Seeking Historian of Science

My department is seeking a historian of science (or an extremely capable scholar of western intellectual history) to administer a distance education course this summer (May-July) and next fall/winter (September-April) in the history of science that surveys the field from antiquity through the twentieth century.

HIST 3905 History of Science (A study of the rise of science in relation to the development of Western society) has been prepared with an excellent, comprehensive course manual that students will read along with the assigned textbooks: Ede, A. and Cormack, L. B., A History of Science in Society: From Philosophy to Utility (2004), Larson, E. J., Evolution: The Remarkable History of a Scientific Theory (2006). The course structure has been set but it will still require someone who’s familiar with the field to administer successfully and to assess student assignments.

HIST 3905 is offered via our Envision program and is conducted online.

Interested applicants should send to the Department Chair, Dr. Sara Burke, a letter of application, a current curriculum vitae, a current teaching dossier and any relevant supporting documentation.

Department of History
Laurentian University
935 Ramsey Lake Road
Sudbury, Ontario
P3E 2C6

Consult the Laurentian University 2011-14 Collective Agreement (for rates of pay) and see the terms of the last posting here. The closing date is now 6 March, 2012.

Please circulate widely!

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With a Little Help from my (Writing Group) Friends

I finished up the emergency chapter draft on Sunday of last week, hooray! 5200 words in less than a week was one heck of a challenge. Now I’m editing after conferring with my co-author but I’m also moving onto the next projects.

A lot of this progress I credit to the support and accountability that comes from participating in an online writing group. This go-round’s being hosted by Dame Eleanor Hull who’s been fabulous about doling out advice as well as reminding us to keep on track.

For all that writing can be quite a solitary activity, it’s better when you have that support system to both keep you honest and give you some feedback, even if it’s not about your writing in particular so much as your progress. As a couple of other members in this writing group have commented, knowing that someone’s expecting to hear how you did, you push to squeeze in a bit more writing time. You make it a priority because you know that someone outside of yourself and your institutional colleagues will care about what you’re doing. You know that they will commiserate when you detail the week’s tragedies and cheer for the week’s triumphs.

Now, if you’ll pardon me, I’ve got some more writing to do!

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The Most Frustrating Day of My Life

That would be today. You may call it Valentine’s Day. I’d call it the day that I attempted to get three bureaucratic entities to give me one piece of paper only to be stonewalled again and again.

Three and a half hours after starting out on the short errand, I finally had the correct material clutched in my tear-stained hands.

I should have been prepared because anything that involves the provincial government’s bureaucracy is particularly problematic. This was precisely what I experienced only multiplied because it involved a vague and confused phone rep at the insurance company and a blithely uncommunicative soul at a local business. I had websites, an office and people on the phone giving unclear and conflicting information that sent me here and there, then back here and then over there and, finally, finally, to tbe office where someone could take my money and actually provide me with the correct piece of paper.

*sigh*

Nothing should ever be this frustrating. Let’s just hope that I’ve hit my quota of Kafka-esque moments because the next two days hold the prospect for further breakdowns as I finish off today’s insurance task and then tackle an entirely different one on Thursday.

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Just a Marking Machine

The chapter draft is done. I’m pretty impressed with myself. It took less than a week to come up with a chapter of just over five thousand words, most of it dealing with historical parallels far afield of my early modern British ‘comfort zone’. Thankfully, my magpie ways of research and the speedy services of our inter-library loan system gave me lots of great material to work with for the subject.

Now I can pick up the pieces of my life, aka get back to marking. It’s amazing how quickly this backs up. I get a feeling that term-time marking is rather like “I Love Lucy” on a factory line. One bobble and instant disaster.


Poor Lucy! Only, hey, at least it’s candy, not papers!

Bring on the rubrics and polish up the red pen. Tomorrow I’m going to try and get through the backlog of tutorial responses. Once those are done, maybe I can whittle down the pile of quizzes that still have short essays to be assessed. I hate it when the turnaround is more than a week for small assignments such as these but that’s what happens when a writing project is suddenly thrust upon you!

Stay tuned for the week of the 20th when I hammer out a grant proposal.

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Writing Midterm

Not writing a midterm exam, but writing in the midst of a term. I have a new and urgent project to complete this week so it’s nose to the grindstone and all that. Three observations as an academic author:

  1. Though shalt not fiddle: to make this miracle occur I went to minimal mode with regards to my teaching. I have great preps from the last time I taught the Ancient Near East survey so I’m not revising any of the preps for next week’s classes. I’m also not going to get their quizzes back for Thursday, even though my TA’s helped with marking everything but the essay part. My seniors need their paper proposals back on Friday but other than that, marking waits for the end of the weekend.
  2. Though shalt not be distracted: During Thursday’s office hours, my door will be closed and a sign will invite visitors to please knock. Otherwise, I know I’ll be distracted by the noisy passage of hundreds up and down the busy hallway. I’m also not paying any attention to extraneous emails. If you’re not mission-critical, you’re waiting until Monday!
  3. Though shalt not blog (much!): Of course, the final, rueful truth: blogging will continue to languish. Hope you don’t hold it against me. I will return.

