News, Views and Careers for All of Higher Education
Oct. 5, 2007
I recently received a draft of one of my dissertation chapters back from my advisor. As always, he provided copious comments — advice on improving the coherence of my argument, smoothing out some ungainly syntax, and choosing more appropriate words. My advisor is scrupulous, perhaps excessively so. I have learned a great deal about how to think and write from his comments.
But my advisor is also a tough reader, and I find that after all these years of being a student I am still learning how to take criticism. To wit: in my recent draft, written in bold, red ink is one word that succinctly represents what he thinks of the passage — “drivel.” I quickly forgot all of the good things he had said about my argument as I focused on this one word, brutally penned in the margin. My incisive points, my elegantly constructed sentences, all reduced to a one-word judgment.
I knew that drivel meant nonsense, but shame prompted me to consult a dictionary. I learned that its meaning was a metaphorical extension of its more literal definition: to let saliva dribble from the mouth. Nothing more vividly represents brazen stupidity than the image of someone drooling. There is something intrinsically repulsive about the act of drooling and as I thought about how that metaphor might apply to my writing, I literally gave a small shudder. Ouch! Was my prose the equivalent of drivel? Analogous to an unconscious trickle of spit?
Yes. My advisor was right. What I had written was drivel. The passage didn’t meaningfully contribute to the argument. In fact, it didn’t seem to be saying much of anything. When I looked at the passage more closely, I saw that it was largely comprised of a loosely stitched together sequence of conventional phrases: “it is the fact that,” “of course,” “indeed, he goes on to argue,” and “on the one hand,” “on the other hand.” It was the utter conventionality of the writing that made it drivel. The passage represented writing on auto-pilot, requiring little to no consciousness on my part. I might as well have been slobbering onto the page. Somewhere behind all the nonsense, I had an idea, but what it was I could not say. Responding to the simple, severe remark felt something like going through the stages of grief. I moved from denial (“surely it’s not that bad”) through anger (“what nerve!”) and toward acceptance (“yup, it’s bad”).
I thought about this experience in the context of my own work. I teach writing and literature at Salt Lake Community College, and every semester I comment on student papers. I identify flaws in their reasoning, give advice on style and punctuation, and even point out when they’ve made an original point or turned a neat phrase. I have never written the word drivel in the margin of one of my student’s papers, but I have been tempted to do so on more than one occasion. I believe almost every writing teacher has felt the impulse to heap ferocious criticism on students. Those who haven’t are far more saintly than I.
I suppose after I achieved acceptance came a feeling of admiration. By God, I wish I had the guts to write the word drivel in the margin of a student paper! Of course, I don’t include these temptations in the class of my finer instincts. The temptation is more on par, I think, with the cheap thrill I get when an action-hero utters a powerful one-liner. Sometimes I just want to be the Arnold Schwarzenegger of writing teachers. But I am not Arnold, nor was meant to be.
The experience prompted me to entertain some more serious lessons about how my experience as a graduate student may translate into my work as a teacher. As a teacher of writing, it’s good to be put in the position of student writer, to experience all of the fear, anxiety, and hopefulness that goes into producing a piece of writing that will be judged by an authority figure. It is both humbling and instructive to be told that you are wanting, that what you’ve produced isn’t up to par. Being both a student and a teacher has made me more sympathetic to my students. I know what it feels like to be criticized and I am more likely to consider the consequences of harsh feedback. In other words, it’s a way of inoculating myself against my adolescent, writing-teacher-as-action-hero fantasies. My experience speaks to the benefit of occasionally subjecting ourselves to the rituals of performance and assessment that we ask our students to perform. We do this, of course, with conferences and papers. Becoming an active participant in disciplinary conversations not only helps me build on my knowledge in the field, it makes me feel like a student all over again.
Yet I am reminded that criticism is a form of praise. My advisor cares enough to call my writing drivel when he sees it, not because he thinks I’m stupid but rather because he believes I am capable of producing something better than drivel. I did not ultimately wilt at the word. I do not believe that I possess a special inner strength that makes me uniquely capable of withstanding severe criticism. Perhaps, then, we are not harsh enough with our students, that in our well-meaning effort to encourage them we end by being less than honest with them.
