The Ends of Disciplinarity

O’Neill, Peggy, Angela Crow, and Larry W. Burton, eds. A Field of Dreams: Independent Writing Programs and the Future of Composition Studies. Logan, UT: Utah State UP, 2002. Print. (Selected chapters)

For this week, I looked at another book that has been on my shelf for perhaps too long. Initially, I was drawn to A Field of Dreams because of the idea that writing programs may be better able to control their goals (both pedagogical and scholarly ones) and address issues of labor if separated from their traditional homes in English departments. In some instances, this has been the case. But the readings that drew my attention the most here were those that argued for more cautious, realistic approaches to separation and ones that raised more questions about the value of such separations than definitive answers or plans.

Aronson, Anne, and Craig Hansen. “Writing Identity: The Independent Writing Department as a Disciplinary Center.” 50-61.

Inarguably, writing instruction more often than not receives the “service” label—and it has for the past century. Aronson and Hansen claim that this ingrained view of writing instruction and indeed writing studies leaves little room for the discipline to develop. In this chapter, they argue that an independent writing program provides the space the discipline needs to gain status and to move beyond its “service” label.

As is the case in a number of selections in this book, Aronson and Hansen begin with a history of their particular context. They teach at Metropolitan State University (in Minneapolist/St. Paul), a university they say “has a tradition of alternative approaches to education” and a unique student body that consists mostly of nontraditional students (51). The tradition and student body fosters considerable educational experimentation and develop, which led to their independent writing program with a core of “academic writing instruction” as well as “a writing center and programs in creative professional and technical writing” (51). They also note that their program receives quite widespread support, including access to scarce financial resources. In addition, they also work in an established WAC program. They are similar in their labor, relying on adjuncts for most of their lower-division courses and tenure-track faculty for upper-division courses.

In terms of identity, they claim their independent status allows them to develop in four key areas. The first is practice, which they identify as application of skills. Their program and their staff make practice a central part of their work. The second area is art, which they use in both its rhetorical sense (techne) and in its creative sense. In the third area of development, profession, they work to promote professional opportunities and experiences for their students. Finally, they address issues of disciplinary status of writing. By being separate, they feel they are more able to develop a curriculum that could meet both the disciplinary goals they had and the institutional needs rather than only the institutional ends.

While I appreciate these final categorizations of the four areas of work they have embarked on—indeed, they seem to me to provide quite a useful heuristic for curricular work in the field—their descriptions of their program seemed to illustrate a climate unlike that which most faculty would encounter if trying to develop an independent program. They are certainly fortunate in the support they receive and the autonomy they are allowed. This goes to highlight the importance of local contexts for such work. Other authors in this collection mention this, but Aronson and Hansen don’t specifically address this. Their claims seem to suggest that the successes are possible for others if they only establish an individual writing program. The successes perhaps are possible, but a whole range of complicating issues exist, ones that their program seemingly has not encountered--or have encountered with little difficulty. And I wonder if the work they describe here is inherently impossible or less possible in a more “dependent” structure.

Deis, Elizabeth J., Lowell T. Frye, and Katherine J. Wesse. “Independence Fostering Community: The Benefits of an Independent Writing Program at a Small Liberal Arts College.” 75-89.

I was interested in this chapter because, while I teach at a mid-sized public university with increasing research mandates, my department is rather small and fairly close-knit—not unlike a department in a liberal arts college. And the type of work Deis, Frye, and Wesse discuss here seems an appropriate fit to the type of work my department would benefit from. The success of their program, they say, is its “strong commitment to flexibility, communication, and cross-curricular faculty involvement” (75). These characteristics strike me as especially important for a small English department in a larger institution as well. Where I do see a difference, though, is perhaps in their ability to generate a broad sense of shared responsibility for student writing instruction as they have been able to muster at their institution. Because my institution requires two writing courses offered through the English department, as well as professional and technical writing courses, the burden of responsibility falls squarely on the English department. But Deis, Frye, and Wesse discuss at some length how their independent program is able to generate this sense of shared responsibility.