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Tutorial Tuning

My tutorials need a tune-up! In my eighty-student Ancient Near East survey this term, I’m having a problem with the tutorials. The task is document analysis and I know they’re good documents – a variety of literary, political and legal sources. Many of them I’ve used before to good effect. But this year, the discussions are painful! (My TA even remarked on that today after class was over.)

They know that the tutorial wraps up with a question that they need for their response paper due the following week. I think that most of them are sitting there, content to wait until the question appears.

It’s not as if they won’t speak up in class. This is a course with a presentation component – every student prepares to help open one class topic. And when they present, the vast majority of the students do an awesome job, sharing a polished, thoughtful response that helps lead everyone into tackling the day’s topic. However, the challenge of tutorial discussion seems a bit more daunting than an in-class presentation. Strange, I know, but there you are.

I tried opening them up to the challenge in today’s tutorial by projecting some sections of our tutorial text (Hammurabi’s Code) on the overhead and asking for volunteers to read individual passages, then posing a question for them on that self-same passage. It felt like pulling teeth. I got a very few comments. I might have gotten more if I’d waited them out longer, but we only have twenty minutes for the exercise, so that won’t work so well. (And I’d love to devote more time to these but given that we usually spend twenty minute on presentations at the start of class and there are only forty minutes left in the class period, time starts to run out for the rest of our activities.)

I realized, this afternoon, that one obvious solution is to open the tutorial session with the assignment question, itself, and then giving them a few minutes to ponder or review before venturing their approaches. I could turn our tutorial periods into brainstorming sessions where I give them the question and then sit back, only intervening when they get too stuck on one track and don’t consider other approaches.

In our next tutorial, I’m going to open with the question projected on the board and ask for someone to suggest a possible response strategy. I’ll let you know how that goes in another few weeks.

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Fear of Feedback

Now that another chapter’s out the door, I can confess: I’m afraid to look at feedback on my written work. When I get a chapter back from my editor or comments on a proposal for a conference, my adrenaline surges as I stare at the item in the inbox.

I’m afraid to click on it. Utterly, wildly terrified.

Isn’t that sad? A bit embarrassing, too. I’ve only rarely been savaged as a writer and never by an editor. My submissions have been rejected a few times, but not too often. I’ve even received a healthy share of compliments on my writing, historical research and argumentation. After all, I’ve been doing this for more than twenty years.

In fact, I realize that I love to write. I love to write my popular culture and history pieces. I love to write professional history for more sober venues. I love the thrill of trying out a new interpretation or putting together some sources in a novel argument. It’s fun, it’s rewarding and even a little bit exhilarating. When a piece is in pretty good shape, I’m even quite happy to send it off to a journal editor or in response to a call for papers. There’s a real thrill that accompanies that moment when I click “SEND” on the email submission.

So you’d think I could handle clicking on the link to an email with feedback about my writing without breaking a sweat, right? Wrong! I steel myself to do that, reading through the response as fast as I can. Do they hate it? Do they want to forget they ever read it (or knew me?)? Do they just have a few problems they want to fix?

Sometimes that notice that they’re requesting revisions can be even worse for assuaging that horrible roiling in your stomach. Then you have to open up the attachments, be they readers’ reports or editorial mark-up, and see what’s really required. Which often isn’t all that daunting – change this, cut that, expand this – had I considered revising the argument here to use X, Y or Z to illustrate the point more directly?

I read the comments through to the end and, invariably, I perk up. I think, “I can do this! I can take this criticism and use it to improve my piece.” I might also grumble a bit as I think that asking to cut that one super-cool example or comparison from my magnum opus is so unfair. Occasionally, I will push back and fight to retain an element that’s been challenged. But if my editor is someone I trust to know the field, the professional expectations and the audience, I usually just sigh, give into their criticism and pile up the outtakes for future blog fodder.

But the long minutes that pass while I try to stare down the unopened email from the editor, sitting there in all of its bold-font urgency, wondering what’s in the feedback? Those are still some of the most difficult moments in my professional life.

How does it feel for you?

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Review: Regionalism and the Reading Class

Regionalism and the Reading Class cover I got this book through recent sale held by the University of Chicago Press. While not a work of academic history (my usual term-time fare), I thought it relevant because of my graduate methods course teaching in which I’ve incorporated a history of media segment.