But maybe there are no life lessons to be drawn from drivel. Drivel is irredeemable. One can’t turn around and reclaim drivel. Never, we can hope, will there be an endowed chair of Drivel Studies. And I don’t believe that drivel is one of those terms that one can, with a bit of vernacular judo, turn on its head. Can I imagine my son saying in his teenage years, “That’s so drivel! It’s wicked drivel!”
There is finally no way around drivel. I find that I am refreshed by the honesty of the term. It reminds me of the uncomfortable fact that my interaction with students will always be structured around criticism, though we sometimes attempt to disguise this basic fact. I think students sometimes understand this better than we do.
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“...lawsuit.”
B.S., at 8:20 am EDT on October 5, 2007
Long ago and far away, I took a political science course from a professor who had a rubber “bullshit” stamp. When a student wrote bullshit, the prof called it as he saw it and stamped “bullshit” on the paper. I got the stamp once, and he was right — what I wrote was bs and we both knew it. I was shovelling it like crazy, got caught, and laughed about it. My classmates also laughed when caught writing bs. Many (many) years later I wrote B.S. on a student paper and the next thing I knew I was summoned to the Dean’s office and told never do that again or we could be sued. At least my Dean said I was right, it was B.S., but we can no longer “call ‘em as we sees ‘em".
Robert, at 10:15 am EDT on October 5, 2007
There is a problem with the idea that it is okay to be rude and short when one is supposed to be critical and supportive. I thought the purpose of teaching and advising is to help the student move to new places with their thinking. How does “drivel” help that happen? How about a clear explanation of what is lacking in the paper as a start. Not insults.
Edwina Branch-Smith, Doctoral Student and educator at NYU, at 10:25 am EDT on October 5, 2007
Writing the dissertation requires the student to be both humble and objective. I was lucky knowing that my advisor wanted my finished work to reflect the time and work put into the research. I wanted to be represented by a work that could be viewed by anyone as presenting me in the best possible way. I wanted to be proud of the finished product (and I am).I remember good days writing and I remember desperate days when I could not string together a cohesive thought. Persevere and jump through the hoops, just as your advisor did. Those dissertation directors who let drivel pass through because of a fear of a law suit, are failing their charge.
Doc, Dr., at 10:40 am EDT on October 5, 2007
“writing-teacher-as-action-hero fantasies” LOL That’s great!
I went through my undergrad getting “awk” all over my papers. I did it to a couple of students and not only did they not know what it meant, when I told them, they were highly offended. Personally, I think we need to carry on the “awk” tradition. If nothing else, the “awk” makes a great sound for a bird.
kgotthardt, at 10:50 am EDT on October 5, 2007
As we all know, a great deal of personal development occurs within the first three to five years of life. Indeed, it is often suggested that our school years didn’t stand a chance because we were who we were even before we arrived on the academic scene. I tend to discount that theory ... although you will not miss the fact that my comments are completely based on personal experience ... not on serious scientific studies.
Many of the readers of Inside Higher Ed have Ph.D.s (or perhaps are ABD ... it’s all the same). For most of us that process will have occupied up to one-tenth of our entire lives (frightening thought, isn’t it?). What I can say without equivocation is that the culture for learning in mathematics is entirely different from the cultures for learning in the social sciences, business, and education. My “credentials” – such as they are – for making that statement are (1) I am ABD in mathematics, (2) I am ABD in ed research and evaluation, (3) I have a Ph.D. in statistics, and (4) I have spent most of my professional career working with scholars (including students) in the social sciences, business, and education.
The culture for learning in mathematics is very aggressive, very competitive, and borders on being intellectually vicious. For the most part, an attack on one’s intellect is an attack on one’s person, but if a student of mathematics felt that way, s/he would not last a week. A mathematics’ student who interpreted an attack on hir “ideas” as a personal attack would find the learning process so personally demeaning that only the most neurotic could survive. Indeed, survival as a Ph.D. student in mathematics necessitates the ability to separate “idea” from “person” in a way that most social scientists of my acquaintance can’t appreciate. Strange as this may seem, being right (in mathematics) will not suffice. The student who is right may come under heavy criticism for presenting an argument that is not sufficiently clever ... not parsimonious ... not wonderfully sophisticated, etc.
