And that was a challenge. Because I entered college in 2003, at the beginning of the war in Iraq, when everyone and their grandmother was convinced that learning Arabic was the ticket to getting a job in government. At the school I went to, all students were preregistered for classes with the exception of first-year students and graduate students, who had to attend classes before they could register. All classes were required to leave three seats open for first years and graduate students. So, I showed up to the first day of Beginning I Arabic along with 70 other students, all hoping to get one of those three seats. The instructor announced that he would not allow anyone to register for those three seats until there were only three students left in the class who wanted them. And so I proceeded to wait the rest of them out. I came to every class and did all the work in the class, without any guarantee that I would get in officially or get credit for it until enough people gave up that I was offered the slot. So the first thing I learned in my college career was that I would have to fight for the Humanities and they were worth fighting for. I am still doing that work today.

But aside from Arabic, I really didn’t know what else I wanted to study. So I started off by studying everything. I took classes in history, and political science, and anthropology, and comparative literature. And calculus, and biology, and Religious Studies. And they were all great classes, but I found that I had a particular love of that place where religion, history, literature, and philosophy met and connected. Those classes lit a fire in me. Because they showed me that in places and periods and languages that were wholly different from my own people had grappled with the questions that provoked and haunted me, questions of deep existential meaning and ongoing political urgency – and that they had expressed their answers in language that was profoundly beautiful. When I studied those answers, I found myself connected to peoples, movements, and cultures larger myself.  And as I went deeper and deeper into my studies, I found that they were changing me. Once I learned how to read deeply, I found that I could read anything, including the social and political institutions in which I was embedded. I learned to question everything, and to produce my own critical answers. I put myself to work imagining other, better worlds.

The period that I grew up in was really not perfect. I went to college – and then lived in the Middle East – during the Iraq War. A war of choice, when the President decided to invade a country that posed no threat to the United States, largely to secure access to vast oil resources. I then graduated from college into a massive financial disaster caused by the loosening of banking regulations so that very rich people could become even richer. So I can’t say that it was an easy time to be a young person – if there is ever an easy time to be a young person.

But I do think that it is much harder to be a young person today. I went through college at a time when few students had personal laptops, before the invention of the smart phone or the ipad or the rise of social media. The students I went to school with didn’t all like me – but they were all really present along with me in the spaces we shared. The political culture at the time seemed divisive, but it was nothing in comparison to the chaos and fury of the current age. It’s hard right now y’all.

But one of the things that is making it even harder is that the institutions and entities who are invested in dividing us from each other, in fracturing our attention and undermining our interpersonal relationships – are also selling us a particular approach to knowledge. This approach is, “the extractive attitude.” It is based on the idea that the purpose of knowledge is to extract resources from the environment and money from the economy – which ultimately means from consumers. This attitude is not new. I know from my own field of African history that the European governments who colonized various territories sent scholars out in the wake of the armies, geographers and engineers to survey and map the land, and linguists and anthropologists to learn languages, and catalogue customs. The purpose of these colonial scholar-soldiers was to facilitate the pacification of the population and the extraction of natural resources. Knowledge has always been a form of power. And then, just as now, deep engagement in storytelling, religious worldviews, and philosophy was disregarded and rejected as impractical. Education, according to the extractive attitude, is a product whose value measured as a return on investment. This attitude invites us to use learning to maintain a position in cultural and class warfare.

The opposite of the extractive attitude is a humanistic attitude. A humanistic attitude values knowledge for its ability to bring meaning and joy into our lives and our communities. A humanistic attitude evaluates our present relative to both our past and our vision of the future. A humanistic attitude is an approach that finds richness and complexity in things that seem simple. And it does those things through a deep engagement with the ideas and the art that have been produced by humans through the ages.

