After a long, pretty fabulous teaching day, I have returned home. I’m braising kale to make me feel virtuous about the pizza I’ll be consuming with it. Tomorrow’s classes are prepped. But I am vexed, and this is not the post I had intended to post tonight. I am that vexed.
Sitting in the “Drafts” folder of my office e-mailer is a message to my dissertation advisee. The message contains an attachment, which consists of my version of his project proposal. It’s a dozenth draft, maybe more.
I hate (and yes: I do mean “hate”) that most of this advisory relationship has been conducted via e-mail. I’ve told him repeatedly that I can’t be sure that he understands what I’m talking about, and he cannot make his intentions known unless we discuss his work in person. But because he’s never available when I am, and I’m just overcommitted this term, we seldom get to meet, and my “advising” defaults to tedious e-mail. This is not what I signed on for as a mentor, and I had signed on with great—perhaps impolitic—hesitation.
My advisee sometimes reminds me of an undergrad. For instance, when I press for clarification or more information, he just deletes the “problematic” sentence or phrase on the next draft, without any apparent awareness that the new lacuna now creates a non sequitur. The proposal is now tons better and more compelling than it was in October, but the process has been excruciating. For one thing, I’m stuck in the office well into the evening, writing comments that will be ignored half the time. I feel like a dry cleaning service for prose, except my “customer” doesn’t even bother to drop off or pick up his loose-and-baggy laundry physically.
I’m sure I’m not the only one frustrated with this arrangement, which probably feels like Chancery Court, while I seem less like a dissertation advisor than a Dickensian villain. If my advisee has ever read Dickens, there’s probably a version of his dissertation titled “Jarndyce vs. Jarndyce with Sadistic Advisors” somewhere on his hard drive.
Whatever it’s called, we absolutely need to get this sucker approved. However, I don’t see an approval happening any time soon if I continue to let the student figure stuff out for himself. I often suspect it would be a lot easier if I just wrote the damn thing myself.
So. For the latest iteration of his proposal, I have completely dispensed with the “Comments” feature on Word. No. Instead, I treated the proposal as if it were something I wrote. I cleared out all endless concatenations of throat-clearing prepositional phrases and “impressive”-sounding but unexplained, under-explained, and misused theoretical buzzwords. I’ve inverted sentences into active voice and created transitions between sentences. I’ve rearranged paragraphs. I’ve performed a colonectomy on his title, which ran to three lines (despite one-inch margins). It’s now down to one line, descriptive and allusive but not too precious.
The revision took me about twenty minutes, and it looks pretty good. I’d sign off on it. Of course, very little of my advisee’s work remains in this document; indeed, very little of the project is original to him, anyhow. But how different is that from other people’s dissertations?
On the other hand, even if it did not totally demoralize my advisee, my aggressive, wholesale revision would set a horrible precedent, which would result in my writing this student’s dissertation.
For this reason, there’s another message for him in my “Drafts” folder: a reply to the effect of “This is coming along. Let’s discuss it during my office hours this week.” During that meeting I’ll tell him everything that needs changing. In short, I’ll try to get him to produce the version attached to the other drafted message. I may fail. Indeed, I may not be cut out to mentor Ph.D.’s. The process is driving me mental, not least because concerns like this proposal become pressing.
Gentle readers, which message shall I send?
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From your description of the changes you made to the proposal, it sounds like the difficulty is that it lies somewhere in the nebulous zone where content problems are writing problems. The student’s having trouble articulating the logic of his ideas. Can you send the second email, prompt him to discuss them more clearly, but also send him to your campus writing center? If the proposal’s gone through multiple drafts and it’s still nebulous, you may need to indicate that he needs an editor, and that you aren’t it (contrary to the secret first email in your Drafts folder). And maybe hearing someone else’s requests for clarification will help him figure out what he’s trying to say. That assumes you have a solid writing center, of course.
And hey, you could pick a worse model for an advisor than Jarndyce himself (the man, not the case)… gentle but firm, and avuncular, you know.
