Conference Travel, Graduate English, Opportunities for Graduate Students, Research Grant, Student Research

5 Things You Should Do At A Conference

Kaari Newman is in her final semester as a graduate English student at St. Thomas. She will be writing her Master’s Essay this fall and presenting it at our ME presentation event. Below she shares 5 Things You Should Do at a Conference as a Graduate Student. The graduate program offers $500 in conference funding per year to every student.

Kaari enjoying the African sunshine this past summer while visiting family in Kenya. She’s also thinking deeply about her thesis here, though you might not be able to tell.

My first conference experience was overwhelming. But that’s probably because I was one of the very few undergraduates wandering around the Marriott Hotel downtown at the MMLA Conference in 2008. There were well over 100 panels on every conceivable topic and genre you could imagine within the humanities. I attended a session held entirely in French, and it was all I could do to get the gist of what was said. I attended a lecture by the publisher of the UMN Press entitled “How to Get Your Manuscript Published,” which turned out to be more of a seminar for PhD candidates on how to turn their dissertations into books, not a general step-by-step guide to getting your (very bad) fiction manuscript published.

So yes, I was intimidated, but I was also inspired. Here was where serious academics shared ideas and rose to the challenge of defending them against the snide criticisms of that learnèd scholar with grey hair and elbow patches. Here was where allusions to Austen’s wit and Byron’s snark dropped into casual conversation in the hallway. Where people conversed on a level of intellect and language both familiar and yet far above mine.

Even back then, I knew that if I ended up pursuing academics as a career, I was going to be that plucky young scholar with fresh ideas at the front of the room.

So You Want to Attend a Conference

While I can’t vouch for whether I’m succeeding at being plucky, I have made conference participation and attendance a regular part of my St. Thomas experience. Below are some of the things I’ve learned as a graduate student participant at academic conferences.

1. It’s OK to start small.

Kaari’s only pictures from her first conference at SDSU. “Hobo Day” is apparently the university’s homecoming celebration, which this statue commemorates.

The first conference I presented at was a very small regional conference held at South Dakota State University. It was the perfect venue for my début. There were only about 100 or so attendees, mostly from schools in the Upper Midwest (and one guy from Idaho State). This meant while I feared having to battle wits with the aforementioned elbow-patched scholar, I found instead a congenial group of professors and graduate students who were genuinely interested in my perspectives and asked intelligent, thought-provoking questions. Most sessions ended up being more like normal classroom discussions than aggressive Q&A’s.

 

2. Ask your question, even if you think it’s stupid.

I have routinely observed the truth of Emerson’s maxim that your own rejected thoughts always return to you in alienated majesty – usually in the form of someone else looking smart and insightful. If you have a question for one of the speakers in your session, ask it! Odds are, someone else has a similar or even the exact same question, and the best part about asking it first (other than looking smart and insightful) is that you might open up discussion for the whole group.

It also might lead to follow-up discussions after the session with the speaker or other attendees, in which case you feel included and respected, not like the loser in the corner on your smartphone killing time until the next session.

 

3. Attend the pre-conference social hour/cocktail party and especially the conference dinner.

Yes, I’m talking about networking. I don’t like it any more than you do. The nice thing about being a literature geek in a place swarming with other literature geeks is that you will always find something to talk about, even if it’s as simple as what books they’re currently reading. And most of these gatherings will include a free drink or two of alcoholic persuasion, which often provides the social lubricant needed to break the ice (but drink responsibly! No one wants to get pegged as the conference lush).

When I went to the British Women Writer’s Conference this summer, I didn’t know anyone, but I made a few acquaintances at the pre-conference cocktail hour. These people became friendly faces throughout the four-day conference by whom I could snag a seat at the plenary talk or approach at the coffee station to talk about the sessions we’d just attended. Meeting people is also a great way to hear about other sessions you wish you could have attended but couldn’t because the conference organizers saw fit to schedule a Mary Shelley panel during the same time as a Jane Austen one (you’re seriously making me choose between them?!).

Furthermore, conversations around the dinner table open up interesting tidbits about the state of the field, including:

  • New trends or scholarly “fads” in research
  • What publishers/editors seem to be looking for these days
  • Just what exactly digital humanities entails
  • Fabulous research tools and databases you’d never heard about before
  • What teaching a 4-4 load actually looks/feels like
  • How a “job talk” interview went and what questions got asked
  • What actual scholars think of the academic job market (as opposed to what the Wall Street Journal or New York Times thinks about it)

4. Try to attend as much as possible. You’re here to learn!

I’ve met some conference-goers who attend only half the conference, or just go to the session they’re presenting at and little else. In my mind, this is a waste of time and money. You’ve paid (probably big bucks) to fly or drive to this conference, not to mention your conference fees, so make the most of your experience.

Spend some time before the conference perusing the program and selecting which sessions most appeal to you. You don’t have to stick to your plan, of course, but it helps you minimize choice paralysis on your first day, when you’ll be more concerned with checking in, getting your free swag, finding East Ballroom C for that first session, and locating the nearest bathroom for when that large coffee inevitably makes its way through your system.

I usually re-evaluate my plan at the end of each day (if it’s a multi-day conference) for the next day based on good speakers I’ve heard or topics that maybe appeal to me now vs. when I first registered.

5. But it’s ok to take a break now and then.

That said, it’s ok to take a break for a session or for lunch by yourself. Your brain can only take so much deep concentration and stimulating thought. Well-organized conferences will include about 15 to 30 minutes of downtime between sessions, but you may need a little more time to process. That’s fine. Take a walk around campus, the town or a nearby park. Bask in a sunny window, jotting down notes or thinking deep thoughts about what you’ve been learning and what questions it sparks for you. Reflection is good for the soul.

Ready to conference?

I could go on, but I think the main takeaway here is that attending a conference can take you out of your comfort zone in the best possible way. It will give you new insights into your chosen field, fresh ideas for your next paper, contacts at other universities, and most importantly, the satisfaction of belonging to a community that’s just as excited and nerdy about your topic as you are.

If the thought of attending or presenting at a conference still sounds intimidating, try participating in our very own annual Graduate English conference here at St. Thomas in the spring. It’s only one day long and local (so no hotel fees or transport costs), attended by your friends and professors you know, and always includes dynamic speakers with worthwhile ideas to spark conversation and further discussion.

And no, they didn’t pay me to write that.

P.S. I still haven’t quite got my courage up to attend the MMLA again, but I’m getting there!

