Nancy Albertson presents a brief introduction to Stanford Professor Dr. Andrea A. Lunsford’s long, dynamic career by explaining Lunsford’s theoretical approach to “Memory (the 4th canon), collaboration, women and writing, audience, intellectual property, and writing and technology.” In order to illustrate for the audience Lunsford’s argument in Why Words … Together – written in 1983 with her some-time writing partner Lisa Ede – that “all writing is collaborative” in one way or another, Albertson began her presentation with an exercise; her audience was asked to “collaborate” with one another while defining words that in turn defined Lunsford’s research.
Albertson then gave a brief survey of Lunsford’s research into the “female voices” she believes to be of equal importance to the male in developing the history of writing and rhetoric. Lunsford, according to the presenter, also believes that rhetoric’s fourth canon, memoria, has not been accorded the importance it deserves in twentieth century rhetorical theory.
The human rights movements of the 1960s and 1970s was fundamental to Lunsford’s work, according to Albertson, who cited Ms. Magazine founder Gloria Steinem, Betty Friedan, author of The Feminine Mystique, and the racial struggles of author and Professor of Rhetoric and Composition, Victor Villanueva as mitigating influences on her own writing on the subjects of feminism and discrimination.
Albertson tells us that Lunsford’s ideologies encompass vast areas of interests, including “a broader definition of ‘literature,’” “shared dissertations,” and extended training and responsibilities for, and collaborations with, Teaching Assistants. Lunsford has also written critically on the subjects of intellectual Property and textual ownership as well as on the “technologies of writing.”
The main thrust of Albertson’s presentation surrounded collaboration and its importance to Lunsford’s own writing, but a glance at an annotated bibliography in Compbiblio: Leaders and Influences in Composition Theory and Practice (Allison D. Smith et al, 2007) reveals a well-rounded vision for the future of composition and rhetorical theory, but also for the role of the teacher (201-04).
There is, of course, only so much that can be said in forty minutes regarding a career spanning decades, so it is fair to say that Albertson has given us a point from which to launch our understanding of the work of Andrea Lunsford.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Orality, Spirituality, and Father Walter Ong
In his presentation on Walter Ong, Eric Beard asserts that Ong’s major impact or “legacy” to the field of composition studies lies mainly in the areas of “tracing orality,” the idea of “oral residue,” and in the exploration of spirituality, rhetoric, and pedagogy. In order to support his assertions, Beard begins by developing a framework of an “obsession with orality” by explaining the importance of Ong’s religious roots as an ordained Jesuit priests on his pedagogy, and referring to Ong as a “Consummate Scholar,” who theorized on the purpose of poetry (to “mimic dialogue”) then went on to write his dissertation on sixteenth century theorist Peter Ramus. Beard also presents what he names Ong’s “Foundational ideas:”
· Orality & Literacy
· Rhetoric & Pedagogy
· Rhetoric & Faith
· Western Culture
Beard then offered his audience a video clip of Ong speaking on the cultural changes created by introducing the written word into pre-literate society, arguing that these cultures did not “speak the same once writing [existed].” Ong’s dissertation on Ramus, Ramus, Method and the Decay of Dialogue, details the spread of thought through writing – though he felt Ramus’ thinking was “unoriginal,” Ong claims that this was the time when thinking began to take on a more linear form than was possible in oral, storytelling societies which relied on an unreliable and cyclical “Memoria.”
In The Presence of the Word: Some Prolegomena for Cultural and Religious History, Beard tells us, Ong related “The Word,” with “The Word of God;” though, perhaps, Beard does not go quite far enough in connecting this concept to his explanation of Ong’s four elements or orality: Primary Orality, Writing, Print, and Secondary Orality.
Ong explores the idea of Secondary Orality further in “Orality & Literacy: The Technology of the World,” which was published, surely not coincidentally, in the era in which gave us Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, and the personal computer. Beard states that, though Ong was somewhat “hesitant to speculate” on just how far the new technology could take us, he introduced “sweeping ideas” and explored the concept of “Oral Residue” – the idea that, just as the written word changed oral communication, so orality influences our writing, especially as we become more immersed in technology. He points to the way people are writing in e-mails and other text-based communications, spelling words the way they sound (e.g. “How R U?”).