Comment by Kermit February 19, 2008 @ 12:20 amgnksnarfnooooooo! (swallows own tongue in horror)
The whole point of a dissertation is learning to do research and to struggle through this stuff on your own. It’s all about process, regardless of how miserable it makes you (and him) going through all those drafts. There’s something about pain as a learning tool that really helps you get it, unlike being simply shown the right way. What good is it to your student if he finishes and gets a job somewhere where they want him to publish and write things and he didn’t ever do this out on his own? Will you write his next book for him too?
Now, I know a lot of people who read my blog have said that my advisor is too mean and evil and not mentor-y enough, but I actually really believe her PhD student philosophy: she throws the absolute worst shit at me that she can so that I will not be fazed by anything once I’m a professor, when it’s almost impossible to get help. When I first asked her to be my diss advisor, she told me, among other things, that I must “own” my dissertation, and I keep struggling with this, writing myself into a corner and wanting to take it to her and have her fix it or make decisions for me rather than go through the effort and the ownership of choosing how to fix things myself.
I went through at least 6 months and a dozen drafts of my prospectus; when she met with me over the first one she very gently told me to revise it by turning over the proposal, opening up a new window on the computer, and writing it out again by memory, keeping in mind that I needed to always explain “the stakes.” Many of the later drafts she would say, “better, better, but sharpen, Sisyphus, sharpen” and she’d make these clawlike kneading motions with her hands. So I’d have to reread and rewrite until I figured out for myself what this “sharpness” was.
Has he looked at models of good solid dissertations that have passed at this school? Have you? Or maybe he could look at yours? Model prospectuses? (prospecti?)
I’m watching one of my friends go through this exact same point with my advisor at my school, and it looks so much more horrible and painful than I remember it for me, but that might just be a combination of suppressing my past trauma and being on the outside watching someone constantly complain and be frustrated. I think it’s the main point of this process. Not to be too masochistic about it. But we start the whole thing as students, and are supposed to be full-fledged colleagues when we file —- that’s got to be a pretty drastic transformation as well as an identity change.
Comment by Sisyphus February 19, 2008 @ 1:18 amYou both are right, and rereading my vent I realize I sound like an unsympathetic bitch. However, I actually do sympathize and understand too, too well that the proposal is such a beast because it describes something that doesn’t yet exist. (In our program, the prospectus is a separate, longer, bibliographically documented, er, document that needs to be filed in two years, after comps.) Our students also workshop their proposals, so I suspect he’s plucking exotic phrases from other people’s projects without considering the consequences for his own. So, Sisyphus, it may be that he’s seen too many examples.
I’m heartened at your advisor’s word choice, as it is mine as well. We’ve already cleared the hurdle of deciding on a significant “problem” for the diss to resolve; that process wasn’t fun, either, and now our task is to articulate it. Of course, the “sharpen” conversation gets dulled considerably over e-mail, and e-mail is part of the problem. Believe it or not, his message to me bearing this latest version included the admission that “I’ve sharpened the prose (hard work, that!).” It’s too clear to me that, like many people, he’s not skilled at editing on screen. (Speaking of which, that should be “Jarndyce vs. Jarndyce and Sadistic Advisors” up there—thanks, Kermit!) I talk about “the stakes” now, but I hope to talk about “the payoff” before too long. Anyhow, at his end, I don’t think the past few versions of this proposal have ever touched a printer, though he assures me he has proofread it.
My own experience with the prospectus was similar to yours, Sisyphus. My advisor never commented on anything via e-mail. I wonder at what point people are going to be so adept at paperless writing that dissertations will go that way, too. Before long we’ll have students who’ve grown up blogging (even I have never printed out anything from mine, and I suppose it shows); but I suspect dissertations will always have to be printed out, even if you study, say, musicology or media. In theory, dissertations are books, and I don’t think books are going anywhere. They’re like sliced bread.
