Issue #343: Academic Horror Stories
Issue #343: Academic Horror Stories
This week, I am revisiting the personal essay genre. I’m not a huge fan and do not think of myself as a very compelling writer in this style. Still, this is a topic I’ve been sitting on for a while. In July, I wrote about the writing and defense of my dissertation.
It was an experiment in personal essay writing. This week is also a part of that story, a recap of some roadblocks presented in the early stages of my career as a graduate student. My PhD was officially conferred on August 31st, so that part of my life is really over. What I’m writing about this week is not my only academic horror story, but it is, at least, tied for being the worst. It’s also the one I’ve had to process the longest.
Next week: no navel gazing.
The Brief Authority of a Director of Graduate Studies
I sat in a car in the frigid January weather reading an email from Boston University, “we regret to inform you…” I was in the parking lot of a strip mall in Watertown, containing, at the time, a Target, Best Buy, and Old Country Buffet. I’m sure plenty of my local readers remember the spot. But I was getting some pretty bad news in that parking lot, the beginning of a very strange episode in my academic career that I haven’t wanted to talk about until my degree was secure. I’m a bit superstitious.
In the 2013-2014 semester, I was a student at Boston University in their unfunded terminal English MA program. I learned very quickly what many people learn in this situation: unfunded terminal English MA programs are a scam. They are, at least, as close to a scam that exists in reputable academia. But I didn’t realize it at first. In fact, I was thrilled to be there. We went through orientation as a big cohort. There were about ten graduate students, with three of them PhD students and the rest in my shoes. We took the same classes, socialized at the same events, and were treated by (most) faculty as equals. The differences, however, were important. The PhD students in the program got a stipend check and paid nothing. The MA students paid exorbitantly for the privilege of the seminars, discussion, networking, and relatively useless degree. It didn’t take a math major to understand the uncomfortable reality of the dynamic here. The funded PhD spots were subsidized by the price of MA admission. The BU PhD students were sheepish about their monthly checks, often footing the bill for group outings. They seemed to feel some amount of shame about the lopsided financial arrangement, despite the fact that they weren’t responsible for the two tiered system in BU’s English graduate program.
I didn’t feel anything negative about those PhD students, either. They were great friends and always supportive in the program. In fact, their encouragement is part of what fueled my persistent pursuit of the highest degree in the profession.
My ambition was not to obtain a Master’s degree in English. My goal was a PhD. In fact, I applied to BU, and a number of other institutions, in hopes of obtaining admission to a PhD program. BU was the only place that admitted me, with the crucial caveat: I was rejected from PhD admission. Their $60,000 Master’s program would, however, be happy to have me. At the time, I got what I recognize now as terrible advice: “do it!” The only people advising me not to were in favor of me abandoning the profession altogether. I certainly wasn’t willing to do that, but what I wish someone would have told me, and what I tell everyone who will listen: a terminal Master’s degree in English is worthless. Hold out for funded PhD admission. Or, at worst, a funded Master’s program! But, no, I accepted, took out my loans to cover the entirety of the degree’s costs and additional loans for living expenses — BU highly discouraged its MA students from working — and was excited to do so.
There aren’t many of you, probably, who have been in a seminar with me. But I can assure you, as a graduate student, I am as obnoxious as you might imagine. I spoke up often, made contentious points, advanced readings, and saw the seminars at BU as a precious opportunity to make an impression and develop skills that would lead me to a PhD. I took them very seriously because of the position I was in. In fact, there was a student in the year above me who had been admitted as an MA student and was invited to continue as a PhD student with full funding after the conclusion of her Master’s year. She also was an enthusiastic and adroit seminar participant. They didn’t refund her first year bills — of course not. She thought I would be a great addition to the program, as did many of my colleagues and faculty that began to lobby for my continuing the program. I got advice from the Department Chair, who also wrote one of my new letters of recommendation, all from BU faculty: “just apply again. We’ll admit you.”
But the Department Chair doesn’t make admissions decisions. The Director of Graduate Studies does. As part of the course load for an MA student, you take three seminars and one advanced undergraduate course. The instructors for the three seminars became my three recommenders. But the DGS taught the advanced undergraduate course I took. She didn’t write me a letter of recommendation, nor did I ask her for one. I had a sense that she didn’t like me very much. The expectations for our behavior in the undergraduate courses were different. We had different assignments, a larger workload, and were in the complicated position of being encouraged to speak up but not monopolize conversation. They were larger classes and not strictly seminars. I’m not sure if her attitude toward me in the class was because of my performance or her impression of my academic background, but I figured it was no big deal given the total transformation of my application.