When I went to college I had to fight for a seat in a language class against the forces of opportunism. And I want you to fight for humanism, too. And it is a fight sometimes. A fight to maintain vision and resolve in the face of a thousand messages that tell us that the humanistic attitude is “useless.” The makers and marketers of new technological products are trying to convince us to give up our capacity for deep engagement. To give up our ability to generate ideas, to read literature, to think about the past, to make and appreciate art and culture, and to communicate with each other. To convince us to give up on humanism they threaten us with catastrophe and apocalypse. They warn that their products will change society so deeply that it will be unrecognizable, or that they might destroy humanity entirely. But I have my own message. For anyone who is worried about understanding these forces, or who is struggling to make sense of the world right now – the Humanities can help.

Those of us in Religious Studies have studied apocalyptic predictions, we know the distance between what they promise and what they deliver. Those of us in History have studied revolutions and know how politics and new forms of media align. Those of us in World Languages and Cultures know that our understanding of the world is shaped by language and how to connect with people across cultural differences. Those of us in Philosophy know that the potential for meaningful change is rooted in examination and reflection.  And those of us in English know (to paraphrase James Baldwin), that it is literature that teaches us that the things that torment us the most are the very things that connect us with all the people who are alive, or who have ever lived. The Humanities are a repository of our shared humanity and the heart of our capacity to be, not just human, but better humans. More than ever, humanity needs the Humanities. And right now, the Humanities needs you.

Gannon’s paper, “Agency and Creation of Space: Empowered Women in the Gothic Fictions Mexican Gothic and Build Your House Around My Body,” is part of a project mentored by Professor of English Rosemary Haskell. The research investigates 21st-century adaptations of the eighteenth-century Gothic mode, with a particular focus on the changing representations of women characters and the spaces they inhabit in their novels. “Mexican Gothic” is by Silvia Moreno-Garcia and “Build Your House Around My Body” is by Violet Kupersmith.

Inspired by their recent team-taught Literature on Screen course, Burns, assistant professor in English, and Swanson, assistant professor in Cinema & Television Arts, gave a hybrid talk on a panel with the theme “Networks, Multiverses, and (Trans)Media Ecologies.”

Their talk, titled “Direction as Data Extraction: Surveilling Behavioral Surplus in Joseph Kosinski’s ‘Spiderhead,’” explored Shoshana Zuboff’s theory of “behavioral surplus” in a comparative analysis of George Saunders’ short story “Escape from Spiderhead” (2010) and director Joseph Kosinski’s recent Netflix Original adaptation, “Spiderhead” (2022). Reading the work’s “clinical trials” context as an allegory of surveillance capitalism, they argued that Kosinski’s modernist and postmodern production design evokes the data-gathering practices mobilized by corporate interests outside of their users’ awareness and autonomy—a new prediction market that maximizes profits through the harvesting of personal information.

Hosted by the University of Montana this year from Sept. 21-23, the Literature/Film Association is currently the largest and most active scholarly society in the United States devoted to the study of literature and film.

A panelist on the interdisciplinary Forum Session  Pearson delivered her paper, “The White Supremacist Strategy of Lost Cause Medievalism,” in a roundtable format that included scholars from Drake, Rice, Caltech, George Washington and Cal State-Monterey Bay. Pearson’s paper argued that Thomas Dixon’s bestselling novels “The Leopard’s Spots” and “The Clansman” (on which the blockbuster 1915 movie The Birth of a Nation was based) used popular ideas about the medieval period to seize the white U.S. imagination and promulgate white racial reunification at the expense of Black lives and rights.

Chairing an Asian Literatures Special Session entitled  Karunanayake introduced and moderated discussions by literature faculty from Colgate University, Hunter College and UT-El Paso. His talk, “Shyam Selvadurai’s Mapping of Queer Memory as Postmemory,” applied Marianne Hirsch’s formulation of “postmemory” to the queer Sri Lankan Canadian writer’s work and argued that Selvadurai’s invocation of queer memory fills the gaps of the heteropatriarchal nationalist consciousness, thus presenting a postmemory of postcolonial Sri Lanka.