An accomplished interdisciplinary scholar (holding appointments at two universities in sociology, comparative literature, English and human geography), Wendy Griswold takes a synthetic, transnational approach to modern reading cultures. Refreshingly, this isn’t a work solely about the United States, although regionalism and reading cultures in the USA figures into her broader argument linking the local form of a reading class to the sense of regional identity. In Italy, Norway and the United States, Griswold tracks very different experiences of each of these elements: from Italy’s less-robust reading class coexisting with a celebrated and cosmopolitan literary culture to Norway’s effective use of state resources for promoting regional literature nationally to the way in which reader movements across

Griswold employs some fascinating models and arguments. I fell a little bit in love with her term for readers who’ve moved into new regions: cowbirds (due to that species’ ease in taking over the nests of other birds and settling right in). I also appreciated her approach to defining the reading class in which she’s clearly talking about not just literate people but those who both value the practice and dedicate time to it in their busy lives. Griswold challenges the accepted orthodoxy that more time on the internet means less time for reading, drawing on a range of research.

Griswold finishes her chapter on “The Reading Class” with three key points that form her prediction for the future of the reading class. First, that reading enjoys a long-standing prestige in almost every country. Second, that reading is intensely dependent upon social organization beginning with education and culminating in reader-driven interaction (in reading groups, which she studies closely as well as currently popular sites I’d throw into the mix such as Goodreads. Third, and for Griswold, one of the most interesting prospects, is a growing gap she documents between reading for practice and reading “as an esteemed, cultivated, supported practice of an educated elite.” [68]

Here’s where we differ. For this last part, Griswold limits herself dramatically. Those works that she deems particular to the reading practices of the reading class are literature, serious nonfiction, books “of the quality press”. And while those books are certainly important, is this enough to define the reading class? Elsewhere in the book she shows how genre fiction (mysteries, westerns, etc.) also are important works in regional reading classes – evoking a sense of place, community and shared experience that helps to build a strong regional culture. Yet, in this prediction we see those other literary genres excluded and this is a problem. As long as only ‘serious nonfiction, books of the quality press’ are going to define the reading class, much of the experience of devoted and socially-engaged readers will pass by researchers, even those as able as Griswold.
See also this lucid review by Tara Brabazon.

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Snow Day: A Professor’s Perspective

Woke up before dawn this morning and raced out of the bedroom to rouse my computer from sleep mode as I peered out the living room window to a discouraging scene. Winds roared from the south, racing up our street. In the dark distance of the corner where our street meets another, a car struggled fruitlessly to negotiate the unplowed turn until a neighbour popped out of his door to help the driver. The bus service website informed me that school buses were cancelled. The weather site’s alert switched from a “Snow Squall Watch” to “Snow Squall Warning” while I watched. Snow began to cling to the window.

So, reader, I cancelled class. All on my own. I wasn’t going to wait for the university to not do so (our “Inclement Weather Policy” is insanely cautious, based on the optimistic idea that everyone can get into university if they really try and many students live on campus anyway). Yours truly lives a five kilometer trek from campus up and down slippery hillsides featuring a laughable walking path for a small portion of the hike. And public transit in our city is a joke, especially in my neighbourhood, even though it’s located within spitting distance of a major road. Those pesky rock cuts and sheer drops mean there’s no easy way for feet to take you from here to there. But I digress. . . .

Unlike school kids, I don’t thrill to a cancellation. First off, I prepare mightily for a class. It’s much more work to have to do the origami of class reorganization when I cancel a class as it is to teach it. If something is on the syllabus, it’s important for the students’ learning and that means I need to try and find ways to cover at least part of the material. So now I’m splitting up a class on Bronze Age Mesopotamian religion and shoe-horning the bits into next week’s discussion of Mesopotamian social order and economies along with another section prefacing the Sargonids.

Secondly, it’s a fair bit of work to actually cancel a class. Trying to make the antiquated and annoying email options in our course management software actually get emails that anyone will receive? Worrisome. Trying to import a class list of emails into our regular campus email system? Frustrating as the system seems to cap somewhere around twenty BCCs. 80 students in the class, you do the math. (Obviously, I need to get all of them on a Facebook group or following a Twitter feed but you try herding undergraduates to an optional technology platform. It’s impossible.)

Our house, snow bedecked!Most annoying? I don’t get to sleep in. I don’t “take a day off”. I add in several hours worth of additional work with contacting students, answering queries, reorganizing material and then shoveling the damned stuff. (6-8 inches of new fall, drifts up to mid-thigh on me and I am not a short woman.) Mike and Eldest have also done more than their fair share of snow moving since the snow plows finally came by a bit before noon. He’ll have to go out for his evening shift at work. I’ll be home, swotting up on more course readings and prepared to shovel us out after the snowplows run through a second time.

