The Amateur Anglophile

Trip to Italy

2009-03-21T08:42:00.002Z

If you don't know, I haven't posted in a week because I've been gone to Vercelli in Italy to view one of the oldest books written in the English language. It contains my very favorite poem, The Dream of the Rood, which is the story of the crucifixion told from the perspective of the cross. I can't, unfortunately, post pictures of the manuscripts we saw. You can ask me to see them if you see me in person.

Traveling with "foreigners" to a foreign country was a truly bizarre experience. Speaking Italian was much more difficult this trip, perhaps because my brain already tries to translate American English into British English before I speak. More so, though, I was amused by the English reaction to Italy. English Italian food usually involves abominably overcooked pasta, so I was pleasantly surprised with the quality of the food my English group mates made and served for dinner each night. I went to the market with them one evening so they could buy ingredients for carbonara. They wanted to buy cream (which doesn't belong in carbonara unless you are English), but couldn't find any. They tried to ask the store attendant and she flipped out at them: "Cream! Cream! No! No! No!" before running around the store to give them the ingredients which were actually necessary.

The Italians themselves were characteristically wonderful. It's nice to be in a country with no apologies about its stereotypically loud and flamboyant culture. And the food! Our flat had a kitchen with the following essentials: a pasta pot, a stainer, a pasta spoon, a cheese grater, and two espresso makers.

That's all for now. I will say that Vercelli was absolutely beautiful! We also had the opportunity to travel to Pavia, where St. Augustine and Boethius are buried. I've posted pictures of Vercelli and Pavia here for your enjoyment.

Someday I plan to upload a nice, full edition and translation of The Dream of the Rood. For now, you can read my (uncorrected) translation of it here.

A Note from Your Host

2009-03-21T08:40:00.002Z

As my time at Oxford comes to a close, I think I'll probably gradually phase out this blog. I restarted it so I would have to record some of the most spectacularly bizarre things about my life at Oxford, so I'll keep it up until June at least. But, most likely, the majority of my 'serious reflection' will migrate to ...and Enide.

A Momentous Occasion Unnoted

2009-03-21T08:34:00.004Z

In my haste to finish the rest of my work, I forgot to note a most momentous occasion: the very last of my formal examinations, ever. (Unless I fail and have to resit, but let's not think about this.) I have to say that it was less climactic that expected.

Oxford examinees are required to wear sub-fusc, so I hope to appease you for my lack of posting a pictures of me in sub-fosc. Unfortunately, someone stole my hat before the photograph was taken. On the plus side, I was so stressed out during the exam that I wore my hat backwards.

You can read more about sub-fusc here and here.

An American Encounter with the English Class System

2009-03-14T19:17:00.004Z

I try not to write bad things about England. Sure, there are things I really miss about the U.S. but, all in all, I really do love this country. That's why, on the rare occasion I run across a real cultural difficulty, it makes me so uncomfortable.

Because I don't know some of the cultural norms of this country, I upset someone this afternoon by chaining my bike to a peg attached to the outside of a townhouse. In retrospect, I probably should have realized these weren't public--but England is so generous with right-of-ways and public property, I just took for granted that these were appropriate places to park my bike. When I left ballet rehearsal, her son's bike chained to mine in what looked like, but wasn't definitely, a trap so she could confront me. And confront me she did, angrily, and at great length in the most horrible English fashion--smiling all the while with contempt. Apologies weren't enough. She was inconsolably angry for a full five minutes, and seemed to be loving it.

And it wasn't really my person she was angry at. She was angry at what she thought I represented. She seemed to already expect that only a golden-spoon-fed Oxford student would dare chain her bike to her house: she was excited to ream me for feeling entitled to whatever I wanted in the city. The fact I'm obviously American only seemed to make her more irate. She was a member of England's 'less posh' (for lack of a better word) class, and she was fully prepared to defend her rights against someone 'like me' encroaching on them.

Nevermind the fact that I'm not necessarily the child of privilege she obviously deemed me to be--my parents have helped me a lot, but I've worked pretty hard on my own academically and financially to be where I am. The real problem is that her perception justified a really cruel action. There seems to be a real undercurrent of class resentment in the U.K. that encourages people to do horrible things they would never think of otherwise: a friend of mine can't walk down the certain streets a on Friday night in a suit for fear of catcalls and threats of violence.

I'm sure similar things happen from the other direction, but I'm not really in a position to see them. I guess we all behave like that sometimes--doing cruel things to a 'class' or 'race' of people we'd never dream of doing to an invidual. That's what stereotypes can be so dangerous, even when they're deserved. I'm truly sorry that I trespassed on the woman's property. I really wish she'd believed I was sincere, so she wouldn't go away thinking that, once again, someone from a higher class has taken advantage of her in an unfair way. I hate that, to her, I was everything she expected of someone 'like me.'

Maybe the real difference between England and the U.S. is that, in the U.S., I'm not really a member of a group large numbers of people resent. Or at least I don't come across as though I am. But sometimes being the 'other,' the educated, upper-middle-class, Oxford student feels claustrophobic and dangerous. And I feel alarmed, hurt, or afraid here in a way it would never occur to me to do in the U.S.

They're Gone

2009-03-09T07:44:00.001Z

My sisters are gone, so hopefully I'll be back to regular (albeit lonelier) posting by this afternoon. Pictures from their trip should go up over the next couple of days.

My Sisters Are in Town

2009-03-05T10:53:00.001Z

No posts for now... but soon... with pictures!

Declamation Competition

2009-02-28T19:25:00.002Z

It isn't common "now-a-days" to declaim poetry. We're lucky to ever read it. Hearing it read is a surprise. And hearing it recited well, from memory, is a rare treat. That's why, when I heard about a declamation competition in Oxford, I thought it would be a wonderful opportunity to try something new.