Thanks for your thoughts; they’ve clarified my approach for me, perhaps more than you know. I think what I’ll do is indeed send my revision, along with the message that this is what I meant by “sharpen”; did I interpret his intentions correctly? I’ll remind him that these latest revisions illustrate why I insist on meeting in person, that he should not e-mail me every time he changes something, that he should proofread more carefully from a hard copy. Of course, I’ll also warn him that, “as you know well, you may not use my revision verbatim.” I don’t want to reach the point where I resent having to advise this student. The edge, though: boy howdy it is near.
Comment by luckyjane February 19, 2008 @ 6:54 amAll I can say is keep the entire paper trial stored somewhere so that when this inevitably goes south, you can prove it is not your fault.
Comment by servetus February 19, 2008 @ 7:57 amOh dear, Servetus. I sure hope this thing doesn’t go south, since I’ve spent so much time and energy on this student—as I think is my duty. At the same time, I was a student not too long ago, and I’m too aware that it’s unreasonable of me to expect an eloquent, compelling proposal of a project that doesn’t exist (though you can’t fault a girl for hoping). Even if I’m frustrated with this student’s apparent lack of imagination and motivation, I’m new to this advising business, and my expectations may be unrealistic.
Anyway, if grad school were a game of dodge ball, then I was one of the last kids picked. The committee that wound up with me will probably tell you different, since I’m now decently published and (even more miraculously) employed, but I’m pretty certain they were astonished that I finished. I don’t want any of my students to feel that way.
Comment by luckyjane February 19, 2008 @ 6:14 pmWell, I’m glad my comments didn’t seem too harsh. I’d still make the dude figure it all out on his own, though. But then again, not only am I not an advisor, but I’m in the thick of dissertation misery myself and probably want to spread it around so’s to have some company.
Now, though, I’m having fun brainstorming other ways he could re-write the proposal to see it in new and different ways —- write it out in heroic couplets? as a dinner invitation and grocery list? The opening statement of a murder trial? (hmm, is he presenting for the defense or the prosecution?) The overture to a tragic opera? A letter to a long-lost brother explaining what he’s been up to? Portray it through interpretive dance? haiku?
More seriously, I found that writing (or saying) letters/emails to my sister, who’s not in academia, really helped me figure out the big issues and explain them in clear and understandable ways. Perhaps asking him to re-articulate it _outside_ of its usual context will help him literally re-vision the project?
Comment by Sisyphus February 20, 2008 @ 1:08 amOf course you weren’t too harsh, Sisyphus: that’s my job.
I hear you about finding different ways for Advisee to articulate the project. Though my own experience with the prospectus was a special kind of purgatory, it wasn’t unduly protracted, not least because one of my grad department’s requirements for admission to candidacy was a presentation before the department. And there’s nothing like the threat of public humiliation to motivate sluggards like me.
However, the dissertation itself didn’t really get chugging along until I was able to explain it to my mother. Naturally, I shared this experience with Advisee, but I’m pretty sure he hasn’t shared his with his mother. He’s overly enchanted with the idea of a Ph.D. being impressive for many of what I consider the wrong reasons. Unfortunately, the one of my subfields that made me a “natural” choice as his advisor is theoretical to the point of absurdity; I can understand why he doesn’t believe me when I tell him, even for the millionth time, that we impress not with our intimidating, incomprehensible erudition and dazzling vocabulary, but with our ability to synthesize and clearly articulate relationships between among texts. For old times’ sake, I’ll tell him for the million-and-oneth/millionth-and-first/whateverth time when I see him today. I’ve lost my voice, so this conversation should be interesting.
Comment by luckyjane February 20, 2008 @ 7:39 am(I write this as an asst who has been heavily involved in advising grad students, and someone who has twice taken on people about whom I felt “hesitant” or “skeptical” because my colleagues pushed it on me or because the graduate adviser said “there is no one else who can do this here.” One of those, with whom I stuck it out, is now a Ph.D. but has no chance with that dissertation of finding a tenure track job, and the other, for whom I was the third try as an adviser, dropped out after I ended the relationship after showing my evidence to our graduate adviser, and she could not find anyone else in the department to take her on.)
