We had a lively discussion at the workshop on “Research Across the Curriculum” yesterday. I simply forgot to record it, so apologies, but I will do my best to capture some of what we discussed and, especially, the assignments and resources that were shared and discussed. Thanks to all who participated and especially to Jennifer. Enter the TL;DR zone if you dare…
The topic, broadly speaking, was how we teach research and writing skills, and how that pedagogy shifts as we move across the spectrum from rudimentary college-level writing in 120 to the capstone or honors projects at the 400 level. How might we be more mindful in our teaching about what base of knowledge or level of experience students bring to a given course, what constitutes an appropriate level of challenge that puts them in what Vgotsky calls the “zone of proximal development,” and how our work with them will prepare them for the next developmental step in our curriculum?
Jennifer Newman, subject librarian for English and the Humanities, has extensive experience with these issues, including:
- teaching experience in Italian language instruction and Hunter’s Library 100 course
- consulting with students and faculty about specific research problems
- leading workshops with courses in English and other humanities fields at Hunter
She emphasized that teaching research skills is not an abstract, dry exercise in the selection of databases, the manipulation of their interfaces, and the discovery of new bibliographic tools. Increasingly, she pointed out, students already know this stuff, and they find it easy to master.
Instead, she recommended that we all, humanists and librarians alike, think about information literacy more broadly, helping students to understand that research embeds them in networks of critical discourse and requires them to gradually develop a sense of what to read, how to read it, and, most important, how to enter the “critical conversations” afoot in areas of their interest.
One compelling insight she shared relates to the ease and ubiquity of information that today’s students can access. This endless extensivity of reading material has its benefits, obviously, but Jennifer pointed out the problem of what scholars call “container collapse” in information ecosystems in which everything is online. Whereas in print culture, a tabloid, a slick magazine, an academic journal, a trade paperback, and a monograph look different and send a wide range of cues through their form factor before we even read them, much of the information our students seek comes in very similar “containers” in ways that make it hard for them to differentiate between, say, “scholarly” and “non-scholarly” sources, or even between minimally fact-checked journalism and the fever dreams of Infowars.
The rest of her presentation shared a rich trove of examples of her own strategies, often devised with or for other faculty members, including myself and Donna Paparella. These often involve projects on a much more modest scale than the traditional research paper, such as:
- having small groups each examine a particular journal and trace it over a long period, following this model from the MLAs Teaching Resources page
- following a similar model from MLA tracing the reception history of a single literary text in order to understand that critical methodologies evolve, often dramatically, changing the way we read “the same text” over time.
What binds these exercises is a focus on the sophisticated skills students tend to lack in the “messy middle” of our curriculum: what characteristics define literary critical writing, how to locate and decode arguments, how to sort out citations into different schools of thought, how to locate a coherent “conversation” among scholars that one might enter, et al.
For a deeper dive, including loads of links, slides are here.
I also shared a single example of putting this principle into practice, taken from my 252 course. There, the final project is an “exploded” research paper (in the engineer’s sense of an “exploded diagram”). Each stage of the process, from devising a question, to visiting the library and consulting with Jennifer, to sharing simple lists of citations and then annotated bibliographies on the blog with peers, to meeting in pairs with me to course-correct, come with bite-sized, manageable assignments and timely, substantive feedback. The final “deliverable” is somewhat scandalous: a deliberately unfinished 12-page essay, of which students only write the first four paragraphs, paragraphs that must include a thesis, a brief lit review, and a “signpost” alerting the reader to what’s ahead. Students submit this truncated essay along with a questionnaire that requires them to engage in “metacognitive” reflection on their research process. As I said in the workshop, this approach is somewhat artificial and may not reflect a given student’s most efficient process—many of us start in the middle of our arguments and circle back to the beginnings later in the writing process, for example—but it does help students focus on the distinctive pieces a mature essay should have, and it helps them start to figure out how to scale up the complexity of their arguments, engaging in a critical conversation rather than “shoehorning” in random moments in X number of required citations to shore up a predetermined conclusion based on the student’s rudimentary close reading (sound familiar? I thought so).
I won’t try to sum up the many stimulating comments shared by colleagues, other than to share the fantastic prompt Donna Paparella mentioned. It’s exemplary, to me, for its steering students into the “zone of proximal development” for 220ers, introducing historicist methodology in its simplest form, and “roughing in” the search process by sharing a manageable range of databases and other resources to choose from rather than having students fling out keywords into OneSearch or Google, like Whitman’s “noiseless, patient spider.”