Conference Travel, Graduate English, Opportunities for Graduate Students, Research Grant, Study Abroad

Byron: A Hero Across Time

Sarah Pavey is in her second year of her English Masters at St. Thomas and is a recipient of a travel and a research grant. This spring she traveled to Greece to participate in a literary conference on Lord Byron where she presented her research on Byron and disability studies.

Sarah at Zonars, a recently revived 1930s café.

Γεια σας!

Yassas in English, like aloha, means hello and goodbye. In light of the warm welcome I received in Greece this May, it’s appropriate that you can’t say goodbye without saying hello. Once you’ve made a connection with the people of this incredible country, you can’t truly say goodbye forever. So many people have asked me what the most memorable part of my trip was and I keep finding myself saying “the hospitality.” In a world that seems to become more fractured and divided by viewpoints on civil rights on a daily basis, the kindness and hospitality in Greece was something that I found surprising and often very moving.

After much planning and anticipation, Dr. Young-ok An and Dr. MacKenzie and I headed east for the 12th International Student Byron Conference. Accustomed as I am to international travel, covering a distance of over 5,000 miles in one fell swoop is still rather tiring but it was well worth the effort considering our destination. After an 8 hour Delta flight to Paris, a 2 hour layover, a 3 hour flight to Athens, and a 3 hour taxi ride, we reached Messolongi, the municipality where Lord Byron spent his final days. Our hotel was by a lagoon, and surrounded by a picturesque scattering of stout palm trees. The air was humid, and gentle breezes alleviated the sting of an often blinding Mediterranean sun. Each day after presentations discussing Byron and nature we went on tours of museums, a monastery, churches, and archeological sites organized by the Messolonghi Byron Society. In addition to the Byron-related locales, we saw places of natural beauty including Trichonida, the largest lake in Greece as well as the local salt works, which viewed from high up in the hills looked like a patchwork quilt made of glass. It was easy to see how the landscape of Greece set the stage for Byron’s experiences there.

Frankly speaking, I am neither a Romanticist nor a Byronist, and though I knew Lord Byron was considered a hero by the Greeks I wasn’t aware of just how much he was idolized and respected. In 1823, Byron decided to support the Greeks in their fight to gain independence from the Ottoman Empire, sacrificing a great deal of money and time, even selling his estate in Scotland for over £11, 000 which equates to about $1.6 million today. Before he was able to lead an attack against a Turkish fortress, Byron became ill. Poor medical practices led to a violent fever and his subsequent death on April 19, 1824. Ultimately, Byron’s death drew more attention to the cause and with it more participation in the Greek War of Independence and his generosity and courage remains his legacy. From the Messolonghi Byron Research Center dedicated to studying him to his great marble statue in the Garden of Heroes and even a pavilion in the town square, Byron is honored everywhere in this welcoming city. It is with his same level of devotion that the Greeks remember him. And of course, all of us who attended the International Student Byron Conference traveled thousands of miles to honor and appreciate the life and work of a man who’s been dead for nearly two centuries.

The conference was a very unifying experience. I learned so much about Byron and why other writers and academics love his work. I met so many wonderful people from Lebanon to York, London to Kentucky. As one professor said to me “birds of a feather…” and it’s very true. We all came to Greece for the love to literature and learning and I am so thankful for the wonderful experience. Literature opens doors and puts people on planes and gets you meeting people you won’t otherwise meet. I was a little melancholy to part from my new found friends.

After the conference came to a close, we headed to Delphi, a magnificent sanctuary and small town on the southwestern side of Mount Parnassus. The walk to the the Delphi Archeological Museum afforded a breath-taking view of the valley of Phocis (not recommended for anyone with a fear of heights and I mean that sincerely). Beyond the museum was the archeological site which included the famous Temple of Apollo. One thing is for certain, the ancient Greeks knew about prime real estate. The stray (and often feral) cats certainly appreciate the locale, sunning themselves on the hillside and ancient stones. It didn’t really feel like I was there in any specific era, as if time paused there just to see the view.

Our final stop on our journey through Greece was the capitol. It was hot, busy, and mildly confusing, but it grips you. The electric twang of the tram cables sounded above my head as I walk through the bustling streets. The sound of Greek voices, mellow and musical, floated around me. If someone was watching me they would have seen me in the process of learning, trying to memorize the streets. Luckily for me or anyone else who wasn’t fluent in Greek, the street signs on most buildings had convenient translations into Latin characters so we could make passable pronunciations if it was necessary to ask for directions. Though I picked up several words of salutations, Google Maps averted the need to bother some innocent local on the street about where various tourist attractions were located. But there’s far more to the city than museums and statues.

You can’t turn a corner in Athens without seeing graffiti over every abandoned or chained up storefront, laid waste by economic hardship. Although graffiti is often dismissed as a defacement of public property, this art form functions as a protest against the oppressive forces weighing people down. The written word is not limited to books; it is people souls bared on walls and an expression of political distress. The graffitied messages encompassed not only the current economic struggle of the country but also issues we face at home in the U.S.; women’s healthcare, issues in gender, and the threat of fascist elements in government. The more I wandered the city, the more attention I paid to the graffiti itself. The styles and similar use of fonts, anarchist symbolism, the use of stenciled messages; at one point I even saw a euro symbol = a swastika. This is not your average intercity artistry on a train carriage, and though not necessarily more or less significant, the graffiti in Athens is hardcore. It felt as if the graffiti was screaming out to me, needing to be read, to be understood. I was often moved by those words I couldn’t even read because of the energy, color, and artistry in which they were emblazoned all over the city.

On our first night out in the city we went for a meal after our long journey. As we sat down I looked to my left and suddenly saw the Parthenon, illuminated in the distance. Acropolis essentially means upper city in Greek and it’s a glorious sight, those ancient buildings poised above a city whose nightlife teems below like some sort of dark human ocean. The Parthenon was even more splendid and unbelievable up close in an all consuming blaze of sunlight. Your eyes are drawn too it and the soft looking white marble soothes your gaze. The remains of great structure and power that have influenced our own culture still stand. Damaged. Broken. And yet it’s being reconstructed and valued; millions of tourists per year come from around the globe to see it. The great columns, like books, reach for some semblance of immortality.

By happy accident, early one morning on the way to our information-packed tour of the Acropolis, I was sitting on the bus and a restaurant facade caught my bleary eyes. Zonars. The name and the building was very familiar to me. I realized that this very swanky restaurant was mentioned by British novelist Olivia Manning in her semi-autobiographical work The Balkan Trilogy, the first of two trilogies that document the journey of an English lecturer and his wife through war-torn Europe. Businessman Karolos Zonaras (1873-1968) started up the café/pastry shop in 1939 and it quickly became an important cultural center in the city, attracting the rich, important, and famous from politicians to writers. As if simply sitting in this grand establishment wasn’t literary enough, I stayed for quite some time, making margin notes in Ford Madox Ford’s tome of a tetralogy Parade’s End sipping one of the best cappuccinos money can buy. As Manning’s character Prince Yakimov would say, “Bit pricy…But convenient. After all, one has to go somewhere.”