To be entirely honest, poetry is one of my weakest points as an English scholar--and as an Anglophile at all, for that matter. The students at "my school" (i.e. Brookewood) are required to memorize and then recite poetry, for which I really envy then. They stand are bravely, perfectly recite a poem from memory. I stand against the wall, gaping in admiration and jealousy.

Because I'm so inexperienced, signing up for the competition was particularly nerve-racking. My fiance and I looked at many poems and settled on a nice, simple--but wonderfully satirical--poem by Hillare Belloc called "Jim (Who Ran Away from His Nurse and Was Eaten by a Lion)." Declamation isn't simple reading, but a careful performance. Adam likened it to singing a piece of music, so I sat down and wrote in dynamics, breath marks, and pauses. It was a wonderful way to get to know a poem intimately, not just in form, but also in content.

In the end, I didn't make the qualifying round of the competition. "Jim" just didn't pass muster for the discerning palate of the judge. But, he was surprisingly supportive of my reading. He praised me for my reading of the poem and encouraged me to keep practicing. He even said I'd encouraged him to read more of Belloc's poetry. Maybe I can try again with a more nuanced piece.

So, I suppose I might be let down by my failure. Still, it was a success in many ways. I made it through an "audition" of sorts without panicking or crying, both of which I am embarrassingly likely to do based on historical precedent. And I had a crash course in a really basic, beautiful artistic skill. I hope I'll get to use it again.

Spring

2009-02-25T19:05:00.004Z

Where I come from, spring is less of a season than a two-week catastrophe. Flowers burst into bloom overnight, covering everything in sight with a thick coat of pollen. Trees open their blossoms, but they reek of something dead. Everyone is sneezing. Drivers can't see for the allergens in the air. And then, two weeks later the temperature increases thirty degrees--it's summer.

As beautiful as dogwood trees are, I have to admit that I never really appreciated spring in Atlanta. Even living in DC, where gorgeous cherry trees grace the city for a few weeks a year, I was too far removed from nature to really appreciate what was going on. But here, in England, I finally understand.

Spring is a season--a season of gradual opening and rebirth. Daffodils have been sprouting as soon as the snow melted three weeks ago. They didn't just bloom. In fact, they haven't bloomed yet. But each and every one, all over the city, holds the beautiful promise of a bright, yellow blossom.

The animals know it's coming, too. Birds have started to wake me up in the morning. Ducks chase potential mates through the river. In a few months, their babies will liter the towpath.

Here, you feel spring coming. This far north, each day is almost four full minutes longer. The sun comes up earlier each day, only strengthening the impression that life is growing.

The seasons in England are dynamic, unfolding slowly. God's creation really in a miracle.

You can see more photographs of Oxford in the spring here.

Out with the Old?

2009-02-23T22:27:00.003Z

Eddie Izzard jokes that he is from Europe, "Where the history comes from." To an American, it sounds funny. But, as an American abroad, I have to admit that he has a point.

My friend, Ruth, and I took a walk on Sunday. She walked through a thousand-year-old city center to the fifteenth-century bishop's palace where I live to meet me. We walked down the Thames (in Oxford, the Isis) and through the oldest undeveloped flood meadow in the country. Our destination? The ruins of twelfth-century abbey torn down during the reign of Henry VIII.

That is history. And, to a certain degree, I think having history is the primary cultural difference between the English and Americans. Americans feel an urgent need for change. The English don't. And I think it's because the English see history, know and accept that things usually last. I don't think either is right, but it makes an interesting contrast trying to run student organizations with English and American members. Food for thought?

You can see Eddie Izzard talking about Europe here--see 1:00 on. Also, watch out for profanity.

Yeomen of the Guard: A Review and Reflection

2009-02-21T23:22:00.002Z

Two of my very best Oxford friends went with me tonight to see the Oxford University Gilbert and Sullivan Society's Presentation of The Yeomen of the Guard. G&S musicals are on my list of "things I ought to know more about to consider myself cultured," so I'm always delighted to see one of them performed. The musicals are tightly wound social satires of Victorian personalities and mores, but, at the same time, brilliant commentaries on human nature. Usually they straddle that line I spoke of earlier, of the dark comedy which the British do so well. But Yeomen is an exception: it isn't really funny.

The Yeomen of the Guard takes place in the Tower of London in the sixteenth century. A brave, young solider has been condemned to die for practicing alchemy. A man whose life he once saved and his smitten daughter conspire to save him by changing his place with their own son/brother. In the meantime, he decides to take a wife in order to keep his fortune from passing into the hands of his envious cousin. A typical G&S comedy of errors ensues, but the players and consequences are more than common.

Perhaps most unlike Gilbert and Sullivan's other musicals, there are no happy weddings at the end of Yeomen. The young woman who loves the solider is forced into an engagement to the hunch-backed jailer to protect the soldier's escape from being found out--the audience is encouraged to feel sympathy toward the bumbling figure, but the young woman never learns to love him. Simliarly, her father agrees to marry a unattractive, violent old maid to keep his assistance for the soldier safe. The only happily married couple are the solider and the woman whom he married to protect his fortune. Even they were first married in secret, identities protected, before discovering they've fallen in love with each other. And they leave behind a doful jester, the bride's jilted betrothed, who is the key tragic figure of the play. In him the audience sees the human cost of a "the-show-must-go-on" attitude, and of one character's self-centered choices.

Of course, the musical does have its comic moments. As a linguist, I was particularly delighted by the intentionally over-done Shakespearean English of the dialog ("An hundred crowns?" "An hundred crowns!). The song sung between jailer and jester is a particularly nice touch: the jester tries to nuance the clueless jailer's lies by added literary flourish that the poor man simply can't understand.

