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First, I need to apologize for being really slack about keeping up with the blog. Michaelmas term has officially begun, and I'm embarking on what is sure to be simultaneously the most challenging and thrilling academic period in the course of my education thus far.
I realize that I've given most people only the most nebulous sorts of ideas of what I'm studying here in Oxford. Let me try to fix that: This term, I am taking four courses.
The first is a continuation of my 'Great Books' core curriculum called 'Theology and Philosophy.' Together with another Shimer student and our professor from back in Chicago, I've been reading the work by the likes of Plato and Aristotle treating the nature of the soul and the character of the divine. Presently, we are reading Saint Augustine's 'Confessions,' a bildungsroman of sorts, detailing the Saint's development from a fruit-stealing punk to a man of God.
I am also taking a 'French for Reading' tutorial in which I am translating Georges Bataille's novel 'Histoire de l'oeil,' or 'The Story of the Eye' in English. I'm taking the class to be able to read with confidence the huge body of French film criticism, so much of which still hasn't found its way into an English translation. I'm also really excited to be reading a book which fascinated the likes of Roland Barthes, Michell Foucault, and Susan Sontag.
My other courses are both being taught by Oxford scholars. The Oxford system, as I have mentioned before, is radically different from the model used at most American universities. First, rather than classes, each student is taught one-on-one by their professor, or don. At each weekly meeting with a professor, a student reads out loud a 3000 or so word essay they have written discussing the readings assigned by the tutor from the previous week. This then serves as the starting point for the rest of that week's tutorial. At the end of the tutorial, the don sets a title for the essay to be written for the next week.
The wonderful thing about Oxford is that a student can find a renowned scholar who shares their interests and then work together to develop a course that suits both student's and teacher's academic affinities. The terrifying part of it, for me at least, is the sheer vastness of learning and intellect possessed by my tutors, which can feel overwhelming at times.
My first tutorial, called a 'History of Vision' is with a professor at Oxford's Ruskin School of Fine Art.
But a little bit about the course: Descartes has said that 'sight is the noblest of senses' and even since the time of Plato, vision has been the operative metaphor for knowledge and understanding in Western culture. With all of this in mind, I decided to use my time at Oxford to pursue the interest I developed through a Shimer research project last semester which examined Foucault's discussions of the visual dimensions of power as they can be related to film theory. Broadly then, this course is a historical look at the ways vision has been thought about and practiced through the philosophy, art, and science of the post-Renaissance West.
This week, I'm writing a paper about the Formalist art critic Wolfflin and his discussions of the stylistic changes marking the move from Classic to Baroque painting in the 16th and 17th centuries. We meet in the room whose windows are at the far right side of the photograph.
My other course, which is at Balliol College, here,
is about the Frankfurt School, or the group of post-war German Marxist who sought to understand the cultural dimensions of ideology. Right now, I'm reading about the intellectual foundations of the concept of ideology in Hegel, Feuerbach, and Marx before moving to the Frankfurt School proper. I'm really happy about the way my two Oxford course have seem to conspire to compliment each other very well. My tutor for my vision tutorial is having me read a lot of Walter Benjamin, a prominent thinker related to the Frankfurt School; meanwhile, my Frankfurt School tutor has singled out the theme of sight in my essay for this week, which, by the way, he has given the impressive sounding title: 'Mediated Vision: Tropes of False Consciousness in Feuerbach and Marx.'
In other news, yesterday some of us took a road trip the hundred miles or so to the other center of English learning, Cambridge. It was amazing. I'll actually put up some text about what you're looking at when I have more time. For now suffice it to say that most of these are pictures of the Ely Cathedral, and a few are some of the best pictures I've ever taken. I promise to update this post later and to really try to keep you all better informed about what I'm up to.That's Ely Cathedral.
Inside...
King's College Cambridge. We went to eventide and it was beautiful.
On my way to class today I passed by Gloucester Green, a little tree-lined square on the western edge of central Oxford, and the weekly farmer's market was underway. Since I finally got a bike and can get places more quickly, I had time to stop. I got some strawberries and some really creamy goat cheese. Next week I'm going to go prepared with cash, because it looks like the place to go for produce that's cheaper and higher quality than the stuff at the stores. It's taken me a little while to get used to how small all the fruit and vegetables and the grocery stores here tends to be. I guess it's because Europeans aren't as cavalier as Americans are about genetically modified foods and pesticides and fertilizers and all that. I'd like to say that their produce tastes a lot better as a result of their prudence, but I think, generally, the grocery store-bought stuff here is about on par with what I'm used to back home. The food at the market however looked great and I guess there is something to be said for getting to feel all quaint and old-worldy when you buy your strawberries.