(Eric) “cast his net widely” as he gave an overview of Ong’s life and contribution. Unfortunately, there was not more than passing mention of the importance of religion and spirituality on Ong’s perspective, yet it is listed as a “Foundational Idea.” It would be interesting to explore the ways theology informs the work of theorists such as Ong and James L. Kinneavy and their overarching “unifying” and “sweeping” philosophies. It was discussed after the presentation that this perspective might cause a theorist to categorize and dig deeper for the “ultimate truth,” but it can also be argued that it was awareness of something bigger than themselves and some greater purpose – that allowed both Ong and Kinneavy to take the broad, encompassing views that continue to shape the twin fields of composition and rhetoric.
· Orality & Literacy
· Rhetoric & Pedagogy
· Rhetoric & Faith
· Western Culture
Beard then offered his audience a video clip of Ong speaking on the cultural changes created by introducing the written word into pre-literate society, arguing that these cultures did not “speak the same once writing [existed].” Ong’s dissertation on Ramus, Ramus, Method and the Decay of Dialogue, details the spread of thought through writing – though he felt Ramus’ thinking was “unoriginal,” Ong claims that this was the time when thinking began to take on a more linear form than was possible in oral, storytelling societies which relied on an unreliable and cyclical “Memoria.”
In The Presence of the Word: Some Prolegomena for Cultural and Religious History, Beard tells us, Ong related “The Word,” with “The Word of God;” though, perhaps, Beard does not go quite far enough in connecting this concept to his explanation of Ong’s four elements or orality: Primary Orality, Writing, Print, and Secondary Orality.
Ong explores the idea of Secondary Orality further in “Orality & Literacy: The Technology of the World,” which was published, surely not coincidentally, in the era in which gave us Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, and the personal computer. Beard states that, though Ong was somewhat “hesitant to speculate” on just how far the new technology could take us, he introduced “sweeping ideas” and explored the concept of “Oral Residue” – the idea that, just as the written word changed oral communication, so orality influences our writing, especially as we become more immersed in technology. He points to the way people are writing in e-mails and other text-based communications, spelling words the way they sound (e.g. “How R U?”).
(Eric) “cast his net widely” as he gave an overview of Ong’s life and contribution. Unfortunately, there was not more than passing mention of the importance of religion and spirituality on Ong’s perspective, yet it is listed as a “Foundational Idea.” It would be interesting to explore the ways theology informs the work of theorists such as Ong and James L. Kinneavy and their overarching “unifying” and “sweeping” philosophies. It was discussed after the presentation that this perspective might cause a theorist to categorize and dig deeper for the “ultimate truth,” but it can also be argued that it was awareness of something bigger than themselves and some greater purpose – that allowed both Ong and Kinneavy to take the broad, encompassing views that continue to shape the twin fields of composition and rhetoric.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Elbow: A Student's Perspective
Tim Wenger asserts in his presentation on Peter Elbow that Elbow’s work encompasses “varying degrees of freewriting” which allow students and other authors to get out from under the ever-looming cloud of writer’s block. Wenger begins by explaining Elbow’s background of struggle with his own composition classes and then the subsequent discovery of an ability to learn reflexively which, in the end, led to an illustrious place in the history of composition-theory.
As a student, according to Wenger, Elbow was unable to relate to teaching traditions which included the development of outlines and attempted to force students to “know” exactly what they wanted to write about as soon as they sat down. Elbow claimed this “inflated” the power of the teacher and emphasized social construct over individual “voice.” Apparently, Elbow became so distraught and frustrated with the system that he left behind his own studies to pursue a career in teaching – because, he believed, it is often “easier to be a teacher than a student” (not necessarily a view the owner of this particular blog subscribes to).
Wenger describes Elbow’s process of reflecting on his own writing, on “his own mind” and his discovery that, if he allowed himself to simply write, without thought, self-criticism, direction, or even grammatical concern – and without stopping for a specified number of minutes – it allowed his subconscious to find not only its topic, but it allowed him to find his own voice as well. Elbow calls this process “making a mess.”