For the roundtable  Burns’ “Too Big to Fail: Hanya Yanagihara’s A Little Life and the Art of Excess in the Age of Inclusion” analyzed narrative theories of maximalist fiction in a comparative case study on the varied reception histories surrounding Yanagihara’s National Book Award-nominated and Booker Prize-shortlisted epic novel. Burns’ paper explored how the existing critical orthodoxy surrounding big, ambitious novels written by women deliberately fails its subjects through implicit biases that conflate the perceived perceptual limitations of a given work’s visionary scope with the minoritarian positionality of its authorship. The panel included scholars from Hartwick College, UT-Austin, Cornell, Oregon, and Penn State-Harrisburg, whose work examined emergent literary forms and their relationship with or remediation by other media, including film, documentary, social media, publishing platforms, transmedia, autotheory, and other hybrid narrative and poetic forms.

The Modern Language Association has been the flagship conference in literary studies since 1883 with sessions that present a range of critical approaches on a variety of languages, literatures, and cultural traditions. This year’s convention’s theme, “Working Conditions,” invited participants to consider the subject of knowledge work through “the reconstruction of the profession, its institutions, and its wider environment.”

This paper, presented in a session called “On Queer Time: Velocities and Temporalities in Contemporary French and Francophone Cultural Production,” argued that Diome’s 2006 novel “KĂ©tala,”Ěýthe story of queer lives struggling to unfold in a hostile Senegalese culture, depicts the deadly pressures exerted on individual lives by heteronormative timelines and illuminates the broader cultural implications of these delayed, disrupted and fugitive life stories.

Fatou Diome is the author of several novels, including “Le Ventre de l’Atlantique,” very successfully translated as “The Belly of the Atlantic,” two short-story collections, and two polemics against the French “far-right” political wing. Diome has lived in France since the early 1990s.

Morehead, assistant professor of English, presented his research on how some films produce the same kind of political emotions that public monuments and memorials do. His talk “Monument Films and the Politics of Tragic Emotions” identified the aspects of a new film genre that aligns itself with the commemorative and political aspirations of monuments. Reading Oliver Stone’s film “World Trade Center” as an example of how these kinds of films create a national “tragic spectatorship,” he made the claim that monument films do their political work through orienting their audiences toward feeling certain national events as tragedies.

Inspired by their work in a recent Literature on Screen course, Burns, assistant professor in English, and Stafford, a first-year English major, gave a collaborative talk entitled, “Voice v. Vision: The Reception Histories of ‘If Beale Street Could Talk.’”

Their presentation examined Barry Jenkins’ 2019 adaptation of James Baldwin’s novel in dialogue with recent film scholarship as well as excerpts from the author’s own unfinished screenplay of his narrative. Written on-spec by Baldwin after Universal Studios acquired the rights to “If Beale Street Could Talk” in the mid-70s, the fragmentary document remains unpublished and is available only in the at the —where Burns conducted archival research in Fall 2021 with a grant from the Provost’s Office.

The virtual symposium, entitled “Only Connect,” highlighted the importance of textual, intertextual, social and biological adaptation during the COVID-19 pandemic.

The Literature/Film Association is currently the largest and most active scholarly society in the United States devoted to the study of literature and film. The U.K.-based Association of Adaptation Studies is committed to challenging assumptions concerning the boundaries of literature on screen and enlarging the place of adaptation studies across the humanities curriculum.

An article by Professor of English Rosemary Haskell recently appeared in The Minnesota Review: A Journal of Creative and Critical Writing.

Haskell’s article, “Migritude’s Progress: Fatou Diome’s Twenty-Five Years in Afrique(s)-sur-Rhine,” analyzes francophone Senegalese novelist Fatou Diome’s explorations in novels and in nonfiction of “migritude,” the rich conceptualization of the complexities of Black African identity in the context of the exciting and perilous migrant’s condition.

Fatou Diome, born in Senegal in 1968, now lives in France. She has published several novels, including the best-selling “Le ventre de l’Atlantique” (translated into English as “The Belly of the Atlantic”), about boys and young men risking their lives by migrating to Europe from Senegal in the hope of playing soccer in the “big leagues.”

The article is available here – .

The Minnesota Review, Issue 94, 2020 (New Series),  pp. 142-156.

Rosemary Haskell, professor of English, recently chaired a session titled “The Rhetoric of Contact Between Military and Civilian Life” at the South Atlantic Modern Language Association Annual Meeting, held Nov. 16 in Atlanta.