Journeys like this trip are never just for the conference; it’s for paying homage, for honoring the past. We didn’t just go to modern Greece, we went to Byron’s Greece. His love of the people, the landscape, and the country inspired him and he left his mark in return. When you’re inspired by a writer, their inspiration becomes yours and it’s only natural to reach back into the past and bring it into the present.

Conference Travel, Graduate English, Master's Essay, Opportunities for Graduate Students, Student Research

Bringing the Love of Romance to a Conference on Militarism

Taya Sazama completed her degree in the Fall of 2016, but has continued to attend conferences to present her Master’s Essay research. As a graduate student, Taya took advantage of our teaching mentorship opportunity, and was also the recipient of our $1,000 student research grant, which she used to attend the Historical Romance Retreat in Spokane, Washington.

One of the most difficult transitions post grad-school is attempting to move on from your thesis project back into the “real world,”  For months—and perhaps longer—you have immersed yourself in your research.  For me, it was romance novels and the community of women who read and write them.  Not only were these the only texts I had read for well over a year, but all of my thoughts seemed to constantly churn over related ideas, to-do lists, and questions I needed to ask my advisor.  This obsession only seems to gain momentum as graduation nears and you prepare to review, submit, and defend the project to your committee.  It took me months to actually read something other than romance after I graduated in December 2016.  I intended to pick up something new right away as a sort of celebration, but romance had almost become an addiction and I struggled to get past the first few pages of any other book.  Finally, at the beginning of April, I read A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman and I felt cured.  Don’t get me wrong—I still love romance novels.  But it was definitely time to take a healthy break.

Now, in contrast with the urge to break up with your thesis project, there is also the strong desire to hold on tightly to what has almost literally become your baby.  For months it has kept you up at nights, you were constantly changing it, and you had almost no social life because it demanded your undivided attention.  How can you just abandon it now?  The question of what to do with my paper began to plague me even before I graduated.  Sure, there is the goal of publication, but the path on how to get there is not always clear.  What I chose to do, and what I highly recommend, is to present your work at a conference.  Sure you can easily do this at St. Thomas, the U of M, or some other local university, but what I propose is something that, for many of us, is far outside of our comfort zone.  Go somewhere where nobody knows you—where nobody knows your research—where no one from your school is presenting.  This will give you the best chance at testing your ideas out in the scholarly world, getting fresh ideas and testing your conclusions in a way that cannot happen in the comfort of your own academic circle.

At the end of last October, an email came through with the following title for a conference taking place the following spring at Texas State University: “Century of Conflict: Dialogues on Women, Gender, Intersectionality, and Militarism. This event will provide a forum for diverse perspectives on work around issues of gender, ability/disability, veteran status, and intersectionality.”  As I was currently in that obsessive state with my project, I immediately emailed my advisor for confirmation that I should, in fact, do this.  After getting the green light from her that it was a good idea, I put together an abstract and sent it off, feeling rather pleased with myself.  Unfortunately, those good feelings quickly dissipated when I received my acceptance email post-graduation. At that point, I was trying unsuccessfully to break up with my thesis and was genuinely annoyed with myself for wanting to attend a conference in March, almost four months after I should have been done with my paper.

Yet, even with all this anxiety, I can assure you that this experience turned out to be one of the most rewarding of my academic career.  One of the biggest benefits to participating in this conference was that it forced me to evaluate my own conclusions with an eye towards seemingly dissimilar topics.  What quickly became apparent once the symposium began was that the conference, and almost all of the other presenters, were focusing very heavily on the militarism side of the conference topics. In fact, as I glanced through the titles in the program, mine seemed to be a glaring outlier.  As the morning sessions of the symposium progressed, I found myself panicking a little – How was I going to relate my project to all of these discussions on war and female soldiers in the military?  I imagined what the reactions of my audience members would be and could already see their confused faces as they wondered how a scholar on romance novels was admitted to be a presenter.  Silently chastising myself for getting into this predicament, I began to quickly brainstorm how to salvage what I assumed would be a disaster.  Thankfully, my dire predictions did not come true.  In fact, I was able to walk away from the experience with some major connections between my conclusions and the issues raised by the other presenters.  In additions, the questions and positive comments from an outside circle of academics did much to encourage me in my research.  They helped to validate the importance of my work while also providing helpful criticism and suggestions for further research.  Best of all, I was invited to submit my paper to the university’s academic journal on women and gender.

There is no shortage of opportunities at which to present your research.  I would urge all graduate students, especially those who are nearing the end of their programs, to seek out places where they can push their boundaries.  As much as I recommend presenting at local conferences—because any practice is helpful—there is almost more to be gained by widening your sphere.  It will help you to look at your work with fresh eyes and to really gauge the potential it has for publication.  So, fight the urge to fully break up with your thesis immediately upon graduation.  Take it somewhere new, but explain that you need an open reading relationship.

Undergraduate English

The Flâneuse Herself

You might be asking yourself, what or who is a flâneuse? First, we must explain what exactly a flâneur is. From the French noun, flâneur means “stroller” or “loafer.” The term carries rich associations, such as the man of leisure, of fashion, the idler, the connoisseur of the streets. Flânerie is the act of strolling through an urban setting—an essential component of the flâneur. Now that we’ve established what a flâneur is, we can address the flâneuse, and who better to answer that question than Dr. Lauren Elkin, a Lecturer in English at the University of Liverpool and author of Flâneuse: Women Walk the City.

Dr. Lauren Elkin

Originally from New York, Elkin graduated from Barnard College with a PhD in phenomenology and British women’s writing in the 1930s (focusing on the work of Virginia Woolf, Elizabeth Bowen, Jean Rhys, and Rosamond Lehmann), as well as an M.Phil. in French literature from Sorbonne. Ever since her undergraduate days, Elkin has been fascinated with the concept of the flâneur, wondering why the term wasn’t (and/or couldn’t be) appropriated to include women. Because the flâneur is a strictly masculine identity throughout history, Elkin set about creating her own term for a female flâneur—the flâneuse: “Flâneuse [flanne-euhze], noun, from the French. Feminine form of flâneur [flanne-euhr], an idler, a dawdling observer, usually found in cities.”[1] This is, of course, Elkin’s own imaginary definition of the flâneuse. In her book, Elkin identifies her own flâneuses, throughout history, from nineteenth-century novelist George Sand to artist Sophie Callie, war correspondent Martha Gellhorn to filmmaker Agnes Varda.

