Slavic Field

[Paul A. Klanderud]

Like most SEELANGers, I've been following the discussion regarding the
seeming ill health of our field, and I'd like to add my two cents' worth on
a couple topics:  compartmentalization and over-specialization; "accepted"
vs. "marginal" disciplines; and specifically, courses on literature and
culture.  I'll largely address the latter, since that's my own primary area.
Before some take offense at yet another highbrow literaturoved passing over
the "bread and butter" of our field--language--let me say that I agree we
need to put a lot more effort into our beginning language courses, and that
our ossified reward system (including everything from raises and "prestige"
to tenure) needs to, at the very least, finally accept methodology as a
legitimate field of study entitled to consideration by the same standards
applied to literature and linguistics.  But I'm not a specialist in
methodology, so others can address that.

Last fall when I was finishing a sabbatical replacement job, on the last day
of my fourth-year Russian course, I asked my students to talk with me about
what they were interested in and why, and what they weren't attracted to.
Granted, this is a limited sample, but their opinions were pretty
interesting--and honest: since I wouldn't be back to make them feel guilty
for telling me why they weren't enthralled with some of our course
offerings, they were pretty open.

One of the biggest constants was that they felt they simply didn't have the
time for the traditional single-author Tolstoevsky courses.  Some said
they'd still like to take such courses, but with the wide variety of options
available in course catalogues, and with vast amounts of information from
the most diverse fields confronting them at every turn, they simply felt
drawn to courses that were more synthetic and interdisciplinary in nature.
We may know that these courses are valuable, but if we can't get enough
students into them to convince administrators to keep them going, not much
value remains.

On the positive side, another constant was that virtually all agreed they
were most attracted to courses based on what I'd call "thematic clusters."
All were excited about courses that bridged chronological, generic, and
disciplinary gaps to synthesize and to create a better picture of the
"spirit of the era."  Somewhat to my surprise, few felt that trying to make
a course "relevant" to their immediate circumstances was a crucial
ingredient--in other words, they still recognized that what our field has to
offer is capable of standing on its own merit.

When one thinks about it, this striving for courses structured to bridge
gaps and synthesize diverse information matches pretty well the spirit of
our own time.  We and our students are all confronted by so many choices
that we find it hard to focus, hard to isolate what really matters from what
doesn't--for that matter, sometimes it's hard to ignore what doesn't matter
even when we know better.  If we can meet this new "spirit of synthesis,"
then I think we can attract and retain students--and continue to offer our
single-author courses once we get students into our programs. After all,
most students potentially can be studying with us for three or four years
(or more, if they're like me!); we need to get them and then hold on to
them.  And we can do this without catering to the whims and trends of the
current moment.  But we need to experiment, to try new courses, and if they
don't work, then to try other ones.

I'm sure this is news to no one, but one of the most basic things we need to
do is to realize that students are consumers, and that our "advertising" is
often our course catalogues.  Titles and course summaries are important. If
someone's "Survey of 20th Century Russian Literature" is drawing a crowd
with the usual description, "In this course we will examine the major
authors, movements, trends....that shape...blah blah blah," that's fine; no
need to mess with what works.  But if it's *not* working, then we need to
keep a picture in our mind of the typical undergrad as s/he sits and pages
through a catalogue, musing, "I wonder what's available from 10:15 to 11:15
that's interesting?"

The key is to find the golden mean between the extremes of choosing a theme
or framework that's catchy but narrow (I imagine a number of "Sex-and-
Something" courses might fit here), and one that rounds up all the usual
suspects but that doesn't draw any of the suspects we really need: students.
We all have our special interests; mine would lead to some 20th century
courses with titles like "The Radiant Future and Dehumanization in Early
Soviet Literature"; "Utopian Dreams and Dystopian Realities"; or
"Technology, the Environment, and `Gigantomania' in Soviet Society."  I'm
not saying that these course are the best, or that they'll work, but they
stem from my own interests, and they're broad enough to encompass the major
elements we want to get across to our students.  Each of us ought to give
some thought to how our own interests can be brought to bear on our
curricula.  There's no guaranty that all our courses will work, but some of
them are bound to be better than what we're limping along with right now.
Naturally, the more we can extend some of our courses across disciplines and
get them cross-listed with other departments, the better off we'll
be--although as my colleagues of last year tell me, such attempts often lead
to turf wars and protectionism.

One of the reasons we don't see as much breadth in our course offerings as
we could has to do, I think, with the current framework for publication,
which largely rewards extreme specialization and what Genevra Gerhart called
writing "even more about even less."  I'm probably as guilty of this as
anyone, but when one thinks about it, do we really need more articles that
summarize what a baker's dozen of critics have said about Silvio, Stavrogin,
Kavalerov or D-503, and that then try to wedge into one of the remaining
"critical gaps" (are they really that "critical"?) one more interpretation?
In many respects we've long since reached a point of "critical" mass where
the only gaps that remain are on the subatomic level. As a result of this,
we either go scurrying about in search of "neglected" authors (some of whom
have been neglected for darn good reasons), or build up a fortress of
footnotes so impregnable that the most a reader can say about our work is,
Indeed, he certainly knows his sources.

Before I get off my soapbox, I'll just add (again, speaking about writing on
literature) that here too, as in teaching, we ought to encourage people to
explore paths allowing us to synthesize information, to take risks, and to
give the benefit of the doubt to those who would stray off the beaten path.
I'm not saying that we should accept shoddy research, but simply that we
need to allow more room for new ideas that still retain respect for
literature as literature.  There's a lot of room between the "news" of
Criticism and Historicism for solid work, and I'd suspect even more room
outside these boundaries.  (This isn't a personal harangue: I've learned
"the system" and have published by it, but I wonder how many others like me
are out there who, having explored something beyond the boundaries our
accepted "canon" --whether it be in popular culture, feminist theory,
something too interdisciplinary, or what have you--have decided that, at
this point, it's not worth the effort since no one would publish it anyway?)

In any event, it's a good sign that people are now, and have been for some
time, taking a close look at what works and what doesn't and how we can keep
our field viable.  It's a good dialogue.

Paul Klanderud
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Paul A. Klanderud
N8106 1130th Street
River Falls, Wisconsin 54022
tel: (715) 425-9507
e-mail: paulkla at mail.pressenter.com