The OUG&S production also had particular assets of its own, most especially in the cast. The female leads were all well sung, particularly the solider's bride's lilting and subdued soprano. Robert Hazel, who played the bumbling assistant jailer, did an absolutely spectular job of making the character come to life in a way that was both physically repellant and intensely sympathetic. The musical, however, was essentially made by the truly enthralling performance of David Jones as the jester. He conveys all of the jesters desparate need to be funny, but also his bitter resentment against a life which has put little that's good or delightful before him. He beautifully pulled off an imaginably difficult role--the tragic jester--in a mesmirizing way.

Still, all in all, The Yeomen of the Guard is as much food for thought than entertainment--as much "sentence" than "solas," to use the Chaucerian distinction. The young solider is again and again praised, admired, and loved because of his bravery. But it is really those who risk their lives to save him who are brave. And it is they who suffer in this deeply thought-provoking musical.

English Humor

2009-02-21T11:52:00.003Z

I had planned to avoid posting random links on my blog this time, but I have to suggest that you view the following:

I babysat last night for a wonderful young family. They introduced me to Flanders and Swann, with whom, I must say, I am inordinately pleased. This song, probably their most famous, is truly original, absolutely ridiculous, and positively delightful.

Although I won't claim this as a supreme example, I must say that I am struck by English humor--not just it's quality, but its substance. The English do serious humor, humor that means something, in a way Americans just don't seem to be able to manage. Americans can muster great satire, but the ability to laugh in the face of something dark and tragic is a bit outside of our league.

What other country, besides England, could manage a film that stands on its own as both a zombie film and a comedy?

My Sisters Are Coming to Visit

2009-02-19T21:10:00.002Z

Nothing new to report about the English. But, in other news, my sisters are coming to visit me!

Enjoy this photograph of our previous trans-Atlantic exploits.

Doctor Who Again

2009-02-17T22:09:00.002Z

Just to follow up on my Doctor Who rampage...

My friend Ruth and I watched a two-parter tonight, starting with "The Empty Child." It's a very poignant episode, set in the darkest days of the blitzkrieg during World War II. Yet, in the end, every single person lives. The poor Doctor can't remember the last time he saved the world and no one had to sacrifice him or herself, no one had to die in some brutal manner before he could solve the problem. But, in this episode, everyone is saved. And the Doctor is ecstatic.

I repeat my claim that the show is an amazing celebration of human life.

Doctor Who

2009-02-15T15:09:00.002Z

English television is one of the great delights of being in the U.K. Where else can you see a news show broadcast a late-breaking story about the leader of the opposition party in Parliament running yellow lights on his bicycle on the way to work? Generally, though, I have found that English television is often much more substantive than it's American equivalent.

As someone who doesn't watch T.V. often, I suppose I don't really have a breadth of experience to make such a sweeping claim. My primary basis of comparison are the science fiction shows that air in primetime, which nerds like me really enjoy. I'm as big a fan of Star Trek as the next American nerd, but the British cultural equivalent is in a league of its own--Doctor Who.

Doctor Who is a legend. The show has been airing since 1963. Its main character, the unnamed "Doctor" has been through ten incarnations. The principle villain, the Daleks, are a permanent feature of the off-the-radar English imagination. Given its popularity, I find the values it promotes absolutely extraordinary.

Doctor Who means something. More than any other television show I've ever watched. The show continually takes up the most pressing issues of the day and presents them in a new light, set to an electronic soundtrack. In an episode from the first season of the new series, the Doctor and his traveling companion encounter a giant satellite given over the storage and spread of every piece of information known the the human race. Humans themselves act as processors for the massive computer, but without ever letting the information enter their brains. In the end, the Doctor must destroy an evil creature who has been able to secretly control all of humanity simply by controlling their information.

Like any good literary venture, the show also covers themes of timeless concern. I cried for days over the finale of the fourth season of the new series. All of her life, his traveling companion thought she was insignificant, unremarkable. In the episode's climax, she discovers how special she truly is, and saves the universe. But as a consequence, her memory is erased. She has to go back to an ordinary life, never remembering her life with the doctor or her universal importance. What a reflection on our own hopes and fears about our vocations!

But perhaps most astounding is the Doctor's overarching respect for humanoid life. He really cares about each and every life he touches. He is continually emphasizing to his traveling companions how important they are--"you're an ordinary person" he might say, "the most important thing in the world." Even against the Daleks, the greatest enemy known to man, Doctor Who refuses to comit when given the chance. And the Doctor's respect for life always spreads to others. So many episodes end with a humanoid man or woman grasping the significance of all other lives in the universe, sacrificing him or herself in an ultimate gesture of love for human life.

In shows like Doctor Who--if there are actually any shows like it--I am reminded of what television can be. Not a mindless medium, but yet another literary expression of the hopes, fears, and possibilities for our culture and our species. Doctor Who is extraordinary for reminding us of our humanity, and giving us a subtle reminder to act as though we remember it if the opportunity for great heroism ever arises.

If you want to find out more about Doctor Who, I would strongly suggest checking out the episode Midnight from the fourth season of the new series. This is probably the most suspenseful, and also lowest budget, episode of sci-fi television ever made. Incidentally, it is--as of this posting--the episode more likely not to have been deleted from YouTube.

Ceilidh Last Night

2009-02-14T10:23:00.002Z

Several friends from my course and I attended the termly CathSoc ceilidh last night. I can't emphasize how much I love ceilidhs, though I'm afraid I showed up late last night and missed a few of my very favorite dances.

Tonight was, however, the first time I've done a dance with a "basket" and enjoyed it. For anyone who doesn't know, a basket is a move at a ceilidh when two men put their arms around two women's waists. The women put their arms over the men's shoulders. In the Irish version they spin around, which is fun. In the German version (read "preffered by macho Englishmen"), the men spin so quickly that the women's feet are lifted off the ground. This is only fun when (a.) the women know what is going to happen and (b.) when the men are strong enough to lift the women without making the women feel like the cause of an immediate hernia. So, bully to the men I was dancing with--I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

I'm sorry that I haven't perfected the art of taking photos yet. Rest assured I am practicing. We can cross our fingers that CathSoc posts their photos on Facebook. Until then, you can always satisfy yourself with my more-detailed description of a ceilidh here.