As was the case for Aronson and Hansen, Deis, Frye, and Wesse describe a program with quite broad support. As such, they had a conducive environment for encouraging faculty to assign more writing in their courses and developing acceptance of WAC principles. They worked to establish connections with other faculty members, conducted workshops, and otherwise communicated the goals and needs of the program. They make a point to not that they “have a strategy instead of a program, a strategy centered on persuasion” (78). This pint strikes me as especially key, even for those in larger institutional contexts, reminding me of Marie Paretti’s (see blog entry below) claims about the importance of developing shared goals for writing instruction and the importance of communication to achieve that awareness.

They further detail how this shared sense of responsibility has led to changes to the curriculum, including adding courses and revising proficiency exam procedures. I was a little troubled by their discussion of how they deal with grammar instruction, though. They have adopted a rhetorical approach to grammar instruction, but they also require an exit exam which consists in part of fifty sentences students must edit for grammatical correctness. Such an approach, even when coupled with rhetorical grammar instruction, seems to drive home some of the stereotypes of writing as more superficial and mechanistic. That being said, their emphasis on creating a broader sense of ownership for writing seems to be a worthwhile endeavor, though I can see a number of differences for those in larger institutions. Faculty in larger institutions might begin such work in our own departments; again, I do not see much here that requires an independent program per se, so long as faculty network with other faculty and have the flexibility to make some curricular decisions.

Hindman, Jane E. “Learning as We G(r)o(w): Strategizing the Lessons of a Fledgling Rhetoric and Writing Department.” 107-29.

Hindman’s chapter takes a decidedly less optimistic approach than the previous chapters I have addressed. Hers is a bit of a learn-from-our-mistakes discussion focusing in particular on the labor consequences of independence. In short, she argues, independence does not always yield greater labor equity, nor does it necessarily change the views of composition from those outside the discipline.

She begins by noting the concerns about “boss compositionists,” discussing views from Joseph Harris, James Sledd, and Jeanne Gunner. These authors raised a variety of concerns about the potential for tenure-track rhetoric and composition faculty to settle into the pattern of misusing and abusing contingent faculty to further their own scholarly agendas and ignoring teaching. Hindman’s concern with these claims rests on their shortsightedness. One such problem is the sense that separation becomes the only way to reach the field’s goals. This, she says, is a “diversionary seduction” to the reality that these hierarchies and power structures are pervasive institution-wide. It’s not just “literature” that has created these labor issues. This leads her to argue that to work to change the structures, writing studies must develop its disciplinary status to enact any meaningful change. She uses her program to illustrate what happens when a program does not have that disciplinary status. Once her program split from English and had to develop its own curriculum, the inordinate amount of work led many faculty to leave, resulting in an increasingly less experienced workforce. Administrative, teaching, and service duties also reduced the ability of tenure-track faculty to engage in their required scholarship. She also noted that the programs adjuncts “lost office space […], autonomy […], and […] a certain amount of autonomy” (116). Clearly, separation was not the ideal change they had hoped for, the result of powerful institutional structures and demands that limited what the program could do. She recognizes, then, that while professionalization may play into the corporatization of higher education, it may be the best place to begin, as it develops the status needed to challenge the larger institutional structures that cause these labor problems. And understanding these structures provides us with the necessary tools to enact more meaningful and lasting change.

After some of the more rosy (and perhaps idealistic) portrayals of independent programs, Hindman’s pragmatic discussion is somewhat refreshing. At the least, it reminds us that we already work within a corporatized structure with all its binaries and hierarchies. And while being idealistic may be good for the soul, it often does little to change these corporatized structures within which we operate. By learning about and using those structures, we are much more likely to produce (or at least work toward) our disciplinary goals.

Anson, Chris M. “Who Wants Composition? Reflections on the Rise and Fall of an Independent Writing Program.” 153-69.

Another somewhat pessimistic (maybe realistic is better) look at independent writing programs comes from Chris Anson. In this chapter he looks back at the well-documented dissolution of the independent writing program at the University of Minnesota in the late 1990s. Anson goes into only brief details on this program’s reabsorption into the English department. Instead, of tracing the outcomes, he attempts to look instead at the potential causes of this. Through this reflection, he argues this was an example of the power of money and control and not one of ideology.

Once English took back writing, none of the literature faculty had the least interest in teaching composition or in developing its curriculum. Clearly, something beyond ideology was at work here. As he looks back at the development of English as a discipline, he recognizes a move to make composition an extension of literature by imbuing it with humanistic purpose, which he says misses the main goals of composition. But even this didn’t fully explain the situation. Ultimately, he comes to money as a chief concern. Required composition courses generate considerable revenue. After the split, departments at the University of Minnesota became responsible for their own budgets. Without composition revenues, English had considerably less money than it had grown accustomed to.