I should mention, however, that this intellectual hostility was fully integrated into the learning culture. We accepted it, we practiced it, and, for the most part, we thrived on it. It colored our lives and, unfortunately, for many of us it colored our ability to communicate with non-mathematicians.
By contrast – and even as an outside observer — I have found a very large number of social scientists who interpret attacks on their ideas as personal attacks. It is the nature of the disciplines that constitute the social sciences that two scholars on opposite sides of a concept could sit down together at 8:00 a.m., “argue” for the better part of the day, and walk away at 5:00 p.m. with no conclusion other than the other has impaired intellectual or logical skills ... and probably with “hurt feelings” as well. The probability of that happening to two mathematicians is very close to zero.
And how does all of that “intellectual hostility” affect personal relations amongst mathematicians. Perhaps it’s nothing more than affection amongst inmates at the insane asylum, but when we all gathered at the Greeks for pizza and beer on Fridays (along with our spouses and children) you would never have imagined you were sitting amongst individuals who had spent the week practicing what every social scientist would interpret as a very nasty form of academic hostility.
Frizbane Manley, at 11:25 am EDT on October 5, 2007
Right on, brother!
It used to be, the average Big State U grad was adequately competent.
That now has to be the 10% of the Ivies! Any student below that can be tripped-up on grammar rules, basic math, or the date of the December 7, 1941 Pearl Harbor attack.
For the “unapologetically unconcerned” about to reply — put up or sit down. Exams, then more exams. Passing exam scores — my crew leaves. No passing exam scores — your crew leaves.
Any takers?
Buzz, at 1:45 pm EDT on October 5, 2007
Folks, a few attempts at law suits make the news, but most are not successful. So long as you run your departments evenhandedly and fairly (which isn’t rocketscience), you will not lose a lawsuit. (There will always be a few nuts suing over anything, but there is absolutely nothing you can do about this, and I can’t believe some faculty members let the fear of lawsuits that can be easily dismissed rule their lives.)
Instead, I think the greatest threat to academic integrity is simple laziness. There are many professors out there that only help their favorites. This means that they treat people unfairly and essentially invite trouble.
To me, the simple solution is to make all student-written work public. If you hand it in, it goes on the server. Once students know that their “insights” will be subject to scrutiny, they will cut the BS. (And no, this does not violate the FERPA.)
Larry, at 4:20 pm EDT on October 5, 2007
An advisor/teacher may feel compelled due to their own personal psychologies to refer to their student’s writing as drivel. As senior faculty and as one who may have heard the same comments echoed at their work in the days of their early training — if they aspire to the “school of hard knocks” mentality — then they can say what they want. Although the caveat about the fine line between abusive language and critical feedback is raised. However, I believe there are two more fundamental issues to address: 1. How to be critical, yet humane? (i.e. there is a difference between being just plain rude and offering constructive feedback) 2. Is the goal of our educational system to weed out the emotionally resilient from the more emotionally sensitive? Separation of academic-work from emotional-identity may be offered as critique in response. But the reality is that a large proportion of those who have devoted their financial life to learning and academia have much of their identity and hence emotional well-being tied up in the success of their work. I believe there is a happy balance — an advisor can offer constructive feedback (i.e. tools/suggestions for dealing with the drivel). And students must take the responsibility to work on moving forward and improving the content of their work (as we all should)Last thought: it is the case that one person’s drivel is acceptable to another (i.e. kissing and the mutual exchange of salvia). If you drivel perhaps find someone to drivel with (i.e. stop working and get out), maybe this will eliminate the driveling that occurs when one over works. And at that I’ll stop my driveling – or perhaps more appropriately called “my overly lengthy commentary”
Marissa, at 4:20 pm EDT on October 5, 2007
There’s an important difference between comments on a dissertation and comments on undergraduate writing or even graduate coursework. Ideally, an advisor should be treating an ABD student as a junior colleague. Like the author of this piece, the student should feel confident that the advisor respects his or her ideas and abilities enough to offer unvarnished criticism where appropriate (obviously, if the student does not feel confident of the advisor’s respect, the relationship has bigger problems). Undergrads and more junior students are not, and should not, be seen in this light, and are not expected to already know better. As the gulf of power and authority between the advisor and the student increases, the less this kind of straight-talking familiarity accomplishes. If nothing else, such students can’t be expected to immediately recognize why their writing is drivel or BS, and in all likelihood they will simply be hurt, offended, and confused by such a comment.
