Home

The best definition of home: “Home is where your device automatically picks up internet”.

The other day, after a strenuous train journey I posted on Facebook: “So good to be home”. Yesterday, a student greeted me: “I thought you had gone home... to Sweden”.

After five years, people keep asking me whether I had been home over summer. Yes, I say, I stayed at home all summer, I have such a beautiful garden, and the weather in Cambridge has been perfect.

People ask me whether I plan to move home when I retire. I don't think they mean old people's home.

I am going to Sweden next week, but I am not going home. I am going away. My device will not pick up internet automatically, I'll have to get a password. People assume that we have kept a place to return to, but why would we? We don't even know whether we will return. Does this reaction imply that most people don't burn their bridges? That most people can point to a place on a map, real or imaginary, and say with confidence: this is my home. Or rather: this is where I come from, which is not the same. I envy them. I cannot even go a generation back to say: this is where I come from.

I define home egocentrically, in an embodied present tense.

Hard facts

Today I have been employed by the University of Cambridge for five years.

My email software claims that I have since then sent 5,704 emails. That's less than three messages a day. And I always complain that I get at least a hundred emails every day and spend two hours replying to them.

I have taught 200 undergraduates and 100 masters. I have supervised 30 masters. Some of them progressed to doctoral studies. I have supervised seven PhD students two of whom have successfully completed and three more are almost there.

Because of our marking system I have marked twice as many assignments as I have supervised. (Occasionally I had to mark essays and theses on school leadership in Uganda, innovative mathematical education or second-language teaching in Indonesia).

I have sat on a score of various committees and chaired two. I have attended hundreds of meetings (although if I am as wrong in my perception as with emails, maybe there weren't really that many).

I have spent a lot of money on a successful research project and failed with a number of external bids. Many colleagues have left and many new colleagues have arrived. Half of the people in my academic group have been promoted. I have worked under two Heads of Faculty.

I have visited the University library twice. (Everything I need is available in the Faculty Library). 

I have been to two hundred formal dinners. (I haven't been to all the 31 colleges).

I have had two research leaves.

My university card expires this month. I am no longer a newcomer.

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.

Books are dangerous!

 You think books are harmless? You think book cannot kill? Let me tell you something.

Last week, as I was at home indulging myself with a PhD examination on a bright, sunny morning, I got an email from Reception at work. My bookshelf had come off the wall. My first reaction was, “Hell, I must interrupt my pleasurable pastime and go to the office”. My second reaction was, “What a nuisance, I have just sorted all the books, and it will take me ages to put them back”. Third reaction, “All my Alice and Moomin mugs will be broken”.

I didn't go to the office that day because it made no sense: what could I do other than watch the ruins? I suppressed all thoughts of it, but yesterday I felt that I had to go, out of propriety. (Mind, I could have been away on holiday or conference).

My first reaction as I opened the door was, “It doesn't look all that bad”. The holes had been painted over, the books were in neat piles all over the room, the Alice and Moomin and Peter Rabbit mugs had miraculously survived – a few other mugs of less affectionate value were broken, as well as some picture frames.

The porters saw me coming and gave me a full account of what it looked like when they discovered it. “Did you have your books in any particular order?” asked one. “Luckily no one was there when it happened, another said. It would have killed them”.

Fifteen minutes later it hit me.

This bookshelf with its sharp corners and its tons of books could have killed me. Or a student. Or a cleaner.

It doesn't help to know they have filed it as a “serious incident”, that an inspection stated that wrong fittings had been used, and that they will give me a new and safer bookshelf. It's like having been in a minor car accident, and cannot keep imagining what could have happened a second before or after and turned it into a major accident. A fatal accident. I may not have been here to tell the story. 

Image: Colin Thompson

Replay: five years ago

Just going back five years in this blog. Not much to add. Five very happy years, with all the ups and downs.

Dream come true

I got a very flattering comment from a student on my previous blog post, pointing out that I had toned down my major role in the creation and development of the Children's Literature Centre. I take it as an encouragement to brag a bit, but also reflect on why it has been such an important endeavour for me.