I have never met you nor the student in question. Also, I am all in favor of supporting students who don’t immediately appear promising, and also agree that student writing grows through the dissertation process, and that not everyone who seems problematic at the beginning ends up being problematic at the end. That said:
There is a debate right now going on elsewhere in the blogosphere about whether grad students should pick an asst prof as a doctoral adviser. Various aspects of the debate point to one reason to pick an asst being that the asst will be a lot more involved in a hands on way than a big name or even a more experience professor. This is true, no question. The problem is that if the student can’t even get his-her thoughts together enough to write an acceptable proposal after twelve drafts and extensive coaching, you both should think this through. Are you prepared to read his dissertation twelve times to get it past his committee? Do you want one of your first dissertations in your department to be one where your colleagues agree to hold their noses as they sign the signature page, or to sign because they are sorry for you? What are you going to write the job LORs that you write for this student? Will you be able to say honestly that you recommend him for a position, or are you going to have to do three shots before sending every letter? Because it sounds like that is what you are setting yourself up for. You really don’t want to be thinking, two years from now, “I could write this project better than this student has.” And I find the student’s behavior really sketchy, without knowing more about it–it is really impossible to see someone for an entire semester? To me, from your description, this looks like massive avoidance and lack of commitment on his part, not to mention laziness, since even advanced undergrads know that you can’t just delete sentences from proposals without patching the resulting holes.
I am not saying don’t advise him, although the flip side of what people are saying about asst profs spending more time is that doctoral advising is usual a negligible part of the tenure dossier for an asst and time could be spent more profitably on other things. I am just saying keep a paper trail. Because if this turns into a train wreck, you may be able to use it to get yourself out of advising this student. And in the worst case–yes, people sue–you have a concrete record of what you said and did to get this person on the right track. I am just suggesting that you look down the road, to everything that the demonstrated inability of this student to get on track is going to suggest about your relationship for the future. Being a doctoral adviser is a lot like adopting children–you get what you get, and sometimes what you get is someone with unanticipated, unredressable problems.
Comment by servetus February 20, 2008 @ 7:49 amFor months I’ve been thinking about the scenarios you describe, Servetus, and I tend to come to the same conclusion, but it isn’t my decision to make. I know that no one is entitled to a Ph.D. just by virtue of having enrolled in a Ph.D. program. And not only I do keep voluminous files, both paper (meager) and electronic (copious), but I’ve also been soliciting advice from my senior colleagues, including my chair and the DGS.
I too was really surprised by the avoidance behavior, but I shouldn’t have been. Advisee had taken classes with me before. As a brand-new Ph.D. student in a department with an unfortunate, pronounced hierarchy of grad programs, he was conscientious and confident, and it was enough that he got all of his work done competently, even if none of it sparkled. Though I explained that he’s training to become my peer, and I’m going to treat him like a colleague-in-training, he was clearly unprepared to discover I was much more exacting as an advisor.
That I was making my reservations known via e-mail definitely contributed to our difficulties: I had to spend hours making comments that didn’t come across as brusque or ridiculously demanding, while he probably found them harsh, anyway. He has no excuse this term, but in the fall, our schedules were really incompatible. Besides, it only dawned on me in the past month that the reason this isn’t working is that we’ve met only once in person. But we’ll be meeting again this afternoon. I. can’t. wait. Really, though, I’m hoping (perhaps against hope) to be pleasantly surprised.
Comment by luckyjane February 20, 2008 @ 11:41 amI’ve only experienced this from the student POV, never as a grad advisor, but my only comment here is that when Servetus says, “To me, from your description, this looks like massive avoidance and lack of commitment on his part, not to mention laziness, since even advanced undergrads know that you can’t just delete sentences from proposals without patching the resulting holes,” I do just want to raise the possibility it’s fear more than lack of commitment or laziness. I’m not going to say it sounds like this student has much a clue how to proceed, but I know that when I avoided my advisor in grad school – which was a lot, and it came back to bite me – it was nothing to do with laziness or lack of commitment, and everything to do with sheer terror (of her, of failure).