Not-So-Innocents Abroad

2009-02-11T22:38:00.002Z

When I told my American friends and family last year that I was moving to England, one of their first responses was to warn me about how poorly treated I would be in Europe. Sixteen months later, I have to confess that that ill treatment has hardly ever reared its ugly head. Sure, things have been said that I didn't like about our Former President, and the English have been eager to volunteer their opinions about our political system. The English carry with them many, many misunderstandings or oversimplifications of American culture, but they are generally kind and generous to individuals of all national origins--at least in Oxford.

That is why I am so annoyed--angered--by Americans who "act the part" abroad. So much of the American perception of their reputation overseas is self-projected; we're the ones who assume we are brash, uncultured, and backwards. It is a real shame when an American becomes a parody of that self-perception, putting him or herself forward to the world as an ambassador of a culture of insensitive boors. Particularly in Oxford, Americans abroad ought to know better.

Tonight, I am ashamed to say, was the second time I've heard the same an antiquated and racist expression involving an extremely impolite racial slur in Oxford. Both times it was used by (North--one was Canadian) Americans. Both times it was in a professional, academic research seminar. And both times it was used in a context where it is completely unnecessary. Perhaps the two men felt that, outside of the United States, where racial tension is a different kind of problem, the expression wouldn't be poorly received. But the English students in the room were almost as offended as I was!

The two incidences have left me to wonder just how often Americans really do present themselves as poor cultural ambassadors to the rest of the world. How can I expect my English friends to believe that America is not the backwards, racist place they are sometimes told it is by the BBC if some of our most clever ex-patriots behave this way?

Vercelli

2009-02-10T20:37:00.002Z

The English Faculty have decided to give me £400 for a trip to Vercelli, Italy! I'll be able to look at a number of amazing medieval manuscripts.

The best of these is one of only four major manuscripts containing Anglo-Saxon poetry, the Vercelli Manuscript. It some of my very favorite religious poems. The very best of these is called The Dream of the Rood. It is a short poem about the crucifixion told from the perspective of the cross. I still contend that it is one of the greatest poems ever written in English. You can read my translation of it here.

I'm very grateful to the English Faculty for funding my trip and I look forward to writing more about it later.

Oxford in the Snow: A Brief Photo Essay

2009-02-08T20:42:00.000Z

Oxford, and all of England, had unusually heavy snowfall last week. Although I was amused at the way the entire country shut down, it did create some amazingly beautiful scenes:

This is supposed to be the site of C. S. Lewis' inspiration for The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. The story goes that he left the University Church of Saint Mary the Virgin (right) one Sunday, disgruntled by a sub-par sermon. He walked out into the evening and saw these fauns, beautifully illuminated by a single lamppost. On the door there is a lion.

This is a street sign outside the walls of Exeter College. The metal cross on the wall behind the sign was once used by delinquent undergraduates to climb back into college after curfew.

This is one of the snow-covered heads outside of the Sheldonian Theatre. The building was built after a design by Sir Christopher Wren and is currently used for graduations and concerts.

This is a view from Holywell Cemetery. The English treat cemeteries differently than Americans do. When a cemetery is full, the gravestones will often be removed. The lawn will be mowed and it will be treated as a park.

You can see more of my photos of Oxford in the snow here.

Universal University

2009-02-07T15:27:00.000Z

Oxford University occasionally holds “open days” for potential undergraduate students. These days give English secondary school (“college” or “sixth form”) students the chance to see what a day in the life of an Oxford University student is like. The most celebrated of these open days are “access days,” days to encourage students from underrepresented schools to apply to the university. So today, volunteering for a group of teenagers from East London, I was surprised to hear a young woman with the honesty to admit, “I’m not really sure I’m going to uni.”

As it turns out, this young woman has no real idea what she wants to do with her life. She enjoys English and history in schools, but isn’t really sure that she wants to spend the rest of her life on either of these subjects. Instead, she’s thinking of spending at least a year working, travelling to her family home in South America, and taking the time to put serious thought into her vocation. Although it’s an unpopular sentiment for a teenager capable of earning a college degree to express, her uncertainty about university makes perfect sense.

It is easy to forget that the modern university system is exactly that—modern. Traditionally, only those who wanted to go into a field requiring an advanced degree did so: lawyers, doctors, clergy. Even fewer pursued “purely academic” subjects like English or history—those who wanted to teach or research. Everyone else left school and learned a trade. Accountants learned accountancy in a firm, not in a classroom. Clerks started at the bottom and worked their way up, gaining experience as they went.

That system had its perks. It reworded hard work with promotions and bonuses. It promoted company loyalty which, in the long term, encouraged employers to treat their employees with greater respect, as a valuable part of their organization. And it provided people with the means to continue learning on the job. No one really believes that a recent graduate with a degree in finance knows more about business than the man who now works under him who has had the job for twenty years.

So who is to tell the fifteen-year-old girl that she has to go to university? I applaud her responsible, self-knowledgeable decision to take time to find out what it is she really wants to do. I only wish that Western society hadn’t made life without a university degree so difficult for anyone with her level of common sense.

Certainly, there is much to be said for a university education. Knowledge of the liberal arts remains our path to cultural fluency, a part of our political existence as human beings. Many of the obstacles for women, minorities, and people from lower-class economic backgrounds can be surmounted by a university education in a way they once could not—provided those groups have access to a university education. But there is a limit to what one can learn in a classroom. We ought to seriously consider whether so many are best served by spending another three to five years in formal education, or whether they might not be better off finding themselves outside of academia. I sincerely wish the young woman luck as she bravely bucks the system and finds her own path in life.

