What I read: Doctor Fischer of Geneva or the Bomb Party by Graham Greene.
Graham Greene is one of those writers whose names I knew but about whom I knew absolutely nothing. In some recess of my brain, I think I thought he was a Southern writer, like Faulkner or Flannery O'Connor.
He's not. He's English. But the comparison to O'Connor may not be totally off. The story by O'Connor that always sticks with me (it's probably the only story by O'Connor that I've read) is "A Good Man Is Hard to Find," a super depressing short story about human fallibility and random acts of violence. "A Good Man is Hard to Find" is often located in anthologies alongside another depressing story, "The Story of an Hour" by Kate Chopin. "The Story of an Hour" is the sort of the story that gives feminism a bad name: so much poignancy resting on the poor woman's fragile nerves--yes, I know the ending is ironic, but I still stand by the fragile nerves description. (On the other hand, Charlotte Perkins Gilman's fragile nerves--"The Yellow Wallpaper"-- don't bother me, mostly because Gilman's fragile nerves are so darn interesting and Gilman herself so potentially constructive rather than self-pitying. Chopin just strikes me as self-pitying. "Oh, get over it; life is hard for women in any age; at least you weren't married at 12 and aren't dying from plague" is my usual response.)
Chopin is also Southern.
Not that that means anything necessarily. O'Connor is an excellent writer, and I quite like Faulkner (I love "The Bear"--it's one of the few novellas I own).
But this type of depressing short story is the type of short story that made me detest High School English--and made me promise, "I'll never write a sad ending!" (I haven't kept that promise, by the way.) In any case, Greene reminds me of all those classic writers I disliked reading in High School.
Just to clarify--I don't mind tragedy: MacBeth, Hamlet, Lord Jim--or weird funness: "A Rose for Emily," "Roman Fever" (Edith Wharton). It's depressing angst I dislike. I clarify the difference in this way: tragedy or weird funness is about sad events; depressing angst is about how pointless and stupid life is.
The former I can handle. The latter seems . . . kind of pointless.
By its very nature, writing is an act of construction. I suppose every generation has to have one writer who postulates that creation achieves nothing and has no purpose but since the position is obviously contradictory (since millions of English students everywhere are immediately put to the constructive task of providing the writer's work with meaning), I think it is rather self-indulgent.
And boring. And surprised angst (I can't believe how fallible human nature is!) is even more boring--well, exasperating and boring.
This is a very long-winded way of saying that this was my reaction to Graham Greene.
I read Doctor Fischer of Geneva or the Bomb Party. It's very well-written. I read the entire book (it isn't long) in about two hours. I didn't lose interest, and I found the character delineations interesting. But not exceptionally so. I did not discover that Greene has a "gift for exploring the deeper recesses of human nature" as the flap claims. I've learned more about human nature from watching Star Trek. Writing a depressing book about greedy people doesn't make it automatically profound, even if the book is pretty good. To be fair, the actual reading of Doctor Fischer isn't boring, but Greene's insights aren't exactly fodder for a thousand dissertations (besides, I think he is wrong: human pride/self-image is a far stronger variable than money although the two can be related).
Sometimes, I think the study of literature suffers, not because it isn't respected (which I think it should be) but because people who write about it are so darn gullible. They always insist they've located the Holy Grail when they've really just found a very nice mug.
Books I Read in High School That I Deem Depressing Angst
Ethan Frome by Edith Wharton
The Pearl by Steinbeck
Tess by Hardy
Nectar in a Sieve by Kamala Markandaya
A Separate Peace by John Knowles
Books I Read in High School That I Deem Sad but Not Depressing Angst:
Lord Jim by Conrad (voluntarily)
Cancer Ward by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn (voluntarily)
Shakespeare's Tragedies
The Crucible by Arthur Miller (which I LOVED although I don't much care for it now)
The Scarlet Letter by Hawthorne (which I've since reread--interesting book: Is Dimmesdale a jerk or a to-be-pitied guy?)
Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes (I'm iffy on this one: I'm not sure if it is angsty or not, especially since I don't care for it. It's short though!)
Lord of the Flies by Golding (voluntarily, in the summer--amazing book; too violent to be depressing)
Tale of Two Cities by Dickens (I adored Sidney Carlton--ooh, la la. I don't read any Dickens now. Way too much exposition.)
BOOKS
Friday, May 22, 2009
Sunday, May 17, 2009
F is for Fairy Tale (with a rather silly conspiracy theory subplot) (Feist)
What I read: Faerie Tale by Raymond Feist.
Faerie Tale is a modern fairy tale. Its fairies are the Daoine Sidhe--those are cool elves (the type Tolkien uses) not cutesy elves. Feist also relies on the almost amoral elves of myth rather than the highly moral (but still aloof) elves of Tolkien's world. And he utilizes several medieval/Renaissance ideas about elves, including Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream. His fairy world is real, dangerous, evocative, and engaging!
This fairy world comes in contact with a prosaic family in modern upstate New York over the course of a summer and fall (from June to All Soul's Day). The overall effect is Ray Bradbury meets Susan Cooper's Dark is Rising series meets a little bit of Stephen King meets conspiracy theory á la The Da Vinci Code (although Faerie Tale was published much earlier in 1988).