Anson then considers why his program could not work as it had before once it was back in the English department. He says such decisions must be local, and given the disdain for all things composition in the English department, his local context suggested continuation as before unlikely. But in broader terms, he recognizes the importance of composition for English. It serves a more practical, tangible end than literary studies are able to serve. However, he argues that literature must recognize that “[i]t is no longer possible to run a writing program as a hobby” (166). Because of the expansion of the field, those with background in rhetoric and composition must be the ones to run its programs. And he calls on those in rhetoric and composition to develop the field’s status through its scholarship, pedagogy, and administration and service.

As in Hindman’s chapter, Anson’s pragmatic view forces us to consider wider issues than simply the ideological and historical connections of English and writing studies. Certainly, these are part of that relationship, but as Anson makes clear, so too are the economic and power issues. If we neglect to consider these latter issues, we may long be at the mercies of other in the university, those who may not share our goals and views. Professionalization will likely go far in addressing these issues, but to a certain extent, some in the university may never fully accept the disciplinary status of writing studies. And those are precisely the people for whom greater understanding of our goals would do little to change their minds. I am left with a question I have yet to develop and answer for: then what?

Yood, Jessica. “Revising the Dream: Graduate Students, Independent Writing Programs, and the Future of English Studies.” 170-85.

So far, the readings I have addressed have focused on those working within independent writing programs. Yood’s chapter turns the focus to those studying in such departments, specifically at the point of transition to independence. As she argues, this focus makes us consider in more postmodern (i.e., multilayered) terms the histories and consequences of independent writing programs. In addition, she uses her and her fellow students’ experiences in such a program to address how these changes and multilayered perspectives redefine how knowledge is made in the field.

First, she begins with the importance of reception theory to her argument. This theory, drawing on social constructivist epistemologies, “contextualizes the experience of systematic change and makes visible the reality that, even as we create separate structures or programs of ‘writing’ nd ‘literature,’ our observations and reflections create a new mix altogether” (171). The importance of this for Yood is reception theory’s ability to examine how all involved in disciplinary change respond to the process and the outcomes.

This leads her into a discussion of her and some of her fellow students’ experiences in the SUNY Stony Brook program as it went through these disciplinary changes, which were especially rapid and often done without the input of those most affected by the changes. Their experiences centered, first, on their role as TAs: they were worried about the possibility of losing their appointments if composition was no longer housed in English. But more significantly, in terms of themselves as scholars through their dissertation work, they discovered that their collaborations yielded fruitful boundary-crossings, despite the pressures to specialize. They read each other’s work, offered their perspectives, and pushed each other to ask deeper, bigger questions. This was perhaps directly because of the changes occurring in their program. This strikes me as perhaps a useful model for disciplinary and interdisciplinary work within and across departments. The end result, and a valuable one for us, is that we “need to focus on the process and the products of disciplinary change” (184). This focus allows us to consider more fully the expanse of the impacts of such changes.

Enos, Theresa. “Keeping (in) Our Places, Keeping Our Two Faces.” 247-52.

Enos’s chapter is the shortest in the collection, but it is also perhaps one of the more useful ones to my purposes. She looks at the connection of rhetoric and composition, or more accurately, at the growing disconnection between the two. This separation follows the theory/practice divide: many position rhetoric as the theory side of the discipline and composition with the practical side. She sees a value in maintaining the connections between the two, though, and she also feels somewhat hesitant about the calls to separate rhetoric and composition from English. She recognizes the problems of the relationship, but, like me, she is uncertain “how or if independence would strengthen or weaken the gains we’ve made in redefining our intellectual work” (248). The concern for her is what she sees as an overemphasis on the practical elements at the expense of rhetoric.

She continues her discussion of independent writing programs by mulling over a series of questions she developed while considering the other pieces in this collection. One of her first questions addresses how the independent programs are defining rhetoric and composition, specifically how the connection of the two is being maintained. Her concern here is that with the loss of rhetoric may come the loss of the knowledge-making goals of the discipline. Furthermore, as these departments break away from English, she fears their focus may become too narrow, resulting in less institutional power and prestige for the discipline. Connected to this, she wonders if this will contribute further to problems of limited funding, promotion and tenure, and labor equity. Additionally, she says we must consider the consequences for graduate studies in the field.

