Monday, September 24, 2007

True Confessions

As always, here are some thoughts very after an event.

Quite a while back, Otto Fong, science teacher at RI outed himself as gay on a blog-post. Some of the subsequent commentary on the event takes up the questions of homo-sexuality as identity in interesting ways. As I understand it (from the little that I've read), queer theorists tend to now eschew thinking about fundamental identities to think about a range of practices -- a way of thinking about things that debunks the "homo-hetero" dualism, as well as the "normal-deviant" axis. The strength of this kind of thinking and research enables the situation of particular practices rather than pre-ordained identities as the locus of discussion. It also spreads out the sense of 'queerness' because practices within "hetero" sexual relationships that were formerly considered 'safe' from critical inquiry (ie protected because hetero identities are always already assumed to escape the critical eye) can now be connected with practices that are more usually associated with "homosexuality". Work that takes this approach often reveals how intensely culturally bound the prejudices that we take for granted are. For instance, we barely blink an eye when we think about the use of contraception (even though a very large and powerful religion still frowns on it), but in a certain time of human history it was a really really bad thing: what was probably the most common form of contraception in the Middle Ages, coitus interuptus, was considered an unnatural act, and within the mystifying equivalences of the Church's spiritual economy, would have been a worse sin than committing incest with one's own daughter. But that's enough titillation for one blog post (and far too penetrating a glimpse into my research ...)

Yet part of the practice of sexuality in this particular case is the act of "coming out". In an interesting way, "coming out" is a practice that is strangely connected to that older spiritual and moral institution, the Confessional. There are obvious differences. In "coming out", the individual isn't confessing a sin; indeed, one of the reasons for "coming out" is to re-establish for the individual, what is out there in the open, what doesn't need to be hidden, and of course, what therefore shouldn't be regarded as sinful. At the same time, there is a cathartic element to "coming out" that may match or even trump the ritual cleansing associated with the Confessional. More interesting, I think, is the way "coming out" potentially disrupts the way the Confessional works as a form of internalized surveillance camera on the conscience. Confessionals, as a mode of social spiritual control, are turned on their head in a move like Fong's, and are enabled by the paradoxical (public yet intimate) technology of confession that is the Blog.

If the mainstream media is any gauge of popular opinion on the subject, I figure the general position of the "liberal but concerned" individual would be this: "Coming out of the closet is fine but only with family, close friends and peers". There are clear limits to the audience for a Confession. However, like the ritual of Confession, "coming out" must necessarily straddle the institution and the interior, for an effect to be properly wrought. If indeed the Confessional was also a potent tool for the moral instruction of the believer -- you confess your sins, you get instructed in the right way by doing penances assigned by the Confessor -- one interesting question is how "coming out" is itself a potent pedagogical tactic. I know this sounds trivializing, but for individuals for whom educating means more than a paycheck at the end of the month, it may make some sense.

"Coming out" makes the teacher human. I think that too many teachers are far too distant and always on their guard about who they are to be effective in communicating their intellectual passions and interests. Of course, not every teacher is going to have something news-worthy to "come out" (now, obviously, loosely used) about, but surely there are elements in every teachers life, that while not directly related to the subject matter at hand, may strike a chord with his or her students. And while some may accuse this kind of stripping away at oneself as purely self-indulgent attention seeking behavior, I think there's something to be said about the way being vulnerably human establishes an indissoluble tie between persons.

Perhaps one of the greatest privileges I had was to study the poetry of Robert Lowell in JC. The following poem, Waking in the Blue, in the stark naked voice of one of the greatest poets of the confession, illustrates the power of the confessional:
The night attendant, a B.U. sophomore,
rouses from the mare's-nest of his drowsy head
propped on The Meaning of Meaning.
He catwalks down our corridor.
Azure day
makes my agonized blue window bleaker.
Crows maunder on the petrified fairway.
Absence! My hearts grows tense
as though a harpoon were sparring for the kill.
(This is the house for the "mentally ill.")

What use is my sense of humour?
I grin at Stanley, now sunk in his sixties,
once a Harvard all-American fullback,
(if such were possible!)
still hoarding the build of a boy in his twenties,
as he soaks, a ramrod
with a muscle of a seal
in his long tub,
vaguely urinous from the Victorian plumbing.
A kingly granite profile in a crimson gold-cap,
worn all day, all night,
he thinks only of his figure,
of slimming on sherbert and ginger ale--
more cut off from words than a seal.
This is the way day breaks in Bowditch Hall at McLean's;
the hooded night lights bring out "Bobbie,"
Porcellian '29,
a replica of Louis XVI
without the wig--
redolent and roly-poly as a sperm whale,
as he swashbuckles about in his birthday suit
and horses at chairs.