Here are some pictures. Be sure to look at the crazy purple cauliflower.
Speaking of fresh food. it's not just at the farmers market. There's a huge apple tree and tons of blackberry bushes growing wild on our street. A few days ago we picked a bunch of them thinking it would be a frugal way to get our fruit.
I used a bunch of the apples and berries to make a really great crisp. My roommates have all made me self conscious about taking pictures of my food so I don't have any thing to show you, but if you want to make one (and you should) here's a link. If you do make it, I'd recommend doubling the topping and going easy on the zest, unless you want it really lemony.
I need to go now. I want to get alot of reading done tonight so I can do some biking or maybe go to London this weekend.
Used for a pretty reasonable price. It says the "The Falcon" on it and came with lights and a bell. All it needs now are some streamers and playing cards in the spokes. I know you're all jealous. I took it for a quick ride in the country today and I think I might ride it out two Blenheim Palace on Friday. I got a helmet too and I'm getting pretty good at the whole driving on the left thing, so don't worry.
That's the Falcon and another hot air balloon, which by the way, I'm totally blasé about now. "How blasé?" you ask. Well, if you were to imagine my train of thought upon seeing this hot air balloon as taking the form of a dialog between two country gentlemen out for an evening constitutional on the moor, it might go a little something like this...
"Lord Bullingdon: [looks up, places his thumbs firmly behind the lapels of his tweed jacket] I say old man, looks to be another of those ghastly dirigibles, what, what.
Duke Hufflepuff: [absentmindedly removes pipe from his mouth] Quite..."
Not that I walk around constructing comically offensive stereotypes of the English all day. That wouldn't be very blasé, which is what I am now. Blasé.
Sorry I haven't posted much in the past few days; my academic season is starting to take shape and it's going to take up a significant chunk of my time. Today was the first meeting of my Shimer core course, Humanities 3 (The Philosophy of Theology, to the uninitiated). Stuart, the itinerant Shimer professor in Oxford with us this year,, is facilitating the course and he decided to meet in the Red Lion, a pub near central Oxford, so it was cider and Socratic dialogs for me this afternoon. Nice.
I'm also doing quite a bit of preparatory reading work for one of my Oxford tutorials on Continental Philosophy and Critical Theory. My tutor is at Balliol College and I think he and I should be getting together at the start of next month, which is the beginning of Oxford's academic year. Starting a class in October feels crazy, but unlike American universities, Oxford uses a rather archaic academic calender. The year is divided into three eight week terms-- Michaelmas Term, Hillary Term, and Trinity Term--with 'vacations' in between. And as relaxing as the vacations may sound, one is expected to do all the preparation and reading for the next term over them.
Stuart and I are still working to find a tutor for my other "Archaeology of Vision" tutorial. The don we had lined up ended up getting a post at another University just before I came over. He (Stuart) and I spent some time today getting to know the folks at Oxford's Visual Studies Department and seeing whose research interests meshed well with my own. I met a couple of professors there who are doing some really exciting work and who seemed genuinely interested in working with me.
As far as my French tutorial is going, I'm translating my way through Georges Bataille's "Histoire de l'oeil." It's turning out to be really ridiculously smutty. Those French.
Anyway, I know I've been posting pictures of what I've been doing, so not to disappoint...
Ok, it's still disappointing.
This week in Oxford, and in Britain Generally, is what is known as Heritage Open Week, meaning that many of the country's otherwise exclusive institutions are opened to public view. A few days ago (before I got a little sick) I was able to make it to what is know as the "Exam Schools," which is the building where matriculating and graduating students write their tests at the beginning and end of terms. To begin attendance or complete one's studies at the University, by the way, is referred to by the Oxford-specific idioms "to be sent up" and "to be sent down" respectively. I'm finding that Oxford is a place full of expressions like these-- phrases which somehow manage to combine casual flippancy with the weight of centuries old tradition. They also often seem to do without proper nouns; greater specificity being obviated by the fact that Oxonian things and places are apparently the only significant ones in the world. Anyway, I digress.
