Teaching and Learning

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In my classroom...

Tangible information literacy

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Photo by Abhi Sharma

One of the professors I work with a lot on campus has me join her American Studies Methods course a couple of times each term she teaches the course. The first time centers around three main questions:

  1. Where does your research question sit within the theory of the field?
  2. Where does the information you’ll need to explore your question sit within the archive of the field? (“Archive” here means the universe of sources useful within the field.)
  3. And how much of the archive of the field is necessary for your purposes?

Last year we had them mind-map their research questions onto the blackboard in among the major topics of American Studies research that they’ve been studying. Then we used these mindmaps as the basis for search strategies for primary and secondary sources.

This year for various reasons we didn’t do a full class on the information literacy of American Studies. Instead, I visited their class for the full class period and participated in their conversations about the two readings assigned for that day, pitching my participation to help draw out the patterns of information use in each of the readings.

What can we tell about the theoretical foundations of the author’s claim based on the bibliography? Who are the major voices the author claims as theoretical kin? What kinds of primary sources appear and how does the author use them? Why these sources and not others?

To help us grapple with the archive of these readings, I spent the morning hunting down every single primary and secondary source that Amy Kaplan used in her article “Manifest Domesticity” (American Literature 70.3 (1998): 581–606) and piled them up on the classroom tables. We had print copies of many of the early 19th century monographs and periodicals that Kaplan marshaled in her readings of the overlap between the rhetoric of empire building and of domesticity. What we didn’t have in print we had in digitized primary source collections, so I could print off a few pages of each. And of the secondary sources we had ready access to all but 2 of the books, one of which could have come over from St. Olaf if I’d planned ahead a little more.

So there we sat, exploring Kaplans scholarship while her archive lay there in front of us for direct exploration, manipulation, and interrogation.

I’m not sure what the students got out of the exercise. I hope they sensed the possibilities for their own research – that writing from 190 years ago is not exotic and out of reach and that the major voices in their field are represented here in our library’s collection. I hope they enjoyed holding paper and ink from the 1830s in their own hands. I especially hope that they sensed the vital research practice of mining other scholars’ bibliographies.

For me, I experienced wonder at just how much is accessible these days even in a curricular collection on a small liberal arts college campus. And I admit that it was a thrill to open those pages and see what other scholars saw, exactly as they saw it.

It certainly wasn’t a traditional library session, but I hope it was as useful. It was certainly fun.

What are we DOING as we support digital humanists?

As I manage student’s workload and facilitate the projects they do in support of digital humanities projects on campus, I’ve noticed that one of the underlying dynamics that I have to negotiate is what The Work is that the students do. People talk about job descriptions and the scope of the service, but unarticulated below of if that are deeply held assumptions about what counts as meaningful work for whom.

The student workers themselves are divided on this point. Some of them are very good at zeroing in on core questions that help us think through the project as a whole and set baselines for future decisions. They engage with the process of defining projects, and documenting decisions, and engaging with the campus, and they see this as part of The Work. Other students see this kind of thing as “administrative” work. They would prefer to DO rather than plan or document. Planning and documenting is not The Work to them.

I can see the same thing playing out in different ways with the faculty heading up the projects. Some see the student workers as collaborators with whom to exchange ideas about how to proceed. Others see the student workers as people to cary out project duties as assigned.

Meanwhile, as I look at my own work associated with digital humanities on campus, I can see that I’m kind of at war with myself on this topic. First, I’m an interim in this position, which I’m not good at. A couple of times I’ve wanted to engage with questions or jump into action and my steady comrade-in-DH has reminded me that we should do things right rather than soon, and I’ve felt chagrined each time because I know this and I think that in my regular work I’m usually good at this, but somehow in my current situation I seem to get ahead of myself sometimes.

Another layer of my own internal struggle is that my main goals as the interim DH supervisor is to keep the program afloat and to document, document, document. I want the transition for the new person to be as smooth as possible, and I want to be an effective project manager for my students. But sometimes I worry that I might be too deep in the “admin stuff” (as one student calls it) and pulling my students too far in with me. I can totally relate to the desire to just plug away at a project.

Planning, documenting, and program development are important parts of the job for each of us. They are definitely a good part of The Work of digital humanities on my campus. The trick is to figure out the right balance for each person. I don’t think I’ve figured out that balance point yet.