I first became introduced to Elkin and her work through my English 481 capstone course entitled “The Metropolitan Mind” taught by Dr. Emily James. The class focuses on the twentieth-century city and its effect on the modern citizen. We kicked off our course readings with Virginia Woolf’s novel Mrs. Dalloway (1925) and climbed our way through the twentieth century to more contemporary works like Colum McCann’s Let the Great World Spin (2009). Our class recently had the pleasure of receiving Dr. Elkin via Skype to discuss her experience in the world of academia, her fascination with the flâneur, and her life as a flâneuse.

My classmate posed an interesting question for Elkin: Do you think technology has made it more difficult to be a flâneur or flâneuse? Both the flâneur and flâneuse are known for wandering the city, typically without a specific agenda or destination in mind. With our easy access to GPS, getting lost is now just as difficult as it was to find your way using only a paper, trifold map. My classmate drew attention to the fact that, in our day and age, we’re never truly lost—unless our phone dies, in which case, we’re on our own. In contrast, Elkin claimed technology has not damaged our ability to pursue flânerie (or flâneuserie—the flâneuse version of flânerie). Rather, she shared how she can just as easily leave her phone in her pocket, get lost exploring a new city (Copenhagen is her next destination), and then, at the end of the day, pull out her phone and know exactly how to find her way home again. If anything, technology has just made it safer to be a flâneuse.

Elkin pressed on, addressing social media platforms and their ability to connect our lives. While social media is frequently criticized for creating a sense of FOMO (fear of missing out), Elkin chooses to focus on the positive. She pointed out that apps like Instagram have made her more aware of the beauty in the everyday, whether it’s a photo of a potted plant or an interesting building shadow. Instagram has added the element of photography to her flâneuserie, and it allows her to share her flâneuse lifestyle with the world.

While chatting with Elkin, our class covered topics ranging from the character of Doris Kilman as the anti-flâneuse of Virginia Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway to what shoes are most fashionable and comfortable for a summer of flâneuserie. Dr. Elkin is a wealth of information, opinions, and fabulous fashion, and after a discussion that lasted the better part of an hour, I think I speak for most of the class when I say I finally know what I want to be when I grow up.

Check out some of Elkin’s work, as well as a few of her interviews in which she discusses her book and her life of flâneuserie:

[1] As read on BBC Radio 4 Book of the Week

Halle is a senior English major with a Renaissance Program minor who is currently working as a research assistant for a professor at UST. Her ardent admiration for nineteenth-century British novelists, specifically Jane Austen, led her to found the blog Looking for Mr. Darcy, in which she utilizes Austen’s characters to discuss and critically analyze norms of twenty-first-century dating.

Graduate English, Student Careers, The Value of English

Early Graduate Lessons for a Digital Writer

Graduate Student Jordan Osterman is the Newsroom Editor at the University of St. Thomas. Jordan graduated from St. Thomas in 2011 with a B.A. in Communication Journalism and a minor in English.

Studio Portrait of Graduate English student Jordan Osterman and writer for the Newsroom and magazines at the University of St. Thomas.

As a Tommie English-minor-turned-St. Thomas-employee, returning to class for my master’s was a fascinating opportunity. When I was hired in late 2014 my thoughts on heading back to school fell into the category of, “Why not?” Two courses in it has quickly shifted to, “How did I not realize how much I would get out of this?”

I knew as an undergraduate how much value I took in getting together with people to hear their thoughts, interpretations and ideas about something we had both read, and in the master’s program so far that value has only increased. First in Martin Warren’s class getting a crash course on criticism, and last semester in Alexis Easley’s course exploring Victorian literary journalism, I’ve had my eyes opened up to many new ways of looking things. Especially in today’s world where it is easier than ever to find voices to confirm your own beliefs and shut out those that don’t, hearing and interacting with different ideas that have stretched the boundaries of my own thinking has meant a lot to me. (Case in point: I was the only man in Alexis’ class, which was a fantastic opportunity to learn from being around so many different female viewpoints.)

Alongside that constantly culminating value, I’ve been extremely excited to see how actively my continuing education has informed my work as the editor of and writer for an online publication, St. Thomas’ Newsroom. In our Victorian class we explored the 19th century explosion of periodicals and other print media in England and the United States, and it was impossible not to draw parallels to our own era’s communication explosion with the advent and growth of the Internet. It was fascinating to get a sense for the excitement, anxiety and evolving understanding of what it meant to have so many different voices thrown together into and onto society’s conscious, and how that informed and reflected the ideas, values and laws that guided their people. As someone who writes nonfiction for a living, it has been fantastic to gain a greater sense of the role media plays in shaping the identity of people and their community, in the past and today.

Also, beyond simply the comfort of seeing a past society grapple and deal with (and survive) such a similar explosion in media to our own, my courses have reinforced the importance of having an informed sense of my own media consumption. I, and all of us, are constant consumers of media, and the kinds of educational exercises in critical thinking our courses offer help move us from passive to active participants in that consumption. That is not a small distinction, and, again, in a time where there is so much media to choose from, I appreciate immensely being forced to think more deeply about the choices I make and the effects they have on me.

My wife, Gina, a fellow English St. Thomas alum, is also working on her master’s degree in nursing, and after stringing together several summers and semesters was ready for a break this spring. I decided to join her, and it’s been awesome to spend time together and with our freshly-turned-1-year-old daughter. That said, I’m already looking forward to fall semester and getting back to class to build on these awesome experiences.

Graduate English, Opportunities for Graduate Students, Research Grant, Student Research

Grace Under Pressure – an Essay on Letting Go

Rachel Busse, alumna of the St. Thomas English Department and current graduate student, traveled to Havana, Cuba, this January on a Graduate Research Grant. Rachel was researching Ernest Hemingway, who spent nearly 30 years in Cuba.

Rachel in front of Hemingway’s Finca Vigía just outside Havana, Cuba.

I am a planner. I am an itinerary-making, checklist-having, research-doing goody-goody. In the eighth grade, I went on a class trip to Washington, D.C. and filled an entire binder with background research as though we didn’t already have an extensive schedule. Before I went to my first coffee shop (2007, Caribou, Rosemount, MN) I studied the menu online to ensure I’d be able to order a campfire cooler with grace and gravitas. I still get disappointed when a restaurant doesn’t put their menu online and I relish Yelp posts that include photographic clues to the layout of a place. This is a form of sleuthing, and if I had another life to live I’d likely join the ranks of Philip Marlowe or Nancy Drew.

