A review

There’s a lovely review of my book by Jessica Taylor in Limina journal if you’d like to read it. Many thanks to the Limina Editorial Team!

Also, if you happen to stumble upon a review of my book in a journal, a blog, or anywhere else, please email me to let me know as it would help me make a case with my publisher to publish the book in paperback version (and therefore make the book more affordable and accessible). Journals and editors who are interested in a free review copy can contact my publisher directly or you can email me and I’ll forward the request to my editor.

Thanks to my friend Sanna for letting me know about this particular review.

Image credit: from the Bennington College series, photos by Alfred Eisenstaedt.

Justifying the Humanities

I received a wonderful email last night from a postgrad student who asked me if I would consider writing a separate post about a response I gave in the comment section for this post. So before I forget my response, I’ll write it down now. Thanks for the email.

Here’s my original response:

I feel your pain, because every job/grant application I’ve filled out in the past few months and years has asked me that question, and I often wonder the same thing as you. Humanities departments have to justify themselves now according to a model of ‘evidence’ that was created for science disciplines. How do you ‘prove’ what books can do, what a poem can do, what historical research can do? How do you ‘prove’ the impact that has on a society, a culture, a country, or an individual student? You can’t: this is not black and white data, there aren’t mathematical equations to the study of the humanities. The study of art, literature, and culture is its own end - it doesn’t need justification or ‘proof’. And the fact that we are required to justify it is the underlying problem to all the funding problems we have now. Because when it comes to showing ‘proof’ and data, we can’t compete with the sciences. It is so thoroughly depressing, I often want to give up. Knowledge is knowledge: it shouldn’t be ‘justified’.

This is not a debate about art versus science. I hate those debates, and I think they’re false. This is more of a debate on how we rationalise funding for different kinds of disciplines, and different types of research and enquiries into knowledge. There is knowledge and research that culminates in concrete data and concrete results. It’s easy (or perhaps just easier) to see what its end-product is, what it can do, what it can teach us, who it affects and why. Then there is knowledge that is intangible: you can’t touch it, you can’t present it as objective data, you can’t name its affects, you can’t predict how it will function in a society, or a culture, or a country. But its intangibility does not make it any less significant and any less worthy of funding and institutional support.

I can’t recall one single application for an academic position that I’ve compiled in the last few years that has not required some sort of rationalisation, justification, or measuring of the ‘impact’ of my planned research work. I can show you a simplistic evaluation of the impact of my teaching, for example: I have evaluation reports by my students and my peers in my folder. But I can’t tell you, for example, what other impact I may have had on past students. Did I know that a former student would come asking for me years after I taught her? Did I anticipate or predict I could ever have that kind of impact on someone? Do I know how every single student in my class responded to a poem, or a book, and how it may have changed their thinking? How do you measure that, and how do you present it to an employer?

Similarly, how can I explain what my research can do? I don’t always have concrete data; I have thoughts and ideas and a contribution to knowledge that is hard to pin down as x and y. Being cited and referenced by other academics, the ranking of the publishers and publications I’ve been published with, are only the surface evaluations of my work. I’m aware they’re necessary for an academic career, I’m aware universities have to measure these things in order to survive themselves. But there’s always a ‘but’. If I’m asked to justify a research project in my discipline, to give concrete proof and data, I will always lose. Because you might as well ask me to prove how love works, to measure happiness and sadness, to justify the existence of a poem or a book or a film the same way businesses justify a business model through sales and productivity figures.

I understand that part of the reason for this justification model is to ensure proper checks and balances in research. And this is absolutely crucial to maintain quality and ethics. But I wish for a tiny bit of breathing room within this model; and perhaps a more nuanced understanding of different disciplines that cannot be clumped together according to one funding model. If we require every single bit of knowledge to be justified with something concrete and don’t allow room for intangibility, I fear we run the risk of killing off the curiosity that compels people like me and like my friends to seek it out in the first place.

News from Nowhere 3

Artwork by Ekaterina Panikanova

: : I still remain unconvinced by the personal merits of facebook ever since I returned to it, but it has led me to a few great articles and finds through journals and magazines I like. One such find is artist Ekaterina Panikanova, who paints on old books. That’s her work in the image above, and have a look at more here.

: : I’m linking my Israel posts again, since I put a lot of work (and love) into compiling them: Israel, part one and Israel, part two (part three is coming).

: : I’m also linking my post on my essay in the current issue of Meanjin again, because I didn’t mention why this essay is important to me. I think every writer has some sort of publication they dream of being published in, and Meanjin is mine. There are publications I pursue for the sake of career survival – in academia, your CV is often judged on what you publish, and the quality of the publications/publishers you are published with. Meanjin covers that aspect, it’s well-respected. But I didn’t care about that when I submitted my work to them. My essay wasn’t an intellectual exercise, but an emotional one. To have it accepted was a small personal validation. I think writers have to hang on to those moments during shitty times when all you face is rejection from all fronts (like I’m experiencing now).