Enos makes no attempts to offer substantial answers to these questions, and I think she is right not to. These questions can only be answered within the context of one’s own circumstances. What her brief chapter clearly offers, though, are issues that need answers before a given department should consider embarking on the path toward independence. I was especially drawn to her initial question about whether the goals of independent wiring programs are only achievable through independence or if these come with costs too steep to warrant proceeding. Certainly some situations are untenable (Anson’s discussion of his situation comes to mind), but I wonder how much of the principles and practices described regarding relationships with other departments are practiced within English departments, especially when the departments may not have the logistical potential to separate.

Miller, Thomas P. “Managing to Make a Difference.” 253-67.

Miller’s chapter promotes what he calls a “bifocal view” of writing program administration: one that calls on us to look both near and far to see and address immediate and long-term issues. And like Enos, he says this view demonstrates the importance of maintaining connections to rhetoric and the connections to scholarly work in independent programs. However, as he does in his 2011 book, The Evolution of College English, he also recognizes that the research system of higher education as it exists serves to marginalize teaching. His solution is to develop a rhetorical position, a rhetorical awareness of the discipline to mediate its scholarly and pedagogical concerns, as well as its private (academic, disciplinary) and public roles.

He first considers the nature of service in writing studies. The struggles, as he deftly puts it, “is to harness the power of providing an essential service without becoming defined as essentially a service provider” (256). This necessitates finding a balance between the theory/practice split. He says we might consider this in a third term: service, but service broadly construed. In this version, service would include the traditional notion of the term as defined in the discipline, but it would also include outreach beyond the academy and within the academy to both explain and negotiate goals—in short, to network the program. A view of service as rhetorical would also mean considering the goals of FYC in more public, civic terms, as rhetoric traditionally focused on both production of discourse and its political (I use the term broadly here) ends.

His next point of focus is to develop the need to consider the power of rhetoric’s emphasis on “the situated, purposeful, and dialectical dynamics of communication” (260). Rhetoric is, then, beyond theory; it includes action as well. More broadly applied in writing programs, rhetoric becomes more about the ability to think carefully and critically and to communicate effectively within a given discourse. But this still leaves the tensions between institutional demands and disciplinary desires. This, too, may be remedied by a more public, civic (read, rhetorical) approach. He notes how the tenure system has not only “devalue[d] much of the owkr we do” (263), but it has also isolated faculty from concerns beyond their immediate disciplinary interests. These shifting focuses and navigations between the tensions are precisely what he means by a “bifocal view.”

As I noted, much of Miller’s work here sets the stage for his later book. But I again find his arguments for maintaining a balance between theory and practice compelling. His use of service (in the broadest sense) and rhetoric (in the civic, discourse-oriented sense) provides to my mind quite a plausible way to engage with and make more productive the tensions within the field. And though, like most of the authors here, he puts these considerations in terms of independent writing programs, his arguments do not find themselves confined there. These are valuable heuristics for writing studies in general. 

The Promises and Pitfalls of Disciplinarity and Interdisciplinarity

Miscellaneous Readings on Disciplinarity

This week, I read several articles from various journals from the last decade or so (mostly coming from the last five years). These works paint a varied picture of what disciplinarity and even interdisciplinarity can offer English as a whole and writing studies in particular.

Bazerman, Charles. “The Disciplined Interdisciplinarity of Writing Studies.”  Research in the Teaching of English 46.1 (2011): 8-21. Print.

In this article, Bazerman, a well-known advocate of interdisciplinarity, traces how he developed his sense of interdisciplinarity and the benefits of this work. He argues for interdisciplinarity as a means to develop both the “home” discipline (writing studies, in his case) and the “outside” discipline. Interdisciplinarity is a way, in his mind, to develop a fuller understanding of ideas and problems inside and outside the discipline, or, as he says, “the path that finds discipline in our questions and goals, allowing us to draw on the resources of many disciplines” (8). And such a path is perhaps necessary in writing and literacy studies given the complexity of literacy.