That brings us back to January 2014 in the Old Country Buffet parking lot, where I received my second rejection letter from BU’s PhD program. The first thing I did was consult with my recommenders. They were all confused as to why I had been rejected and they all told me the same thing, talk to the DGS. I did. She told me the situation was simple, that my academic performance was not up to the standard of BU PhD admission. The crux of her claim was the A- I received in her advanced undergraduate class. I didn’t dispute the grade. I performed worse in that class than the other three, without question. She explained to me about grade inflation, and how an A- is equivalent to more like a B- in graduate school. Any lower, even a B+, would be serious cause for concern. The expectation is that graduate students get As, and it was even more concerning of an indicator that I received an A- in an undergraduate class. Sure, sure, this all made sense to me and no faculty member I confided in about it seemed to think it was strange either.
But the DGS left me with some hope. She told me if I secured straight As this semester, giving the admissions committee a larger sample size and a much stronger overall indicator of my performance, we could reassess whether or not I would continue at BU without me having to submit an additional application. My recollection, or at least what I came away with, was that there was a strong possibility straight As meant I could be admitted as a PhD student. However, I also thought there was no chance. Grad school seminar work was hard, and the last semester had been full of seminars in my speciality. What I really thought would do me in was a required seminar on Early Modern drama, a subject area where I thought I wouldn’t perform.
I did have a fire lit under me, however. And, with the exigent motivation, I did get straight As that semester. Three seminars, including the Early Modern drama course, one undergraduate course, and a pass in a late night Spanish class to satisfy my language requirement. That one A-, in the DGS’s advanced undergraduate course, remained the sole blemish on my transcript. I scheduled a meeting. It was time to have that conversation.
The DGS did not reverse the initial rejection. She was clearly surprised I got straight As. It seemed to me in our earlier conversation she presented an objective that she genuinely believed I wouldn’t be able to achieve and that this moment would never arrive. I remember her saying something to the effect of “I’m sorry, but you were never going to be a PhD student at Boston University.” I thought this was strange. How could you admit me as an MA student but think I am categorically below the admission standard for the PhD program, given the course work is the same? “The admission standards for the MA program and PhD program are different,” she said without much additional explanation.
She addressed me with what I remember interpreting at the time as genuine pathos. “Let’s talk about your undergraduate degree. You went to Florida Agricultural and Mechanical University?” We discussed FAMU. I told her it was an HBCU with what I felt was an elite and comprehensive English program, bolstered by the necessity of ensuring students perform well without the name recognition of other English programs. With the straight As, I felt pretty confident FAMU prepared me extremely well for graduate level literary studies. I said as much. She told me, “BU doesn’t admit students from these obscure schools.”
That’s what it came down to, she said: name recognition. Certain degrees from certain places ensure the seriousness of the students that have obtained them. Others don’t inspire the confidence in a student required for the school to make a serious financial investment into that student. She didn’t make any explicit comments about FAMU being an HBCU, but she was very disparaging about it. She questioned how a school “like that” (did she mean an A&M institution, or an HBCU?) could produce quality scholars. She took it even a step further. She said I needed to reconsider my professional ambitions. Pick a new career, she told me. There’s no chance a reputable English graduate program would ever admit me with a degree from FAMU.
I was irate. And, of course, with all her justifications about name recognition, I’m sure she could self-servingly look back at the conversation without recognizing her obvious racism. But coming out of there, in a way, I felt relieved. I’m sure other HBCU graduates experience conversations like that, and worse, all the time. She insulted my intellect, my institution, and my capacity for scholarship. And what made it worse was her patronizing attitude. I felt like she genuinely believed she was doing me a favor, letting me behind the curtain, being honest about my prospects in the profession, and saving me from long term grief. But, in some small way, I imagined I was insulated from something by my privilege. Or, in another way, she communicated something to me about her evaluation of HBCUs that she wouldn’t have let come across if she had a Black HBCU grad in her office.