Not that this is necessarily a helpful comment, in that it doesn’t offer much of a solution. (In my own case, bursting into tears in my advisor’s office was actually probably one of the best things I’ve ever done, as stupid as it made me feel, because I think it made her realize I actually did care about all this.) But I did want to offer the non-lazy explanation. (Not, if this student *is* terrified/floundering, that it makes them any easier to work with than if they’re lazy.)
Comment by New Kid on the Hallway February 20, 2008 @ 9:22 pm“One of those, with whom I stuck it out, is now a Ph.D. but has no chance with that dissertation of finding a tenure track job,”
Eeek! They’d _tell_ you if that was so, before you made it all the way through writing it, yes? Please tell me that my committee wouldn’t secretly be thinking this of me! Pant, pant, pant…
And keep us posted with whatever happens — we’re all ears over here! (wherever “here” is on the internets)
Comment by Sisyphus February 21, 2008 @ 12:02 amI think graduate students tend in general to underestimate the extent to which their committees really want them to be done. I know I did. I couldn’t figure out why I wasn’t getting answers to certain pressing questions that I had asked repeatedly of my adviser and the two main readers, but a year after I was finished I realized why: if my committee had sent me down the trails I was hinting at wanting to fallow, it would have delayed my completion by another year and a half. If a half-way decent dissertation is on the table that an advisor is willing to sign off on, there is often pressure on the entire committee to agree even if they have severe reservations. The other people figure that they have expressed their reservations in written form, and the doctoral adviser is going to be stuck writing the LORs. The graduate director wants the students out quickly to “make room” for new students and to improve the departmental statistics. Often the dissertation would be substantially improved by taking another year to revise, but the department can’t or won’t pay for that, the student wants to be earning money, and the advisers want to be finished. I am not saying this is ideal, just that I see it happen with some regularity. It is unfortunate because it is a lot harder for the average person to revise either while they are a first year faculty member or working in a non-related job while being on the market. Also, I am in a very interdisciplinary area and it is not infrequent that in some of the other departments where I am a subsidiary reader (one of the five, but not one of the three), negative discussion leading up to a defense is mitigated by the adviser’s statements that “he or she is not going to go on in academia anyway.” I have heard that statement at least once a year since I have been an asst prof at an R1.
Obviously, every department is different and every student and every advisor. There are some students who get through quickly and well, those who get through slowly and well, those who get through slowly and poorly (quickly and poorly isn’t a frequent combination in my experience). But in my experience there is a small but persistent contingent of people who will not accept advice about how to improve their work but will resist dropping out. My department has a graduate committee who deals with people who have been ABD for more than five years and superintends both the student and the dissertation committee. The point of the supervision is to make sure that the student is not being stalled by any kind of personal or political nonsense on the part of the committee, and to make sure that the student is actually progressing–i.e., to prevent triangulation by any party in the interaction. So in my experience as an advisor, people in our department who are dissertating for more than five years have gotten exact explanations of what they need to do to finish, and intermediate discussions of the status of their work in comparison to what would be ideal.
The student whom I stuck it out with, because I was pressured to do so, wrote a dissertation on a topic for which he mastered the language of his sources but had not mastered the language in which most of the secondary literature was written. It was an almost exclusively source-based dissertation that claimed repeatedly that no one had considered these topics before. His first adviser dropped him for this reason. I was the second adviser and I knew the reason for the end of the first relationship, but I was assured by the graduate adviser that the student was learning the necessary language and that he needed a “fresh start” with someone else. Because I am an asst my ability to resist was low–especially if I wanted to teach any graduate courses. It was presented as trade-off: you take on this student and we will continue to allow you to teach grad classes. I was also willing to believe that perhaps this student could make a fresh start. As a very young faculty member I also had a tendency to sympathize with the grad student perspective. I had seen how poor adviser/advisee relationships had affected friends of mine. Three years later, although I made sure he was enrolled in language classes and gave him a long bibliography on the topic in the language in question to start with, he turned in a draft of a dissertation that included no secondary source in that language. Again I went to the grad adviser (someone different at this point) who said more or less, “he isn’t going to do the work, getting him to drop out will be a huge hassle as he is likely to mount a battle against our attempts to drop him, we will just change the title of the dissertation slightly to “Explorations in TOPIC based on English secondary literature” and then you can sign off and we can be rid of this problem.”