Haskell also presented a paper at this conference session: “The Power Vacuum: Two Kinds of `Inner Emigration’ in Ben Fountain’s ‘Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk.'”

Fountain’s 2012 novel explores the experiences of a group of young U. S. soldiers as they are feted during the half-time show at a Dallas Cowboys’ football game for their now-famous, but deadly, firefight at the battle-front in Iraq.

Cecily Basquin ’16 and Sabrina Campelo ’18 spoke at SURE’s second luncheon of the summer. 

Basquin, currently pursuing a doctorate in clinical psychology at the University of North Carolina at Charlotte, participated in SURE for two summers while at Â鶹ĘÓƵ. Working with faculty advisor Meredith Allison, professor of psychology and director of undergraduate research, Basquin researched the accuracy and misunderstandings that occur in eyewitness testimonies between English-speaking police officers and eyewitnesses who speak English as a second language.

Basquin presented her research across the country and in Canada while studying at Â鶹ĘÓƵ. She said the experiences she had in the SURE program were priceless.

“Â鶹ĘÓƵ cares about each and every student and truly invests in the future of its students,” she said. “Â鶹ĘÓƵ taught me to think critically, be passionate about my ideas, to value my relationships with peers and mentors and – most importantly – to be intellectually curious through it all.”

​Campelo is now pursuing a master’s degree in medical physics at Duke University. While at Â鶹ĘÓƵ, she researched irreversible electroporation, a cancer treatment that applies an electric field across tumors, creating nano-tears on the cells and causing the tumors to die.

On Monday, Campelo offered advice to SURE participants about what they can take away from the experience and how it can help them develop as presenters.

“If you have the opportunity to give oral presentations, I strongly encourage you to take any and every opportunity,” Campelo said. “Practicing and giving presentations is a great way to become more comfortable.”

SURE offers student researchers the chance to earn a stipend while spending eight weeks working full-time on a project in collaboration with a faculty mentor with substantial and recognized expertise in the discipline. The purpose of the SURE program is to enhance learning opportunities for students while encouraging collaboration in learning and research between faculty and students.

​This year’s class of SURE student researchers is focused on a wide range of topics.

Junie Burke ’20, a human service studies and strategic communications major, is researching the availability of psycho-social resources for pediatric cancer patients. Burke is mentored by Cindy Fair, the Watts/Thompson professor of public health studies and human service studies, and she called the experience unforgettable.

“Learning in a classroom is one thing, but putting your major into real life is another,” she said. “SURE has allowed me to apply it and also make a difference in my sector.”

​Maeve Riley ’20, an English literature and drama and theatre studies major, is researching the roles of women during the economic boom of Ireland in the 1990s. Riley, an Â鶹ĘÓƵ College Fellow, is mentored by Associate Professor of English Scott Proudfit and said she sees the SURE program as an opportunity to give special attention to the topics that interest her most.

“During the semester, it’s really difficult to focus on your research, and you really need to focus in order to make something very concentrated and probable,” she said.

The 37 student researchers in the 2019 SURE program will continue their research throughout the summer and present their findings during poster sessions on July 24.

And, as the students continue to work toward their summer research goals, Cecily Basquin offered some encouraging words about the program.

“Â鶹ĘÓƵ prepares you very well for what’s ahead, and you’ll have developed a unique skill set that other students won’t necessarily have,” she said. “Take advantage of it. Seek out new opportunities.”

CELEBRATE! Week offers an annual opportunity to highlight the academic and artistic achievements of Â鶹ĘÓƵ students and faculty. Each day this week, we'll be putting the spotlight on a student scholar's research — what they are seeking to find out, and who they became interested in their project.

