History "Reading" In Graduate School: A Follow-Up

Although I wrote that I agreed with many points in Larry Cebula's "How to Read a Book in One Hour" post, I must admit that I did so with some regret. I truly do enjoy good history writing when I find it. And graduate school would be a waste if one only took books apart rather than relishing, at times, in an author's prose. Indeed, maybe graduate programs are turning out substandard writers, in part, because seminar reading programs are too heavy with 15-books-in-15-weeks type syllabi? Perhaps it is less that programs are not teaching historians how to write, and more that programs are not letting students learn to appreciate good prose?

I am in this reflective mood about slow reading courtesy of Christopher Shea at the Boston Globe's Brainiac blog. There I ran across the reflections of Columbia University literature professor Jenny Davidson. Davidson recently won Columbia University's Mark Van Doren Award for undergraduate teaching excellence, and she posted the remarks she planned to give at the award ceremony. Here's a passage that struck me (bolds mine):

It is tempting to rush to broad thematic generalizations about a work or an author, but how can you answer a big question about what something means if you can’t parse the meanings of the words in one enigmatic sentence? It takes a willingness to puzzle over small things – and often to admit that one doesn’t understand some particular turn of phrase or twist of argument – to earn the right to answer the bigger and more glamorous questions.

I repeat: To earn the right to answer the bigger and more glamorous questions. Well said. I wonder how many historians bother to earn that right? And why bother if we're not consistently trained to admire good prose?

One of the reasons I enjoy intellectual history is precisely because it forces a slower reading. The prose isn't always great, but the topics are complex enough that one has to read more deliberately. I think that, by and large, intellectual historians do earn the right to ask bigger questions because, in part, they are forced to read slower. The nature of intellectual history demands it.

So having the practical skill of knowing "how to read a book in one hour" might get you through graduate school---perhaps even with flying colors---but it won't give you the appreciation needed to produce good prose for a profession that will hopefully last one's lifetime. And what is the use of making it through, or what is the use of a program credentialing people, if the apprenticeship does does not provide the master skills? - TL

History "Reading" In Graduate School: A Follow-Up

Although I wrote that I agreed with many points in Larry Cebula's "How to Read a Book in One Hour" post, I must admit that I did so with some regret. I truly do enjoy good history writing when I find it. And graduate school would be a waste if one only took books apart rather than relishing, at times, in an author's prose. Indeed, maybe graduate programs are turning out substandard writers, in part, because seminar reading programs are too heavy with 15-books-in-15-weeks type syllabi? Perhaps it is less that programs are not teaching historians how to write, and more that programs are not letting students learn to appreciate good prose?

I am in this reflective mood about slow reading courtesy of Christopher Shea at the Boston Globe's Brainiac blog. There I ran across the reflections of Columbia University literature professor Jenny Davidson. Davidson recently won Columbia University's Mark Van Doren Award for undergraduate teaching excellence, and she posted the remarks she planned to give at the award ceremony. Here's a passage that struck me (bolds mine):

It is tempting to rush to broad thematic generalizations about a work or an author, but how can you answer a big question about what something means if you can’t parse the meanings of the words in one enigmatic sentence? It takes a willingness to puzzle over small things – and often to admit that one doesn’t understand some particular turn of phrase or twist of argument – to earn the right to answer the bigger and more glamorous questions.

I repeat: To earn the right to answer the bigger and more glamorous questions. Well said. I wonder how many historians bother to earn that right? And why bother if we're not consistently trained to admire good prose?

One of the reasons I enjoy intellectual history is precisely because it forces a slower reading. The prose isn't always great, but the topics are complex enough that one has to read more deliberately. I think that, by and large, intellectual historians do earn the right to ask bigger questions because, in part, they are forced to read slower. The nature of intellectual history demands it.

So having the practical skill of knowing "how to read a book in one hour" might get you through graduate school---perhaps even with flying colors---but it won't give you the appreciation needed to produce good prose for a profession that will hopefully last one's lifetime. And what is the use of making it through, or what is the use of a program credentialing people, if the apprenticeship does does not provide the master skills? - TL

History "Reading" In Graduate School

Larry Cebula, of Eastern Washington University, breaks down the infamous---and useful---grad school skim at his Northwest History weblog.

I confess that I have used Larry's method on many occasions, and agree with most of his points. Allow me to add a few more tips.

If you own the book and believe you are likely to keep it, follow some advice I obtained years ago from Mortimer Adler: Do not fear writing in the book. It is as easy to enter short notes and page numbers in a book's endpages as it is to use notecards, or enter information into Zotero or some other (useful) program. But write your notes with a pencil. Don't highlight. When you highlight you're simply delaying both your note-taking and thinking. There's something about the writing utensil that touches your deepest habits as a student.

Reinforcing point #6 of Larry's method, one of my professors told me years ago that there's usually one chapter that makes a book. If you cannot ~not~ spend some time reading in the book, work on this chapter. This will cause your reading to exceed one hour, but at least it will both assuage your guilt and give you more confidence heading into your seminar.

Sadly, I think point #8 of Larry's list usually occurs ~after~ class. If your grad school experience was like mine, most of your friends are not in school with you. And if you happen to have a few who are, usually you are in different courses. Sometimes, however, grad students will gather for a drink or food after a class. That's where you might be lucky enough to actually talk about your reading---provided Lost, Glee, Treme, Madmen, or some other TV program does not dominate the conversation.

I would be remiss if I failed to draw your attention to the last three lines of Larry's post. When you see warnings like this, you know you've encountered one of the dirty, essential secrets of the profession.

Thanks to John Fea for the tip. - TL

History "Reading" In Graduate School

Larry Cebula, of Eastern Washington University, breaks down the infamous---and useful---grad school skim at his Northwest History weblog.

I confess that I have used Larry's method on many occasions, and agree with most of his points. Allow me to add a few more tips.

If you own the book and believe you are likely to keep it, follow some advice I obtained years ago from Mortimer Adler: Do not fear writing in the book. It is as easy to enter short notes and page numbers in a book's endpages as it is to use notecards, or enter information into Zotero or some other (useful) program. But write your notes with a pencil. Don't highlight. When you highlight you're simply delaying both your note-taking and thinking. There's something about the writing utensil that touches your deepest habits as a student.

Reinforcing point #6 of Larry's method, one of my professors told me years ago that there's usually one chapter that makes a book. If you cannot ~not~ spend some time reading in the book, work on this chapter. This will cause your reading to exceed one hour, but at least it will both assuage your guilt and give you more confidence heading into your seminar.

Sadly, I think point #8 of Larry's list usually occurs ~after~ class. If your grad school experience was like mine, most of your friends are not in school with you. And if you happen to have a few who are, usually you are in different courses. Sometimes, however, grad students will gather for a drink or food after a class. That's where you might be lucky enough to actually talk about your reading---provided Lost, Glee, Treme, Madmen, or some other TV program does not dominate the conversation.

I would be remiss if I failed to draw your attention to the last three lines of Larry's post. When you see warnings like this, you know you've encountered one of the dirty, essential secrets of the profession.

Thanks to John Fea for the tip. - TL