He did not advocate writing in a vacuum, however, and he emphasized the necessity of “fluctuation” between freewriting and critiquing – including a focus on order, coherence, and audience.
One of the most practical and accessible aspects of the presentation was Wenger’s discussion of Elbow’s process of writing drafts, in which he writes in short spurts as ideas occur to him then later orders and transitions them into a coherent work.
As a writer and a student, Elbow’s struggles with the writing process and finding his own voice I find imminently relatable, and, through video clips of an actual interview with the theorist, and his own thoughtful research and skilled delivery, Tim Wenger’s presentation conveyed this understanding to his audience.
As a student, according to Wenger, Elbow was unable to relate to teaching traditions which included the development of outlines and attempted to force students to “know” exactly what they wanted to write about as soon as they sat down. Elbow claimed this “inflated” the power of the teacher and emphasized social construct over individual “voice.” Apparently, Elbow became so distraught and frustrated with the system that he left behind his own studies to pursue a career in teaching – because, he believed, it is often “easier to be a teacher than a student” (not necessarily a view the owner of this particular blog subscribes to).
Wenger describes Elbow’s process of reflecting on his own writing, on “his own mind” and his discovery that, if he allowed himself to simply write, without thought, self-criticism, direction, or even grammatical concern – and without stopping for a specified number of minutes – it allowed his subconscious to find not only its topic, but it allowed him to find his own voice as well. Elbow calls this process “making a mess.”
He did not advocate writing in a vacuum, however, and he emphasized the necessity of “fluctuation” between freewriting and critiquing – including a focus on order, coherence, and audience.
One of the most practical and accessible aspects of the presentation was Wenger’s discussion of Elbow’s process of writing drafts, in which he writes in short spurts as ideas occur to him then later orders and transitions them into a coherent work.
As a writer and a student, Elbow’s struggles with the writing process and finding his own voice I find imminently relatable, and, through video clips of an actual interview with the theorist, and his own thoughtful research and skilled delivery, Tim Wenger’s presentation conveyed this understanding to his audience.
Kinneavy: Categorizing Chaos
In the Précis to his presentation Klayton Kendall asserts that James L. Kinneavy’s “purpose [was] to provide a theoretical framework for the field of composition in order to establish it as a discipline worthy of study in higher education.” Kendall develops his ideas by giving the audience background on Kinneavy’s life and on the importance of Kinneavy’s seminal work, A Theory of Discourse. In order to illustrate what he calls Kinneavy’s “desire [for] a unifying theory,” Kendall follows up the background discussion with some compelling video clips, asking the audience to categorize them as Kinneavy might (using the Kinneavy’s “Basic Purposes of Composition:” the Expressive, Referential, Literary, and Persuasive groupings). The purpose would be to impress upon his audience the importance of Kinneavy’s work, with the caveat that even Kinneavy understood no composition could be perfectly categorized into one specific purpose.
The apparent contradictions in Kinneavy’s work are not surprising after reading Thomas P. Miller’s “In Memorial Tribute to James L. Kinneavy.” Miller points to Kinneavy’s “self-deprecating wit” and his “breadth of focus and depth of vision” (313) as an indication of Kinneavy’s grasp of metatheory and its basic precept that “context shapes purpose” (Miller, 314).
Kendall’s thorough backgrounding of Kinneavy’s life – from his elementary school education during the Great Depression, to his college years during World War II, to becoming a member of the Catholic teaching order known as the Christian Brothers – was an essential and important part of his presentation, as it can be seen that Kinneavy’s history certainly “[spoke] to [his] future” (Miller, 316) in the field of composition theory. Growing up in times of such great change and chaos might make anyone yearn for a unifying theory and to find neat categories in which to place ideologies. But, Kinneavy’s “broadly cultural” Catholicism kept his mind open to “understanding traditions as ongoing arguments about the means and ends of [historical] experience” (Miller, 316), allowing him to be fully aware that even his unifying theory could not always hold its center. His self-deprecating humility could then have led him to expose the “contradictions” in his most important work.