The first three influences make the book very good. It's a bit slow-moving but never boring, and the final chapters are (mostly) quite gripping.
The conspiracy theory stuff weakens the book considerably--instead of being a 100% jolly good read, it becomes a 85% jolly good read. Like The Da Vinci Code, Feist uses a pompous version of Indiana Jones (more long-pontificating-screeds-of-exposition investigator than fighting-snakes investigator) to tell us all about the big bad conspiracy--a group of men who have infiltrated all levels of government/society throughout history in order to maintain a treaty between the Sidhe and human kind. Our pontificating investigator tells us repeatedly how POWERFUL this group is, how INFLUENTIAL and DANGEROUS and . . . well, you know the drill.
Here's the problem--with all conspiracy theory subplots, I might add:
For an all-powerful, influential group, these conspiracists are the most incompetent bunch of power mongers ever to grace planet earth.
*Spoilers*
First, they allow the house of a fellow dead conspiracist, containing important records and detailed maps, to go on the market. They don't buy it. They allow it to be sold to an unsuspecting family. They allow the unsuspecting family to live in the house for five months even though the end of the book makes clear they could have bought the house much earlier. They send NO ONE to watch the family. They send NO ONE to watch the area. They make NO efforts to keep the family from moving the treasure. They do not contact the Sidhe to warn them the treaty is in jeopardy. They spend all their time in Europe, locking up our pontificating investigator, and they send the one guy from their group they don't trust to America. They finally show up at the end wearing dark shirts and looking important.
Geez, if I were the Sidhe, I'd demand new ambassadors--like a bunch of all-powerful conspiracists who could at least live up to the name. (Perhaps the problem is the one quoted by Q in Star Trek: "It's hard to work in a group when you're omnipotent.")
The addition of the conspiracy theory not only weakens the book, it is entirely unnecessary. It is mostly exposition and creates a very weak and unnecessary pay-off for a very weak and unnecessary set-up. The pontificating investigator is kept from returning to help the family by the conspiracists. This is pointless confusion. The pontificating investigator is researching wacky stuff; the wacky stuff is enough to keep him from returning IN TIME. In any case, he isn't the real hero of the book. The real heroes are the twin boys.
I actually recommend the book--with this proviso: Ignore the conspiracy theory stuff. Concentrate on the family and the boys. You don't have to rewrite anything in your head. The real pay-off for the book is more than adequately set-up. My personal theory: Feist set out to write one book and did! But another book started to intrude. One of the hardest things for a writer to do is to delete unnecessary (but beloved, even interesting) material. Feist didn't do it. So, Faerie Tale is a 85% jolly good read.
Still, 85% is pretty jolly.
BOOKS
Faerie Tale is a modern fairy tale. Its fairies are the Daoine Sidhe--those are cool elves (the type Tolkien uses) not cutesy elves. Feist also relies on the almost amoral elves of myth rather than the highly moral (but still aloof) elves of Tolkien's world. And he utilizes several medieval/Renaissance ideas about elves, including Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream. His fairy world is real, dangerous, evocative, and engaging!
This fairy world comes in contact with a prosaic family in modern upstate New York over the course of a summer and fall (from June to All Soul's Day). The overall effect is Ray Bradbury meets Susan Cooper's Dark is Rising series meets a little bit of Stephen King meets conspiracy theory á la The Da Vinci Code (although Faerie Tale was published much earlier in 1988).
The first three influences make the book very good. It's a bit slow-moving but never boring, and the final chapters are (mostly) quite gripping.
The conspiracy theory stuff weakens the book considerably--instead of being a 100% jolly good read, it becomes a 85% jolly good read. Like The Da Vinci Code, Feist uses a pompous version of Indiana Jones (more long-pontificating-screeds-of-exposition investigator than fighting-snakes investigator) to tell us all about the big bad conspiracy--a group of men who have infiltrated all levels of government/society throughout history in order to maintain a treaty between the Sidhe and human kind. Our pontificating investigator tells us repeatedly how POWERFUL this group is, how INFLUENTIAL and DANGEROUS and . . . well, you know the drill.
Here's the problem--with all conspiracy theory subplots, I might add:
For an all-powerful, influential group, these conspiracists are the most incompetent bunch of power mongers ever to grace planet earth.
*Spoilers*
First, they allow the house of a fellow dead conspiracist, containing important records and detailed maps, to go on the market. They don't buy it. They allow it to be sold to an unsuspecting family. They allow the unsuspecting family to live in the house for five months even though the end of the book makes clear they could have bought the house much earlier. They send NO ONE to watch the family. They send NO ONE to watch the area. They make NO efforts to keep the family from moving the treasure. They do not contact the Sidhe to warn them the treaty is in jeopardy. They spend all their time in Europe, locking up our pontificating investigator, and they send the one guy from their group they don't trust to America. They finally show up at the end wearing dark shirts and looking important.
Geez, if I were the Sidhe, I'd demand new ambassadors--like a bunch of all-powerful conspiracists who could at least live up to the name. (Perhaps the problem is the one quoted by Q in Star Trek: "It's hard to work in a group when you're omnipotent.")