I turned to the faculty who had been my supporters at BU. I didn’t editorialize as much about the conversation, just recounted the suggestion that straight As would occasion reconsideration and that once I had attained them, the goalposts were moved. The rejection was about the “quality” of my undergraduate institution. The ones who recommended me told me there was nothing they could do. The faculty I had gotten close to during that second semester told me they didn’t even realize I had applied. Both of them thought it was strange. They were in my subject area. They seemed to think it made sense those who recommended me wouldn’t have been asked to evaluate my application. But the two of them didn’t know me when I submitted. Wouldn’t they have made sense to assess my application with a writing sample from a Caribbean literature seminar from the previous semester? One of them looked into it. My application was assessed by faculty I had never met with in subject areas that had nothing to do with my writing sample. Another Early Modernist, an Old English specialist. The faculty member who got this info for me suggested it seemed deliberate, an attempt to ensure I wasn’t accepted. But he echoed the sentiment of my recommenders. At this point, there was nothing he or I could do.
I took a year off after BU — I had to. With the information I had at the time, I thought they would end up accepting me, so they were the only program I applied to for the 2014-2015 semester. I thought the MA and the new letters of recommendation (shuffled and bolstered with the new faculty I met my second BU semester) would give me a better shot. I applied to every graduate program in the area with my eyes focused on one, Tufts University. I read Lisa Lowe and Lee Edelman in my coursework at BU and wrote about wanting to work with them. Another moment I’ll always remember, again in a frigid January. In my one room apartment in Allston, instead of an email, I got a phone call from a number I didn’t recognize. It was a very different DGS, this one from Tufts. Great news, we would like to admit you as a PhD student at Tufts, the formal admission and funding information will be coming to your email shortly.
Being admitted to a PhD program is funny. They really roll out the red carpet for you. At least, Tufts did. I guess I wouldn’t know how it is anywhere else. The reality is that many aspiring graduate students will have a very similar experience to mine when sending out applications. One admission per cycle, if you’re lucky. Tufts treated me like they were competing for my enrollment with a potentially endless number of suiters. It was a pretty nice confidence boost from the treatment I received at BU. Advanced graduate students took me to lunch with a Tufts credit card. But I accepted their admission, happily. They were my first choice anyway.
I have recounted this story privately to a lot of people. People outside of the discipline are totally scandalized by it, but I’ve never met a graduate student who it shocks. Some faculty members are corrupt. In Measure for Measure (1604), Shakespeare writes, “But man, proud man, / Dress'd in a little brief authority, / Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd— / His glassy essence—like an angry ape / Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven / As makes the angels weep; who, with our spleens, / Would all themselves laugh mortal.” I remember that one from my Early Modern Drama seminar.
I don’t have a tenure track job or a full time teaching job lined up. I’m not sure if I want one. But I don’t think that decision on my part fulfills the prophecy of the BU DGS. On the other hand, let’s look at what I’ve accomplished. I was, of course, admitted to Tufts University as a funded PhD student despite the assurance that I would never be admitted to a reputable program. I have presented at countless conferences with a remarkable — honestly — 100% acceptance rate of abstracts. I have never had an abstract rejected from a conference or a journal. Speaking of journals, I’ve published in two of them, along with two different chapters in two different books. That’s four peer reviewed publications. It’s not great, but it’s not bad. I did have other fish to fry, however.
And of those fish, the biggest was my dissertation, which I successfully defended to a committee of Lee Edelman, Jess Keiser, Joe Litvak, and Todd McGowan. You might recognize a few of those names. They, at least, saw fit to pass me from PhD candidate to PhD recipient.
My experience as a literature graduate student hasn’t always been a good one. Frankly, given the state of the job market, I often find myself in the position of the very people I ignored as an undergraduate. Getting an advanced degree in literary studies asks a lot and doesn’t promise much. But, for my part, I’m satisfied enough in having performed as a student about as well as I think anyone could. And while I wasn’t the quickest to finish my studies, I am a PhD, not an ABD, and I was awarded that PhD from scholars I respect immensely. I would have achieved none of that without FAMU. Half of the material in my dissertation is stuff I read there. I don’t think I would have aced my Early Modern drama seminar without the Shakespeare class at FAMU with Dr. Thomas. The FAMU English Department was rigorous, intense, and full of the same high achieving mentality I saw at BU and Tufts among the graduate cohorts. If I don’t become a reputable voice in the profession, I will only regret it for one reason. I want my success to testify to the minds that FAMU built and is building. I want to contribute to making sure people don’t experience what I did, stuck in a room with people who think FAMU doesn’t matter because it’s not a liberal arts school, it’s not a nationally ranked English program, it’s not a PWI.
