Narrative

Story. Yesterday a student came into the writing center with an assignment. Hemingway claimed that the phrase "For sale: baby shoes, never worn" could be read as his autobiography. This student's teacher wanted him to identify what made that phrase a story and what could that story mean. I asked him what he thought made that phrase a story. He looked at me, smiled apologetically and said, "I'm sorry, Ma'am, I don't actually think its a story, I'm just writing that it is for the assignment." I hope the student left yesterday with a changed mind as well as a changed paper.

Hemingway's story, the terse collection of words and punctuation, imposes on the reader the lens through which he's asking us to look at him. Most of us go through life making stories out of experience; we interpret interactions, actions, and inaction narratively. Chronology, connections, and climax slip into our thoughts and spill out of our mouths often without us consciously aware of the verbal construction at work. As I find myself looking back and trying to craft my experiences into a mildly entertaining narrative, I'm more aware than usual of the potential for artificiality.

Story. I ventured inside the library on Monday. My religion and literature in Early Modern England had me comparing two different early english translations of the Bible. Our instructor stood in front of class and said, "now, I want you to realize what is at stake in the work of translation; you're literary scholars, this is what you do best. Get to the library and actually look at the Bibles we have there. Find a passage that is different between translations. Try to use some of the early ones, the Douay-Rheims, Geneva or Tyndale translations would be best. I guess if you have to use the Authorized King James Version, that's fine."

So there I was, in the library as ordered; I'd dutifully looked up the Douay-Rheims Bible, and I had the call number. I knew I was on the right floor because I was knee deep in biblical commentaries and concordances, but I could not find this book. So after walking up and down the three flights of stairs to double check that I had the right number, checking and double checking the library map and guide, I did what any young bewildered student might do; I asked a librarian for help. What did I get? A very nice albeit condescending tour of the third floor of the library, complete with a lesson on how to read call numbers (that stung my pride a bit...after all, I did know how to read call-numbers) and a lecture on the purpose of the reference section--something I was also aware of. All of which was spoken in a thick eastern european accent. What did I learn? The library stacks are half floors. So I needed to go up a half flight of stairs to 3a in order to find my book. All I can say is, that definitely wasn't on the map.

Story. The Douay-Rheims Bible is the Catholic translation of the Vulgate into English. It has undergone several revisions since the sixteenth century, but my understanding is that it remains heavily dependent on the Latin. The Tyndale and Geneva Bibles were early protestant translations that attempted to return to the Greek and Hebrew roots of scripture to translate. An early disagreement between Tyndale and Thomas Moore was Tyndale's choice to translate "ecclesia" as "congregation" rather than "church". Tyndale argued that people needed to know ecclesia included the laity as well as the leaders, and that it referred to a body of believers rather than an institution. However, later protestant translations returned to "church" as the translation of ecclesia. Our instructor used this example to illustrate the difficulty of translation when dealing with divinely inspired literature. He argued the reformers insisted optimistically that the ultimate meaning of the text could be understood and agreed upon by all true believers. However, if the meaning of language is created by the communities that use it, then differences in communities will ultimately create difference in interpretation. Interesting stuff, eh?

Story. Due tomorrow: writing assignment, unwritten.

Goodnight!

So it begins....

Here’s a taste of what I’m doing at school: reading, writing and more reading. And I’m lovin’ it.

 Despite the chaotic start to the semester things are unfolding into a manageable routine.  The hurricane last weekend didn’t cause any problems for me, but the forecast caused several orientation events and departmental meetings to be cancelled on Saturday, and so it feels like I’m starting the semester in the middle rather than at the beginning.

I weathered the hurricane with my roommate, Hannah, at her sister’s house in Baltimore. Hannah was planning on spending Saturday with her sister, Abby, for a baby shower and since all the events were cancelled on campus, she invited me to come along. I wasn’t sure if it was particularly wise to be heading toward the coast with a hurricane on its way, but as it turned out we didn’t have any problems. We did spend the night at Abby’s—she and her husband were very kind to put us up for the night—and my only impression was that it was a windy, rainy night.

This week I had my first official classes. We started off in my Lit and Religion in Early Modern English class with a discussion of Reformation theology as opposed to Medieval Catholic theology. I think that will prove to be a provocative and fascinating course, although the reading will be, as my professor himself admitted, “voluminous.” My other classes are required for first semester Master’s students in the English department. One is a methods course meant to introduce graduate students to the resources available for research and the expectations of professional scholarship. The professor for that class is six months pregnant and tended to lean forward and rock back as she lectured making me incredibly anxious that she would end up falling over. My third class is a pedagogy course that I’m taking along with a few first year PhD students who are teaching their first classes. I’m looking forward to learning from their mistakes ;-)

Next week I begin my shifts at the writing center; I’ll be working 17 hours all together. In preparation, I had to get around to fifteen sections of English 101 yesterday to make all the freshmen aware of the free writing consultation service the English department provides. The biggest mistake of that endeavor was stopping by Starbucks for coffee before beginning my rounds. Drinking hot coffee while running around the corridors and stairwells of poorly ventilated, hundred-year-old buildings makes for an unpleasantly warm and persperational experience.

Hannah is home in Michigan this weekend, and I have the apartment to myself (and the cats).  Hope everyone enjoys their holiday weekend! I know I will.