Overall, Kendall’s presentation was an informative and interesting glimpse at a man we could spend a lifetime studying and whose work might take several more lifetimes to fully grasp.
The apparent contradictions in Kinneavy’s work are not surprising after reading Thomas P. Miller’s “In Memorial Tribute to James L. Kinneavy.” Miller points to Kinneavy’s “self-deprecating wit” and his “breadth of focus and depth of vision” (313) as an indication of Kinneavy’s grasp of metatheory and its basic precept that “context shapes purpose” (Miller, 314).
Kendall’s thorough backgrounding of Kinneavy’s life – from his elementary school education during the Great Depression, to his college years during World War II, to becoming a member of the Catholic teaching order known as the Christian Brothers – was an essential and important part of his presentation, as it can be seen that Kinneavy’s history certainly “[spoke] to [his] future” (Miller, 316) in the field of composition theory. Growing up in times of such great change and chaos might make anyone yearn for a unifying theory and to find neat categories in which to place ideologies. But, Kinneavy’s “broadly cultural” Catholicism kept his mind open to “understanding traditions as ongoing arguments about the means and ends of [historical] experience” (Miller, 316), allowing him to be fully aware that even his unifying theory could not always hold its center. His self-deprecating humility could then have led him to expose the “contradictions” in his most important work.
Overall, Kendall’s presentation was an informative and interesting glimpse at a man we could spend a lifetime studying and whose work might take several more lifetimes to fully grasp.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
The Bio-Future of Better Teaching
I cannot lie - at first, I had a difficult time understanding Sidler's assertion that "many computers and writing scholars are poised to lead discussions about access to - and ownership of - the genetic information uncovered by HGP and Celera" (133), (I still cringe at the arrogance of the word "ownership), but the more I thought about it, the more I began to understand the impact this technology will have on the field of teaching in general, let alone teaching composition (I contend that the full impact will even be imagined for many years to come).
If "biotechnological research is discovering the codes our bodies use to communicate" (130), what does that say about how we can understand the teaching-learning process and how much more effective we can be at guiding our students? That is the exciting part.
The, possibly, amusing part, is the confusion this might cause in the world of theory. It might, for instance, make McGee and Ericsson's "politics of the program" a mute point, because grammar-syntax rules could be "programmed" right into our minds (I'm thinking "Matrix" stuff here); of course, this would be bound to lead to a huge argument surrounding the specific theoretical approach which should be used for such a program. A comforting thought is that, maybe we will all be smarter then, realizing that arguing in circles through one line of reasoning at a time (instead of seeing the greater picture in which process and grammar must both play an intricate role) ultimately gets us nowhere.
It's important to remember, however, that like the computers Sidler wishes to "parallel" with this new biotechnology (132), technology and the science behind it have limitations; to think of either as magical is to fall prey to a scary delusion. We are not "creating" the genome, we are only learning (finally) to tap into the human potential that already exists.
If "biotechnological research is discovering the codes our bodies use to communicate" (130), what does that say about how we can understand the teaching-learning process and how much more effective we can be at guiding our students? That is the exciting part.
The, possibly, amusing part, is the confusion this might cause in the world of theory. It might, for instance, make McGee and Ericsson's "politics of the program" a mute point, because grammar-syntax rules could be "programmed" right into our minds (I'm thinking "Matrix" stuff here); of course, this would be bound to lead to a huge argument surrounding the specific theoretical approach which should be used for such a program. A comforting thought is that, maybe we will all be smarter then, realizing that arguing in circles through one line of reasoning at a time (instead of seeing the greater picture in which process and grammar must both play an intricate role) ultimately gets us nowhere.
It's important to remember, however, that like the computers Sidler wishes to "parallel" with this new biotechnology (132), technology and the science behind it have limitations; to think of either as magical is to fall prey to a scary delusion. We are not "creating" the genome, we are only learning (finally) to tap into the human potential that already exists.