These victorious figures of bravado ossified young.

In between the limits of day,
hours and hours go by under the crew haircuts
and slightly too little nonsensical bachelor twinkle
of the Roman Catholic attendants.
(There are no Mayflower
screwballs in the Catholic Church.)

After a hearty New England breakfast,
I weigh two hundred pounds
this morning. Cock of the walk,
I strut in my turtle-necked French sailor's jersey
before the metal shaving mirrors,
and see the shaky future grow familiar
in the pinched, indigenous faces
of these thoroughbred mental cases,
twice my age and half my weight.
We are all old-timers,
each of us holds a locked razor.

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

NoteBooks










I was straightening out my things today and realized that I've accumulated quite a pile of notebooks. You'd think that in this techno-driven age the notebook would be an outdated thing of the past. But I've grown to love my notebooks. I think I've filled up quite a number since 2004: I've got the two tiny ones that I use to record the details of mundane happenings. The first was even featured on this blog as a strange romp in the weird imaginative universe of Limitlim. The second is now mostly filled with driving directions, calorie counts and places to bring people when they visit little ol' Lansing. (It's also an overpriced "I-don't-believe-you-paid-that-much-money-for-a-few pieces-of-paper-sewn-together" Moleskine ...)

As for bigger work related notebooks, I think I filled in about five or six hundred pages worth of notebooks while I was doing coursework. I've noticed that a lot of people take classes without needing to jot things down but note-taking has always been a security blanket for me. I've got small handwriting too so the wall of words looks pretty cool when the blanks are all filled in. The first notebook that I used here in the U.S. is quite funny because I was trying to save space. I managed to write really densely -- doubling the lines of text for each ruled line in some instances. (I later found cheap notebooks -- from India, thus further internationalizing my academic endeavors -- in the dollar stores along 125th street ...)










While studying for the Orals I took another two hundred pages of notes (in addition to typing out about two hundred more pages of more coherent reading reports for the consumption of my Committee). I reckon that these pages will come in useful when I begin to teach this material and so my students to be will be treated to dusty spiral bound pages flipped to and fro as I search out that elusive insight that I'm sure I recorded. And no I do not love MSU -- it just was the notebook on sale at the bookstore here when I ran out and needed a new one. Essentially, I've used spiral bound notebooks during my time here: they're are quite convenient except that they leave an imprint on one's writing hand and sometimes turn inconsistently if they're poorly made. I had one where the metal spiraling kept come loose and I always had to struggle with it to pull it out of my bag as the wiring would get caught in fabric.

As for the latest addition to my family of notebooks, I got myself a nice Miquelrius notebook (Mine's a "flexible" leather notebook). It was a bit of a splurge (I'm too embarrassed to confess to how much it cost) and it really looks like a Moleskine imitation -- with elastic band and all. It's a nice thick notebook (300 pages -- and breaking it in I've realized that it's really hard to write on the verso side of the pages because it's still so fat on one end ... ) and should last me the dissertation.

I like notebooks.

Sunday, September 16, 2007

Starting up all over again

After a pleasant week of pottering around, enjoying the cold, working out and calorie counting like a teenage girl, testing new recipes, watching many movies and playing around with Facebook, it's time to get going again. Now the immediate objective is to cobble together a dissertation prospectus ("there's a ten page limit but your bibliography isn't a works cited page ... it's meant to be long ..."). Ten pages isn't a lot -- and that's where the challenge lies. I need to lay out where I stand in the scholarship, say something about my original contribution, discuss my theoretical approach and outline my chapters -- all within 10 pages.

Apparently the 10 page proposal is pretty standard for book proposals in the humanities -- so the prospectus is meant to force one to be succinct. I'm planning to work on the Family (of course, this means interrogating and re-thinking what "family" means) in Middle English poetry. My tentative title (I think it's quite a nice one): Familiar Estrangements: The Practice of Family in Middle English Romance. The first task -- to read up on the history of the family in the middle ages -- represented by this stack -- and hopefully obtain some confirmation of my intuitions ...



Here's Sourdough making sure
I have the right books and working
out which ones will be the most tasty ...