The exam schools seem purpose built to intimidate the students who go there to take their critical tests. Here's a view from inside the courtyard.
When test are being administered, this hall and others like it are filled with rows of desks.
A gentle reminder that the exams are timed--a 6 foot clock.
I visited the Exam Schools on Thursday and on Friday, myself and all the other Shimer students attended a compulsory 'orientation' given by the organization that set us up in our housing over here. It turns out the program is run by some pompous, geriatric, rightwing expatriate American ideologue, who kept us as his captive audience in his stuffy offices most of the day Friday while he namedropped Richard Nixon, praised Maggie Thatcher, and summarized the European mindset as "generally pessimistic and lazy." If I hadn't been ill before, I certainly was after.
I decided on Saturday that some time outside of the city might be a good way to try to reinvigorate my constitution. My flatmates and I headed out to the eastern outskirts of town early in the day to see the former barge of Corpus Christi College on the Cherwell River, which had been converted into a house boat which was been opened up by its owners and inhabitants for Open Days. In Oxford's canals a lot of people live in long, low, and narrow barges. This barge however was much larger and apparently a relic from the days in which each college maintained its own barge to service the many sporting events on the river.
Here's a photo the owner had of their barge among others in their glory days along the river bank. As always, clicking the photo will let you see all the details.
It was hard to get a good photo from the riverbank without falling in, but here's a photo of the exterior of the barge from onboard.
There was hardly anybody there and the owners were happy to give a tour and since the living quarters were essentially one medium-sized room it was a brief one. Here are some pictures.
I think I could handle living there.
We came back into the eastern neighborhood of Cowley for breakfast-for-lunch.
Here are the flatmates: Matt, Kate and Raya.
And here is the food (it was pointed out to me that its weird to take pictures of one's food. Whatever.)
After eating, Matt and Raya came with me to The Regal, an old Art Deco cinema in Cowley that had lain abandoned for a few decades and was in the process of being transformed into a nightclub which was opened up for Open Days so people could see it before all the renovations and eurosleaze dance parties ruin the place. There was all kinds of architectural detail and they even let me into the old projection room. It broke my heart a little to see the place torn up but if I strained and squinted enough I could still smell the popcorn and could almost see an old Powell and Pressburger or early Hitchcock playing up front. Here are some pictures.
The lobby's ceiling.
Some of what remains in the theater
The seats on the ground level were torn out to make room for a dance floor, but they hadn't ruined the balcony yet.
The balcony's ceiling.
The concessions area converted to a bar.
After the the cinema, Matt and Raya were lucky enough to find some good bike's at Cowley's used bike shop. Cowley, I think, is the kind of neighborhood where resale bike shops flourish, as the distinction between 'used' and stolen goods seems ambiguous there, at best. It's the kind of place where you're not sure whether to appreciate the bohemian charm or worry just a little about somebody snagging your wallet. And I guess its where you go if you need to buy an organic Asian fusion burger or pot. It also looks like they have a good indie rock club and some cool thrift shops I need to check out. Anyway, without a bike I had to walk home by myself and after bumming around Cowley a little, I decided to take a detour out around the canals that run just east and north of the flat.
Its so green and quiet on the tow paths along the canals, I love them. Here are some more typical examples of the live-in barges.
This is the Isis bridge, just east of my place.
The canal continues north...
and opens up on Port Meadow, publicly owned land and a flood plain for the Thames. There are allotments here where people can rent tiny plots of land to grow vegetables and stuff and there are publicly owned horses and cattle grazing and generally hanging out. I'm not sure who takes care of them. It's not a farm or anything and all the animals are just kind of wandering around in a state of nature. The Thames is really slow and lazy here and there are lots of people riding bikes and picnicking while their dog run around in the water and chase ducks.
All this stuff is a five minute stroll from my flat and a ten or fifteen minute walk from central Oxford. I love it.
In addition to combining the cosmopolitan with the pastoral, Oxford is also the kind of place where, just when you think it can't get more idyllic or whimsical, it does. Like with hot-air balloons. While I was sitting at the riverside, this guy popped up from behind the trees and floated across the sky.
Anyway this is a long post at the end of a long day. I'm done for now. And I'm feeling better so don't worry.
King's College Cambridge. We went to eventide and it was beautiful.