What's the Matter with Manners in the Twenty-First Century

2009-02-06T18:30:00.000Z

A group of adult friends recently asked me to write a short monthly column about etiquette for their school newsletter. I obligingly sat down and turned out a four-line poem about responsible cell phone use. But, in the midst of trying to find a rhyme for "texting" (which I eventually decided against) I had to stop and ask myself: is defining and spreading a code of social conduct really a worthwhile use of my time?

No one really denies that the age of Emily Post is over. Gone are the days when we show each other respect by following the same social code. We are all told to celebrate our differences. We all have our own values and beliefs. No one ought to impose his or her social beliefs on me. "Treat others as you would want to be treated" is the golden rule of moral behavior—although "I can do anything I want, so long as it doesn't harm anyone else" might be a more common variation. It would seem that, in this brave new world, manners are simply obsolete.

Of course, we all realize that the ideas of rude and polite haven't died. A Google search, for all its statistical merit, yields almost one million hits for "so rude." A male coworker who accuses a dieting woman of having an eating disorder. A cellphone goes off during an important meeting. And we find huge, generalized groups who are simply rude by definition: young people, bartenders, Italian tourists, conference attendees, people from Boston, and pregnant women.

Clearly, we all know what rude is. We all know we ought to treat other people as we want to be treated. But we don't. Why? Could it possibly have anything to do with the collapse of manners as a social code?

Aristotle had a brilliant concept of how behavior works. All human action is based on goo d and bad choices. The problem is that we can't, as modern morality seems to expect us to, simply resolve to make all good choices. I can make up my mind in advance not to harm another person, but the real choice comes when, tired and hungry from a long day's works, I have to choose whether to give my seat to the elderly man in the aisle.

Enter Aristotle. Men, he noted, are creatures of good and bad habits. Good habits help us practice making good choices; bad habits help us practice making bad choices. Every time I choose to hold the door, I'm teaching myself patience and empathy. Every time I leave the last cookie for my housemate, I'm teaching myself selflessness and generosity. It really is a brilliant insight—I can't always do the right thing by other people, but I can slowly learn the habit of treating them better with time and practice.

I contend that, historically, manners have served as a system for habituating virtue, getting used to doing the right thing. Sometimes the rules seemed (and often were) arbitrary or silly. Still, if I choose to show consideration in small things, I am developing the habit of showing consideration in great ones. The use of "please" and "thank you" helped me develop a habit of gratitude. When I used the shrimp fork for my shellfish, I was practicing showing respect to my hostess. Even the most obscure points of etiquette force of to think about the ways we behave towards others which, ultimately, forces us to see a little more of their humanity.

Unfortunately, some of the oldest and most revered laws in our code of manners, like the use of the shrimp fork, seem so obsolete we've forgotten what they were for. No one pays any attention to the "no elbows on the table" rule anymore. Few blink when I forget to break my bread into little bits before chomping down. When manners are perceived as obsolete or arbitrary, they no longer serve any purpose at all.

So, we have two choices. We could remind ourselves why manners are important, go back to using them to help ourselves develop habits of consideration and kindness. Or, we could reject them altogether and take up something new.

Of course, if we are going to reject codes of etiquette, we have to accept that we need to think harder about our moral choices. I can't count on being in the habit of saying, "I'm sorry" or "No, thank you"—I have to look the homeless man squarely in the eye and consider whether I owe him an apology for not being able to share with him. Without the habit of respectfully listening to others, I will have to work very hard not to roll my eyes at the upset coworker crying about her third break-up this month. Codes of etiquette really do help us practice being a little more human. Without them, we have to make those hard choices on our own. That is the real challenge of twenty-first century etiquette.

Manners really do matter, or at least moral choices do. I for one plan to stand by etiquette of the old-fashioned kind, building good habits by following an older social code. I need all the practice I can get to truly treat others as I wish to be treated. I just hope that all this practice will make those difficult moral choices a little easier to make and helps me see other people as human beings even at the most trying of times.

Liturgical Reform

2007-11-27T22:42:00.000Z

These are the first and last words I ever plan to write about liturgical reform, inspired by a well-done talk sponsored by the Oxford University Newman Society this evening.

The Extraordinary Form is a beautiful Mass that encourages contemplation and reverence. The Ordinary Form is an accessible Mass that encourages participation and community. Both have strengths and both have weaknesses. And supporters for either side fail to realize that arguments for either are almost always lacking an answer to one pivotal question:

What is the point? Why do we have a Mass?

It's a surprisingly difficult question to answer. Supporters of the Extraordinary Form would emphasize that it is to glorify God and celebrate the sacrifice. Supporters of the Ordinary Form would emphasize that it is to grow as individual Christians and as a Community through sharing Communion. Neither side would deny that either objective is important, but the question of emphasis is the crux of the argument.

As far as I know, there are currently no liturgies which give due weight to God without sacrificing some of the edification of the congregation--none which properly teach the congregation without sacrificing some of the dignity shown to God in a High Mass. Until both sides can concede that this ambiguity is inherent in the very idea of the Mass, there will be no true, viable, healthy liturgical reform.

Celidah and Context

2007-11-10T23:23:00.000Z

I think I have discovered where the modern liberal arts, particularly the study of English literature, have failed. (At least, I've come a step closer to realizing what my father has been telling me for years.) Part of becoming educated is to develop a sense of context. To properly understand a text, a student has to have read many of the books that influenced the writer. He may even need to have tried writing texts himself to get a feel for the narrative. The goal of context is to build up a body of ideas and experiences held in common with a writer. Without this context, modern students are simply floundering in the dark for a world of lost meaning.

Tonight, thanks to a tradition barn dance called a celidah sponsored by the chaplaincy, I am one step closer to the context I need for the works of Jane Austen. Just imagine the experience...