Friday, September 14, 2007

Some things I've been watching








I haven't really written about the films I've been watching in a while -- so here's a short list.
Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story
The Paper Chase

The Jacket (this was Edna scouting out less known Keira Knightly films)
Domino (Another Keira Knightly film that was really quite funny and great fun ... she's a bounty hunter in this one)
Several Louis Malle documentaries (The Criterion Collection's got a 'new'ish line which releases less well known works by great film-makers. It's aptly named Eclipse. I've had the good fortune of watching (or 'archiving', ahem) the first two sets: The Early Films of Bergman and the Documentaries of Louis Malle.
Eric Rohmer: Suzanne's Career and The Bakery Girl of Monceau.
Basquiat!
I've also starting viewing Roberto Rossilini's post-war trilogy of films: Open City, Paisan and Germany Year Zero. Thanks to the excellent public interlibrary loan system that connects different libraries throughout Michigan State, I've been able to get a hold of some pretty interesting materials.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Finally Facebooked

I've succumbed to signing up for a Facebook account after receiving the "n"th email invite. Being the unconnected person that I am, these web-networking things never sustain my interest for very long -- I have Friendster and Multiply accounts but never check them out. I know Facebook is cool -- I've already seen guys with whom I was friends with in ACS on a friend of a friend's profile -- and presumably I could get in touch with them if I were so inclined. Anyway, I've come to think of these connectivity things as distorted reflections of genuine social relations (are we getting into Marx here?), though I'm sure there are proponents of these network things who love Facebook. Anyway, two thoughts:

1. How long would it take for two very separate circles of friends on Facebook to finally come full circle and link up with one another? I'm guessing that for most people, the people that are their friends on Facebook come from a very specific sphere of their lives. For me, it would be all 'em young 'uns that I've had the privilege of teaching. But because Facebook cleverly scans your email account, I also have (one) a friend from an earlier life -- when I was a student at RJ. Now -- the question would be how large would my network have to be before my "peers" link up to my "students". To make this a fair thought experiment, the link cannot replicate the social situation that got me acquainted with either circle. For example, the networking doesn't come full-circle if one of my former students now gets taught by a classmate of mine. (I don't think it can work the other way). Here's the thing. The most probable way that the circles will overlap is through blood relations. Some student somewhere is a nephew, niece, or cousin of one of my friends. But even if this were the case, the fact that Facebook culture governs who ends up being friends with another person, suggests that these 'blood' relationships probably won't get manifested in a Facebook network. (The best way to get your child off Facebook is to become friends with all his / her friends). Of course, the OTHER way that relationships are established would be virtually, through Facebook itself -- the medium is the message. But for the experiment to be 'fair', people can't be allowed to become friends via Facebook.

2. Another experiment. Say you take two people who are pretty close to each other. (For example, Ms. / Dr. Edna Tan ie the wife and I). Each person signs up for a Facebook account but can't add the other person. I'm convinced that it's possible for us to exist as Facebook accounts without our network circles touching.

Anyway, in the spirit of Facebook, here are some pictures that I've put up on my profile:

Album

Get it ?

Saturday, September 08, 2007

Done

It's 5.50 in the morning and the sounds of the City that never sleeps but always dreams in fits and starts have kept me awake since I tried to go to bed several hours ago. Another thing that's been keeping me up -- the caffeine from the great diner we discovered (it had great Eggs Florentine with a really interesting sauce -- pretty fancy for a diner, I think ...) and too many cups of Chinese tea from XO in Chinatown. And of course, the last thing that's keeping me awake is all the adrenaline that's still coursing through my body from the Oral Exams that took place yesterday.

For the first time in my life, I was actually overdressed for an occasion. I've actually seen candidates and examiners emerge from the 'thesis' room (so named because every thesis that has been written under the auspices of the English program at the CUNY GC lines its walls, therefore making it a significant but intimidating venue for the exam -- as my Committee Chair put it, "We could have the exam in my office but we'll do it here so that you'll REALLY remember this room ...") decked out in suits and other formal apparel. But all three examiners were rather casually dressed which was a good sign, I suppose.