The addition of the conspiracy theory not only weakens the book, it is entirely unnecessary. It is mostly exposition and creates a very weak and unnecessary pay-off for a very weak and unnecessary set-up. The pontificating investigator is kept from returning to help the family by the conspiracists. This is pointless confusion. The pontificating investigator is researching wacky stuff; the wacky stuff is enough to keep him from returning IN TIME. In any case, he isn't the real hero of the book. The real heroes are the twin boys.
I actually recommend the book--with this proviso: Ignore the conspiracy theory stuff. Concentrate on the family and the boys. You don't have to rewrite anything in your head. The real pay-off for the book is more than adequately set-up. My personal theory: Feist set out to write one book and did! But another book started to intrude. One of the hardest things for a writer to do is to delete unnecessary (but beloved, even interesting) material. Feist didn't do it. So, Faerie Tale is a 85% jolly good read.
Still, 85% is pretty jolly.
BOOKS
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
E is for Ewwww (Elkins)
What I read: Skeleton Dance by Aaron Elkins.
Ewwww.
Not really. The detective is a forensic anthropologist á la Bones. And looking at skeletons is somewhat less gruesome than looking at corpses--on paper, at least.
I quite enjoyed Skeleton Dance and recently picked up another Elkins' mystery. Skeleton Dance is a bit slow, but I like the detective, Gideon Oliver, and his wife, and the writing has a humorous edge to it. I also enjoyed the plot of Skeleton Dance which revolves around a modern Piltdown Man scandal--an anthropological fraud and who might have the most to gain from it. I was even somewhat surprised by the identity of the murderer and by the motive. I never try to guess the murderer when I read mysteries, so if I do guess, it means the mystery is really obvious. Skeleton Dance kept me guessing!
Updates: I finally saw Carrie (based on Theodore Dreiser's Sister Carrie). The Carrie of the movie is much sweeter and innocent than the Carrie of the book. However, Laurence Olivier was spot-on accurate as Hurstwood (by the way, in my small, small world, Nicole Wallace references Dreiser's character "Hurstwood" in order to communicate information about herself to Goren in Law & Order: Criminal Minds). I knew Olivier was a great actor; I never appreciated how much until I saw this movie.
On to letter "F"!
Ewwww.
Not really. The detective is a forensic anthropologist á la Bones. And looking at skeletons is somewhat less gruesome than looking at corpses--on paper, at least.
I quite enjoyed Skeleton Dance and recently picked up another Elkins' mystery. Skeleton Dance is a bit slow, but I like the detective, Gideon Oliver, and his wife, and the writing has a humorous edge to it. I also enjoyed the plot of Skeleton Dance which revolves around a modern Piltdown Man scandal--an anthropological fraud and who might have the most to gain from it. I was even somewhat surprised by the identity of the murderer and by the motive. I never try to guess the murderer when I read mysteries, so if I do guess, it means the mystery is really obvious. Skeleton Dance kept me guessing!
Updates: I finally saw Carrie (based on Theodore Dreiser's Sister Carrie). The Carrie of the movie is much sweeter and innocent than the Carrie of the book. However, Laurence Olivier was spot-on accurate as Hurstwood (by the way, in my small, small world, Nicole Wallace references Dreiser's character "Hurstwood" in order to communicate information about herself to Goren in Law & Order: Criminal Minds). I knew Olivier was a great actor; I never appreciated how much until I saw this movie.
On to letter "F"!
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Free at Last! I Leave On-Line Teaching
This week I ended a two-year stint with an online university. I'm not going to name the university; after all, I did teach courses for this educational institution (and taught them very well, I might add), and I did accept money from the Powers-That-Be. And I did gain some useful experience. Criticizing the institution directly seems rather tacky.
However, I would like to say a few words about teaching for exclusively on-line institutions (as opposed to teaching for institutions that are mostly campus-based with some on-line courses).
To start positively, although the course material was not written to my standards, I was impressed with the design for moving students in and around and out of the individual courses. I liked the automatic grading (you put in the numbers, and it calculates the percentage!) and consequently developed my own "self-grading" Excel documents for my campus courses. I learned some useful techniques for teaching composition, and I learned a lot about communicating with students. But, as with any job, there comes a time when you realize you are no longer tolerating bad days or bad students or even bad material; you are enduring, with gritted teeth, a bad experience and need to get out.
So what changed? Why did I go from saying, "Well, that unit or semester could have gone better; I'll work on that" to going, "Only 2 more weeks. Only 1 more week. Tomorrow! Tomorrow! Tomorrow!"
There were three factors:
(1) I was being asked to do things I wasn't comfortable with.
All colleges face retention issues--students dropping out, students not doing the work and failing and dropping out. All colleges worry about retention issues. Only desperate and morally bankrupt colleges believe that retention can be solved by softening the grading process.
My superiors at this institution would say they didn't ask me to inflate grades. Yeah, well, pigs fly, and my cats clean up after themselves. What do you call it when you are asked to accept late projects without penalization? What do you call it when you are encouraged to brainstorm ways to eliminate/soften course requirements in order to make the process of education easier, friendlier, and less overwhelming?