So this is my testimony. I’ve been sitting on it since it happened. And, until now, I never wanted to write about it. After all, I could’ve easily flamed out. There’s nothing wrong with being an ABD, but getting stuck there when I knew I was capable of finishing made me feel like I would be proving the BU DGS right. Also I didn’t want something like this to affect my career. Not sure I care about that anymore.
It’s surreal to have a PhD after all that. And who knows, maybe I will end up getting a teaching job. Either way, this path is not without its hardships. My hot streak for abstract submissions will inevitably end. Measures of assessment, metrics for success, will come in at varying heights. But even at their lowest (or highest), what I remember is being told by someone, regardless of those measures, that I couldn’t succeed as a humanities academic because of their perception of my undergraduate institution. If someone has an unfavorable view of HBCUs, I think that someone should interrogate their basis for drawing such a conclusion.
There are aspiring scholars out there who will never get the opportunity for a career in academia. There’s precious little opportunity in academia in the first place. This scarcity compounds the pressure on students to not just perform, but make decisions about where they will learn to put them in the best position for certain outcomes. These decisions for those seeking an advanced degree in literature shortchange all manner of great programs and spaces for learning, HBCUs among them.
I don’t know if I have any readers who are literary studies grad students, but I do have a message for them. You deserve to be there. The challenge of imposter syndrome is that it inflicts upon us a sense of uncertainty about what is self-evidently true. The barrier to entry to these academic programs is extremely high. Being able to clear them shows, incontrovertibly, what you deserve.
But if you dropped out, couldn’t finish your dissertation, couldn’t get admitted to a program, that means nothing about your deservedness to study in these spaces. There are simply too few opportunities, too much competition, and bias of the most insidious kind governing decisions where one’s intellectual ability is only a necessary condition, not a sufficient one. And these programs are probably not going to enrich your life in the way you expect. I only ever asked if I could get a PhD in English and didn’t ask enough if I should.
Thinking back to this contentious period at BU is painful. Even with PhD in hand, I still don’t feel the sense that I deserve it. It’s hard to shake off the idea that I’m simply not good enough as a writer and a scholar and it was only by random chance that I slipped by all the things meant to prevent me from securing the degree. So, the affirmations I extend to others are also things I constantly have to remind myself. But I think I am not too different in that respect from anyone in the position of having encountered hardships and doubt in the attempt to achieve something.
Having the PhD in hand doesn’t really diminish the sting of the visceral memories I recount here. But it’s evidence that I was able to do what someone believed I couldn’t.
Weekly Reading List
I know I am trying to sell you t-shirts from my own boutique, enthusiast online publication, so I hope I am not cannibalizing my sales by promoting you purchase a t-shirt from a boutique, enthusiast DIY record label (with associated print and online publications). However, this Scheme Records t-shirt is really good. I did a quick interview with Scheme proprietor, Kyle, about the shirt.
Paradox Newsletter: Who drew the AM95 art for the Scheme shirt? Or is it borrowed from a manga?
Kyle: It’s literally from yugioh (Manga) [sic]
I’ve written about sneakers in manga a couple of times, maintaining a robust collection of scans and pages featuring real sneaker silhouettes for future writing projects and legally dubious t-shirt designs.
That image from Yu-Gi-Oh! (1996) is featured in my 180th issue.
Scheme is pretty good at making shirts and hats. My favorite of their designs has a bad word on it, so I won’t repost it, but you should check out their wares.
Speaking of Scheme things, they also have a semi-regular newsletter. Last week, they released an unpublished (and unsubmitted) contribution to the Shining Life Fanzine compilation. In it, Sean Niland reviews every 25 Ta Life song ever. An excerpt, from Sean’s review of “Short Fuse” from the self-titled 7”:
Here enters my other favorite 25TL trope: Playing the song, add a funny interlude, then just play the whole first half again. The interlude in question this time is an awesomely bad metal solo/lead part. It does the job. I’ll expand on this song when we hit the next time.
Sean promises here a return to the topic with expanded reviews. Perhaps for the next Shining Life zine comp?
Speaking of, it’s sold out in the Shining Life webstore, but I have a few copies I threw up online. Buy them here and get another zine or a shirt while you’re at it.
Until next time.