So we had "intellectual conversation" for about two hours, with my Committee asking me a wide ranging series of questions about the theoretical, thematic, stylistic, and of course, idiosyncratic elements of the books that I've read over the past few months. Anyway -- I thought it was a very fulfilling experience and I was really tired after the whole affair. By the time my third examiner started asking the questions, I was barely cognizant of what I was saying. Anyway, of the several "low-lights" in the exam, I remember three in particular ( since the ordeal is over, I guess I should say "remember three rather fondly"):

1. This was on my Old English / Middle English Romance / Arthurian list, which was second in questioning order. The response started out fine. I mentioned "Genesis B" as a particularly interesting text because it depicts, in ways that are pretty startling for an early work, Satan in a somewhat sympathetic light (and hence the theory that Milton may have encountered this work). After discussing the way the feudal relationship marks out Satan's character and motivations and his longing to return to his former glory, the questions turned to the way the temptation itself worked. And immediately I knew that I would be in trouble in one of two questions because my mind drew a blank as to how the poem embellishes the temptation scenes. All I could recall was that the demonic tempter poses as a messenger of God to Adam, adopting the role of the servant loyal to a liege lord. What escaped my memory was the fact that Adam rejects the offer because there's not 'written' proof of his status as vassal and that Eve succumbs because the demon entices her with a vision of what acceding would bring (medieval writers had a rich imagination when it came to fleshing out the word of God). I was reduced to an apologetic, "I'm sorry, I really can't remember the specifics ..."

2. The next difficult moment occurred on a question on my more 'theoretical' list, the psychoanalytical material. Essentially, the question was about how theorists apart from Lacan take up the vexed question of how the ego fits into a post-Freudian re-reading of things. Anyway, I launched into a tentative spiel (trying to sound confident but obviously betraying my befuddlement at how to approach the question) about how Luce Irigary's work seems to be taking the Freudian text itself as a problematic ego that ends up suffering different contradictions and resistances when she 'analyzes' it as a feminist, which drew the response, "That's interesting, but I was thinking more about Teresa ...." And then it clicked in my mind, ah yes, Teresa Brennan and her notion of the age of the ego ... Ah well ...

3. When opening his section on the third and final part of the exam, my Comm Chair candidly said that despite his section being the theoretical bit, he would endeavor to end the section by weaving in a question on Langland (the medieval writer of Piers Plowman), "who hasn't yet been mentioned today". And he made good on his promise by closing the exam with a question of how the family is embodied by the text. The difficult thing here is that there aren't that many explicit references to family in the text. I managed to point out how the autobiographical sections added to the C-text as well as a brief allegorical drama involving the Soul in the castle of the Flesh, 'use' the family in literal as well as didactic ways. At the back of my mind I was going to say something about the four daughters of God (Truth, Justice, Mercy, Peace) who make an appearance at the harrowing of Hell but I figured it was 1. too conventional and 2. not quite the Thing that the question was looking for. Of course, my Prof brilliantly elaborated on my answer to point out that one of the most striking moments (unfortunately it didn't strike me) of how the family is embodied by the text is in the description of Piers Plowman, his wife and his oddly (and extravagantly) named children. Unlike the two earlier moments of absolutely drawing a blank and immediate recognition, this moment had my memory gurgling with the faint impression that, yeah, I vaguely recalled that ... he's right.

Anyway, there were several highlights as well, but my overall experience of the thing was that it was really effective as an initiatory rite into the pursuits and conversations that are supposed to consume the rest of my academic and intellectual life. The fact that I'm expected to carry out conversations at the same level of erudition and eloquence as my examiners remains a pretty daunting prospect. I'm still amazed at how exhausted I was after the two hours, not so much intellectually but physically as well: I was ready to zone out for the rest of the evening (but obviously haven't managed to). Anyway, I ended up passing the exam (with distinction, thanks to the generosity of my Committee) and am now formally advanced to candidacy. Or, to use one of the most dreaded acronyms of grad school, I'm now ABD: All But Dissertation.

I'm going to kick back for a few days, watch the U.S. Open (on TV), eat real food in New York, begin reading "Anna Karenina", and of course, meet with my dissertation Sup on Monday to discuss my plans for the dissertation.

Monday, September 03, 2007

Notes on Nerves










With about four days to go before the big day -- the Oral Exams -- I'm getting a little nervous.

I've been reviewing the notes that I've taken over the last 8 months and making notes from those notes...