I do believe that instructors can make the learning process positive and comprehensible in the sense that instructors can invite questions and explain things clearly. I'm also an advocate of a grading system that does not destroy a student's grade based on one missed week of class or one late project. My late policies are never so detrimental that students CAN'T make up work if they really want to.
But I do not advocate in any way, shape, form, suggestion, or thought, lowering standards, making things "jolly" (sitting back/shooting the breeze instead of doing formal work/projects), and/or softening the hardships of education in order to keep students in a program/college/university.
Newsflash, people: Education is hard! Education is VERY hard. (Real) learning is HARD.
Personally, I think students usually leave the college environment because they aren't prepared to do the work. (And they often return when they are.) Telling them their educational experience will or ought to be a painless process only sets them up for disillusionment.
(2) I was asked to do things non-commiserate with my pay.
Adjuncts aren't paid that much. It's a fact of life. I taught six courses for four institutions this Spring. I will be teaching seven for three in the Fall. I accept the conditions of being an adjunct because I know that the jobs exist in part because these institutions can only afford cheap labor. (I am completely opposed, for instance, to adjuncts forming unions: more about this in a later post.)
But that doesn't mean I should be treated like a slave. And I have never been asked to do so much for so little with so little appreciation by a single employer as I was this Spring by my on-line employer. Not only was I expected to monitor and contribute to the course "classrooms" every day, grade students, give extensive feedback on projects, prepare and teach a live class--all of which I was willing to do--I was expected to be the students' advisor, counselor, troubleshooter, nanny, babysitter, pep rally coordinator, entertainment committee all while attending meetings and educational courses (It's Fun! It's Engaging! It's Not a Complete Waste of Your Time!). All this for a sum of money that REQUIRES that I work elsewhere to pay my rent and eat.
Of course, there are instructors who do all those things--who love doing all those things, bless their sycophantic/camp counselor hearts. But I'm one of those instructors who wants to teach--just teach--the material (yes, I actually do find English Composition fascinating) to students who want to learn it. I am continually amazed at how often my employers want me to do everything but teach.
(3) Difficult students.
Difficult students are par for the course when you are an instructor. You get mean students and high maintenance students and in-your-face students and students who annoy other students and poorly disciplined students and all the rest. It's part of the challenge. It's one of the things I had to work at accepting when I entered the (college) teaching environment. I honestly thought, "I won't have to discipline anyone at the college level!" (Yes, I know, I was naive.)
I've had to learn to be more assertive--more "this is the syllabus/these are the rules"--and to even walk away from certain situations. Occasionally, I've had to learn to give a student another chance. It's a balancing act!
Now--don't get me wrong. Most of my students, campus and online, are wonderful: hardworking, dedicated, courteous, good listeners. Unfortunately, like with so many social situations, it only takes a few self-entitled, unmotivated, rude, disruptive people to make things difficult and, sometimes, even horrible for everyone else.
I find this aspect of teaching the most emotionally draining. (I'm not alone in this; many women educators will leave tenure track positions because they are expected, unlike their male cohorts, to "mother" their students and everybody else's! These women educators get burnt out.) You would think on-line teaching would be the answer to my prayers!
Not so. From my perspective, there's little difference between a student who badgers you after every class, and a student who sends you emails every single day. In fact, the classroom confrontation is usually more productive: it's easier to explain things, to point (physically) to the syllabus, and, with friendly steeliness, emphasize the course requirements. Students also communicate better face to face.
On the other hand, long, scattered, emotionally charged, unintelligible emails can really ruin your day.
There are other differences between difficult campus students and difficult online students. Most difficult students are difficult because, quite frankly, they want something for nothing. Their difficulty stems from a feeling of outrage: HOW DARE YOU NOT GIVE ME STRAIGHT A's WHEN I ACTUALLY THOUGHT ABOUT DOING MY HOMEWORK TODAY!
The difficult campus student, however, has to show up on-campus to be difficult. And even a really difficult campus student knows it's kind of stupid to argue I DESERVE TO PASS when he or she has never or rarely appeared in class (I've had one student make this argument).
Also, if the difficult campus student does show up, he or she is immediately exposed to the wonderful world of peer example: the student sees other students taking notes, handing in stuff (on-time), getting stuff back, signing up for meetings. If the student isn't completely self-absorbed (and some are), the student will register, "Oooh, this is how students who actually want to pass behave."
Neither of these factors--showing up in a physical classroom; seeing other students physically hand things in--works on-line. The difficult online student can go on believing in his or her self-entitlement for an entire semester without experiencing any "get a grip on reality" epiphanies.
Consequently, difficult online students tend to be difficult all semester long (rather than in spurts like when a project is due or at the very end of the semester).
As you can imagine this gets very wearing.
Now, I will grant that part of my problem is that I get invested. You tell me your great uncle is dying, I'm going to feel bad. Really bad. I won't pass you. But I'll feel really, really bad; in fact, it will ruin my day. Consequently, I'd rather you didn't tell me.
It would be better for me (and for my students) if I could disengage: not take every complaint, emotional upheaval, whine to heart. That much investment isn't healthy. And it really doesn't help the learning process.