: : Women should beware Abbott’s blue-tie brigade

: : Quit Fucking Asking Me Questions: A Refresher Course

: : I love this image by Juliet Burnett (a Senior Artist with the Australian Ballet)

: : SHOAH: The New Permanent Exhibition at the Auschwitz-Birkenau State Museum, Block 27 at Yad Vashem

: : It was recently Anne Frank’s birthday (12 June, 1929). May we never forget you Anne, for both yourself, and the lost humanity you represent.

: : Academics’ bin diving ‘caused by zero-hours contracts’. I wish I could say articles like this shocked me.

: : This is an amazing speech by Australian feminist Anne Summers about the abhorrently sexist treatment of our Prime Minister, Julia Gillard. It is a must read.

: : “Any doubt that Julia Gillard is a victim of misogyny is neatly dispelled by one A4 piece of paper”. Yep.

: : Gender balancing the books

: : Male reviewers and authors vastly outnumber female in UK publications

The Benefits of Grumpiness

If you ever read any of those blogging guides that are trotted out regularly, you’ll know that one of the biggest kisses of death for a blog seeking to become popular and ‘mainstream’ (whatever the hell that is), is not to air negativity, sadness, rage, or grumpiness. I say, fuck that. I’m not unique in saying that, or the first one to say it. I would really hate this post to be interpreted as some pretentious ‘I’m so different and unique’ article, because I know I’m not. But my lack of uniqueness doesn’t cancel out my critique.

Here’s the thing: I think we should get grumpy more often on blogs. I think we should air negativity, and rage, and fear, and uncertainty, rather than projecting a banal and static idea of what these online spaces are for. I’ve said this before on my blog, and yes, I’m repeating myself. The need to say it over and over again comes from the fact that I often feel like I’ve hit a brick wall with the blogging community and with wider blogging culture, which is really just a reflection of culture in general. So every time I encounter that brick wall, I feel the need to write about it here. Perhaps this is pointless, and maybe it doesn’t do me any favours. But, in case you haven’t noticed, most of the things I write about on this blog aren’t savvy self-marketing. Rather, what I hope comes through, is a three-dimensional human being. So here is a dose of much-needed grumpiness, because so many things should be given the finger lately.

Every time I get invited to blogging ‘masterclasses’ and conferences I get depressed. As well-meaning as most of these invitations are, I know the majority of the ‘tips’ offered to aspiring bloggers by now: don’t write long posts, sell yourself constantly, be like everyone else, writing is boring and people have short attention spans so use pretty pictures instead, don’t be confrontational/negative/complex/human/sad/intelligent, speak to your readers in a simplistic way and don’t use ‘big’ words, a picture in every post is a must!!! No, just no. I don’t doubt that there may be helpful classes about blogging out there, but I also know that the dominant guidelines offered tend to be conformist and conservative in nature; they also streamline blogs into a recognisable formula or template (like women’s magazines), and that just pisses me off. So you know, I don’t feel flattered or special when someone cheerfully offers to turn me into a formula, and erase what makes me me, as if they are being helpful.

Another thing that’s been pissing me off can be summed up by this article. I heard the other day someone complaining on the bus to my university that they were tired of hearing academics in the humanities complain about how hard the situation is for humanities departments and staff. Well, we’ll stop complaining when we aren’t treated like shit, is that a deal? I’m pissed off that I recognise my situation and that of many of my friends all too well in this post; I’m pissed off about reading article after article ‘defending’ the humanities when we shouldn’t have to justify its existence in universities; I’m pissed off at the virulent anti-intellectual culture in Australia that actually believes education is irrelevant and ‘elitist’ when most academics I know earn shit all and do what they do for the love of learning and teaching; I’m pissed off that when I mention I have a PhD in English in a job interview FOR A WRITING JOB it’s viewed as a hindrance rather than an asset FOR WRITING; I’m pissed off that I’m made to feel ashamed of my PhD and my years of hard work and study on a daily basis; I’m pissed off that we don’t actually know how lucky we are in Australia, how good our economy is, how prosperous our country is and how much more generous we should be; I’m pissed off that we don’t realise that degrading and hating education is a kiss of death for a country and one day we’ll look back and realise we fucked up royally when we cannot compete with other countries; and I’m pissed off that no one seems to care about this other than academics who are yes, complaining, because there is nothing else to do. Let me make this clear in case the good old ‘ivory tower’ analogy is used in one more sneering article about academics and the humanities: there is no fucking tower, we’re currently in the dungeon, and we’ve been there for years.