By focusing too much on one particular path, we may limit the scope of our research, causing a narrowness of exploration. This he says is a common occurrence resulting from disciplinarity. A field establishes its objects of study, its methods, its core knowledge; while necessary to the development of a discipline, this serves to isolate that discipline from others and to create suspicion of the methods and knowledge from outside the discipline. At this point, Bazerman turns to his own career as a way to illustrate the sort of interdisciplinary work he is advocating. He used sociology and sociocultural theories to examine writing practices. But Bazerman does not call simply for a borrowing of methods or ideas. Instead, he sees this as an integrative process. He immersed himself in the discourse and discussions of the field, not satisfied to dabble with a few theories. What he found through this more involved practice were the deep complexities of writing practices wrought by sociocultural forces within disciplines. In addition, he found himself caught up in four different kinds of “puzzles”: examining problems from other disciplines, maintaining focus on his discipline’s issues and concerns, applying outside knowledge to writing studies systematically, and integrating these internal and external perspectives productively. These puzzles helped him see new areas for inquiry and growth in his home discipline as well as those from outside it. Though he says such work should be accepted and applied more broadly, he cautions us in the end not to assume this breaks down disciplinary walls or eliminates disciplines. The goal must be to learn from disciplines, to apply that knowledge to our own disciplines, and not to pretend that this work removes our distinctions.

What Bazerman promotes here is less an ideological view of interdisciplinarity than a practical one. Embedded in this practicality, though, is the idea that we must push against the modernist conceptions of disciplines as compartmentalized. This leads to a goal of enhancing the knowledge of the fields involved and to break the narrowness fostered by disciplinarity. Furthermore, it seems to me that such a goal is something we might work toward within the field of English (or at least within our own departments), as a way toward Thomas Miller’s call for more integrated approaches to literacy learning in English.

Kopelson, Karen. “Sp(l)itting Images; or, Back to the Future of (Rhetoric and?) Composition.” CCC 59.4 (2008): 750-80. Print.

Kopelson’s article examines the disciplinary status of composition studies, drawing on both scholarship about the field and survey responses from graduate students and faculty in the field. Now that some of the “newness” of the discipline has worn off, she urges us to reconsider some key issues in the field, including the “pedagogical imperative,” the sense of the theory/practice divide, and the need to develop greater interdisciplinarity. Her end goal in this is for the field to emerge “as an interdisciplinary, knowledge-making field of study” (753).

Her first area of interest is in field’s emphasis on teaching. Her survey results indicated that many doctoral students in the field felt considerable pressure to focus on pedagogical issues in their dissertations (regardless of the depth of their theoretical focus), their coursework, and their preparations for job searches. Such pressures, Kopelson claims, limit the types of questions that emerging scholars feel they can appropriately address. In terms of the theory/practice divide, Kopelson attempts to reframe the theory/practice debate as more a division of the use of theory. On one hand are those who develop theory (“do” theory); on the other hand are those who apply theory (“use” theory). “Doing” theory, she says is not about practicality, and a theory can only become practical when someone takes it from its more theoretical contexts. She also suggests that the notion of praxis does not resolve the binary as it still puts theory into direct relationship with practice. Instead, she argues that we need to view theory as an end in itself. Such a view may enable the field to develop more theories of its own instead of relying on outside fields to provide its theories. While this seems to suggest a somewhat isolationist view, Kopelson pushes instead for greater interdisciplinarity but as more of a two-way street: Composition studies should begin exporting its knowledge to other disciplines instead of only using their ideas. What she concludes from these discussions is that the field is too caught up in defining itself and its domains of knowledge and too much time on self-reflection. Instead, she argues that we engage in more critical, theoretical work.

Interestingly, Kopelson seems to be reinforcing some of divisions she wants to reframe here. I agree that the field suffers from a dearth of its own theories. However, that is perhaps if we purely define theory as something disciplinary unique and specific. Even then, drawing on theories from other fields and applying them in the rigorous and systematic ways promoted by someone like Charles Bazerman can be “doing” theory. Put in a new context, the theory can take on a new tenor and become in some ways a new theory. I also feel, like Thomas Miller, that attempts to distance ourselves from teaching, from the practical side of our discipline, has a cost for us. We should not neglect theoretical work at all; however, we should also work to apply the intellectual rigor to pedagogy.

Paretti, Marie. “Interdisciplinarity as a Lens for Theorizing Language/Content Partnerships.” Across the Disciplines 8.3 (2011): n. pag. WAC Clearinghouse.  Web. 30 Jul. 2012.