But disengagement is not encouraged by the employers of adjuncts, particularly online adjuncts. Disengagement does not correspond to the image of the instructor as advisor, counselor, sister, buddy, etc. etc. etc. It is hard to disengage when you know it will make you and your (accurate) grades vulnerable. It is hard to disengage from a student who sends you five emails a week arguing that he shouldn't have to take English Composition, and he shouldn't have to use good grammar, and he shouldn't have to do research (and who won't stop complaining even after you explain the necessity of English Composition and encourage him to complete the required work) when, at the same time, your department chair is being pressured by the administration to tell instructors to be more nurturing with their students.
True incident, by the way.
It is very hard to disengage when the majority of instructors in your online department (at least, the most vocal ones) agree with the department heads that low retention numbers are due to instructors being too hard in their grading and/or not laid-back/indifferent enough to unprofessional behavior and poor work.
Side note: Blaming retention numbers on instructors is quite frankly, bull. Instructors are not to blame for administrators placing students in their courses, which courses the students cannot pass because they do not have the necessary skill sets. Blaming the instructors is a clever (and nasty way) for online institutions to pressure instructors to inflate their grades and then deny direct culpability. (By the way, approximately 70% of my students passed my online course--30% with A's--and my integrity is still intact, so I'm feeling pretty proud of myself.)
Conclusion
The issues that caused me to leave my on-line employer exist in all colleges to an extent. But I believe exclusively on-line institutions run the risk of pushing these issues to the point where . . . they might as well be selling diplomas.
It hasn't reached that point yet--at least not for my ex. But I decided to get out before it does.
LEARNING
However, I would like to say a few words about teaching for exclusively on-line institutions (as opposed to teaching for institutions that are mostly campus-based with some on-line courses).
To start positively, although the course material was not written to my standards, I was impressed with the design for moving students in and around and out of the individual courses. I liked the automatic grading (you put in the numbers, and it calculates the percentage!) and consequently developed my own "self-grading" Excel documents for my campus courses. I learned some useful techniques for teaching composition, and I learned a lot about communicating with students. But, as with any job, there comes a time when you realize you are no longer tolerating bad days or bad students or even bad material; you are enduring, with gritted teeth, a bad experience and need to get out.
So what changed? Why did I go from saying, "Well, that unit or semester could have gone better; I'll work on that" to going, "Only 2 more weeks. Only 1 more week. Tomorrow! Tomorrow! Tomorrow!"
There were three factors:
(1) I was being asked to do things I wasn't comfortable with.
All colleges face retention issues--students dropping out, students not doing the work and failing and dropping out. All colleges worry about retention issues. Only desperate and morally bankrupt colleges believe that retention can be solved by softening the grading process.
My superiors at this institution would say they didn't ask me to inflate grades. Yeah, well, pigs fly, and my cats clean up after themselves. What do you call it when you are asked to accept late projects without penalization? What do you call it when you are encouraged to brainstorm ways to eliminate/soften course requirements in order to make the process of education easier, friendlier, and less overwhelming?
I do believe that instructors can make the learning process positive and comprehensible in the sense that instructors can invite questions and explain things clearly. I'm also an advocate of a grading system that does not destroy a student's grade based on one missed week of class or one late project. My late policies are never so detrimental that students CAN'T make up work if they really want to.
But I do not advocate in any way, shape, form, suggestion, or thought, lowering standards, making things "jolly" (sitting back/shooting the breeze instead of doing formal work/projects), and/or softening the hardships of education in order to keep students in a program/college/university.
Newsflash, people: Education is hard! Education is VERY hard. (Real) learning is HARD.
Personally, I think students usually leave the college environment because they aren't prepared to do the work. (And they often return when they are.) Telling them their educational experience will or ought to be a painless process only sets them up for disillusionment.
(2) I was asked to do things non-commiserate with my pay.
Adjuncts aren't paid that much. It's a fact of life. I taught six courses for four institutions this Spring. I will be teaching seven for three in the Fall. I accept the conditions of being an adjunct because I know that the jobs exist in part because these institutions can only afford cheap labor. (I am completely opposed, for instance, to adjuncts forming unions: more about this in a later post.)
But that doesn't mean I should be treated like a slave. And I have never been asked to do so much for so little with so little appreciation by a single employer as I was this Spring by my on-line employer. Not only was I expected to monitor and contribute to the course "classrooms" every day, grade students, give extensive feedback on projects, prepare and teach a live class--all of which I was willing to do--I was expected to be the students' advisor, counselor, troubleshooter, nanny, babysitter, pep rally coordinator, entertainment committee all while attending meetings and educational courses (It's Fun! It's Engaging! It's Not a Complete Waste of Your Time!). All this for a sum of money that REQUIRES that I work elsewhere to pay my rent and eat.
Of course, there are instructors who do all those things--who love doing all those things, bless their sycophantic/camp counselor hearts. But I'm one of those instructors who wants to teach--just teach--the material (yes, I actually do find English Composition fascinating) to students who want to learn it. I am continually amazed at how often my employers want me to do everything but teach.
(3) Difficult students.