I was not in a position to resist the demands of the graduate adviser. This is a problem on doctoral committees: if you supervise a shaky dissertation, you have to be absolutely in control of the politics before you start, or you may run into a situation where one of the more senior members on the committee puts his foot down and you can’t get your student through. (I have seen this happen to both asst and associate colleagues of mine.) In my case, I told the student verbally and in written comments on the dissertation that this was not acceptable, that it would not make it past a referee in any reputable publishing situation, and that any normal hiring committee would almost immediately spot the problem. This statement is also included in the final written report submitted to the graduate school with the defense paperwork. Mostly, however, so he can’t sue us. He is currently adjuncting and on the market. I am doubtful that he will find an employer, however. Think of it this way: if you wanted to hire a professor who taught the history of the planet Mars, would you hire someone whose dissertation covered Martian sources but not the literature of the invaders from Jupiter who had conquered Mars and lived there for over 2,000 years and completely incorporated Martian history into their own? Especially if the fact of Jupiter’s conquest of Mars was a basic fact that everyone in introduction to Milky Way civilization learned the first week? Would you hire someone who insisted on studying the topic only through the secondary literature in English? When there are many candidates out there who have studied both Martian and Jupiterian sources?
I am noting a traumatic reaction in myself here, hence the logorrhea. But it just kills me to send out letters for this person and I am not in a position to refuse to do so. Also, graduate students talk with each other, and if you have a bad interaction with an advisee that can really negatively influence your rep in your department, and thus your potential to attract good students. My experiences in advising have also really soured me on graduate students; I am now basically no longer willing to work with anyone who can’t prove they have the necessary languages by the time they are ABD.
Comment by servetus February 21, 2008 @ 7:54 amServetus – ugh! What a miserable situation. I am amazed sometimes at student feelings about language – I get the odd student who says they want to go to grad school for medieval history but get indignant at the idea they need to learn Latin, because that’s so unfair! I mean, I can understand having limitations – lord knows my own language skills are kind of primitive – but I can’t understand how someone would persist in trying to pursue a field in which they simply could not read the relevant material. Wow. You have my sympathies (you also make me feel a little better about myself as a grad student, because while I was, I’m sure, a pain, I wasn’t THAT bad!).
Comment by New Kid on the Hallway February 21, 2008 @ 11:17 amAs someone who worked for a while as a graduate specialist in a couple of Learning Centres, I would heartily endorse the recommendation to send this student to a Learning Centre now – with his drafts and the one you helped him with. From what you have described, I think he has some writing issues (they are not his ONLY issues, mind you) which a good Writing/Learning support person could really help him with. That comment about him insisting he had no idea what you wanted sounds like denial and ass-coverage, but let him have his dignity.
On the plus side, improving his writing has a ton of benefits for both him and you, and if you are both lucky, the Learning Centre will also help him to understand that meeting with people is actually a good way to get this kind of work done, and that might also make him more willing to try to meet with you as well.
The difficulty, of course, is that he probably thinks he is too good for remedial help.
Comment by whatladder February 22, 2008 @ 4:58 pmThanks, whatladder. It occurs to me that I didn’t address Kermit’s sensible advice in the first comment (sorry!), and that’s because the Writing Center is staffed by the student’s peers, who’ve already peer-reviewed his work, and even some well-trained, advanced undergrads. While one of the first functions of grad school is to crush the ego out of us, I’m almost certain this student still has enough to refuse remedial help.
Early in the process, to clarify that I wasn’t just being capriciously unappeasable, I tried to illustrate the kind of revision involved in this business by showing him a 3.5-inch stack of drafts, reader reports, and proofs for an article of mine. Unfortunately, I guess, none of my reader reports has ever been abusive. But I did repeat to him the best advice I ever received in grad school: grow a thick skin. It doesn’t matter anymore, since we parted ways yesterday.
Comment by luckyjane February 23, 2008 @ 1:59 pm