Hi everybody. I'm posting a model for the blog assignment I asked you to do for this week. The idea is to choose and share a couple of quotations (one from Miller's book and one from another source) that inspire your own initial explorations of instituional autobiography.
Remember, the goal is to find quotations that help you think through the ways that your institutional affiliations have shaped your development as a thinker, student, writer, and teacher. That shaping might take a variety of forms; maybe the institution inspired you, or provoked you, or circumscribed you, enraged or thrilled you. Inevitably, your experience will have been multi-layered. Take this as an opportunity to start sifting through the layers.
With that in mind, use my quotations and my reflection on them as a model, but feel free to explore, to do this your own way. (By the way, I cheated; I'm using three quotations; I couldn't resist using two from Ishiguro. Hopefully, it will be clear how the three work in dialogue with each other.)
. . . I conceive of the work in the classroom as an ongoing project in which I am learning how to hear what my students are saying. Learning to do this helps me, in turn, to find a way to speak that they can hear. It also makes it possible for my students to learn how to hear what I, as a representative of the academy, am saying and how to speak, read and write in ways that I can hear. This is the only approach I know for making the classroom a possible resource for hope and it is the only mechanism I've found for transforming recitations and revelations of personal experience into moments for reflection and revision about the complex, conflicted, and contradictory ways that culture makes its presence known in the day-to-day workings of one's life. --Richard Miller,
Writing at the End of the World (p. 48)
Tommy thought it possible the guardians had, throughout all our years at Hailsham, timed very carefully and deliberately everything they told us, so that we were always just too young to understand properly the latest piece of information. But of course we’d take it in at some level, so that before long all this stuff was there in our heads without us ever having examined it properly. --Kazuo Ishiguro,
Never Let Me Go (p. 82)
"What I think," said Tommy slowly, "is this. Suppose it's true, what the veterans are saying. Suppose some special arrangement been made for Hailsham students. Suppose two people say they're truly in love, and they want extra time to be together. Then you see, Kath, there has to be a way to judge if they're really telling the truth. That they aren't just saying they're in love, just to defer their donations. You see how difficult it could be to decide? Or a couple might really believe they're in love, but it's just a sex thing. Or just a crush. You see what I mean, Kath? It'll be really hard to judge, and it's probably impossible to get it right every time. But the point is, whoever decides, Madame or whoever it is,
they need something to go on." --Kazuo Ishiguro,
Never Let Me Go (p. 175)
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I immediately identified with Richard Miller's impulse to figure out how to listen to his students and to help them find ways to make themselves heard in an academic setting. I see my teaching in similar terms. That's partly what makes Tommy's first theory so fascinating to me: he's describing a situation in which the guardians at Hailsham are relying on their students' inability to listen to what they're saying. His second theory shows that they were right. Tommy's desperate, imaginative theory about Madame's gallery is dead wrong. But it's imaginative and even insightful nonetheless.
What does all this have to do with my institutional autobiography? I identify really strongly with Tommy. As a kid in a family in which nobody had ever gone to college or even really knew anybody who had, I was obsessed with learning as a kid. I was always reaching toward conversations that were just beyond my ability to comprehend. This was always stimulating, but also alienating. I never felt like I belonged in the conversations. College for me became a gradual process of finding a way to enter the conversation, at least as a listener; teaching and writing have become a means of finding a voice in the conversation and, these days, I hope, shaping it.
But Tommy's alienation interests me because it makes me realize that my own alienation was often productive, because it made it possible for me to think inventively. It has helped me respond to academic conversations without getting too hemmed in by their often rigid constraints and boundaries. At least I hope this is the case! If I were to write an institutional autobiography, I might focus on this kind of alienation--specifically how I might respond to it productively when I see it in my students and how I might cultivate a little of it in myself now that I do feel pretty confident within the conversations that shape academic culture.
What I'm really saying is that in some ways I'd rather be imaginatively and insightfully wrong, like Tommy, than be blunted by the hard cold reality of my rightness, as Madame and Miss Emily seem to be. But more than that, if the humanities are about imagining possibilities for new ways of thinking and living, Tommy's imaginative alienation seems like a pretty productive and inspiring model.