Difficult students are par for the course when you are an instructor. You get mean students and high maintenance students and in-your-face students and students who annoy other students and poorly disciplined students and all the rest. It's part of the challenge. It's one of the things I had to work at accepting when I entered the (college) teaching environment. I honestly thought, "I won't have to discipline anyone at the college level!" (Yes, I know, I was naive.)
I've had to learn to be more assertive--more "this is the syllabus/these are the rules"--and to even walk away from certain situations. Occasionally, I've had to learn to give a student another chance. It's a balancing act!
Now--don't get me wrong. Most of my students, campus and online, are wonderful: hardworking, dedicated, courteous, good listeners. Unfortunately, like with so many social situations, it only takes a few self-entitled, unmotivated, rude, disruptive people to make things difficult and, sometimes, even horrible for everyone else.
I find this aspect of teaching the most emotionally draining. (I'm not alone in this; many women educators will leave tenure track positions because they are expected, unlike their male cohorts, to "mother" their students and everybody else's! These women educators get burnt out.) You would think on-line teaching would be the answer to my prayers!
Not so. From my perspective, there's little difference between a student who badgers you after every class, and a student who sends you emails every single day. In fact, the classroom confrontation is usually more productive: it's easier to explain things, to point (physically) to the syllabus, and, with friendly steeliness, emphasize the course requirements. Students also communicate better face to face.
On the other hand, long, scattered, emotionally charged, unintelligible emails can really ruin your day.
There are other differences between difficult campus students and difficult online students. Most difficult students are difficult because, quite frankly, they want something for nothing. Their difficulty stems from a feeling of outrage: HOW DARE YOU NOT GIVE ME STRAIGHT A's WHEN I ACTUALLY THOUGHT ABOUT DOING MY HOMEWORK TODAY!
The difficult campus student, however, has to show up on-campus to be difficult. And even a really difficult campus student knows it's kind of stupid to argue I DESERVE TO PASS when he or she has never or rarely appeared in class (I've had one student make this argument).
Also, if the difficult campus student does show up, he or she is immediately exposed to the wonderful world of peer example: the student sees other students taking notes, handing in stuff (on-time), getting stuff back, signing up for meetings. If the student isn't completely self-absorbed (and some are), the student will register, "Oooh, this is how students who actually want to pass behave."
Neither of these factors--showing up in a physical classroom; seeing other students physically hand things in--works on-line. The difficult online student can go on believing in his or her self-entitlement for an entire semester without experiencing any "get a grip on reality" epiphanies.
Consequently, difficult online students tend to be difficult all semester long (rather than in spurts like when a project is due or at the very end of the semester).
As you can imagine this gets very wearing.
Now, I will grant that part of my problem is that I get invested. You tell me your great uncle is dying, I'm going to feel bad. Really bad. I won't pass you. But I'll feel really, really bad; in fact, it will ruin my day. Consequently, I'd rather you didn't tell me.
It would be better for me (and for my students) if I could disengage: not take every complaint, emotional upheaval, whine to heart. That much investment isn't healthy. And it really doesn't help the learning process.
But disengagement is not encouraged by the employers of adjuncts, particularly online adjuncts. Disengagement does not correspond to the image of the instructor as advisor, counselor, sister, buddy, etc. etc. etc. It is hard to disengage when you know it will make you and your (accurate) grades vulnerable. It is hard to disengage from a student who sends you five emails a week arguing that he shouldn't have to take English Composition, and he shouldn't have to use good grammar, and he shouldn't have to do research (and who won't stop complaining even after you explain the necessity of English Composition and encourage him to complete the required work) when, at the same time, your department chair is being pressured by the administration to tell instructors to be more nurturing with their students.
True incident, by the way.
It is very hard to disengage when the majority of instructors in your online department (at least, the most vocal ones) agree with the department heads that low retention numbers are due to instructors being too hard in their grading and/or not laid-back/indifferent enough to unprofessional behavior and poor work.
Side note: Blaming retention numbers on instructors is quite frankly, bull. Instructors are not to blame for administrators placing students in their courses, which courses the students cannot pass because they do not have the necessary skill sets. Blaming the instructors is a clever (and nasty way) for online institutions to pressure instructors to inflate their grades and then deny direct culpability. (By the way, approximately 70% of my students passed my online course--30% with A's--and my integrity is still intact, so I'm feeling pretty proud of myself.)
Conclusion
The issues that caused me to leave my on-line employer exist in all colleges to an extent. But I believe exclusively on-line institutions run the risk of pushing these issues to the point where . . . they might as well be selling diplomas.
It hasn't reached that point yet--at least not for my ex. But I decided to get out before it does.
LEARNING
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Totally About Bones
I don't have cable--and don't really want it--which means I'm a season behind everyone else on shows such as House and Bones. I watch past seasons either through Netflix or through the library (check out your public libraries, people--great resources!).
I recently watched Bones, Season 3. I knew what would happen regarding Zach (I always know what happens; I know what happened recently on House, for example; I'm not one for waiting a whole year to find things out). More about Zach later. Here are my thoughts on all of Season 3.
Totally Cute
It is, without a doubt, a totally cute season. In fact, it's almost too cute, but it was nice to watch an entire season of a show containing almost zero angst. I kept thinking, "Boy, the writers should go on strike more often if this is the result!"
