. I’ve already presented another conference paper on the video game L.A. Noire‘s adaptation of the detective genre, and this fall I’m attending a semiotics conference to discuss the paradoxical fantasies of military first-person shooter games. Not only that, but I developed a reading list that turned into a syllabus, and this summer I’m proud to say that I’m teaching Marylhurst’s first ever Video Game Theory class.

So, I suppose I have some explaining to do. Why is a 19th-century Americanist with expertise in textual studies and psychoanalytic criticism spending his time playing video games? Even worse, why is he talking about it in public?

Video games are no longer the exclusive province of nerdy teenaged boys who live in their parents’ basements. Recent demographics studied by the Entertainment Software Associations show that over half of American households own a dedicated gaming console, the average gamer is 31 and nearly 40% of gamers are over 36. While men do still edge out women among the gaming population, currently 48% of gamers are women.

And, beyond these basic stats, we really need to recognize that it’s not just about online fantasy games or military shooter games. Just about everybody has a game or two on their phone these days. Angry Birds anyone? Farmville? Flow? These games are changing how and when we communicate with each other. Some people use Words with Friends as an excuse to chat more frequently with friends and relatives over distance. Others use a regular online gaming night to maintain group friendships across the miles that separate their homes.

Games have been adapted to create fitness programs like Fitbit and Nike+. There are community-oriented good Samaritan game-type apps like The Extraordinaries app or the app that notifies CPR-trained specialists if someone in their vicinity needs help. Apart from the studied benefits of video games helping autistic kids adapt to social rules and learn how to communicated, there are also games specifically designed to help a variety of medical patients recover better and faster.

Beyond the stereotypes about video games that persist, what are some of the other reasons we need to think critically about this topic? For one thing, video games are big business, with the gaming industry generating over $21.5 billion last year. 2013’s top-selling game, Grand Theft Auto V, made over a billion dollars in its first three days. Compare that to other media. Top-grossing film Iron Man 3 also made over $1 billion in worldwide ticket sales, but it took nearly a month to hit that mark. Runaway bestseller Fifty Shades of Grey shattered every publishing record by selling 70 million copies in the U.S.–in both print and e-books. Counting those all at $15 (the print price), that’s also over a $1 billion, but it took a couple years to reach and it’s exceedingly rare.

Yes, I know it’s funny to hear an English professor measuring cultural significance by looking at sales figures. I know money isn’t the be all and end all of social values, but it’s a strong indicator. We all fundamentally “know” that books are obviously better and more serious works of art than movies, and even TV shows and comic books are infinitely more important than video games.

And yet… can we really just assume (or even argue) that either Fifty Shades of Gray or Iron Man 3 is an inherently superior cultural artifact than Grand Theft Auto V? In fact, do we even want to try to assert that position?

Granted, part of our job in academia is to serve as a standard bearer for important works from the past, to ensure they are not forgotten. As a 19th-century literary scholar, I’m acutely aware of this duty and I’m proud to say that I routinely inflict canonical “high literature” on my students, many of whom I actually convince to enjoy the experience and continue it of their own free will. But part of our job too should be showing our students how to use these powerful analytical tools at our disposal to analyze cultural artifacts that the general public chooses to experience on their own. What good are these various apparatuses we develop if they only apply to analyzing the works of “high culture” that Academia elevates to special, masterpiece status? Shouldn’t we also be able to apply our tools to “low-brow” works created primarily to entertain?

I think so. And I’m not alone. In fact, English professors have been expanding the canon from the very beginning. It’s a slow and painful battle, but notice how (despite the vestigial name) English Departments now routinely teach American literature. We take it for granted now of course, but that wasn’t always the case. We even teach post-colonial “world” literature and regularly include works of “popular” fiction in our academic purview. It’s much the same throughout the humanities. For years now Culture and Media scholars have been analyzing films and television and comic books, so isn’t it time we stretch ourselves to include video games in our conversation?