This is not to say I am always organized (for I am often far from it) but rather that I like to be prepared. Information is power, and I rarely find good reason to concede control or clout. So I hoard facts and plans like knickknacks that might come in handy one day—my mind can best be likened to my grandmother’s cluttered basement.

Hemingway’s bedroom at Finca Vigía.

This is all well and good until it isn’t. That is, until planning becomes unreasonable, irresponsible, or even impossible. This worked, I mean to say, until I traveled to Cuba. I went to visit Ernest Hemingway’s home, Finca Vigía, which is just outside of Havana. He lived there for nearly a third of his life, and I wanted to find out why. I was able to make this trip thanks to a generous grant from the University of St. Thomas English department, but it was a quick turnaround. I submitted a proposal at the end of November, found out I’d been awarded the grant in early December, and a month later I was in Havana for a week, accompanied by my friend Margaret. This was the first trip I’d taken where I had next to no concept for what to expect. I knew about as much as to expect cigars, classic cars, and maybe a beach—but the idea of hitting a country’s highlights and retiring to a resort at night is way too voyeuristic for my tastes. I wanted to do this responsibly, and for that, I needed details, or so I thought.

For starters, American travel to Cuba was only recently made accessible; President Obama was the first sitting president to visit Cuba in over 90 years when he and his family went last year, and there wasn’t even a US embassy in Cuba until 2015. Restrictions on travel to Cuba were loosened under the Obama administration, but before that, American travel in Cuba had been banned since 1963. This restriction was older than my parents.

The internet wasn’t much help. There was plenty of advice out there from intrepid Americans who had visited illegally by traveling through Mexico or Canada, but like I said, I’m not much of a rule-breaker. Because the restrictions on legal travel were loosened so recently, there was a fair amount of conflicting information even from official sources. We were essentially watching these changes be implemented in real time, which meant that questions about how to get a visa, what kind we needed, and whether we were required to prove the nature of our travel were all hard to answer. As it turns out, you self-certify; this is frustratingly vague, but it means you pick one of the 12 approved reasons for travel, you create an itinerary (which not a single person asked us for), and you buy a tourist visa in the airport before your flight. That’s it. And if you’re me, you also spend hours checking and double checking that it’s really that easy.

Rachel with Hemingway’s Pilar (fishing boat)

And that’s just getting there. When it comes to how you’ll spend your time once you’re past customs, all the research has to come before you leave the US. While websites like TripAdvisor do have a fair amount of information, there’s no guarantee of their accuracy, as most places in Cuba do not keep an active web presence. Within Cuba, internet access is extremely limited and pricey as all get out; once you’re there, navigating Havana can feel a bit like learning to swim while you’re already in the pool. Sink or swim, sink or swim.

When we hopped off the plane, our first concern was finding our homestay, or casa particular. Our casa, owned by a woman named Mónica with her mother Aida, was in a neighborhood called Vedado, just west of Habana Viejo, or Old Havana. This meant our actual first priority was exchanging money in order to pay for a cab—another snag of the recently relaxed regulations is that American cards don’t work in ATMs (or anywhere, for that matter). You have to come holding all that money you might need in cash and exchange it there. This is stressful. Plus, we were tired—we’d gotten to our hotel in Miami after a long drive back from Key West at 1:30 am and left for the airport at 6:00 am. We spent a while after landing wandering wide-eyed through this airport until we got up the courage to ask for a taxi. We requested the driver take us to one of the few places we could remember that was near our neighborhood: Plaza de la Revolución.

Rachel’s friend Margaret standing in Plaza de la Revolución.

As it turns out, Plaza de la Revolución is an odd place to be dropped off coming from the airport. We imagined something highly-walkable, but what we got was essentially a big parking lot in between two government buildings (adorned with Che Guevara and Camilo Cienfuegos), a huge monument to José Martí, and four lanes of traffic. Suffice to say, we looked naive bringing our luggage there.

Havana was not the sort of place I fell in love with fast. The city is loud and sputtering with rumbling old engines all peppered with honking horns. The hot, wet air is laced thick with exhaust and the alternating smells of trash and traffic. Our first venture out of the casa was both confusing and unsettling, which is funny considering we went for ice cream from the famous Coppelia. This visit involved being ushered by a security guard into a dingy upper-room specifically for convertible-peso carrying turistas, where we were served icy ice cream by a man with a coke nail.

But if there is one trait I have that’s stronger than my propensity to panic, it’s stubbornness. I hate admitting defeat, so even if it means white-knuckling, I hold on. This persistence—to which Margaret is also a subscriber—payed off. After Coppelia, we ended up wandering the idyllic University of Havana campus and enjoying a long lunch of dados a la piña and cervezas nacionales. After climbing a steep spiral staircase, we sat out on the restaurant’s bright blue balcony and looked out at the busy street. On this block, and so many others we walked that week, some buildings crumbled while others received fresh, pastel paint jobs. Savvy stray dogs ran loose, narrowly avoiding the steady stream of cars. We watched for tourists, placing bets on where each group was from. My fondness for this place was earned and learned, a slow and sustained burn I didn’t anticipate. That afternoon was one of starting sparks.

I went to Cuba primarily to see Hemingway’s home, which I took to mean not only his house, but the city too. I’d heard it claimed that Havana is “frozen in time,” and though I wasn’t naïve enough to really expect that, there is something alluring about the idea of a paused history. So much of what we do as readers and researchers is to try to understand the past, especially when it surrounds our favorite writers. There were parts of Havana that did feel out of a time capsule where it was easy to imagine Hemingway wandering on a steamy Havana afternoon, like the National Museum of Fine Arts or in in one of the many European-style squares. And of course Hemingway’s ghost lingers still in his favorite bars—La Bodeguita del Medio and La Foridita—where his favorite drinks—the mojito and the daiquiri, respectively—are still served as they would have been in the 1950s.

But these are places that exist specifically to preserve that time period, and to suggest Havana has remained unchanged erases the long and hugely significant history of Revolution in Cuba, which happened just around the time Hemingway left the city for the last time. The glamour of 1940s and 50s Havana still exists, but is rarely left untouched by evidence of revolution. One of the few grocery stores we found (with a queueing system left over from the days of rationing) had tiles at the entryway announcing it was once a Woolworths. An evening walk through Havana’s Chinatown (which has noticeably few Chinese people, as most left around the time of the revolution) featured a peek into the now-decrepit but once-elegant five-story Fin de Siglo department store. The Habana Libre hotel is perhaps one of the best examples of the faded glitz of the past—this huge hotel was opened as a modern, chic Hilton in 1958 and was the largest and tallest hotel in Latin America at the time. After the revolution in ’59, the Cuban government took control of the hotel, and the entire top floor was converted into Fidel Castro’s headquarters. The physical history of revolution in Cuba is also visible on the walls of the Museum of the Revolution. Housed in what was once the presidential palace, this lavish building is now scarred with bullet holes from the ousting of Batista. The place is full of propaganda, and it’s fascinating to see how the Cuban government tells its own story.