Paretti takes up interdisciplinarity as a way to improve the teaching of writing throughout the university. Though this is certainly not a new concept in WAC circles, Paretti uses this discussion to argue for deeper integrations of language and content to create a more meaningful and productive relationship between language and content faculty for the betterment of pedagogy.

To do so, she begins with the relatively common beliefs of content faculty who feel writing is not their domain, despite the fact that they often require writing (and usually discipline-specific writing) of their students. But this need for discipline-specific writing skills leave writing instructors in a tough position of either trying to abstract general principles from an unmanageable number of disciplines or to become nearly experts in a limited scope of disciplinary discourses. Additionally, writing instructors often look past the use of content in writing instruction. Both groups, then, attempt to separate content and language. To respond to this, she suggests that language and content faculty must work together, “making disciplinary epistemologies explicit and helping [students] navigate these epistemologies as they develop disciplinary identities” (n. pag.).

Of significance for this purpose is the distinction between multidisciplinarity—disciplines working together, but each only going as far as its specific discipline’s focus will allow—and interdisciplinarity—a more integrative model. Clearly, the latter approach is closer to Paretti’s goals as it “operates around the shared goals that reside at the intersection of disciplinary boundaries” (n. pag.). By recognizing and valuing the shared goals instead of promoting one discipline’s goals as more important than another’s, faculty are better able to communicate and negotiate their goals with one another.

To translate this into pedagogical terms, she combines these ideas with situated cognition (to make explicit the influence of different spheres of knowledge on certain practices, e.g., writing) and metacognition (to help students recognize concepts that can be applied to different contexts). By coming together, content faculty can promote situated cognition while language faculty can promote metacognitive skills. Combined with this, though, must be the recognition that the relationship between content and language faculty is one of equality, or else one side’s views and goals will dominate those of the others. Again, this calls for clear communication and negotiation of goals is necessary.

Certainly, such interdisciplinary work has considerable potential for teaching writing at a more advanced level, once students are more aware of their discipline and its discourses. However, I was a little put off by some of the generalities here in terms of enacting this interdisciplinarity. Undoubtedly, faculty share the goal of educating students, but simply invoking ideas of interdisciplinarity and negotiation of goals in such contexts may not be enough to overcome the separations and the power of disciplinarity. One can hope that the larger goals of education trump smaller disciplinary goals, but set ingrained agendas can be hard to overcome. Perhaps the next step is to explore more fully specific and systematic ways to generate the kinds of goals content can agree upon.

Balzhiser, Deborah, and Susan H. McLeod. “The Undergraduate Writing Major: What Is It? What Should It Be?” CCC 61.3 (2010): 415-33. Print.

Balzhiser and McLeod want to explore here the different iterations the writing major has taken as it is developing across the country. In doing so, they are addressing a key issue for the disciplinary status of writing studies, namely to define general curricular goals associated with the discipline. Doing so, they argue, will allow the discipline to better define itself and its areas of study. This butts up against some inconsistencies they discovered.

The key issue they address is that the writing major takes two different forms. While they immediately claim that having two types of major is not problematic in itself, the structures of these majors and their curricula are structured do give them pause. The first type of major is what they call the liberal arts model. This model’s “curriculum shows an integration of creative, literary, and professional writing” (419). However, as their examinations of catalogue descriptions demonstrates, a number of programs following this model construct “literature majors with writing courses tacked on as an afterthought” (422). The second model is a professional/rhetorical writing model. The emphasis here is certainly more on writing, but the differences between these two models and curricular inconsistencies suggest a sort of incoherence in the goals and curricula across the majority of major programs as they existed at the time of this study. Furthermore, “literature centric” views present in many departments contribute to this incoherence, as do fears of a new program taking students away from an existing program (423-24). The authors argue that to remedy these problems the discipline needs to begin to establish goals and learning objectives that may be applied as appropriate to local contexts. In addition, they argue for consistent curricular requirements including at minimum gateway, methods, and capstone courses.

The recommendations here would do much to add greater coherence to the discipline and strengthen its rising major. One concern that I have though, is that, while they do mention how the literature corners of English and forces outside English can influence the development of the major, they do not mention much in the way of addressing such factors. Instead they turn their attentions to more “in-house” issues of curriculum, which are certainly necessary. However, by not addressing those significant outside forces that can stop a new program from developing, the inside issues may simply become philosophical exercises.