The band slows toward the end of a song, signaling a dance is about to begin. A young man asks me to dance. I feel no sense of drama because my heart already belongs to someone else, but I am excited to be dancing. We line up in triplets--girl, boy, girl. The caller briefly outlines the dance and off we go, galloping down the floor, turning, and returning again. A few spins, a circle, and we're off galloping again until the caller calls out "boys advance" and the two women pass our partner on to another man. As the dance continues, I notice how different it is to be partnered with each different men. Some are unfamiliar and strange, bizarre partners. Others just aren't attractive, probably sweating profusely. Some can't dance very well and I lead them through an awkward round before passing them on gratefully. Others are familiar and I cling to them like a lifeline in a storm of chaos. Around and around we go and every time we switch, I imagine the ecstasy of meeting the man I love at the next reel. And that is the moment I realize what it must have been like to be Anne Elliot. I look around them warm room, sweaty, smiling young faces all around me, and realize I've stepped into the world of any of Jane Austen's heroines.

That is context. That is a life experience that will fundamentally shape the way I read a particular author's books for the rest of my life. The celidah opened a window into another time and another place, bringing one step closer to the sophistication and art of Austen's works.

Of course, that realization comes with the far more humbling one that I will never grasp the full depths of Austen's works. She is in a time and a place far removed from me. I shall have to continue, as an English student, to do my best to have as many exciting experiences and to explore as many new ideas as I can.

Matriculation

2007-10-25T19:50:00.000+01:00

Inordinately late due to the inadvertent destruction of my USB ports, I present for your enjoyment a post about matriculation--the day on which I became an official student at Oxford University.

First of all, I feel compelled to explain that the weather was extremely sticky. My hair looks a bit Hermione-esque. But, here I am in all of my sub-fosc glory.

The head burser said I would earn a reputation wearing this hat. He tried to talk me into borrow a mortar board. But I've worn mortar boards and I think they are far sillier. Besides, students must carry their mortar boards--they aren't allowed to even wear them until graduation. I, on the other hand, must wear my soft cap as it cannot be carried.

En masse, the entire new undergraduate and graduate body of Exeter College marched down the street to the Sheldonian Theatre. The experience was rather strange. Oxford is one of the only places in the world you can stand on the street looking like this without anyone thinking anything of it. As a group though, you attract loads of attention. We did look rather dashing.

The Sheldonian Theatre is very nice, though very small. The colleges could not all come at once. The colleges marched in in order of foundation, so Exeter was in the first group.

The ceremony itself was rather anti-climactic. It gave the surreal experience of actually earning my place here, achieving my dream of coming here, a degree of cold, final reality. This is really happening and I am really here!

Why I Couldn't Sleep Last Night

2007-10-10T08:51:00.000+01:00

I just wanted to share with you the reason I couldn't sleep last night. It was so perfectly British...

As you know, I live in the chaplaincy. That means a lot of people come and go from what is basically the ground floor of my house. Last night, the Oxford University Newman Society had a drinks party. (Eighteen year-olds are allowed to drink here, so most freshmen events for organizations involve beer or wine.) The Newman Society's involved champagne cocktails and had a pianist. Very ritzy. The entire event was much more fun than I expected and I shall probably participate in more of their events later in the year. I retired early to do some more work before crawling into bed around eleven.

It wasn't until I turned off my computer that the noise began: loud, tipsy British men. The pianist seemed to be banging on the keys as chorus after chorus of patriotic hymns wafted up the two flights of stairs--'God Save the Queen,' 'I Vow to Thee My Country,' round after round of enthusiastically sung songs. I don't know what time it ended, but I do know it lasted more than half an hour.

Now, tell me, where else would some of the more masculine men boisterously sing patriotic carols at midnight?

Walk to Littlemore

2007-10-09T08:35:00.000+01:00

Last night, I had the honor and privilege to attend a walk in honor of John Henry Newman's conversion. We walked for two hours, in absolute silence, before arriving in Littlemore for Eucharistic adoration and then a walk through the Newman's retreat. The entire experience was very moving.

I don't know how many people are familiar with the story of Cardinal Newman. Newman was a very famous Oxford Anglican clergy-man for many years, but he was constantly struggling with his faith. He gradually retired from public life to a small and austere retreat he had made for himself and for others a little way off from Oxford called Littlemore. Eventually, he sent for a famous Italian priest who journeyed to Oxford and then from Oxford to Littlemore in the pouring rain. While warming himself by the fire in the library, he was surprised to turn around and find perhaps England's most famous contemporary religious figure, kneeling before him, begging to have his confession heard so that he could be received into the Catholic Church. He wrote a very famous book about his religious life called the Apologia Pro Vita Sua. He is now remembered as the namesake of most Catholic student centers, at least in the English-speaking world.

The four-mile walk, entirely in silence except for twelve stations related to Newman's spiritual biography, gave me an opportunity to think about the experience of conversion and the quest for truth. Newman spent his entire life seeking something from God. It made him isolated and unpopular on many fronts, even after his conversion. He made a name for himself as a icon of faith and intellectualism in the Anglican church, but was always insistent on ministering to the poor and ill. And yet, despite all he knew he represented, he was willing to endure isolation and to be ostracized for the rest of his life in order to join Christ's Church. That is a courage I'm not sure I possess. It's not a sacrifice many in the West have been in a position to make.

It is one beautiful and amazing thing to be martyred, to make a decision to obey Christ even in the face of death. But, in some ways, it is a more courageous thing to commit to a life of separation, even from one's family. That's what dying to self really means. To choose daily to put the truth before all other things. To live the truth by choosing to deny ones self for the sake of others and for God.

As students, we are reminded of John Henry Newman's example every time we step foot into a Newman Center. The name reminds us that, although faith and reason aren't the same thing, they both search for truth. We must always, in all our actions, search for truth. God is that truth.

