What professors do off term

Once again I find inspiration in Phil Nel's blog to reflect on what I have been doing off-term. This, and “research period” are the official labels for the time between terms. Vacation is an unknown concept in this part of the world. Non-academic employees have annual leave. Academic staff have research periods.

The definition is still vague. For instance, there is “full-term” (eight weeks three times a year) as opposed to... I am not sure what, some nebulous weeks before and after full term reserved for meetings, last minute-supervisions and grading. In Easter term, April to June, there are no taught classes. The undergraduate students revise for exams, the graduates write their theses. The instructors supervise.

I cannot quite say when my nebulous term finished and research period started. I had six masters students this past year, and although we had told them that we wouldn't read their drafts after the first of July, of course we did. I also read some drafts by other colleagues' students, just because I am so noble. As soon as the masters had submitted their theses, I received twice as many to grade. This is because we double-grade all student assignments. A masters thesis is 20,000 words. It takes me at least a day to read each and provide written feedback.Simple arithmetic.

My PhD students were also eager to submit something before they went on vacation. One student had her viva (final oral exam) in the beginning of July. Another had an upgrade (from probationary to full PhD status) in the end of July. A student who is not my supervisee was submiting her thesis and asked me to read it – because I am so noble.

We are now at the end of July. I didn't go to the Winnipeg conference that Phil went to, and I didn't go to IRSCL conference in Maastricht either. I didn't go to any conferences this summer. Instead I used my precious research time to complete most of the imminent commitments. I submitted a book manuscript in the end of May, and it is now under review, so I don't have to think about it for a while. I wrote three commissioned book chapters, revised two book chapters, wrote a conference paper and two abstracts, one for a conference, another for an edited volume. I administered blind reviews for a special issue of a journal that I am guest-editing. As usual, when you least expect it, page proofs arrived for several articles. I reviewed a promotion case (reading all submitted publications) which took me about a week. I examined a PhD (viva still to come), which took another week. I read and gave feedback on some book proposals for a publisher where I am on an editorial board. I wrote a huge number of recommendation letters. I read papers for a PhD workshop in September. I wrote my research group “narrative” for the national university assessment (known to UK academics as REF, spelled out Research Excellence Framework). I gave a talk at a summer school for gifted 16-year-olds from underprivileged social groups who are encouraged to study at Cambridge. I attended a few off-term meetings. I hosted an awayday for my research group. I entertained visiting scholars.

Unlike Phil, I have full salary all year round. Technically, everything I do in my research period is part of my job. I will be paid a token fee for the PhD examination and the promotion report. I am exempt from the coming conference fee because I co-ordinate the workshop, but I am paying for my travel and accomodation. Luckily, I have generious travel allowance.

We are now at the end of August. Meanwhile, I went to Norfolk for a couple of days, and we had guests who very efficiently prevented me from working – thank you! I went for walks and did a lot of gardening on sunny days and miniature-making on rainy days. End of August, when most academic friends are starting work, I can finally breathe out and start planning my vacation... sorry, my research period. Term doesn't start for another five weeks. Wait a minute: I am going to the PhD examination at the end of the week. I am going to Sweden in less than two weeks. (Most of it is work, but I will have three free days to see friends and family). The day after I get back, I have Examination Board, one of those occasions in Cambridge when you need to provide your own death certificate to be excused. And then those nebulous weeks before full term: meetings, business lunches, loads of urgent emails. And then full term, and I am co-ordinating the masters course this term, and I expect at least two new PhD students, and I expect at least three upgrades, and at least three of my current PhD students will be submitting first full drafts, and I have agreed to do far more teaching than I am required.

I'd better enjoy those last few hours before life catches up with me.

Heteroglossia

I have just come home from Norway. Yes, again. And yes, another PhD examination. I will not repeat the whole procedure, but there was a trial lecture and the defence itself, and there was an elegant examiners' dinner, an elegant lunch with the candidate and supervisors, and an elegant doctoral dinner with family and friends.

A slightly new aspect this time was the mixture of languages. The thesis was written in English, and the defence was in English. Neither the candidate, the supervisors nor the examiners are native English speakers. That's not unusual in the Nordic countries. The unusual was that both examiners are native Russian speakers. Who spoke Russian non-stop, much to everybody's amazement. But why would they be amazed? Didn't they look us up when they invited us to examine? Didn't they know that we were both nomadic subjects with a heavy luggage of languages? Perhaps our current affiliations were more important than our eclectic academic past.