Whatever one thinks of them, video games are cultural artifacts. They are “texts” of a sort, and as such they communicate meaning. Furthermore, as we know, people are choosing more and more to experience these video game “texts” on their own in preference to reading or even to watching films. So, isn’t it better for us to teach our students how to apply critical thinking and analytical tools to these new texts?

It doesn’t mean that we will quit teaching Chaucer and Shakespeare. Not at all. But it means that we must also find a way to discuss Grand Theft Auto and Call of Duty.

*A slightly edited version of this multi-part essay is being cross-posted on the Marylhurst Blog.*

The Liberal Arts Make Us Free

Last winter, the New York Times ran an article (“Humanities Studies Under Strain Around the Globe“) about the current crisis facing humanities departments at universities around the world. While the humanities have long weathered criticism that they are impractical or irrelevant in the “real world,” and cuts to humanities funding are nothing new, the present situation seems worse than ever. Now more than ever, those of us in the liberal arts need to fight for our existence and demonstrate the value of our disciplines. Not just to politicians but also to the increasingly non-academic administrators who manage our schools under the ubiquitous common (non)sense idea every public entity needs to be “run like a business.” (More about this in a future post.)

Even more importantly, we need to convince undergraduates that studying the humanities is meaningful, that a liberal arts degree provides a valuable education with essential elements not available in other more “practical” disciplines. That “soft skills” like critical thinking and sophisticated communication can prove just as significant to one’s life and career as understanding accounting principles or knowing the fundamentals of biochemistry. Unfortunately, we in English departments and other humanities haven’t been doing a very good job of demonstrating the centrality of our role in higher education, so we’re being perceived as peripheral. As dispensable.

Harvard reports that the number of students studying humanities has halved since 1966. According to a related piece in the NYT, although nearly half of faculty salaries at Stanford University are for professors in the humanities, only 15% of recent Stanford grads have majored in the humanities. Florida governor Rick Scott recently suggested that humanities students should pay higher tuition as a penalty for pursuing “nonstrategic disciplines.” Public response to the proposal has been relatively anemic. An online petition against the proposal gathered only 2,000 signatures and could only muster the weak argument that differential tuition would result in the “decimation of the liberal arts in Florida.”

Sure that sounds terrible, if you happen to care about the “liberal arts.” But it seems that most people don’t have much idea what their loss means to our culture. The “liberal arts” (English, all the other languages, literature, culture and media, philosophy, classics, etc.) represent the highest ideals of a university education. If abstract and theoretical rather than practical, the liberal arts are those disciplines designed to empower students as individuals, to inculcate the wisdom and responsibility that allows them to be good citizens, to inspire them to work for ideals and to pursue social justice, to help them serve as productive, compassionate and innovative leaders.

By contrast, the hard sciences seem almost limited by that very practicality they tout. Never mind their absolute faith in the ideological oxymoron of “scientific progress.” (I plan to discuss this at some length in a later post.) Set against the philosophical depth of the liberal arts, professional degrees and certificate programs (MBA, MD, CPA, DDS, etc.) seem like glorified trade schools.

This goes straight to why the humanities are often called the “liberal arts.” Regardless of whatever Gov. Scott may believe, they are not “liberal” (as opposed to “conservative”) in the narrowly American political sense that tends to equate them with bleeding-heart socialist ideologies. In fact, the liberal arts do not have a fundamental political bias at all. They are “liberal” in the sense of liberating, of making one free, of freeing students to think for themselves, of teaching one how to imagine what freedom means, of exploring ways to experience human freedom.

What could be more important than liberal arts to education in a democratic society? What could be more central to human experience or more vital to a meaningful life?

Earning My Hood and Tam

It’s been over ten years since I completed the course work and passed the qualifying exams for my Ph.D. from University of Washington. Over ten years since the graduate school sent me that little certificate saying that I had been advanced to candidacy for my doctorate. But over the years, one thing after another seemed to get in the way of my finally finishing the degree. I sometimes wondered if I’d ever escape the doldrums of being ABD (all but dissertation).

