Nothing to report yet, really

The inspiration for this blog comes from what I understand the beginnings of another blog (the great Cahiers de Corey) to have been. Josh Corey, like myself but a few years before me, received an MFA in poetry from the University of Montana. Josh, as I wish sometimes that I had done, accepted an offer to pursue the PhD at Cornell, and, while reading for his exams, started a blog to record his experience of the readings. Josh is now an Assistant Professor at Lake Forest College, and I am myself reading for exams in the currently cash-strapped confines of the University of California, Berkeley. Josh's example being an encouraging one, and his blog (continuing to be) a fine one, I am electing to render my own notes on this year's reading in blog form, starting tomorrow.

But where to begin?

I will be reading for four distinct fields, each with a reading list determined, in the final instance, by my own judgement, and each to be examined by a different professor in a half-hour, format-free oral exam sometime next Spring. The parameters of first two fields are decided, the second two up in the air.

Fields one and two are historically-bound sections of English-language literary history. In my case these are to be (1) Old English and (2) Middle English (were I working in later periods these fields would be defined by neat century demarcations, a luxury medievalists are not afforded). It is up to me to make up the actual list of texts to be covered, but certain expectations of canonicity and professional/pedagogical preparation will apply; I cannot realisitically skip, say, Beowulf and the Canterbury Tales.

The other two fields get a bit squishier.

The first of these is the departmentally-mandated "third field," defined however my weaselly little heart should choose. As a measure of the range of possibilities for this field, I will mention briefly my two current leading contenders, one narrow and concise, the other immeasurably broad: (1) British Library MS Harley 2253 and (2) Critical Theory for the Medievalist.

The first of these would encompass only what is contained in, what is known about, and what has been written regarding ONE spectacularly important 14th century manuscript. This is, in and of itself, a vast-ish sort of literature, but one that could be more or less contained in the nine months of reading time I have at hand. One could, in that time, become pretty well informed on this one subject.

The second would encompass a great number of 19th and especially 20th century writers, few of whom were specifically interested in medieval literature, with no real limit on the amount of things to be read but my own time limitations, and a great deal of intellectual work to be done in determining how these readings related to my actual subject, i.e., medieval English literature. Even were all of my time in these nine months devoted to only this pursuit, there is no way I could feel actually versed in all the issues at stake. This, of course, makes it perversely attractive.

The fourth field is not a departmental requirement at all -- most schlubs in my cohort will stop at three -- but Berkeley offers a joint PhD in Medieval Studies, the fulfillment of which requires a "medieval studies" component in the qualifying exam, and thus, for me, a fourth field. The terms of this, again, are open to my definition, dependent on my ability to cajole an out-of-my-own-department faculty member into examining me in them. I have already asked a member of the History dept. to act in this capacity, but we have yet to hash out (or even discuss in the broadest terms) what the parameters of this field might be. So there is that, too. I am imagining that the reading list will concentrate on monastic history in England circa 1150-1300, but, again, the faculty member in question, hereafter named KZ, has not had the opportunity to weigh in on this matter.

Much else is up in the air, including the identities of all of the examiners except KZ, although the number of people to be there almost matches the number in the pool of potentials. The committee is made up of one advisor and three examiners, plus, in my case, the fourth examiner, already determined. Since my ridiculously rich department still has only five medievalist faculty, all but one will undoubtedly be invited to the party. Maybe we should find a way to include the last one, eh? They are all brilliant, and all incredibly intimidating as examiners.

But I still haven't mentioned where I'm starting my actual reading, although I have decided. I posed this question on facebook the other day and, amid the flurries of iterations of the expected response (at the beginning!) and the indespensible wisdom of my spouse (with coffee!) I received two pieces of usable advice. The dear Ashby Kinch, my advisor and friend from UM, says, "in media res! always in media res!" advice which I can entirely endorse. The dear Karen Williams, a fellow traveler here at Berkeley, advises starting with that which must be read but is least exciting. I'm afraid I'm going to go with Karen on this one, Ashby, and read first something from almost the end of my period, something I've long known to be unavoidable and yet thus far avoided, something that, 300 lines in, has not yet elicited any response but groaning: Piers Plowman.

I'm sure I'll come to love it. Eventually.

Since reading medieval lit as a 9-5 job leaves one not really in the mood for medieval lit as bedtime reading, I also started an almost-modern novel tonight, one which I may have reason to comment on as I go along here, since that novel is Ivanhoe. I last read it in the 8th grade, and loved it. What I actually understood then I'm not sure I could evaluate from this distance, but I am enthusiastically rereading it now from a much better informed but no less romantic perspective.