MDB, at 4:20 pm EDT on October 5, 2007
I think the author reveals a better alternative to the use of pejoratives like “drivel” in his own text when he writes, “The passage didn’t meaningfully contribute to the argument. In fact, it didn’t seem to be saying much of anything. When I looked at the passage more closely, I saw that it was largely comprised of a loosely stitched together sequence of conventional phrases. . .” If his advisor had just said that to begin with, the author wouldn’t have had to lose so much time processing all those subsequent reactions. It takes more time to write paper comments in neutral language, of course, but it takes less time in the long run of meeting the ultimate goal of guiding someone to better writing. While I don’t believe in the excesses of the “self-esteem” movement, either, I also don’t buy into the earlier form of “survival of the fittest” writing instruction. I still meet older people who are intelligent and articulate who think they are “bad at writing” only because some shoot-from-the-lip professor in the 1950s *told* them they were. They were shot down so quickly, that they never got to find out whether they could, in fact, write clearly. I maintain that most people—if motivated and guided—have that potential.
“Dr. Eliza Doolittle”, at 4:20 pm EDT on October 5, 2007
Sometimes you need to point out the drivel. A dissertation advisor has this obligation — it is, indeed, a mark of respect and professionalism to let a student know when they are not doing as well as they should or could, and while I myself could not be so heartless as to write “drivel” on a grad student paper, I have refused to give credit for work that was, indeed drivel. A dissertation isn’t going to get an “end of semester” grade, so well-chosen words of critique are probably more appropriate in that context than in a typical graduate classroom situation.
But a graduate student is not the equivalent of an undergraduate student, and it is something I am reminded of every time I put comments on student papers.
I have written some version of “this is a disaster... there’s no underlying argument, I can’t tell that you’ve read the poems you were to discuss from what you’ve written, and I can’t give you any credit for this” on several student midterms this week, and then I followed it up with, “if this is your first time doing this kind of work, if you are feeling baffled by why this was unacceptable, or if you simply want to talk about how to do better work in the future or about anything else related to our class, please take the time to see me soon. I can help you improve if you let me.” I never simply write “drivel” and leave it at that... I feel like we have the responsibility to explain WHY it is drivel and then to teach the student how to move beyond it. I’m teaching them content and skills, and some of those skills are about academic conventions that the typical undergrad has not been taught in high school.
Students usually know why they’ve done poorly, in my experience — they usually know that they didn’t do what needed to be done, and generally they accept responsibility by taking the “F” or “D” or whatever with good grace and moving on with it (or dropping the class). But others are genuinely horrified and confused, and often excessively intimidated, by what professors write on their papers. I’m a scary beast to some of them, and many of them are not used to being evaluated by real standards of academic achievement. The tremendous diversity of preparation our entering undergrads have received is disheartening, but it means that sometimes we must be remedial, especially in the first half of fall semester. We need better retention rates to keep the U up and running, I suppose, but to be less cynical, we need better retention rates to keep society up and running. We need them to stay if they are to learn, and harsh comments on their first round of papers and tests need to be measured with practical solutions for improvement.
We must be honest but we must also teach. What would be the point of being in a classroom otherwise?
I don’t think you can sue a professor for writing that something is drivel. You can, apparently, be sued for suggesting that your undergrad student was too high or too drunk to synthesize the classroom experience, something I learned the hard way my first semester as a TA. No lawsuit in the end, but getting called on the carpet for suggesting my bleary-eyed stoner was a bleary-eyed stoner (hence the poor grade) was just the sort of education *I* needed as a graduate student.
Not that you can tell from this post, but I guess I have learned that “less is more” when it comes to student comments. Honest critique followed by suggestions for how to improve and offers of some individualized help.
Tenure Year Prof, at 4:25 pm EDT on October 5, 2007
Hey Mon ... you nailed it.