Children's literature centres throughout the world are diverse. Some are independent foundations, others are affiliated with a university or a national library. Some primarily serve professionals and academics, others also have activities for children. Some conduct research, some don't. Some also run courses. The Swedish Institute for Children's Books is a most amazing institution. It has every single children's book published in Sweden since 1592; it has all Swedish children's books translated and published in other countries; it has a reference collection of 10,000 volumes in every imaginable language and a current subcsription to over a hundred professional journals. A paradise for a children's literature scholar. However, they don't do research. They publish a scholarly journal and a book series, but research itself is done in universities.

When I applied for a Chair in children's literature in Stockholm, many years ago, I had two visions in my personal statement: a masters programme and a research centre. I don't know what the other candidate's visions were, but apparently their arguments for not having a masters course and a research centre were stronger than mine. Some year later, when I was teaching at San Diego State, the idea of a centre surfaced again. My argument was that the children's literature team was already doing most of the things a centre is supposed to do, so it was a matter of consolidation. And hiring me as Director (I was already a Full Professor by then which would be an added value). The university development officer said, as admin people say: “I'll see what I can do”. But he didn't. The SDSU centre came to being some years after I had left and is doing great things.

When I came to Cambridge five years ago, a centre was high on my agenda, but I didn't mention it in my personal statement or job interview. I bid my time, looking around for support. Again, the wonderful child lit team was already doing all kinds of fabulous things, including a masters course; there were two excellent libraries; and there was a world-wide reputation. All that remained was a name and a logo. We ran a logo competition. There was one submission that, rather unexpectedly, won. The winner was also appointed the webmaster for our webpage. We inaugurated the centre with a guest talk by Jack Zipes. It got good press coverage.

Since then we have had more research students and more guest scholars. I don't know whether it depends on the existence of the centre or is a natural process of growth. We continued doing what we had been doing. We ran a couple of international conferences. We applied and were approved as a nominating body for the prestigeous Astrid Lindgren Memorial Award. We established our own award (regrettably, not of the same magnitude) for the best masters thesis. We collaborate with other centres in the UK and elsewhere. Our research students run a blog. We have a minimal budget, but it covers our immediate needs. One day a Cambridge alumnus will donate us ten million pounds. Until then we'll have to manage. People's dedication takes us a long way. On my wish list, doctoral studentships have highest priority. I would like to offer funding to guest scholars. So far, we can offer them desk space, IT services, library access, some free lunches and a fantastic scholarly community. In the coming year, we may be able to offer inexpensive accomodation. I am working slowly, but surely, step by step.

 

So yes, I guess I have achieved something that had been my dream for many years; but the best thing is that when I am gone, which will be soon, I will be leaving the Centre in good hands. 

Five-year report

In a couple of weeks we will have lived in Cambridge for five years. Five years is longer than you imagine. Time for reflections?

I still haven't got over it. Every now and then I stop to ask myself: What am I doing here? How did I get here? It can't be real. Why do people speak English all the time, it's unnatural. Yet I am here, and most of the time I like it.

What I have definitely learned is that my subject will always be a stepchild. In Literary Studies, I was bullied because children's literature is education. Here, in Education, I am bullied because children's literature is not education. In my old life, I had to justify my existence by researching “real” literature, and it was the only way to advance in my career. I don't need to advance any more so I am not going to publish on quantitative methods or autoethnography. After all, I was hired to do what I am doing so apparently it was judged to be good enough.

This is the first time in my career that I have a leader post, and I have learned to put my team's interest before my own. It was easy because I have always put students' interest before my own. I have learned to raise my voice. It is easier when you speak for other people, not just for yourself. But I have been repeatedly reminded that women are still not counted half as good as men. In my role, I frequently find myself the only woman in a room full of men. They try to pretend I am not there. I point out that I am. It's a silly game.

But women are also silly. I've heard a female professor tell students that academic career is incompatible with family. I pity her.

Most of my colleagues are wonderful, and some have become very close friends. I find Cambridge much, much more friendly and informal than any academic community I have experienced, possibly with the exception of Finland. Social life is tightly interwoven with academic life, for students as well as professors. It's a clever way of running things.

Students are the source of most joy and make it all worth while. They keep up my faith in humanity when everything else fails.

After five years I think I have understood the intricate tensions between colleges and departments, but it's pointless to explain it here. I think I have learned the jargon, but every now and then encounter words that have a specific meaning in Cambridge. You have to have been here for thirty years to become an insider, so it's too late.