I’ve just committed a million blogging sins, feel free to judge me at the blogging altar of popularity. Or, here are some bunnies.

Israel, part two

It’s taking me ages to sort through all my photos, but here are some more ... (part one is here in case you missed it):

Zichron Ya’akov









































My uncle and his family live in Zichron Ya’akov, so I spent a lot of time there. It’s a gem of a place. The city’s main street feels and looks like Tuscany, and is spotted with many cafes, restaurants and artisan shops, including one of my favourite jewellery shops in Israel: King Solomon Stones. But more than anything, this city is about family for me: catching up with my cousins, playing with my uncle’s cat (she’s pictured above with the brilliant green eyes), long conversations with my aunt, Friday night meals where my uncle cooks up a storm of many, many dishes (they do this every single Friday night). It’s when I’m there that I have thoughts of moving back to Israel, because I’m surrounded by people who just get me instinctively. It was hard to say goodbye.

Touching

Just a quick note to let you know that I published a memoir essay called ‘Touching’ in the June issue of Meanjin. You can pick up a copy of it online or in many good bookstores. There is also an e-book version. The essay will probably be published online on the Meanjin website sometime soon, but I recommend the print edition of Meanjin (I’m a subscriber).

In much smaller news, I’ve reluctantly joined facebook again. I say reluctantly because I hated facebook last time I joined, and I still do I suppose. But my family in Israel asked me to join to stay in touch, and I do think it’s getting to the stage where I need my own account for work. So I’ve caved in, feel free to friend me. I can’t promise not to leave again though.

Have a good weekend!

My Favourite Book: Damon Young

While I’m sorting through many photos for my next Israel post, I thought I’d share the next instalment of My Favourite Book by Australian philosopher and author, Damon Young. Actually, it’s more like I couldn’t wait to publish his contribution because I have only vague recollections of Friedrich Nietzsche’s The Will to Power when I studied it at uni, and Damon’s post here has given me a whole new appreciation of it. I also recommend Damon’s own book, Philosophy in the Garden, which I thoroughly enjoyed reading. Damon has published other books, including Distraction and a forthcoming book for Pan Macmillan’s School of Life series.

If you’re Australian, you’ve probably read his many articles for The Age, The Sydney Morning Herald, The Australian, The Australian Literary Review, Herald-Sun and his columns for the ABC and Canberra Times. He’s also written poetry and fiction for Overland and Meanjin magazines, and we happen to be published in Meanjin together in the next June edition (a coincidence, I promise). On a personal level, Damon’s contribution is good timing for another reason: his reminder that a literary friend must contradict and confront (and not only comfort) is significant for me now as I prepare a new book proposal. So thanks Damon, for this great post, and timely reminder.

Bloody Friedrich Nietzsche. This philosopher; this invalid bachelor, awkward with women; this lonely, stateless German who hated beer; this enemy of pity who fainted at a whipped horse in Turin -- this dysfunctional loner is indispensable.

It’s embarrassing, really. Here I am, a philosopher, trained to think all the heretofore unthought things; to ‘overcome common sense’, as Heidegger put it. The vocation can encourage a very romantic portrait of dogged rationality.

But sometimes my mind is empty. Not utterly vacant, but empty of anything vital, vivid or even novel. The intellect slows (moronically, not meticulously).

To end the stupor, I often pick up a book by Nietzsche. And often the book is The Will to Power, Nietzsche’s notebooks from 1883 to 1888 (not long before he went mad).

Nietzsche was brimming with ideas, with what he called “sudden sparks and miracles of...loneliness”. “You, my old loved ones,” he wrote, “my wicked thoughts!” His notebooks, with their aphorisms and epigrams, are a cafe bench-top lined with a thousand espressos: each quick sip is a buzz.

For example, I pick up The Will to Power right now, on the couch, next to Ruth, my wife, and read a page at random:

I have to set up the most difficult ideal of the philosopher. Learning is not enough! The scholar is the herd animal in the realm of knowledge--who inquires because he is ordered to and because others have done so before him.--

See? All my plodding, lazy, dutiful research; my pedantry and punctuality. Nietzsche needles me to accept or reject my own mediocrity. He asks for a fight. I come away bloodied, but perhaps more brave. And if not brave, then foolhardy, which, as Aristotle pointed out, can be a good facsimile of courage. Job done.

Nietzsche once wrote that one’s best friend must be able to be an enemy; must be able to confront and contradict. The Will to Power is one of my literary best friends.

Image credit: Damon’s own copy of The Will to Power, which looks like it’s been through quite a fight.