Amongst my favorite cute moments: Bones and Booth and the baby (and yes, I think the "yuppie parents with their kid" imagery was deliberate); the Christmas episode from kiss to singing Santas to the tree (cute and funny episode); Bones and the snakes in the Halloween episode; Bones as Wonder Woman in the Halloween episode; Booth as a geek in the Halloween episode ("See how I just corrected you."); Dr. Sweets, particularly in the episode where he breaks up with his girlfriend, and Booth decides to take him bowling--I also love Dr. Sweets' slang and popular culture references ("Like, dude, [Star Wars reference]."); Bones and Booth in the karaoke club before Booth gets shot.
Booth getting shot brings us to . . .
Totally Random
The influence of the writers' strike does show towards the end of the season. I got the impression that Booth pretending to be dead was originally supposed to be several episodes. It feels like a longer arc than they gave it. I mean, Booth died! Booth DIED! And two seconds later, it's the funeral, and Bones is barging into his bathroom--very cute scene but just a tad abrupt.
My theory is, they (writers/producers) came up with the idea of Booth's death and couldn't let it go to another season because they loved it so much. I think this was a mistake, personally. That particular arc needed more time than it was given.
Speaking of arcs that needed more time (and clues!), Zach as Gormogon's assistant wasn't set up at all. I knew it was coming, so I looked for hints in the prior episodes. Nadda. They didn't even use Zach's stint in Iraq (he could have met one of Gormogon's victims there . . .) It was the most unlikely way I've seen to write a character out of a show since Tasha Yar was killed by the sludge monster (and Yar got to come back and die all over again).
I think turning Zach into Gormogon's assistant could have been done effectively--Zach's issue is that he's always felt like an outsider. They could have pushed that issue more. Hodgins is with Angela; Bones is becoming more and more consumed with Booth and vice versa; Camille (who, by the way, I really like now: you go, independent woman who likes her space and has a quirky sense of humor!) is an independent woman who likes her space. Zach, who isn't good at reading people, could have begun to think he'd been abandoned--I'm an outcast; nobody loves me; I don't fit in anywhere except with my new crazy, psycho friend--only to realize (too late) that his friends really do love him; they just have busy lives.
The way it was done: not believable at all (although I did like that Zach let himself get hurt to protect Hodgins).
Back to Bones and Booth!
Totally Sweet(s)
Yeah, that is a pun. I loved Sweets' role as the observor on the show's most excellent romantic relationship. For instance, one of my favorite scenes is when Sweets takes Bones and Booth to pottery class, and Bones and Booth relate to each other better than Sweets and his girlfriend! That episode made clear that Sweets' interest in Bones and Booth is in the relationship itself, not just with the individuals. He wants to have what they have.
Part of what they have is maturity. I like the fact that Sweets is at least 7 years younger than Bones and 12 years younger than Booth (Booth is 35 in Season 3; Bones is "five years younger."). I'm hoping--remember I haven't seen any of Season 4--that Sweets-Bones-Booth never form a romantic triangle. I like Sweets as the geeky younger brother who kind of hero worships Bones and Booth and is completely engrossed in figuring out their relationship. I don't want to see him as competition to Booth (or to Bones, for that matter).
If that does happen, it will be a mistake. One thing the pottery scene reveals is that Bones and Booth might have their problems, but they are beyond the problems that obsess twenty-years-olds. They behave, well, like adults. In the pottery scene, Bones is impressed by Booth's ability; they kid; they talk. They are very natural together. There isn't a lot of preening or guesswork going on, which is one thing I've always liked about this particular relationship.
Totally Touching
Speaking of Bones and Booth, Season 3 does get almost-maudlin a few times. Of course, Bones is Bones, and the dialog between Bones and Booth is always fantastic, so Bones' almost-maudlin is still pretty sardonic stuff. (It's not like Perlman's Beauty and the Beast, which is tiresomely maudlin.)
In any case, the season did push the appearance of the relationship (if not the actual relationship) much furthur than in past seasons. Bones and Booth look like a couple (that baby!). My only real problem with this is the inevitable-break-up-factor. I would like to see Bones and Booth date and even get married. I'd be really impressed if the writers pulled it off. I do NOT want to see (and will stop watching) Bones and Booth date and then break-up for some totally stupid reason. (One of them sleeps with his or her ex!!) I HATE that sort of thing. (It usually indicates bad/lazy writing.)
In terms of completely touching (but not almost-maudlin), my favorite heart-breaking line is from the episode where Bones implicates herself in order to get her father off. It's the line where Booth addresses Bones directly from the stand: "That's a lot of heart, Bones."
And I love it because even though Booth wants to help Bones and has encouraged her to help her father, he will not agree to her pretend scenario. He has to answer honestly in court, but he refuses to accept Bones' scenario as a realistic option. Bones is his first priority, not her father.
Good stuff.
TELEVISION
I recently watched Bones, Season 3. I knew what would happen regarding Zach (I always know what happens; I know what happened recently on House, for example; I'm not one for waiting a whole year to find things out). More about Zach later. Here are my thoughts on all of Season 3.