What took me so long?

Well, first of all there was intellectual burnout and disillusionment with academia. Five years of graduate level coursework is a major push. Not that I didn’t find it educational and rewarding at some level, but you go into graduate literature study primarily for the love of reading and that tends to get burned right out of you. Yes, I read, and read, and read some more. But I didn’t read very many novels. And the novels I read were more for edification than enjoyment. I mostly read a bunch of philosophy and theory and “secondary” criticism. After I finished my coursework and exams, I don’t think I read a book for pleasure for a full year, and that’s probably the first time I’ve gone that long since I learned to read.

Interestingly, when I finally started picking up books for fun again, I found myself reading mysteries and science fiction.

The second big delay for me was falling in love with Petra. Okay, so I’d been in love with her for a long time, but I mean that we finally started a relationship together and I moved to Portland to be with her. Nothing distracts you from the other cares of the world quite like a new relationship. And this was a good one. She’s the love of my life to this day.

Third, I was broke and needed to make money. The joke had always been that every temp job I worked during grad school ended up offering me a full-time job. But when it came time to find a way to make decent money, I landed in a field I’d never expected. My “soft skills” scored me a position developing an on-the-job training program in medical research administration. But the longer I stayed, the more I started to become a valued resource in the office where I worked. By the time I left seven years later I’d moved up to senior manager level. It was good work and I was blessed with wonderful co-workers, but in the end it just wasn’t my calling. I realized I wanted to be a literary scholar and not a hand maiden to medical researchers. The money was hard to walk away from – top researchers can afford to have MFAs and humanities PhD’s as their underlings, drafting their email and writing their grant applications – but in the end it just wasn’t for me.

Fourth, once I decided to finish, I had to get myself back up to speed. Figuring out how to read and to write scholarly discourse again was like learning a foreign language. It took an incredible amount of time to catch up on the research into Poe and his work. Plus, I needed to get current with textual studies and immerse myself into psychoanalytic theory. Fortunately, I’d been teaching adjunct all along and my academic peers at Marylhurst University proved to be remarkably generous with their time and knowledge. Endless conversations and academic discussion helped me find my way back into the fold. Both Dr. David Denny and Dr. Meg Roland were absolutely invaluable to me as intellectual peers. Without the two of them, I never could have gotten my dissertation done.

Fifth, I had a remarkably patient and persistent advisor. My committee chair, Dr. Mark Patterson never stopped believing that I could finish my dissertation. Even more inspiring, he expected me to produce important work that demonstrated the true extent of my grappling with Poe’s vexed position in the American canon and the depth of my insights into how Poe’s poetic theories informed his fiction and poetry. With Mark’s constant encouragement, I discovered truly innovative ways of understanding Poe. In short, I found the core of my academic career. My admiration for Mark’s intellectual rigor is surpassed only by my gratitude for his kindness and generosity. He’s truly a scholar and a gentleman.

Sixth, it’s a lot of work. No really. I don’t think you quite understand. It’s a lot of work.

Seventh, life tends to get in the way. Just when you think that you’re in the final stretch, your plans are derailed by financial worries or a family emergency or a sudden health crisis. We had more than our share of bumps in the road. But then again one of my favorite quotes is from John Lennon: “Life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans.” Truer words.

Eighth, you decide to just get it done. The final push isn’t pretty, but when you’ve been working at it long enough and hard enough, there comes a moment when you tell yourself and everyone around you that this time you’re really going to get it done. And one way or another, you do.

Here’s nearly 80,000 words on how Poe’s poetic theories give rise to the horror in his poems and stories.

 

My dissertation

My dissertation

Here’s my graduation selfie.

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Petra wasn’t able to attend my graduation ceremony. Our basement flooded the weekend before and someone needed to stay home to deal with the plumber and the contractors, but we were used to these minor setbacks along the way. The victory was sweet anyway. And we had a toast together when I got home.