On the other hand, my fellow examiner was perplexed that I could talk to Norwegians. "So you speak Norwegian?" "No, I speak Swedish". "Do they speak Swedish?" "No, they speak Norwegian". How very confusing. At the doctoral dinner it turned out that the candidate's sister spoke Hebrew, so suddenly she and my fellow examiner had a secret language. And I could help showing off and saying "Good morning" in Lithuanian when we met over breakfast. I could certainly have managed some Yiddish (bad German can always pass as Yiddish), but that would have been too much.

I cannot be sure, but I believe this Babel babble made me particularly tired.

Change of perspective

I know I am expected to blog about it, so here it is. Yesterday I had the first experience as a supervisor at a British viva. I was a co-supervisor to a British student some years ago, and I wasn't even invited to the viva, which at the time felt an insult, but I now know wasn't. The supervisor's role seems to be finished when the thesis is submitted, not when it is approved.

Anyway, my first Cambridge PhD student submitted her thesis this term, and yesterday she had her viva. For a British viva, there is an internal and an external examiner. (I have been an internal, and I am going to be an external soon, so I am getting it). They are supposed to write their reports independently and are not alowed to confer before the pre-viva, which is half an hour before the viva. Needless to say, the supervisor is not allowed to confer with any of the examiners. So the past two months, although I met the internal daily, I pretended that I hadn't even heard of any student or any thesis or anything even remotedly resembling picturebooks.

The external is a very good old friend of mine - that's why I chose her as an external, although it certainly helped that she is an expert on the topic of the thesis and is affiliated with a university approved by Cambridge (arrrrgghh!). She only came over for a day and two nights, but I wanted to see her as a friend, so I did invite her for dinner, although I think it was against the protocol. I believe that I can keep friendship and business apart. She could have declined if she thought it was inappropiate.

The day before, I had a mock viva with the student. A mock viva means that you pretend to be an examiner and ask awkward questions. The point is to give the student an idea of what kind of questions the perverted mind of an examiner can think of. Having been an examiner makes the exercise easy, although it takes some effort to pretend that you haven't actually approved of every single semi-colon in the d-d text and therefore believe it immaculate.

On the morning of the viva I had very deliberately decided to sit down and write an article long overdue (very unlike me!), but of course it didn't work. I went to the office and moved around some books on the shelves, telling myself I needed to tidy up the office since I am going on study leave soon. Then I joined the two examiners for lunch, and we chirped happily on unrelated matters until I left them to do their dirty business and re-shuffled some more books.

Then I went to see the student, and we went through all the possible questions again, and chirped on unrelated matters, gradually joined by a support club including her husband. I don't quite know what the student felt, but I felt sick. However, I am very good at pretending, so I don't think she noticed. Finally, she was called in, and I felt like a husband whose wife is taken in for a ceasarian, and he is not allowed to follow into the op room. We went on chirping, and I was watching the clock and trying not to think about all those dumb questions they were sure to ask, and when the student's husband wondered whether vivas could go on longer than an hour I said cheerfully that yes of course they could, they could go on for ever, and they did. Then we saw her coming down the stairs, waving, and I knew that she felt good, so I tried to feel good too, although the worst was still to come. And I promise that next time I am examining a thesis I will not make the student wait for twenty-five minutes before she is called back to be told that she has passed. I was too angry to feel good, but I am very good at pretending. No seriously, I did feel good. It also felt unreal and surreal and everything I had told the student it would feel for her.

The Faculty doctoral manager brought in a bottle of sparkling and plastic flutes. She poured out and sipped a bit of hers and left, ordering me to take the remains of the bottle to the office. I told her we would finish it ourselves. What good would a half bottle of sparkling do in the Higher Degrees office after office hours on a Friday? 

I wanted to go home and go to bed. I was almost relieved when the taxi company said it would take half an hour to get a taxi. I was texting the student to say I wasn't coming when the taxi finally arrived. Then of course we had a wonderful dinner and a lovely time together, the new Doctor, the examiners and the support club.

So what else is new?

I am examiming a PhD. So what else is new? The new is that for the first time I am examining a PhD in the UK, and it is different from Swedish, Norwegian, Danish, Finnish, Australian and South African PhDs that I have examined. The most recent examination I did was in Norway, and the three examiners worked closely to write a joint recommendation and also discuss the most satisfying structure of the public defense. Now I have been given instructions not to consult the other examiner under any circumstances, write my independent report and discuss the viva at lunch prior to the exercise. Viva is British for oral examinarion and happens behind closed doors with the candidate and the two examiners. If I were to do it - as a candidate - I'd probably collapse. So I must remember to be nice.

I am sure all systems have advantages and disadvantages, so I am descriptive, not evaluative. I just keep wondering how each country and culture has elaborated it own method of academic torture.

In March I am examining a PhD in Sweden. I will have to learn all over again.