Big Wart (the faux Indian) Churchill ... the anti-Bush (un)patriots who dis the neo-cons ... Grover Furr and his crew ... Teddy Kennedy and the Kerry apologists ... Frillery and Slick Willie ... I could name others ... they’re the ones who put us where we are today ... afraid to say Boo! at Halloween.
How about 91% of Harvards graduating with honors ...
http://www.google.com/search?sour...e+with+honors&btnG=Google+Search
You’re right Mon ... they don’t know the difference between Pearl Harbor and Pearl Buck. 75% think URL stands for United Parcel Service.
The rest of these dorks are flapping their left-wing French cuffs. You and I, Mon, we’ve got this issue nailed!
Frizbane Manley, at 4:55 pm EDT on October 5, 2007
Friz! Remember the clarion call!
” .. You’ve gotta tell them! Soylent Green is people! We’ve gotta stop them somehow!”
Exams. That ought to frighten them. Such as the third-tier/fourth-tier honors crowd that wonders why the GRE outcome was in the 45th percentile.
BTW: this is not —
http://m-w.com/dictionary/drivel
Buzz, at 6:15 pm EDT on October 5, 2007
The word “drivel” is the kind of word one distinctly encounters in English departments. As such, “drivel” may be a marker for problematic teacher/student relations in that field.
stephen, at 5:15 am EDT on October 6, 2007
Dear Jason:
I was actually trying to pull up Matthew Hall’s cartoon and stumbled onto your article. No one said anything about your article. It was was well-written, funny, and accurate.
I teach a professional communication course. 75 % of my students are supposedly p.r. minors. Can they write coherently? No. How do you choose a career focus for which you have no talent or aptitude? Poor academic advisement?
I would agree with those who said you have to at least lead the horses to water. My students don’t know—what they don’t know. However, once they’ve been given the chance to remediate, I tend to get far crankier with their ineptitude at proofreading and editing.
I guess I’m a lawsuit waiting to happen. I have written comments such as, “you need to call Rescue 911 to save this sentence.” However, I try to always balance the sarcasm with something positive about the content.
Here’s the reality: if or when they ever send anything out to be published, they will be edited, or of course, summarily rejected. Writers need to get used to being corrected, critiqued, told to rewrite, told to simplify, whatever the case may be. If we don’t do it in the classroom, little Johnny is going to be in for a rude awakening when it comes time for employment or dreams of publishing. Even my proficient writers can be pushed to a higher degree of excellence.
In context of dissertation writing, it is a collaborative process between the student and his or her committee. It’s like the 10 blind men and the elephant. Each person sees something different, and they don’t always call it correctly. There is little encouragement to be had. I wanted to jump off a cliff for the number of times I had to rewrite that paper. Am I glad, now, that I did what they told me to? Absolutely. I was too close to the versions and too ego-invested to see how much of it was truly drivel.
In summary, I think you can “get away with” a few sharp comments if the students comprehend it is an impetus toward excellence, you lower yourself to explain what the problems are, you exhibit some semblance of compassion, and you do make the effort to point out and praise them when they get it right. While my name might not be on anyone’s dissertation, my integrity relies on assisting Johnny in learning the differences between a semi-colon and a colonoscopy.
Dr. Jodi Decker, Dr. at ASU, at 5:15 am EDT on October 6, 2007
I think it also depends on what the student interprets as “hurtful.” Some students will be offended no matter how nicely you critique them. Me? I’d rather know if I were writing drivel and then told how I could fix it (even if it were just the reader’s perception of drool). My committee chair could have at least provided me some feedback I could use.
kgotthardt, at 1:00 pm EDT on October 6, 2007
http://news.yahoo.com/s/usatoday/...eu;_ylt=AokgulNPSv.C3EBJ7tuqA8es0NUE
” .. Below the top ranks, there are reasons to suspect more tolerance for mediocrity than an assault on it. A 2006 study sponsored by the Pew Charitable Trusts found shockingly low literacy among students at four-year colleges ..”
L.L., at 4:40 pm EDT on October 7, 2007
On one absolutley awful paper submitted by a student who KNEW she was brilliant and was not, I wrote “Why did you waste my time with this paper?” Really. She must have written it that morning before class, it was so badly done. She complained to the college president and I had to go through a review process. It was not worth the trouble. Even if it would do a student good for me to brutally honest, I resist that goodness.