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Victoria and the Expectations of Queenship

Queen Victoria, 1843 (An outtake from my latest pop culture and history project.)

From soon after her birth in 1819, it was clear that Victoria would inherit the English throne. The childbed death of her cousin, Princess Charlotte, left a succession of aging men to sit the British throne, none of them with sons who could inherit. Young Victoria was raised away from the limelight of the royal court in her mother’s isolated household within Kensington Palace. Seemingly innocent of her destiny until she was provided with a genealogical chart that showed she was next in line to the throne, the young princess solemnly promised her governess, “I will be good.”

When she took the throne not seven years later, Victoria did just that: setting a model of virtuous conduct that endeared her to a nation. But it was clear that some in the country were nervous about the accession. At the outset of her reign, The Guardian expressed reservations about her youth and character.

The accession of our young queen is a circumstance full of hope and promise. Humanly speaking, it is perhaps desirable that the event should have been postponed a few years, that her character might have become more fixed, and her acquaintance with the world and with those branches of knowledge which are peculiarly appropriate to her situation and her duties, more enlarged. But it has been ordained otherwise, and, we have no doubt, ordained for the best. From all that we have read and heard, her majesty’s conduct hitherto seems to have been marked by great propriety both of feeling and demeanour.

Speaking of William IV, Victoria’s immediate predecessor, The Guardian elaborated on the question of personal conduct:

It is often said that the public has no concern with the private lives of princes. We are not of that opinion. For whilst we would neither seek to create nor to gratify a prurient appetite for scandal, in relation to a subject with respect to which that appetite is so easily excited as the vices or follies of the great, we do feel that it is a circumstance which strongly conduces to the welfare and interest of a nation, when the monarch, instead of being an insulated and selfish voluptuary, is known to be constant and unostentatious in the fulfilment of domestic duties, and the natural display of tender and virtuous affections. – The Guardian, 24 June, 1837

While William and Adelaide were a contented couple on the throne, William’s past wasn’t always so flawless. This report completely overlooks his long liasion with Mrs. Jordan by which the happy couple had ten illegitimate children that preceded his late-in-life marriage to Adelaide. But it’s clear from both the reservations about Victoria and the happy recollection of William that some in the country were concerned with the new queen’s prospects. Would she hew more to the model of her late uncle William in ensuring that her time on the throne was a period of relative sobriety with a royal focus on good government or would her reign be touched by scandal and discord as had coloured the monarchy of her other uncle, George IV?

Victoria was fortunate in that she was old enough upon her accession to rule in her own right, without her domineering mother (and her mother’s ambitious aide, John Conroy) to exert their influence. Alison Plowden suggests that her beloved governess, Louisa Lehzen was the key. To this I’d also add the broader cultural context of childhood and the Georgian concepts of virtue which filtered into Victoria’s schoolroom (consult Lynne Vallone’s nuanced study for some excellent examples).

Of course, the next expectation that Victoria had to fulfill was marriage and securing the succession. Since Charlotte’s childbirth death, the royal succession was extremely fragile. Victoria married a dashing young prince, Albert of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, with whom she appeared to be deeply in love. While marriage was clearly desirable, opposition arose to their union mostly in the grumblings among some Englishmen at the prospect of yet another foreign consort, in the model of Princess Charlotte’s widower enriching himself from England’s industrial plenty.

Victoria’s marriage was not simply for the benefit of the state. Her personal investment in the relationship was both the touchstone of Victorian ideals of domesticity but also a danger sign for the stability of the monarchy. Victoria and Albert enjoyed over twenty years of marriage before tragedy intervened when he fell ill with typhoid fever. Albert`s death in 1861 was a difficult blow for the queen. Even with their nine children and a nation to lead, Victoria found it hard to carry on. The devastated queen withdrew from public life for a decade and this act of mourning alienated her from many of her subjects. In 1864, someone anonymously affixed a satirical poster to the gates of Buckingham Palace, offering the property “to be let or sold in consequence of the late occupant`s declining business”. Victoria finally returned to public life in 1871 but never gave up the black mourning dress worn to remember her beloved Albert. Inspiring a ten-year withdrawal, the virtuous conduct of the genuinely grief-stricken widow was not what the pundits and wags would have wanted, but Victoria was clearly her own woman in this and in other ways.

References:

Alison Plowden. The Young Victoria. (New York: Stein and Day, 1983).

“The Accession of Queen Victoria.” The Guardian. 24 June, 1837. http://www.guardian.co.uk/uk/1837/jun/24/monarchy.fromthearchive Accessed 17 January, 2012.

Lynne Vallone. Becoming Victoria.. (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2001).

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