*There are spoilers.* (For those of you who do like to wait a whole year+ to find things out.)
Totally Cute
It is, without a doubt, a totally cute season. In fact, it's almost too cute, but it was nice to watch an entire season of a show containing almost zero angst. I kept thinking, "Boy, the writers should go on strike more often if this is the result!"
Amongst my favorite cute moments: Bones and Booth and the baby (and yes, I think the "yuppie parents with their kid" imagery was deliberate); the Christmas episode from kiss to singing Santas to the tree (cute and funny episode); Bones and the snakes in the Halloween episode; Bones as Wonder Woman in the Halloween episode; Booth as a geek in the Halloween episode ("See how I just corrected you."); Dr. Sweets, particularly in the episode where he breaks up with his girlfriend, and Booth decides to take him bowling--I also love Dr. Sweets' slang and popular culture references ("Like, dude, [Star Wars reference]."); Bones and Booth in the karaoke club before Booth gets shot.
Booth getting shot brings us to . . .
Totally Random
The influence of the writers' strike does show towards the end of the season. I got the impression that Booth pretending to be dead was originally supposed to be several episodes. It feels like a longer arc than they gave it. I mean, Booth died! Booth DIED! And two seconds later, it's the funeral, and Bones is barging into his bathroom--very cute scene but just a tad abrupt.
My theory is, they (writers/producers) came up with the idea of Booth's death and couldn't let it go to another season because they loved it so much. I think this was a mistake, personally. That particular arc needed more time than it was given.
Speaking of arcs that needed more time (and clues!), Zach as Gormogon's assistant wasn't set up at all. I knew it was coming, so I looked for hints in the prior episodes. Nadda. They didn't even use Zach's stint in Iraq (he could have met one of Gormogon's victims there . . .) It was the most unlikely way I've seen to write a character out of a show since Tasha Yar was killed by the sludge monster (and Yar got to come back and die all over again).
I think turning Zach into Gormogon's assistant could have been done effectively--Zach's issue is that he's always felt like an outsider. They could have pushed that issue more. Hodgins is with Angela; Bones is becoming more and more consumed with Booth and vice versa; Camille (who, by the way, I really like now: you go, independent woman who likes her space and has a quirky sense of humor!) is an independent woman who likes her space. Zach, who isn't good at reading people, could have begun to think he'd been abandoned--I'm an outcast; nobody loves me; I don't fit in anywhere except with my new crazy, psycho friend--only to realize (too late) that his friends really do love him; they just have busy lives.
The way it was done: not believable at all (although I did like that Zach let himself get hurt to protect Hodgins).
Back to Bones and Booth!
Totally Sweet(s)
Yeah, that is a pun. I loved Sweets' role as the observor on the show's most excellent romantic relationship. For instance, one of my favorite scenes is when Sweets takes Bones and Booth to pottery class, and Bones and Booth relate to each other better than Sweets and his girlfriend! That episode made clear that Sweets' interest in Bones and Booth is in the relationship itself, not just with the individuals. He wants to have what they have.
Part of what they have is maturity. I like the fact that Sweets is at least 7 years younger than Bones and 12 years younger than Booth (Booth is 35 in Season 3; Bones is "five years younger."). I'm hoping--remember I haven't seen any of Season 4--that Sweets-Bones-Booth never form a romantic triangle. I like Sweets as the geeky younger brother who kind of hero worships Bones and Booth and is completely engrossed in figuring out their relationship. I don't want to see him as competition to Booth (or to Bones, for that matter).
If that does happen, it will be a mistake. One thing the pottery scene reveals is that Bones and Booth might have their problems, but they are beyond the problems that obsess twenty-years-olds. They behave, well, like adults. In the pottery scene, Bones is impressed by Booth's ability; they kid; they talk. They are very natural together. There isn't a lot of preening or guesswork going on, which is one thing I've always liked about this particular relationship.
Totally Touching
Speaking of Bones and Booth, Season 3 does get almost-maudlin a few times. Of course, Bones is Bones, and the dialog between Bones and Booth is always fantastic, so Bones' almost-maudlin is still pretty sardonic stuff. (It's not like Perlman's Beauty and the Beast, which is tiresomely maudlin.)
In any case, the season did push the appearance of the relationship (if not the actual relationship) much furthur than in past seasons. Bones and Booth look like a couple (that baby!). My only real problem with this is the inevitable-break-up-factor. I would like to see Bones and Booth date and even get married. I'd be really impressed if the writers pulled it off. I do NOT want to see (and will stop watching) Bones and Booth date and then break-up for some totally stupid reason. (One of them sleeps with his or her ex!!) I HATE that sort of thing. (It usually indicates bad/lazy writing.)
In terms of completely touching (but not almost-maudlin), my favorite heart-breaking line is from the episode where Bones implicates herself in order to get her father off. It's the line where Booth addresses Bones directly from the stand: "That's a lot of heart, Bones."
And I love it because even though Booth wants to help Bones and has encouraged her to help her father, he will not agree to her pretend scenario. He has to answer honestly in court, but he refuses to accept Bones' scenario as a realistic option. Bones is his first priority, not her father.
Good stuff.
TELEVISION
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