Kate, Instructor at Lakeland Community College, at 2:05 pm EDT on October 9, 2007
Your story is reminiscent of something that happened to me several years ago. I may be wrong, but I think it is simultaneously very, very sad and outrageously hilarious.
I had a student who came to the first class of the semester and then disappeared until after mid term. I sent him three e-mail messages asking “what’s up,” but no response. Then, after the mid-term exam, I received the following message from him ...
“This e-mail is in regards to my absence today. My roommate who is part of the National Guard has recently be activated and is due to ship out in the next few days. There are many issues he and I need to address before he goes and the main one is the lease that we are bound to. I have spent most of the morning getting paper work together then we are meeting with a our Land Lady today who is also an attorney. She is going to help protect the both of us with a rewritting of the lease. This was the only day that it work out for both of them, but unfourtenately not for me. Really bad timing considering this is the class before mid-terms. I just wanted to give you a heads up on why I was not present today. Also to ask if there is anything I need to know before the exam, could you e-mail it to me or leave it in your mail box so that I may be able to come by and get it after the meeting. If you want me to contact someone else in the class could I get a contact list so that I may do so. Sorry for the inconvince, this semester has been pretty much full of them for me.”
I checked his schedule and, sure enough, he had not attended any of his classes that term after the first week, and he sent the same message to all of his teachers.
I was the only faculty member who responded to his letter – my colleagues just laughed about it and went about their business — and part of my letter was used as evidence against me when the VPAA presented her case substantiating that I was insensitive to students needs and expectations. Here is that part of my letter that was used as evidence by the VPAA ...
“This has got to be the most irrelevant – not to mention the most inarticulate – e-mail message I have received this term. You are explaining to me why you are missing class on 2/19/04, after having missed all of the classes for the past month ... and on the basis of some trumped up excuse about your roommate ‘shipping out’ because of his obligation to the National Guard.
Drop the course (BA 302). There is no possibility I would demean the time and effort the other students in this class have invested in learning the material by accommodating your quite pathetic excuse for not participating. I will be more than happy to reinforce the withdrawal process by giving you a WF.”
Kate, you will be interested to know that the remained of the letter – it was not included in the VPAA’s case against me — was ..,
“Perhaps when you are prepared to take BA 302 once again – and understanding that you will not be ‘passed through’ – I will be willing to invest time and effort of my own to help you through a program of studies in business. Otherwise, find another major.”
I was fired by the “university,” and the VPAA – an individual with neither administrative nor scholarly credentials for leading a university (her dissertation is a book that is #5,187,107 on the Amazon.com “best seller” list) except that she can be manipulated by the Board of Visitors – will assume the presidency of the university in the fall of 2008.
Frizbane Manley, at 4:35 pm EDT on October 9, 2007
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Teaching Writing
I don’t make such comments on student writing. If I did, some students would complain to higher-ups, and I’d probably have to explain and to apologize. A record of my “insult” and my reprimand would remain in my personnel file. In relations between teacher and student, the social scientists remain ascendant at my institution. Students are considered half child, half customer, and faculty are regularly exhorted to be always half parent, half sales clerk. “We don’t want to hurt their feelings, lose their business, or provoke a lawsuit. But my professors in the English department at Iowa State regularly made such comments on my papers and on the papers of my friends: “Gibberish!” “Drivel!” “Nonsense!” “Think!” “Incoherent!” “Baloney!” “Huh?” We laughed, sheepishly perhaps, but we laughed. No one stayed mad or hurt for very long. We all knew how bitchy both artists and academics could be in professional journals. Such expressions of incomprehension and incredulity were the coin of the realm. They were no big deal. Indeed, they were amusing, entertaining, more than anything else. It wasn’t personal; it was intellectual. My friends and I, though, were all majoring in English, history, or philosophy, and all earning all A’s and B’s. I don’t know how non-majors and struggling students might have felt about such remarks or if the professors my friends and I loved made such comments on the papers of students who were having real difficulty. I miss those days, though, and that hardy spirit. “Higher education now uses a Pass/Fail system. If you pass, you get A; if you fail, you get B.” That’s a joke, I think.
Bob Schenck, at 7:55 am EDT on October 5, 2007