Hemingway’s connection with Castro is often wondered about, but was by most accounts relatively unsubstantial—the famous picture of the two together, taken at a fishing tournament held in Hemingway’s honor, depicts what was likely their most extensive interaction. Hemingway was against the Batista regime, and is believed to have been sympathetic to Castro’s calls for change. But Hemingway died before his allegiances were ever really clarified.

Regardless of his opinions on Castro or any of the other revolutionaries, Hemingway loved Cuba—he spent more time there than anywhere else in his short but well-traveled life. He considered Cuba his home, and even kept a bust of José Martí, the “apostle of Cuban independence” in his writing studio at Finca Vigía. For the record, I looked for one of my own, but instead found only a myriad of Che t-shirts, which I declined to buy.

Hemingway’s writing studio at Finca Vigía

The aforementioned writing studio is one of the few places at Hemingway’s home where you can see all the way to the city, as the home is about 15 km outside of Central Havana. It takes about 20 minutes to drive out by car; we took the bus back which took a while longer but allowed us to see the route more slowly. Both there and back, we snaked our way out through a more industrial cityscape than we’d previously seen and into busy suburbs. But Finca Vigía, which means lookout farm, is set up in the hills and away from the sounds and smog of the city. It is easy to imagine this as a place for a writer to come after spending time ambling around the comparatively chaotic Havana.

You can’t actually go into the house, but all the doors and windows are open to peer through, and in a way, that feels right. The house is stately but not excessively large, and seems like the sort of place you’d want to keep the windows open, at least through the cooler winter months. Every room had a window, even the closet where Hemingway’s war correspondent uniform was hanging. The ceilings are high and open, leaving plenty of room for the tall bookshelves that line almost every room, including the bathroom. This monstrous collection has simply been sitting there since Hemingway left in 1960, and aside from some digital cataloging done by researchers from Boston, they are untouched. There are also magazine, newspapers, literary journals like The Dial, and an impressive collection of records. All this media seems like a natural accumulation for someone so steeped in the arts, and it feels, for lack of a better word, homey. Down to the daily weight records Hemingway kept on the bathroom wall, this feels like a very personal place designed for those who lived there. This is not to say it isn’t stylish, but rather that there is a lived-in elegance to the place. The more public rooms—the dining room and the living room, for example—are a bit heavier on the taxidermy-reliant design that shows up throughout the house.  But the furnishings are generally less flashy that you might expect, given that Hemingway was a celebrity with many famous friends. This understated beauty is not at all unlike the prose Hemingway is so famous for.

Hemingway’s library at Finca Vigía

We spent several hours wandering the grounds, seeing every nook and cranny of the house we could while being sure not to miss the large pool (where Ava Gardner reportedly swam nude), Hemingway’s famous Pilar (his beloved fishing boat) and the cemetery for his dogs (Black, Negrita, Neron, and Linda). This pastoral setting is such a stark contrast to the heart of Havana, where there is little nature to be found unless you’re walking along the Malecón, the wall that separates Havana from the sea—it’s a local favorite, and a good place to drink rum with friends at night.

But Hemingway loved the city, too. He lived in the Hotel Ambos Mundos, in Habana Vieja, for about a year before moving to Finca Vigía. The hotel features one of the best views of the city from its rooftop and is in walking distance from both of his favorite bars. Though we enjoyed Hemingway’s haunts, we found our own favorites, too—our most frequented destination was the Museo Del Chocolate, which sells simultaneously rich and refreshing chocolate milk for the low low price of one dollar. I think we went four times. It made up for Coppelia.

Rachel (right) and Margaret at the ballet

Little things began to flower up and bloom for us. We got to go to the ballet, which is Cuba’s most renowned arts organization. It was The Nutcracker—or Cascanueces, if you prefer—and we sat next to the proud father of a little girl performing in the children’s choir (I cried). We spent a pleasantly humid evening on the terrace of our casa, leafing through outdated guidebooks we found on the bookshelf and sipping pineapple soda. But more broadly, we surprised ourselves with adaptability, and I am proud of our ability to walk the city with a confidence we didn’t bring with us. For the record, Havana is the type of place you walk almost everywhere to avoid paying for cabs—we walked 15 miles on our last day there. And when it did come time to pay for taxis, we got pretty good at negotiating fares in Spanish, which is something I’m not even comfortable doing in English.

Hemingway famously said that “courage is grace under pressure.” For a long time, I liked how that sounded but didn’t feel I’d really had an opportunity to test it out—I’ve almost always got a safety net, and it’s usually pretty sturdy. Cuba is a safe place, so we were never really too worried, but there were always more questions than there were answers. We had to learn to do things a lo Cubano, to handle the unexpected with grace and patience. And at the end of the day, there was something kind of magical about going in with very few expectations and letting the city click for us. This can come in finally feeling like you don’t need to bury your face in a map, successfully chatting with some local people in the museum, or even over the best glass of chocolate milk you’ve ever had. This click lets you sink in and feel your surroundings with confidence and courage, if only for a moment or two. I’d never advocate skipping your due diligence—basic research is important and responsible—but going in to fulfill all the expectations you came with seems irresponsible in its own right. No one likes a box-checker. At the end of the day, we saw Havana through pseudo-journalistic eyes, hungry to learn and keeping our cool along the way—a bit, we hope, like Hemingway.

Study Abroad, The Value of English, Undergraduate English

The Spirit of Competition


Often, travel is seen as an escape. People take their allotted vacation time and run off to some place, near or far, where they can forget their troubles and responsibilities for a few days. While I can personally attest that a sun-filled week of spring break in a beautiful location like St. Pete’s Beach, Florida makes for a nice getaway, this is not my preferred style of travel. Not anymore, at least. I was lucky enough to be able to spend the last three weeks exploring Greece, and my experiences there completely changed my outlook on travel.

Walking a trail in Greece

My trip to Greece was not a vacation. A vacation generally consists of free, unscheduled time spent relaxing in a nice location. Relaxation was rare in Greece, with more sights to see than I had time or energy for. I took a class on sports literature, and spent most of my time taking part in activities that were organized by my professors, Liz Wilkinson and Amy Muse. This would have made for a terrible vacation, but it wasn’t a vacation. I wasn’t taking a trip to escape the stress of life at home. I wasn’t trying to lose myself in a faraway place. In fact, as clichéd an idea as this may be, I found a new part of myself through my hurried exploration of Greece.

