One of the Three


There we go! I presented alongside the world-renowned Professors Anthony Edwards and Gary Taylor. Nerve-wracking, but fantastic.

The journey to Fribourg on the top deck of the double-tier train was absolutely stunning. Some of us were still reading bits and pieces from the large volume or 'reader' of preparatory material for the workshops, which frustratingly we didn't seem to need during the conference. I'm not quite sure if I am in any position to speak on whether the conference actually worked. We have two esteemed textual scholars and editors: one for Medieval studies, and one for Shakespeare (for the purposes of the conference, 'Early Modern'), and we were asked to submit detailed questions one month in advance on our subject area to make the most of their knowledge. For the first, long afternoon session, the Medievalists amongst the conference attendees one by one proposed their questions, and received answers of varying quality and effort, in turn pretty much alienating everybody else. For this lip-pursing introduction to conference proceedings, the evening was a real pleasure. The hotel we were using was absolutely splendid. The one awkwardness I had beforehand was, being the only male from Geneva who was staying over, it had been harder to secure a room share. I had only met (Dr.) Marco Nievergelt once before, briefly, in the Autumn semester, and he had kindly agreed to join me, but he was too ill to attend, which left the unfortunate privilege of a magnificent double room to one's own. Likewise, the conference dinner was lovely for all of us. Some went on for a drink or two down in Fribourg. My supervisor was in great spirits, and so I joined for several, before heading back to fulfil the compulsive habit of making small changes in my paper, which I had done every night since the practice run-through in front of colleagues two weeks' prior.

The second day was quite eventful. We begin with a session from Professor Taylor, which I actually quite enjoyed. Certainly, editing is a fine theoretical and practical skill and in some ways almost a completely difference vocational direction to take in academia. The presentation reminded me of the Bristol's 'Insight Into Media': essentially an insight into, and a promotion of, editing. It is always useful, too, to hear of stories and dealings with academic presses from some of the most experienced in the business. At least this seemed better prepared and less slap-dash than the previous day. I think the most noticeable thing, however, was what I learnt about my supervisor, as Professor Erne stepped in to try and rescue procedures back to student level. Lukas is a perfect captain; he assumes leadership when it is needed, in a considered and tactful way. He is a natural supervisor, in so far as he relates to students very well, and understands the needs of students when the situation threatens to disregard them. The two esteemed professors did not seem to carry the same rapports: not that I would accuse any kind of intellectual elitism, but I just could not imagine them supervising, remembering (PhD) students' names, and certainly not working with them in the close-knit way that happens here. Without doubt a good relationship with one's supervisor is a vital component of a successful postgraduate experience.

The second, closing afternoon, was the public-conference, the four papers. Unfortunately, some of the arrangements were hit-and-miss. We did not allow long enough for lunch: some missed out on dessert, those fortunate to see it had a minute or less, and it meant a rush back to the venue, especially for me, involved in the first session. The room at Fribourg was now wider populated with professors, honarary professors, other spectators; many folk I didn't recognise. I was grateful to introduce myself to Prof. Neil Forsyth, who I had been wanting to meet for some time, and reintroduce myself to Prof. Richard Waswo, a big personality often visiting in Geneva [...] Prof. Edwards had given his paper sitting; unconventional, it seemed to me, and which caused him some problems. I could not help an internal sigh of relief. How could I hope to follow a paper by an esteemed professor which went flawlessly? Now, I would not have to. The problem was, as it moved to me, there was no apparatus at all for me to stand. Not wanting to sit at any cost, I had no choice but to stand leaning heavily on the forward table to read the relatively small font of my script. Thankfully, I think I was prepared as I might have been, and the paper went, thankfully, remarkably smoothly except for one instance where I had made a stupid alteration in a thin red pen, where I had to look much closer. Needless to say, for the relief of making the best of it, and a reasonable delivery, I confess to being marginally less amused when the stand/pulpit/apparatus appeared during the break in preparation for the final two papers.

What was always going to be nervous ground was the question-period. Fellow speaker Susie (Gebhardt) cleverly threw me off guard slightly by asking if I could distinguish between two synonymic terms I had used, one more prominently than the other: the private manuscript and the 'non-text'. While they are essentially the same, I used the term 'non-text' to distinguish the importance of the private document/letter/poem beyond the individual: to the public, to the marketplace of print, and to readers now. What is private to the individual is not known about elsewhere, and therefore the knowledge, or the product, simply does not exist. The term is meant to emphasise now the importance of documents which, to all intents and purposes, did not exist in any sense in any public sphere. I was then targetted for a few points by another prominent figure within the room, who firstly baffled me by nit-picking at something I did not say (so much so that I could not respond). I was then asked by the same figure where Marvell's satires fit into this. To this, I think, ironically on par with my topic area, I was able to better explain what I could not say rather than what I could. The majority of Marvell's satire arrives later in his career. My existing research did not look into this too much, and my talk expressly covered the early stages of Marvell's poetic career. To that extent, my overall argument is based chronologically; different features relating to privacy occur at different points, and I was not in a good position to try and short-cut straight down the line. With Marvell's satires, certainly, we get the prominent issue of 'anonymity', which also has to play a part. In that sense, naturally, the document becomes available, but the author's identity, wherever possible, remains private. Unfortunately, that did not come to mind: the question was phrased looking for more evidence from me. To that, I was at least able to fill in the gap in my paper, which involves one of Marvell's earliest poems, and a private poem, a satire on Flecknoe. Whilst at that stage Marvell was happy (enough) to publish commendatory poems or elegies of praise, even if there are signs of discomfort within the writing, that the rather savagely comic Flecknoe poem remains private does seem to present the early principle that if there is nothing praiseworthy, the work will remain close to Marvell's chest. To that answer, I at least received a compliment of a 'quite good paper', which actually gave me quite a thrill. I remember getting a pat on the back from Prof. Waswo as I returned to my spot after the break: "you'll cope with the satires, no problem".

True to form with everything observed at the conference, as well as receiving some great feedback from other attendees at the conference, my supervisor gave some terrific help the following week. Lukas had spoken with Prof. Spurr about the question of evidence. This is something I need to think about academically to take my existing definitions of the concept of privacy to the next level with regards to how I relate it to literature. Whilst the pressure was there to produce evidence, it should have been recognised, Lukas suggested, that I am creating hypothesis, in a sense, from lack of or the absence of evidence. I was recommended an essay by Michael Bristol called 'How Good Does Evidence Have to Be' in a collection of essays titled Textual and Theatrical Shakespeare: such references I would never hope to stumble across accidentally. Now, as this short review comes several months after the conference, I must move on and anticipate the next 'first's: first review, first chapter, first main publication. Much to do, and much, beyond French, to be excited about.