John Henry Cardinal Newman wrote a beautiful poem, not when he converted, but several years before his conversion while on a trip to the continent. Newman begs for just enough light, just enough truth, to see the next step before him. It isn't a song about God's greatness or an ode to man's reason; it's merely a man searching for the truth. Lead Kindly Light seems a fitting hymn for students and for anyone seeking the truth:

Lead, kindly Light, amid th’encircling gloom, lead Thou me on!
The night is dark, and I am far from home; lead Thou me on!
Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene; one step enough for me.

I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou shouldst lead me on;
I loved to choose and see my path; but now lead Thou me on!
I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears,
Pride ruled my will. Remember not past years!

So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still will lead me on.
O’er moor and fen, o’er crag and torrent, till the night is gone,
And with the morn those angel faces smile, which I
Have loved long since, and lost awhile!

Meantime, along the narrow rugged path, Thyself hast trod,
Lead, Savior, lead me home in childlike faith, home to my God.
To rest forever after earthly strife
In the calm light of everlasting life.

Applying to Oxford

2007-10-06T09:04:00.002+01:00

As far as I know, there are no American first undergraduate degree candidates matriculating at Exeter College this year. I began to wonder why. Many American students are quite clever!

Then I began to think about the application process and several travails came to mind that seem peculiar to American students.

I want to apply for Oxford. What should I do now?:
1. Stop spending your extra money.

Now. Instantly cancel your i-Tunes and Netflixs accounts. Call your girlfriend and tell her you won't be taking her out tonight. Oxford is amazingly expensive for American students. (British students have their educations almost entirely funded by the government and the colleges at the university.) You have to be able to tell the university how you will pay for your degree on your application! And don't count on US federal loans, some of which won't work for overseas study.

Oxford will be a sacrifice--for you and for your parents. You will have to give things up in the States to have the money to spend in the UK. You will probably have to take a job during your breaks, which means you will have to work very hard to finish all of the work tutors assign during your time away from the university. And you may have to live in Oxford at the lowest cost possible, which may mean skipping some nights out and eating most of your meals in the hall.

Make sure Oxford is worth it to you. It was to me.

2. Be certain--or nearly so--of what you want.

I didn't realize before I came here that English students were asked to specialize in specific subjects by high school. That means, when it comes time for university, they are prepared to apply for a specific subject. Americans are not.

'Liberal arts' at Oxford does not mean that you are required, over the course of two years, to take a variety of courses to help you 'find yourself.' In Oxford, you hit the ground running in a specific subject. You take few or no classes outside of your discipline, although there are some very cool combinations like 'Philosophy, Politics, and Economics' or 'English and Classics' that you might like to explore.

Though not impossible, it is very difficult to change courses. Oxford is not a good school for the indecisive.

3. Start thinking about your application for 2008 now.

Oxford undergraduate applications are due a full three months before most undergraduate applications are due in January. By the end of this school year, you should already know who's writing your teacher recommendations. Before summer vacation is over, you should have your essay drafts finished.

Applications are due in October.

4. UCAS is not made for Oxford or Cambridge.

All English universities require students to apply through a universal system called the UCAS. It is a web-based service into which you will type your information. It is also the service which will notify you if you are accepted and through which you must accept the offer of admission. But the UCAS application, though required, is not comprehensive for Oxford. Other essays, recommendations, etc. may be required.

It is your responsibility to check the Oxford website to make sure you've submitted everything necessary to Oxford.

5. Don't count on the Oxford website to user-friendly.

Oxford's website is a tangled mass of information. It's all useful and relevant, but finding it is a bit tricky. Spend some time making sure you've read the entire thing.

Everything you need is on the Oxford website, but it will take you some time to find it. Call or e-mail the university if you aren't clear about something.

6. Oxford doesn't care how 'well-rounded' you are.

Oxford, by all of the admission of professors I have heard so far, is looking specifically for 'clever people.' Fortunately, they strive very hard to ensure that doesn't imply 'People from schools where most of the students are clever,' so students from unknown schools may actually have a better chance at Oxford than some American universities. They don't intentionally accept good athletes or student council presidents. The interview will not give you an opportunity to show the interviewer much about your personality. They want to know, on your application and in your interview, if you can think... and if you can be taught to think better.

Academics are almost all that matter to those who read Oxford applications.

7. Be prepared for a few special challenges for overseas applicants.
a. Interview
In England, no one realizes that it might possibly take more than six hours to get somewhere for more than $40. You may get a letter inviting you to interview in two weeks. You will either need to pay an inordinate amount to travel to the Oxford University Press' office in New York City or be willing to do a phone interview. Although I know nothing about phone interviews, I cannot imagine they make as solid an impression. On the other hand, it may give you an opportunity to speak with a tutor under whom you are more likely to be studying.

b. Picking a college
Another advantage of going to interview is that you are generally able to look around the school and get a feel for all of the colleges. Oxford is divided into thirty-nine different colleges and seven private halls, which are mostly like colleges in most ways. You will have to choose one to three to indicate on your application, although you may also choose to be considered for any open space in the department if you would like. Different colleges have different attitudes toward life, academics, and themselves. They will be in different parts of the city and look and feel different. They will have different specializations and may even offer a different number of courses.

My college, Exeter, is a small medieval school--the fourth oldest on the city. It has particularly strong English and science tutors. People here are laid back (about life, not academics) and there isn't much social pressure. Schools generally foster these types of sentiments intentionally, so their websites are pretty revealing. You can also try to get your hands on an alternative prospectus if you need more guidance.

Picking a college is important because it will determine the community in which you will live and the tutors under which you will study, at least to some degree. But don't get too worried about the decision. Even after all that work, you may or may not get into one of the colleges you choose; Oxford may shuffle you around if too many qualified people apply for the same program in the same college.

