I keep getting this little ad when I log into Facebook. Because I’m
in the Oxford student network, it shows a pair of sandals and reads “BE
GONE FROM OXFORD!”, advertising weekend flights and getaways from £99.
The tough thing is, I don’t want to be gone from Oxford, and I feel
like it’s taunting me with its glib little sandals.

This is all by way of addressing Justine’s question about study
abroad, which, because she’s a “dorky English major-to-be” (read: a
bright, interesting, and generally lovely person), I’m going to field
in this post.

I think it’s a testament to the quality of that university that I’ve
been increasingly bothered over the last few days, knowing my BodCard
(ID, library, everything-else card at Oxford) was nearing its
expiration date. That’s today, and I may as well deal with this post
before the nostalgia reaches crippling levels.

So, Justine. A few things.

If you’re going to be studying abroad through William and Mary’s
program, they’ll put you in Hertford College (IMPORTANT: pronounced
“Hartford,” not “Hurtford.” See also “Derbyshire,” which is pronounded
“Darbyshire”). It’s a wonderful college. Not, I would say, necessarily
one of the poshest, but the people there will really want to get to
know you. You’ll make friends. This was one of my biggest anxieties as
I was preparing for study abroad. Also (they’ll pound this home if you
get within 500 yards of the Global Education Office), it’s in a great
location. Right across from the Bodleian, in the best part of the old
city. You’ll get spoiled silly by the views along the walk to college
each day.

If for some reason you’d like to apply to be a visiting student at a
college other than Hertford, you can do that through the University as
well. See this handy website
for more information. I’ve known people who have been at Magdalen
College (alma mater of Oscar Wilde and others) and loved it. Let me
know if you’d like to talk to one of those lovely people about
Magdalen, and I’ll see about it.

College pride is intense. Your college will determine most of the
friends you make, and you won’t feel the same way about having “Oxford
pride” for famous people who did not study at your college. Hertford is
no slouch in this department: John Donne and Evelyn Waugh both graced
its halls; you can tell because this portrait of Donne hangs in the dining hall, and you’ll see this one
in–you guessed it–the Waugh Room, home of über-classy MCR cocktail
nights. My basic opinion, though, is that Oxford is Oxford, and you’ll
probably love it wherever you end up.

It’s expensive. Expect to fork over a lot of cash for a short term
(~10 weeks). Also, expect to hate your UK and EU friends when they
complain about the £3,000-£4000 they have to pay in tuition per annum.
(Oxford and Cambridge used to be completely free. They’re not anymore,
but they’re still a he’d really love to be one of those people who can
dream up a snappy title for the first entry in a new ‘blog. Barring
sudden inspiration, however, I’ll continue to lean heavily on T.S.
Eliot for all things titular. It’s a cheesy, English major-y thing to
do, but so be it.

I suppose introductions–to both myself and my work–are in order.

I’m a rising senior at the College, originally from a tiny pocket of rural Northern Virginia (yes, there is a
rural Northern Virginia), educated at boarding school in Connecticut,
and currently majoring in English and Classical Studies. Also, I’m just
back from W&M’s study abroad program at Oxford, so I’m not a
half-bad person to ask about that if you’re a (prospective or
otherwise) student with questions.

This summer I’m completing a Dintersmith Fellowship through the
Charles Center, which basically means I’m being funded to spend ten
weeks of my summer beginning work on my honors thesis. The fellowship
is new this year, and as an extension of it and other summer grants,
the Charles Center is setting up this pool of blogs by undergraduate
researchers. The hope is, I believe, that they will serve as a link
between undergraduate researchers and a hodgepodge of other researchers
and prospective students. So. Welcome to the blog.

My thesis research, then. It’s mainly about Wordsworth, and
specifically Wordsworth and the Odic Tradition (that is, the tradition
of odes, not the tradition of the Norse god Odin–I’ve had questions
about this, and, much as I’d love to combine both, it’s the poetic form
and not the deity that I’m interested in). For this reason, it’s
generally “W.w. and the O.T.” to my friends and, probably, to readers
of this blog.

This brings me to my first bit of advice about honors theses:
please, please, for your own sanity, if at all possible, pick a name
for your project that will not require additional clarification to each
and every person you speak to about your research. I realise that this
may be pretty difficult for those closer to the scientific end of the
academic spectrum, but–at least if you’re in the Humanities–save
yourself a headache and don’t get into the habit of calling your
project something as foreign to the human ear as “Wordsworth and the
Odic Tradition.” This requires that, the moment you’ve said
“tradition,” you must attempt to relieve the tension in your listener’s
face by following up, “that is, uh, the tradition of odes.” If you’re
not careful, and you’re anything like me, you will end up rambling
about Odin, and how your project has nothing to do with him, to people
who have never heard of Odin–or odes, for that matter.

We talk an awful lot about the passion we feel for our research, but
an important part of pursuing academic research is realising that not
everyone is passionate about, or educated in, the things we are. Learn
to tell the difference between someone who wants to hear about the
finer points of margin formatting and someone who’s asking you about
your thesis out of politeness, and you’ll save yourself (and others!)
an awful lot of awkward moments.

Deeper implications of this simple social rule abound. One very
important aspect of research is translating it to an audience–whether
that audience is a friend, fellow-scholar, college seminar, or grant
committee (n.b. especially the latter–more on which later). If you’re
talking to someone about what you do, you can make it vastly more
interesting and useful for them by figuring out early what level
they’re listening at and what perspective they bring to the discussion.
Gauge what your listener responds to, look for that slightly tense
expression that indicates you’ve gone out of their depth; speak with
passion, but don’t be afraid to talk in very general terms; know when to stop talking.

Wait, by all means, for those people whose ready intellect, broad
knowledge base, and boundless curiosity will allow them, regardless of
their profession and education level, to engage with you at length
about your topic, but, in the meantime, settle for pitching your
research where (if you’ll permit an aberrant sports metaphor) your
listener can catch. We researchers get a bad name, I find, largely from
assuming that everyone wants to hear about what we’re doing, all the
time, complete with specialist lingo. They don’t. It’s a hard lesson,
but learn it early.

With that in mind, let me know who my readers are. I want to pitch
this blog to the right level, which is infinitely easier if I know who
you are. Also, I pretty much live for reader comments. No point lying
about that.

I promise next time I’ll talk a lot more about Ww and odes, so stay tuned.