The Frustration of Those Squiggly Green Lines
Without doubt, I too have encountered the "inane recommendations" (453) of the MS Word "grammarian" and have, consequently, been awed by the idea of computer programmers teaching the world how to write. I've also felt compelled, just by the sight of those squiggly green lines, to leave off typing in order to go back and "fix" my "mistake," becoming annoyed when I discover that it wants me to change "I am going to the store" to "I is going to the store" and now I've lost my train of thought when I return to my narrative.
I have to say, however, that - until now - I had never thought about which particular grammatical theory these computer gods subscribed to. While I am not sure how much time I will spend taxing my brain on this issue, Mcgee and Ericsson make a great point that, as teachers of end users, we should be aware of what is happening in the magical world of software - the magic is not always quite that strong; it has its share of bugs, and it definitely has its limitations, as the authors point out in the "Code upon code" (458) section of their paper.
It is up to us to point out to our students that we are not putting our first emphasis on grammar - so they really shouldn't worry if Microsoft does.
In fact, we might point out that it will be a good exercise for them to watch the green lines disappear as their writing gets stronger, only to have them return once more when they've reached a point of confidence in their composition that allows them to really play with language and grammar.
I have to say, however, that - until now - I had never thought about which particular grammatical theory these computer gods subscribed to. While I am not sure how much time I will spend taxing my brain on this issue, Mcgee and Ericsson make a great point that, as teachers of end users, we should be aware of what is happening in the magical world of software - the magic is not always quite that strong; it has its share of bugs, and it definitely has its limitations, as the authors point out in the "Code upon code" (458) section of their paper.
It is up to us to point out to our students that we are not putting our first emphasis on grammar - so they really shouldn't worry if Microsoft does.
In fact, we might point out that it will be a good exercise for them to watch the green lines disappear as their writing gets stronger, only to have them return once more when they've reached a point of confidence in their composition that allows them to really play with language and grammar.
The Serious Consequences of Matsuda's "Composed Product"
As I read theory - of any kind - I am constantly surprised by the number of theorists who seem surprised to find themselves dealing with the same arguments over and over again.
Matsuda is quite concerned about the consequences of "the use of concepts developed in another site of intellectual practices" (66) on L2 theory; we need only look at our other readings for this week, however, to see that dealing with this issue is inescapable. How "serious" are the consequences?
Well, that depends on how gullible we choose to be when we read theory. Because knowledge itself is "discursive construction" (66), we need to constantly read "with a grain of salt," and a little common sense. More than this, we need to be aware that it is our "shared axiology" (68) (like gold in Ft. Knox) that allows us to buy into "the rhetorical nature of writing" (68) in the first place.
All of which still only begs the deeper question: "What is the best way to teach composition?"
It is the underlying question on everyone's mind - and arguments surrounding what we may or may not call our exploration of ideas ("Current-Traditional, "Process," "Post-Procss," "Bob") don't get us any closer to answering it.
Obviously, I haven't been in this field for long so have very little in the way of ethos on which to base my feelings, but I can't deny that it sounds as though much of the debate on theory simply surrounds the debate on theory.
Matsuda is quite concerned about the consequences of "the use of concepts developed in another site of intellectual practices" (66) on L2 theory; we need only look at our other readings for this week, however, to see that dealing with this issue is inescapable. How "serious" are the consequences?
Well, that depends on how gullible we choose to be when we read theory. Because knowledge itself is "discursive construction" (66), we need to constantly read "with a grain of salt," and a little common sense. More than this, we need to be aware that it is our "shared axiology" (68) (like gold in Ft. Knox) that allows us to buy into "the rhetorical nature of writing" (68) in the first place.
All of which still only begs the deeper question: "What is the best way to teach composition?"
It is the underlying question on everyone's mind - and arguments surrounding what we may or may not call our exploration of ideas ("Current-Traditional, "Process," "Post-Procss," "Bob") don't get us any closer to answering it.
Obviously, I haven't been in this field for long so have very little in the way of ethos on which to base my feelings, but I can't deny that it sounds as though much of the debate on theory simply surrounds the debate on theory.
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