This advice certainly won't get you into Oxford, but it should at least set you on the right path for an application. Never hesitate to ask if you have questions.

Contacting Me

2007-10-05T09:02:00.000+01:00

There are several ways you can contact me while I'm in Oxford.

First, as you probably didn't need to be told, via e-mail.

Second, by chatting over Google Chat.

Third, by calling me over Skype, when I'm on-line. My username is alison.m.fincher.

Fourth, by sending me at letter at:
The Catholic Chaplaincy
The Old Palace
Rose Place
St Aldate's
Oxford UK
OX1 1RD

And finally, but calling me on my AMERICAN cellphone. The call will forward at no expense to either of us.

But please remember that GMT is five hours ahead of EDT. And don't call me at 2am--like a certain inattentive sister whom I love--unless it's a real emergency.

For your convenience, I've posted a link to this handy time-zone calculator. For most of you, convert America/New_York to GMT to know what time it is here.

I hope to hear from all of you very soon!

Academic Dress

2007-10-04T18:48:00.001+01:00

Academic dress is a part of the Oxford University tradition. (View the three page guidelines, if you like--I did!) They are beautiful and exciting, but if you were thinking, "Oh boy! Alison gets to dress up like Hermione!" take your standards... and put them lower. At Oxford, Harry and pals would only have sleeves on their robes if they were post-graduates. On the bright side, I get an awesome Saint-Thomas-esque hat of which Harry even Dumbledore never dreamed.

There are three degrees of dressed up for students without hoods, ie me:
1. Casual dress with the robe on top, which I think looks particularly silly
2. Nice dress with robe on top, which is how I am pictured here.
3. Sub-fusc (pronounced fosc as best I can tell) with robe on top and with awesome hat, which is how I will be dressed for matriculation next week

Second Impressions?

2007-10-03T19:53:00.000+01:00

Today was the first day with real academic emphasis. I finally got to meet with my tutors and turned in my summer assignment, which I have published at literarycatechist.blogspot.com for the interested/bored.

So far, everything seems to be going well. I have honestly gotten on best with the English undergraduate freshers so far. It's really nice--at GW, I was impressed by the complex and knowledgeable conversations I had as a new student about politics. Oxford is like that, but with a much wider variety of topics. We had a discussion about the varying merits of Jane Austen's novels this afternoon which was quite refreshing.

Friday morning, I will be participating in a photo shoot contest. I plan to bring my own camera and then to post a large number of pictures so you will be able to see more of this beautiful city. For now, please find yourself entertained by the following anecdote:

Walking home down St Aldate's Street, I pass Christ Church College. Christ Church College is one of the largest and richest schools in Oxford, which not only means it looks like Hogwarts, but was actually the film set for the Hogwarts dining hall.

Little boy: Look Mum! That's wear Harry Potter lives.
Mum: No, darling. I don't think Harry Potter is in there.

First Impressions

2007-10-01T19:31:00.000+01:00

I hope you'll forgive the complete self-centeredness of this post. My goal for this blog, I think, is eventually to reflect on being an American in England, making generalizations and writing things of actual substance. But for now, I think there is a wide enough interested audience (ie, my mother) to justify a few posts just about my and my initial experiences.

My first day as a student at Exeter College, Oxford went quite well, although I must admit that it is bizarre to be at "freshers" week, doing the "Yea! I'm in college now" thing all over again. I felt socially awkward the first time.

The most exciting event of the day was probably buying my academic gown and dressing up to go see the head of the college, the Rector--photos will follow soon.

My favorite part, though, was finally getting to meet all of the other English students. It was nice to be able to discuss substantial things beyond, "What's your name?" and "What are studying?" It seems to be much easier for people with common interests to communicate, even about things outside of that shared field.

I had an interesting conversation tonight with a young man from (Old?) Jersey--which I have only just learned is NOT a part of England. After thirty minutes or so of conversation, he brought up abortion, an issue that makes clear fairly quickly that I am a conservative theist. He started to ask me, "Are you a Christian?" but stopped and checked himself before revising his question to, "Are your opinions shaped by religious beliefs?" Needless to say, I was amused by his British--but not English--diplomacy.

The conversation, though, was really refreshing. This young man really wanted to know why I believe, or perhaps how I can believe. And he actually listened to my answer, even though he is an atheist. I normally don't get to go very far into my, "I tried to be agnostic but found Christianity to be logically reasonable argument," before people begin to laugh. But this young man kept a very open mind. It was a far cry from GW to actually have a conversation from two opposite viewpoints rather than a shouting match.

I hope Oxford will be like that. I hope I am in an environment where the students at least are very willing to learn about new ideas. Of course, that means I must strive to be more of one myself.

Coming soon: pictures of Exeter, Oxford, and Alison in her academic gown!

I'm Here!

2007-09-30T21:27:00.000+01:00

I did it! I made it to Oxford with 100 lbs. of luggage all by myself, although at times I was reminded of the moment in The Prisoner of Azkaban when Harry and Ron miss the train, pushing their carts blindly toward it to no avail. But now it is ten o’clock and I’m nestled snugly in my little room at the Oxford University Catholic student center

This is what the five hundred-year-old part of the building--the Old Palace, Rose Place--looks like...

... and this is what my part of the building looks like.

As you can see, the space is small, but functional and cozy…

…even if I do have the saddest bookcase that ever existed.

I do at least have my own sink...

…and an incredible view.

I will post more pictures and information about my goings and comings as soon as I can suffice it to say, I have met several other second undergraduate students and I feel very reassured about my decision to come here.

A New Beginning

2007-09-26T02:47:00.000+01:00

I have started this blog for those of you who are interested in the ramblings of a twenty-two year old American, temporarily expatriating to the UK for two years of study on Old and Middle English. I will post about my life abroad. For more academic or literary reflections, please visit my other blog at literarycatechist.blogspot.com. Stay tuned.