Area of study: English Literature

Major(s): English, concentrations in Literature and Professional Writing & Rhetoric

Minor(s): Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies

Faculty mentor: Megan Isaac, associate professor of English

Title of research: Literary and Social Narratives of Young Adult Power

Abstract:

Young adult literature is all about power. Critics like Roberta Trites and Maria Nikolajeva choose to define the genre by the way themes of power affect the narratives of young adults. They argue that ideas of power are central in developing the plots and themes of novels in the genre. Simultaneously, youth rights theorists argue that adolescence is a period void of all power. John Holt, father of the philosophical youth rights theory, argues that the social construction of the period of adolescence creates a relationship between adults and adolescents that is unequal: one in which adults hold all power and wield it in a way that represses the power of adolescents around them. Holt calls for an abolition of this arbitrary and socially constructed institution in order to restore power to adolescents, a group he believes has been needlessly oppressed.

A stark contradiction about adolescent power emerges when looking at young adult literature through a youth theorist lens. John Holt asserts that adolescence is a period void of all power and repressed by adult influences, but young adult literature, a genre for and about adolescents, is all about power. The gap between these two ways of thinking calls theories of adolescent power and scholarship about young adult literature into question, and furthermore demands a more nuanced study of power than has been done in the past. My research explores this contradiction.

In order to understand how power operates in the genre, I selected twenty-one contemporary realistic, award-winning American novels and focused on power in four nuanced contexts: mental health representations, LGBTQ relationships, book banning incidents, and narration strategies. My research demonstrates contradictions surrounding adolescent power that reveal the intricate relationship between young adult literature and power and how literature shapes ideas about the kinds of power young adults can or should wield.

In other words:

I studied representations of adolescent power in young adult literature, a genre for and about adolescents but written almost exclusively by adults. Adolescence, in general, is a period void of most power and repressed by adult influences, but the young adult literature is all about power. My research explores this contradiction and how it manifests in the genre.

Explanation of study:

In order to understand how power operates in the genre, I selected 21 contemporary realistic, award-winning American novels. All novels have either won or been long- or short-listed for the Michael L. Printz Award or the National Book Award, the two most sought-after prizes in the field. I chose to focus on award winners in order to ensure that all the books I examined were of high literary quality and had a significant audience. Definitions of adolescence vary with time and place, and consequently there is no standard definition of the age group that is agreed upon by all. In order to narrow the scope of conceptions of adolescence, all novels have been published in the past twenty years (1999-2019) and have achieved success (in the form of awards) in the United States. This selection criteria ensures cultural relevance and a shared understanding of what it means to be an adolescent. Along the lines of standardizing what it means to be an adolescent, I’ve chosen to define the age group as high-school-aged, only choosing novels with protagonists in high school. Finally, working within these parameters, I purposefully chose novels that give attention to character diversity on the basis of gender, race, ethnicity, class, sexual orientation, and ability. Past literary studies have either ignored representation altogether, or only studied it as it pertains to marginalized groups. By design, I strove to study adolescence in a broad and inclusive way. I used this set of novels as a case-study to study power in its nuanced contexts in the genre.

What made this research interesting to you? How did you get started?

I’ve always loved young adult literature. Growing up, the genre provided me with a comfort that the real world never could. When I came to Â鶹ĘÓƵ I realized that I could marry my personal passions and academic pursuits in interesting and innovative ways. During the spring of my first year, I took a young adult literature course, which introduced me to scholarship in the genre. I also took a feminist philosophy course that increased my exposure to theories of privilege and oppression. One day in this class, my professor briefly mentioned the intersection of childhood and oppression. I began to wonder how this oppression might manifest itself in the literature I love: a genre for and about adolescents, written almost exclusively by adults. From there, the Â鶹ĘÓƵ College Fellows Program and my mentor Dr. Megan Isaac helped me make meaning of this intersection.

How has undergraduate research contributed to your experience at Â鶹ĘÓƵ?

Undergraduate research has been the single most rewarding experience I’ve had while at Â鶹ĘÓƵ. My project afforded me the opportunity to take something I love and run with it. I’ve never been in a situation where I could spend two-and-a-half years taking complete ownership of an academic endeavor. Throughout the process, I’ve developed curiosity, creativity, and resilience. These skills have permeated outward to affect all other work I’ve done at Â鶹ĘÓƵ. Furthermore, my relationship with my mentor has strengthened my bond with the English department and the University as a whole. It’s the best feeling to have someone in your corner reassuring you that your academic pursuits are worthy and important.