A bit of a ruckus has arisen of late about what academics wear, with articles such as this and this getting a lot of attention. So naturally, I started thinking more about what I wear, and whether there seem to be dress codes, and whether or not other people are thinking maybe a little too much about this issue.
On Tuesday 21st October, I went to the aforementioned conference at the Geffrye Museum. A very nice day it was too - so good to come into contact with new people, and hear about subjects I’d never even dreamed about!
On Tuesday 14th October I went to Mary Clare Martin’s talk on her upcoming work on the role of illness in modern British childhood. I won’t go into huge detail about everything she said because I don’t want to gie massive spoilers for her future books, but there were a few things that particularly stood out to me.
This week has mainly been about two things: preparing a conference paper I’m giving, and teaching. I’ve also managed to squeeze in a little work on my board paper (which looks to be better than the last one, but we’ll see) but there has been no time for reading autobiographies lately - and I do hear that in the academic life, it can be hard to find time for actual research sometimes!
It’s freshers’ week again. That means I’m now officially a second-year PhD student! So it seems like a good time to review what I’ve achieved this year and what I hope to achieve next year.
A few years ago now, the Browne report recommended a year’s teacher training for new academics. I thought that was really rather excessive and I still do (already spent 7/8 years training in the academy! Only teaching for a few hours a week! Resentment if you prefer the research side! Would we be getting paid for this?!) but, on the other hand, I think the two days of training we get in my institution before being let loose on the students may be a little on the small side. We actually get our teaching qualification by reflecting on practical experience rather than before we get out there and teach.
I spent Thursday and Friday of this past week in Leeds (hence the late blog post - it was a long journey back!) at the ‘Birth: Personal stories to population policies’ conference. The full programme can be found here, and I also livetweeted most of the papers (alas, train trouble meant I missed the first session on the Friday) on the #histbirth hashtag. I’m not going to talk about every single paper as it would make for an insanely long blog post and you could just read my tweets, but I am going to blog here about my particular favourites. It was hard to choose as they were naturally all excellent and accomplished!
Every now and again, you come across an autobiographer or oral history interviewee you find objectionable to some extent or another. You’re happily reading or listening along and then BANG, they advocate a bizarre one-child policy in Britain, criticise the Church of England for having the gall to take the views of minorities into account (with the conjunctive use of the terms ‘gay marriage’ and ‘unnatural lives’), or say that women shouldn’t go out to work (all actual examples). You have to keep going, because you haven’t quite finished compiling their only-child experiences, but you’re less inclined to be sympathetic with them. You also have to keep an eye out for any unintentional bias you might use against them when you’re analysing and writing up.
I’m not one of those who are snobbish about historical novels. Au contraire, I admire anyone who can spin a believable yarn set in the past, and tend to ignore all but the most glaring of inaccuracies and anachronisms. After all, the historical novel is for entertainment, not a scholarly text to be scrutinised. The following are, in my view, the ‘best’ (by which I mean most entertaining and transporting) books of the genre that I’ve read.
Given that I’ve been reading the autobiographies of people worthy of note on ODNB, it’s unsurprising that quite a few of them went to boarding school. Despite growing up on Enid Blyton, I never really fancied the idea, put off by thoughts such as ‘but if you’re being picked on, you can’t get away!’ and ‘ugh, sharing a room and never being alone ever!’ With these ideas, I’m similar to some late-nineteenth/early-twentieth century only children, but not others.