Sometimes, it all comes together nicely:
Melancholia: Freud: pathological because of 1. the nature of the object cathexis in the first place : not true object libido but took the object into the ego narcissistically. 2. leads to the identification that cannot de-cathect from the object: the loss object is experienced as a loss to own ego. In a sense, if we connect this to neurosis and a failure within Lacan's symbolic structure, the inability to de-cathect is a failure to find the right substitution in language (because the object is related to metonymically and can't be transformed into metaphor). The breakdown of the metaphorical system, where the absent mother of the Fort-Da game, cannot be replaced in language.
Sometimes, I wish I took better notes:
ln1785: Honor's Court -- given very rigid allegorical schema of courtly positions. The ornate allocation - complex heirarchy - again - a thinking 'back' on allegorical convention (PP?) -- but here 'done' so 'perfectly' developed. [what the hell was I thinking ...?]

Saturday, September 01, 2007

Braking and Accelerating into the Last Century

As faithful readers of this blog happen to know, I passed the driving test about a week ago. I just got my license in the mail and I'm pretty amazed by the fact that I can now legally operate a highly dangerous machine -- a true symbol of the last century -- without 'adult supervision.'

It's not a big deal, I know, especially in a place where kids can start driving a few months after their 14th birthday, and celebrity car crashes and 'children-of-celebrities' driving incidents are constantly in the news. I suppose being "unlicensed" at 33 is akin to being the 40-year-old virgin. But since getting a driver's license pretty much a 'coming-of-age' thing in our post-industrial societies, I guess I can't really claim to be a luddite hold-out (also sometime concerned environmentalist -- "If I drove, I'd contribute to pollution" -- and pseudo sympathizer of the working classes -- "What about all those people who HAVE to take public transport because they can't afford to drive?").

I'm still pretty uncomfortable behind the wheel but at least I'm a functional driver now. If I'd taken lessons and the exam in the motherland, I'd probably still be clanging gears and desperately trying to swerve through 'S' courses. The good thing about learning how to drive in Automobile land is that it's a practical skill that's much needed and test standards take that into account. I'm pretty fortunate that I've gotten to drive a lot while learning how to drive and after I've passed, as I know so many people back home who after getting a license never got the chance to drive cause it just costs so much to own a car. (Eg. Edna only really got a chance to drive several years after getting a license because she had access to my mom's car -- and of course because I don't drive ...)

Anyway, some scenes from my history as a learner driver. I actually took a couple of lessons in Singapore before deciding that driving was not for me:

Taking the Theory Test:
Police guy administering the test: Ok, no writing until I say so. All of you look up at me when I give the instructions. You [not me, I was one of the meekly compliant] -- why you not looking up -- you trying to cheat? Get out. You fail already.

The first practical lesson takes us back to about 1996 (it must have been ...) when I rather belatedly decided to sign up for lessons at the Bukit Batok Driving School. First lesson:
(Before anything happens and I'm sitting in the car)
Me: Hello.
Instuc: You got a brother who works here, right?
Me: No.
Instruc: Are you sure?
Me: Yes, quite sure.
Instruc: You drive before, right?
Me: Nope.
Instuc: Don't bluff, you drive before right?
Me: Err, no.

After another lesson like this, I decided that learning how to drive wasn't something I wanted to do. Of course there was that CRASH that happened when I tried to head my mom's car into the driveway of our house. Somehow, despite all the intensive theory instruction that's required in Singapore, no one told me about idling speed.

Driving lessons here were much more pleasant. I actually took lessons with an ang moh lady (6 in all) as Edna and I decided that for her to teach me how to drive would be a quick way to end the marriage. But Edna was really patient and indulgent in allowing me lots of time in the car while I was still learning. Leading to scenes like the following:

Me: So I'm going to turn left here once traffic clears. (Car inches uncooperatively forward)
ET: 你在做什么?
Me: I'm going to go left after that car. (Car right in the intersection, possibly endangering lives)
ET: 你在做什么!?
Me: I'm waiting for the red to complete the turn.
ET: 你在做什么!!!
Me: Why are you shouting at me in Chinese! (Car accelerates into the turn then stops and starts lurching forward strangely)
ET: 你在做什么!!!!
Me: There's something wrong with the car! It won't go forward! Ah, wrong pedal...

Anyway, I think I'm pretty safe on the roads now. Apart for Edna's insistence that we reverse into parking lots (esp. after I put the car into "Drive" when I should have reversed out of a lot), I think anyone could entrust their lives to me. The good thing about learning to drive is that I'm a pretty good at navigation (a skill that Edna hasn't really cultivated cause I always work out the directions), so if the PhD doesn't work out, at least I can say that I learned a skill in the US and make a living driving people around.