As we studied the Olympic Games, both ancient and modern, I started to focus my journal entries on examining the competitive drive that is a core part of human nature. This drive to achieve and to prove ourselves better than our peers is prevalent throughout nearly every facet of life. I have always felt the spark of competition within myself, but the more I examined my competitive drive, the more the spark grew. When our class had the opportunity of listening to a speaker who was a marathon runner, I listened closely to her motivations for running, and found that she shared the same drive I did. The main difference between us was that she had acted on her drive, and I had let mine begin to fade. As she spoke of her desire to prove to herself that she could run a marathon, I felt that little spark of drive in me flare up wildly.

Nafplio, Greece

In a moment of pure inspiration, I declared to my friends next to me –and more importantly, to myself– that I would run a marathon by the end of 2017. Now, it’s important to note that, before this decision, I did not run consistently. I was (and still am) not in prime shape. This didn’t seem like a reasonable goal. It still doesn’t. Yet, I know I can do it. In making my decision, I drew inspiration not only from the speaker, but from the Olympic athletes, both ancient and modern, and from the very land of Greece. I’m convinced there’s some sort of magic at work in Greece, magic that erased my doubts and fears, and magic that fueled the growing drive within me.

The Temple of Poseidon, Sounion, Greece

Three weeks was not enough time for me to get tired of Greece. Not even close. I still think of it every day, wishing that I could wake up to see the sun rise in Nafplio each morning, and longing to watch it set over the Temple of Poseidon at Sounion. As Dr. Muse had warned me would happen, I left a piece of my heart in Greece. But the experience was worth it. And you can bet I’ll be going back in search of it.

 


Henry Koller is sophomore majoring in English with a Writing Emphasis, with minors in Philosophy and the Renaissance Program. Aside from writing, he likes to spend his time reading, swing dancing, and baking bread, and he hopes to study abroad again before he graduates.

Faculty Teaching, Study Abroad, The Value of English, Undergraduate English

The Grand Tour: Cultural Disparities

The famous Shakespeare and Company store in Paris.

Inside the clock tower at the Musée d’Orsay, Paris.

I walked down the cobblestone streets of Paris and stopped. To my left was a row of antique buildings. Every building held its own share of history and was now filled with chic boutiques blooming with French fashion and bookstores containing the works of authors that used to find their muse in the exact surroundings I was currently experiencing. To my right was the Musée d’Orsay with only the Seine river separating me from its’ hundreds of years of art and sculptures held inside. A quick stroll down the street would land me at the famous Notre Dame and deliciously unmatched gelato. For the month of January, twenty-four other students, two professors, and I experienced sights like these in each of the cities we visited.

The Coliseum in Rome, Italy

Led by Professors Kelli Larson and Cecilia Farr, we were lucky enough to experience various more-than-just-picturesque cities in order to learn about the Grand Tour. The course, titled “Americans Abroad: The Grand Tour,” took us on a detailed exploration of 5 cities: Paris, Nice, Venice, Rome, Siena, and Florence. Each day, in every city visited, we were able to see and experience first-hand some of the exact same places as various nineteenth-century Americans did. Typically, they did so to polish themselves artistically or socially, but they also did so to complete their education or to find inspiration. Our texts for the course consisted of works by Mark Twain, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Henry James, and included various excerpts from other exceptionally talented authors who completed the Grand Tour.

Group picture in Nice, France.

The texts were all unique with their own plot and purpose, but comparatively they all revolved around a common theme: the cultural differences between the Old World and New World. In some way, the protagonists in each of the texts encountered foreign customs and cultures and had a difficult time adjusting.

Florence, Italy

A lack of typical American customs—like hasty meals or differences in social expectations—is unsettling to them at first. Eventually, though, after experiencing various trials and tribulations mixed with benevolent encounters, their cultural ignorance begins to fade and they soon attach a sense of value and appreciation to this differing culture. In a different scenario, like in Henry James’ Daisy Miller, the exposure to European culture only reinforces the protagonists’ sense of superiority in their familiar American customs.

Venice, Italy

After retracing some of the same steps these nineteenth-century Americans did, I can say that experiencing a culture different to my own only broadened my perspective and understanding for other cultures and their customs. It is easy to find one’s own ways of life or customs to be superior to others when you have never experienced or attempted to understand the logic or history behind them. As a Minnesota native, I definitely missed the constant smiles and “hello’s” from a random passersby, but I also came to prefer their slower, relaxed pace of life. There is no correct right way to live. Traveling, though, allows for reflection; to appreciate your own culture but also to take a step back and realize where other cultures might be getting at something deeper than you ever fathomed.


Shayla Curtis is a sophomore Accounting & Finance major with a minor in English Literature. After college, she hopes to work as a financial analyst or in another position related to her major. With a passion for animals and kids, she hopes to volunteer on the side and perhaps start her own nonprofit. 

Graduate English, Student Careers, Student Research, The Value of English

Vatnajökull

Katelyn Brunner is finishing her first semester as a graduate student. This fall she traveled to Iceland to pursue an interest that might cause you  pause when you think about English students: Geology. Because of the interest shown by her fellow classmates, Katelyn welcomed the opportunity to write about this “sweetheart infatuation” for our blog. When not in school or hiking atop glaciers, Katelyn is a copy editor for an ad agency that does work for veterinary/production animal companies.


unknownGeology is a complex, fundamental science that most people take for granted, which is a shame. The deep ocean’s thermal vents, the kaleidoscope in a granite countertop, stratification-stripes on the inside of mountains sliced to make room for highways– all of that beauty is proof that our Earth is not a given, it’s a gift.

My stupid, sweetheart infatuation with the planet is the reason I went to Iceland. It is one of the most extreme places in the world for the Earth sciences– glaciers rest on top of volcanoes and islands rise up out of the sea. Lava fields are covered with moss and the sand is charcoal-black. Everything is big and elemental and a girl in clunky hiking boots feels very small in comparison. It’s not that so many things happened during my trip there– it’s just that Iceland happened to me. But I don’t want to talk about all that.

I want to talk about a glacier.

picture1

I planned my trip around a three-day excursion that included hiking, staying in void-dark villages overnight, and clamping spikes onto our boots so we didn’t fall into an ice cave– literally. Some of the hiking and not-falling was done on top of a glacier called Vatnajökull. The day of the hike, our group of five was driven a few hours to a small, steel cabin to meet our “glacier guides,” all of whom look exactly like you’d expect. After signing my life away and being grilled about my epilepsy, I was allowed near the cramp-ons, pickaxes, and fun little harnesses whose lime-green nylon clashed horribly with my borrowed, hunter’s-orange pants.

