One of my dearest colleagues in the Department of English at the University of Lethbridge once used the phrase above to explain why academics are often so beastly to one another. I sometimes think that academic bullying is related to the relative obscurity of the bullies: folks whose work is marginal, ignored take out their frustrations on their (often more successful or at least more promising) colleagues. While there may still be some truth to my general theory, it is clear that hard feelings and shameful behavior are not restricted to folks who might have good reason to question their calling. I saw a recent fuss that brought out all the usual malcontents, but amongst the players were some other colleagues who usually have something better to do. Until we behave like adults, I find it hard to believe that people will take as seriously as they once did our institutions of higher learning. And I often wonder what people who know little about universities think of us when something unseemly from the Ivory Tower seeps into the news.
The National Post carried above the fold on the third page of its front section on the weekend a large photo of Ted Honderich, a philosopher at University College London. Such an image, not to mention the accompanying forty column inches of type, is notable enough, but Craig Offman’s story of bad blood between Dr. Honderich and Colin McGinn of the University of Miami was riveting for a general readership. Apparently, Dr. McGinn was once offended by an offhand comment his colleague made about his girlfriend. The result has been a blood feud that extends beyond the bounds of rival scholarship. Indeed, according to the story, Dr. McGinn wrote what may have been “the most negative book review ever written” in discussing Dr. Honderich’s On Consciousness (2004). While colleagues may disagree about ideas, it seems increasingly difficult to separate such disagreements from personal attacks.
Book reviews represent a topic close to my heart. In my scholarly career, I have written more than fifty of them in many different scholarly journals. Some of my colleagues, indeed some of my department chairs, have dismissed them as a waste of time. I believe, genuinely, that reviewing books is an important responsibility for scholars. As everyone knows, there is not always a lot of press coverage for academic books, and discussing them publicly is essential to the future of scholarship. Personally, I use reviewing so as to root out new books in my field, and there is always a valuable discipline in writing to length on deadline. I also profit from maintaining connections with editors who might, in future, consider for publication some of my more substantial writings. Certainly, scholarly book reviews are seldom pitched battles. One of the venues in which I review regularly makes it clear that a review is intended to outline the subject of a text, though it is appropriate to point out strengths and weaknesses. A book published after a peer-review process may enkindle debate, but it is unlikely to appear without any merit at all. This is what is so troubling about what Colin McGinn is supposed to have written.
I have my own book scheduled to be published by the University of Iowa Press in Fall 2008. It discusses how American writers of the twentieth century used autobiography to frame their achievement for a waiting audience. Essentially, I argue that because we put a misplaced faith in life narrative, autobiography offers a particularly effective means of shaping art’s reception. I have written the book so that it might appeal both to people who study life narrative closely and to people who are simply interested in the lives of Americans in Paris in the 1920s and 1930s. One of my ambitions is that Martin Levin might have it reviewed in the "Books" section of the Globe and Mail; after all, he had Brian Robinson review Peter Gay’s Modernism this past weekend. Anything is possible. But if my Writing the Lost Generation is ever assigned a reviewer for the Globe, I imagine that one of the most qualified in Canada is a man, a former professor of mine, actually, who has nothing at all good to say about me, personally. Would he dismiss my work without giving it a serious chance? Likely so. Is it possible that his review could be a vitriolic as Dr. McGinn’s? Probably not.
So, how do I feel about even this remote a likelihood? Genuinely, if I could get a high profile review in the Globe, I would like to think that I could endure anything negative said about me and my work, even though I have worked on this book for almost a decade. The reality, however, is that I might not take it so well, even if any negative reviewer restricted her or his criticisms, say, to a discussion of approach, what we pointy-heads call methodology. Although my fabulous university job carries with it a responsibility to research and disseminate knowledge, the practicality remains that we seldom face heated confrontation like, for example, we got as graduate students. Perhaps that is the real explanation for bad behavior amongst academics: with few regular outlets for academic debate, tensions spill out in unproductive, and sometimes unprofessional, ways.
