The "Mythical College"

When reading Hjortshoj's writing on the "mythical college," I could not help but feel a little triumphant. Maybe it was my natural cautiousness or the warnings of my two older sisters, but for some reason, I arrived my first year properly humbled. Although in high school I was the straight-A student, in college, I had no such expectations. I knew that coming from a rural public school that was mediocre at best, I had very few of the opportunities that my future classmates had enjoyed. While the prospect of college academics were in fact mysterious, I, unlike the students described by Hjortshoj, had little expectation of them being a continuation of high school coursework. The skills I had learned in high school had allowed me to do well there, but I doubted very much that they would be everything I needed to succeed in college.

In college, I expected that I would be rather average. Not the best, perhaps, but by working hard, I would certainly not be the worst. I strived to adapt and to ignore preconceptions of what college writing "should be." When I got a B or B+ on a paper I was certainly not disappointed, and I was pleasantly surprised by an A. By relieving myself of the pressures of being that perfect student of high school, I was able to focus on learning not only the subject matter of my courses, but the strategies needed to succeed in them. Friends were not quite so satisfied; they agonized over Bs and Cs on their Core essays when they had been accustomed to getting As in high school English classes. They wanted to do well in college simply from prior experience, and skip the transitional process. And it is a process - a process of observing and trying new tactics and making mistakes in order to eventually succeed.

This attitude of openness and willingness to change is the key to writing (or doing anything) well. I think that Hjortshoj exaggerates the negative impact of AP English courses. While I do believe that students mistake the 5-paragraph essay as a mold for all college writing, for me, AP Language and Composition was the course that prepared me best for college. Some teachers undoubtedly teach for the test only, however, I feel that my ability to analyze a text and create a complete, detailed response were, if not totally developed, at least formed by the teaching in this class. Because of this course, I could better deal with difficult questions, and the stress of a college workload.

For so many of the students at the University, I am certain that the mythical college exists, constructed in part by AP standards and high school preparation. However, as long as students see the limitations of their high school knowledge and are willing to adapt their to meet challenges, there is no reason that their previous academic experiences cannot be assets in their collegiate life.

The Invisible Barrier

After reading this week's topic of reflection, I considered my recent experiences with writing in college and in high school. I found that I have had experiences that were both really positive, and quite negative with teacher feedback. Although most professors here have been very fair in their comments and grading, the worst experience in writing came not in an English class, but a French class. It had nothing to do with the difficulty of conjugating verbs or picking the correct noun. Instead, my difficulty came from what I have come to call an "invisible barrier."

In this course, we spent nearly all semester reading a novel that was highly philosophical. At certain points throughout the book, we were told to writing an "explication du texte", or an explanation of a certain idea presented briefly in class. While I do not remember the details of my response, I do remember that I chose to talk about the solitude of the egotistical individual, and her separation from truly understanding others when she only understands herself. I was pretty happy with what I had done. I had that moment of pride, that fleeting second of elation when I reveled in the thought that I could write sophisticated philosophical commentary in a language that was not my own. I finally thought that I had turned the corner, that I had been successful in both following the directions and tone of the professor and expressing my own thoughts. It was a good week.

That is, it was a good week until I received my graded paper. I had been hoping for an A or an A- because of the trivial errors in grammar that are inevitable in an advanced French course. And though I had not received a truly terrible grade, I was, to say the least, disappointed. I had fallen from the high that springs from a sense of extreme confidence. Looking for the cause of my downfall, I was shocked to read a comment that suggested I hadn't really understood the assignment. I had attended the classes in which we discussed the assignment, I had read the rubric at least ten times, I had asked questions; how was it possible that I didn't understand the assignment? I skimmed my essay hurriedly, and finally found the word, the condemnation, the judgement that reduced my paper to nothing but an elementary attempt at textual analysis. "Opinion!"

"Opinion"? I had supported my claims with text. I had explained them thoroughly in the context of the novel. I asked my professor what she meant. "Well," she explained in French, "you are not ONLY using the text. You are putting your own meanings in the words of the author. What you say is not said in the text." Thoroughly perplexed, I did my best to explain (the combination of not trying to offend her and not being completely fluent made my explanation somewhat less convincing than usual). "When I read, I saw what I now write. How am I to distinguish my own thoughts from this universal truth you see?" She repeated her original statement - "you are putting your own meanings in the text" - with the attitude of someone explaining how to tie a shoelace to a particularly slow toddler.

Although I made it through the class, I never really understood the "l'explication du texte." I completed my work, but I stopped striving for originality. It was simply impossible to give her the specific answer she sought, and I didn't see the point in working at the highest level if I was always going to be wrong. My professor and I were separated by a invisible barrier, constructed by a lack of understanding. I didn't understand how I could ever give her the answer she wanted, she didn't understand why I couldn't extract "the" answer. Where she saw a manipulation of the text, I saw a fact.

How can a individual not infuse her own opinion into what she writes? I cannot simply lock my personal viewpoint into a box and finish the assignment as a perfect prototype of Female Richmond Student. I have a way of looking at the world that differs from my French professor. It is no more right or wrong than hers, but it is still relevant. I don't want to give the impression that simply stating your opinion is worth a good grade. It's not. But, as we briefly discussed in class, I do feel like the emphasis on being "objective," of finding a "Truth" which is untainted by personal experiences makes it very difficult for students and teachers to see eye-to-eye. It was extremely frustrating to know that no matter what I did, because my mind does not exactly match my professor's, I couldn't succeed in the class. The feedback I received on that paper made me question myself as a writer on the most basic level. The problem couldn't be solved by reordering some paragraphs, or by refining a thesis statement.

"Opinion." This one dangerous little word, lurking at the margin in deliberately bold letters, suggests that there is something fundamentally wrong with the writer. It suggests a certain amount of egotism, hinting that the writer is so blinded by her own thoughts that she cannot see anything else. It implies that the writer's point of view is worthless. As a writing consultant, I think that it is crucial to acknowledge that the truth has no clear boundaries. Recognizing this variability encourages a higher quality of thought, and a more confident writer. Ironically, the subject that I wrote about in my doomed paper was correct: when you only understand yourself, you do not understand others.