The intimate experience that was my harness-fitting rivaled the TSA screening that I once received for committing the cardinal sin of airplane travel: forgetting my ID. Just like that uncomfortable Thanksgiving day, I was subjected to what amounted to little more than a pleasureless groping. Luckily, my fit, blonde “glacier guide” was the nicest woman in the world, if a bit intimidating. Just one of her defined muscles would probably be assigned a better high school superlative than I had.

picture3I was soon released to one of those huge, shiny buses that have impossibly large windows. The bus driver, a kind of lumberjack Santa who smelled like roast beef, pulled away from the cabin with his charges, and switched on the radio to what can only be described as the most offensive elevator music on Earth. The entire, hour-long trek across a landscape clearly not meant for buses, was filled with the sound of “improvised” jazz and clinking hiking equipment. We passed the outwash plain they filmed parts of the last Star Wars movie on and marveled at how like an earlobe the glacier looked, seeping out into its little lagoon. We saw the highest peak in Iceland and it didn’t look very tall until we were right up against it, jumping every so often at each creak and crash courtesy of the ice fall at its base.

We were briefed on how to behave ourselves on Vatnajökull. What I got from the talk was this: when stepping down, don’t point your toes straight forward, stomp so hard you’re sore tomorrow, and don’t feed the ravens; they will chase you. With those wise words, we began to climb.

It’s not enough just to describe the glacier, though it’s tempting. I could mention deep, blue crevasses that seemed very sinister, scalloped edges of melting ice, and the two ravens with gasoline-sheen feathers. But the most interesting thing about the experience was less the beauty of the place– after all, this was day six of a beautiful picture2trip– but the swelling-heart feeling I got when I stepped foot on the ice. I was finally there, finally with the thing I’d studied, presented on, and wrote about during my years in undergrad. Glaciers move and speak and, over time, slice through the landscape like wire through soft cheese. They, like minerals and the ocean’s currents, prove our Earth is alive. And my love for it proves I am, too.

Conference Travel, Student Research, Undergraduate English

Rediscovering Constance Wilde

grandmas-story

Grandma’s Story

Last fall, I undertook an independent study on the works of Oscar Wilde with Dr. Alexis Easley. When we began to study his fairy tales, I realized for the first time that one of them, “The Selfish Giant,” was one of my favorite childhood stories that my dad used to read to me. Intrigued, I researched these fairy tales further and discovered one of his wife’s fairy tale collections, There Was Once! Grandma’s Stories, a beautifully illustrated book that included five fairy tales and four nursery rhymes. Basic research revealed that Constance Wilde was a writer, editor, and public speaker who was an important voice in late nineteenth-century Britain, and as I learned more about her, I realized her work had been buried for over one hundred years. I knew that I needed to find out more about her.

a-long-time-ago-favourite-stories-retold-by-mrs-oscar-wilde-and-others

A Long Time Ago – Favourite Stories Retold by Mrs. Oscar Wilde and Others

During this last spring semester, Dr. Easley and I began the application process for the Luann Dummer Center for Women Undergraduate Fellowship Grant opportunity. Constance Wilde’s works have been out of print since she was first published in the late nineteenth century, so part of my application requested funding to travel to London in order to research her works at the British Library. Needless to say, we were ecstatic when I was informed that, out of all the possible applicants, we were awarded the grant. This trip to London was quite possibly my favorite part of the project. In the midst of traveling through the underground train system, getting lost for hours in the British Library pouring over books, letters, and documents from the nineteenth century, I discovered her amazing work for the Rational Dress Society, where she was the lead editor for the Society’s Gazette from April of 1888 to July 1889. Her work centered on the idea of healthy and sensible dress for young girls and women without sacrificing the aesthetic appeal of fashion. As editor, Constance Wilde’s work was crucial in getting the necessary health information out to women in order to encourage them to take charge of both their own and their children’s health, especially relating to their habits of dress.

One of the exciting opportunities I have had with this project so far was a presentation of my first research paper on Constance Wilde, focusing on her journalistic career with the Rational Dress Society, at the Streamlines Undergraduate English Conference in Dubuque, Iowa. The conference was a fantastic experience! Presentations were given by students from all over the United States, and I thoroughly enjoyed listening to them. I also loved the opportunity to share my own research and to hear what questions people had about it. The unique quality of this particular conference is the wide variety of topics students can present on, such as creative writing (fiction, poetry, and creative nonfiction), presentations on films, literary theory, the classics, global issues, identity, women in literature, and even one on handwriting in our culture. It was intellectually rich with all of these topics and more!introduction

Since my paper had to do with a female writer, I was placed in a panel that focused on the subject of women in literature. The other students in my panel had fascinating and excellent papers and it was intriguing to see that all of our papers tied together without our realizing or planning it. After we had all presented our papers, one of the audience members brought that to our attention, and it sparked a fantastic discussion that went in multiple directions. It was an incredible day, as the faculty, students, and everyone listening to the panels were supportive and interested in the work we were sharing. It was truly a worthwhile experience, and I hope to attend the conference again in the future simply for the pure enjoyment of it.

jack-and-the-beanstalk

Jack and the Beanstalk

The next step for my research on Constance Wilde will be an article on her collections of fairy tales, which I will be submitting this upcoming May to the International English Honor Society, Sigma Tau Delta. In the introduction to one of her collections, There Was Once! Grandma’s Stories, Constance Wilde tells children the story about the way these fairy tales were handed down to her orally by her grandmother. Through this, she draws attention to the importance of women’s relationships in the storytelling tradition. She highlights this process of transmission, honoring her foremother and making her own contribution to the retelling of these classic tales. One of my greatest hopes in carrying out this research project is to shine light on Constance Wilde’s work, highlighting her authorial achievements with more precision and promoting greater understanding of who she truly was – a unique and important writer of the late Victorian era.

 

meaghanscott300
Meaghan Scott is a senior majoring in English. Two of her favorite literary eras are the Medieval and Victorian, and some of the authors she’s especially enjoyed studying are Dante, Shakespeare, Oscar Wilde, and Constance Wilde, just to name a few. However, she also loves fantasy literature in general, especially the works of J.R.R. Tolkien, who she will be studying in Dr. Martin Warren’s Tolkien: Middle Earth/Middle Ages class. She is currently applying to graduate English programs in Ireland and Minnesota in order to continue her studies in English Literature.