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Boy, am I glad to be done.

Science Fiction Summer Course

My online science fiction class at Marylhurst University (LIT215E/CMS215E) has gotten off to a lively start with another batch of great students this summer.  I teach this class pretty much every other year, and I’m always finding ways to tweak the syllabus.  This time around our main texts are Robert Silverberg’s excellent Science Fiction Hall of Fame: Volume One, 1929-1964 which we’re using in tandem with Volume One (the 2006 issue) of Jonathan Strahan’s annual Best Science Fiction and Fantasy of the Year series.  These two volumes provide us with a nice variety of science fiction stories across the last century of the genre.  While we can’t read every story for the class, these two books allow us to hit most the high points in the Golden Age from Asimov, Bradbury, and Clarke to some of the standout newcomers to the field, like Ian McDonald and Paolo Bacigalupi.  We also read just three novels: Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (1818), which started it all; H.G. Wells’s War of the Worlds (1898), which isn’t my personal favorite of his works but which introduces the important SF theme of alien invasion; and Ursula K. Le Guin’s Dispossessed (1974), which helps us tackle both utopian themes and feminist/gender themes.

To give the students time to read Frankenstein, our first week’s discussion taps into a discussion of the two most culturally prominent SF franchises by reading David Brin’s somewhat dated but still relevant 1999 article “‘Star Wars’ despots vs. ‘Star Trek’ populists”.  I like this piece especially since it allows even those students without much interest or experience with SF to jump right into the fray.  Also, I’ve found people tend to feel pretty passionate about both of these franchises.  We also do a bit of work exploring the line between SF and contemporary technology by reading an interview with noted futurologist Ray Kurzweil and a slightly paranoid rant against the merging of humans with machines by Eric Utne.

This time around I’m also including a lot more films than I have in the past.  This seems important since at least in film and television SF seems to have become accepted as virtually mainstream, whereas SF novels are still somewhat consigned to the genre ghetto except when authors who are already considered “real writers” employ SF tropes in their “serious” work.  This is the only way to account for the different cultural reception of Margaret Atwood and Ursula Le Guin for example.  Yes, Le Guin has achieved broad literary acceptance, but this is often presented as being “in spite” or her being an SF author.  Okay, I know, I know, saying that genre writing isn’t “serious” literature amounts to fighting words in some circles, but the (perhaps) disappearing divide between “high” and “low” art is probably an issue for another blog post.  Scratch that – it’s an issue for a series of blog posts.  I’ll get on that.

So, anyway, we’re watching the following films:

  • Metropolis (1927), dir. Fritz Lang
  • The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951), dir. Robert Wise
  • 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), dir. Stanley Kubrick
  • The Man Who Fell to Earth (1976), dir. Nicolas Roeg
  • The Matrix (1999), dir. Andy and Laura Wachowski
  • A Scanner Darkly (2006), dir. Richard Linklater
  • Children of Men (2006), dir. Alfonso Cuarón
  • Moon (2009), dir. Duncan Jones
  • Hunger Games (2012), dir. Gary Ross

I know I’ve probably opened up a whole can of space worms by publicizing my selections here, but before you reply with your own suggestions (which I welcome), just remember that this list is not supposed to represent the “best” of SF film.  It’s merely a collection of some interesting films that span a lot of years (skewed toward the present, admittedly).  I also wanted to touch on a wide variety of themes and trends in SF.

As always, I’m reading and viewing alongside my students as the term progresses.  No matter how many times I read Frankenstein, I always find new things to ponder.  I’m also excited because as I wrap up my current project on Edgar Allan Poe, I’m starting to consider attempting a longer academic work about science fiction.  Specifically, I think it might be interesting to perform psychoanalytic readings of Golden Age stories and novels.  I plan to take copious notes this term and see where this idea leads me.