by Academic Authority Figures
The Intimidating Intellectual
Professor Morrison teaches Intro to Literary Theory and makes everyone feel simultaneously inspired and stupid. She references theorists we’ve never heard of, assumes we’ve read books we haven’t, and asks questions with no right answers just to watch us squirm. She’s brilliant and terrifying. I’m pretty sure she can smell fear. I’m definitely afraid. I needed help understanding Derrida, so I went to office hours. Professor Morrison looked surprised that someone actually showed up, which made me immediately regret showing up. She explained deconstruction using increasingly abstract language until I was more confused than when I arrived.
The Participation Points
I nodded along pretending understanding had occurred. It had not occurred. I left and Googled Derrida for dummies. Even the dummy version was incomprehensible. Professor Morrison grades on participation, which means I must speak in class despite having no idea what I’m talking about. I’ve developed strategy: wait until discussion is well underway, then make vague comment that sounds thoughtful but commits to no actual interpretation. That’s an interesting question about narrative structure has carried me through three classes. She probably sees through this. She definitely sees through this.
The Reading Load
We’re assigned 200 pages per week. This would be manageable if I only had this class. I have four other classes also assigning 200 pages per week. I’m supposed to read 1000 pages weekly while also attending lectures, doing homework, having social life, and sleeping. Political analysis would call this unsustainable labor expectations. I call it Tuesday. Everyone else in class seems smarter than me. They reference books I haven’t read, theories I don’t understand, concepts I can barely pronounce. I’m convinced I got into Michigan by accident and they’ll discover the mistake any day now.
The Occasional Victory
Reductress would run headline: Woman Spends Entire Class Convinced Everyone Knows She’s Fraud. That woman is me. I am the fraud. Occasionally, I say something in class that Professor Morrison finds insightful. She’ll nod approvingly and say good point and I’ll float on that validation for entire week. This is what it means to major in Literaturedesperately seeking approval from people who’ve read more books than you’ve had hot meals. It’s exhausting and exhilarating in equal measure. Mostly exhausting.