Fulkerson, Richard. “Composition at the Turn of the Twenty-First Century.” CCC 56.4 (2005): 654-87. Print.

Fulkerson examines the developments within writing studies as a field between the 1990s and the mid-2000s. By investigating what he sees as the dominant epistemologies, he argues that the discipline is losing unity and its focus on the teaching of writing. The field as he sees it is split into three factions: the social constructivist camp, the expressivist camp, and the rhetorical camp (which he further subdivides into focuses on argument, genre, and academic discourse).

Fulkerson begins by establishing a schema for his analysis. This takes the form of a chart with four categories that address a particular approach’s view of good writing, its sense of the writing process, its pedagogical approaches, and its underlying epistemology. He then turns this lens on the three camps in writing studies, starting with social constructivism. This view, he claims, overemphasizes issues of race, class, and gender; readings; and what he calls “leftist ideology” at the expense of writing instruction. He claims that these courses are often not really writing courses at all. While expressivist courses may put more explicit emphasis on writing, he argues that this approach, too, fails to maintain coherence and focuses too much on issues of self-exploration. Finally, the rhetoric camp fares a little better in his analysis but still receives a number of critiques, including a lack of explicating expectations for students, an absence of a specific sense of process and relying on imitation (in the case of genre approaches), and the potential for maintaining hierarchies of power and privilege (in the case of academic discourse approaches).

In other words, Fulkerson sees that state of composition in the twenty-first century as incoherent, messy, and even wrong in some instances. But in all of this, Fulkerson remains relatively vague about what he is in fact advocating as the direction of the discipline. He variously hints at the importance of the writing process and the need to emphasize writing in class instruction, but he never really expands on these views. In addition, he claims the approaches he critiques are all quite varied but does not hesitate to generalize about them and their problems, suggesting that these approaches, social constructivism in particular, could not achieve the kinds of ends he would like to see. I don’t pretend that any of these approaches is without its flaws, but these kinds of critiques without possible remedies or new directions seem to be more effective at driving in wedges than yielding productive results.

Murphy, Michael. “New Faculty for a New University: Toward a Full-Time Teaching-Intensive Faculty Track in Composition.” CCC 52.1 (2000): 14-42. Print.

One of the seemingly perpetual issues related to writing studies is the role of contingent faculty within the discipline. Because of the heavy reliance on such faculty to teach lower-division and required writing courses and the conditions they often teach under, one must wonder how the situation affects the status of writing studies as a discipline, particularly in the view of those outside the discipline. Michael Murphy’s article proposes a possible solution that would give qualified and competent writing instructors something akin to tenure without the required research component. Though these faculty would have a greater sense of security, they would still be an economical choice for institutions to staff the large numbers of required writing courses. So instead of looking at the issue of contingent faculty as an ethical one (though it still surely is), Murphy looks at it from an economic standpoint and from the standpoint that the research system of higher education has caused this labor issue. In short, he is trying to come up with a solution that all sides may find beneficial.

Undoubtedly, universities are as much influenced by the economics of the real world, and Murphy says those in higher education cannot pretend to be isolated from broader economic forces. Nor can we ignore other demands of the world outside academia. Such demands include calls for competitive education and more of it. In this sense, giving more stable position to skilled writing instructors responds to this demand for education, but because these faculty will fill the education need, faculty trained as scholars may be able to pursue research, upholding this side of the university’s goals. And since instructors would not have research requirements, they would not need the release time or sabbaticals, making them a more economic choice for administrators. On the surface, this seems nearly identical to the labor system currently in place, but Murphy claims these full-time instructors would be able to receive legitimate tenure. In addition, they would receive an adequate but not overwhelming number of courses and more just compensation to ensure they would be able to make a living.

I wholly appreciate what Murphy is doing here. He is looking for a way to treat contingent faculty more equitably while maintaining their economic value to the institution and maintaining the intellectual aspirations of the discipline. I also favored his sense of the intellectual value of teaching for the discipline. Clearly, he is trying to avoid the sorts of hierarchies and their inevitable problems that have troubled the discipline in the past. However, despite the best efforts of such a system to take the teeth out of hierarchies, by dividing faculty as this system does, hierarchies are bound to remain. This is quite a conundrum for the discipline to face, and while Murphy’s proposal may not go far enough, it is a good start toward a practical answer to this riddle.