American Literature in Turkey

Disclosure: This is an excerpt from an email I wrote today to a close friend of mine in Flagstaff. Since it's also an overview of one of the classes I'm teaching, I thought it would be interesting to post it. After coming across epistolary literature for my American literature class, like Christopher Columbus's letters, for instance, I have a new interest in the medium. Ideally, I'm not breaching too many privacy concerns.

Yesterday I had my first day of teaching the American lit. class. I had a nice group of eleven students. Honestly, I hope I don't get many more students because I like small classes. My students are an interesting mix with regard to their nationalities: a South African, a Russian (the only male in the class); two Nigerians, a German/Turk, and a handful of Turks. It makes me wonder how one decides to up and come to Turkey for one's undergraduate education. I understand that the school offers a lot of 50-100% tuition-paid scholarships, so that's probably a contributing factor. Like PIE students, though, I can't imagine showing up to a place, having one year (unlike the PIE's two and a half) to become fluent in the country's language and enrolling in classes. Possibly it's easier if you are going into the English Language and Literature major, and you already know English.

In any case, my first class was a long one. The boss said not to give the syllabus and go (like many other teachers do and did); rather he wanted us to make use of the copy machines and keep the students there for the full three hours. And that I did. By the time I was on my fourth PowerPoint, I was like, Holy shit, I do not blame my students for looking worn out. (One of these PowerPoints was actually Syllabus jeopardy, which went really well; it may have been the most engaging part of the class.)

After a discussion of What is Literature? during the second hour of class, we got into Yankee Doodle. What a dumb song. It was one of the first songs I memorized on piano as a kid, and I have probably played it more than 1000 times. I still think it's totally dumb in spite of its interesting origins. Luckily, though, the ridiculous diction and tune didn't seem like it was apparent to my international group of students. Or, at least they didn't act like it was. They even listened patiently to a professional performance of it: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IzRhFH5OyHo

I guess the whole time I was viewing the lesson through the eyes of American high schoolers, who would probably have turned off at the notion of listening to what has become a child's song over time.

When I explained the original context of the song--from the Brits about Americans--one of my students said, "I think it's really sad." I asked why. She said, "You said that every American child knows this song, and it's about how stupid Americans are." That comment made me really happy. And it prompted an explanation of the American reappropriation of the song. I really wanted to say, it's like what rappers have done with the n-word, or what queer individuals has done with a slew of slurs. But without knowing how that explanation would go over, I decided to say it's like having a rock thrown at you, and you catching it instead of letting it hurt you.

I think some students got it. I wish I had a better diagnostic information about my students, but I'll probably get that with their first writing assignment which is due next week.

Anyway, thanks for listening to all this about my first day of class. It's simultaneously exciting and confusing, and it's also a ton of work. I feel like I would have told you all this while hanging out in the kitchen at the old Leroux house. Has the tradition of kitchen hanging out continued? I hope so. I guess it's still warm enough to be in the dining/living room, so maybe that's where you'll are these days.

Aside from work, life here is still an adventure. Lots of daily discoveries. Daily existence kind of reminds me of digging a hole in the backyard as a kid. Some of the stuff you find is worth taking note of (the location of grocery stores, places to go running, amiable street animals to pet); some of it's dangerous (fucking every intersection because of the drivers here, open construction sites, holes in the sidewalk). And some of it is just muck to get through (like taking the hot and crowded public transportation). Overall, it's survivable. The good news is that most Turks are really damn nice.

That That Surrounds Me

Granola is baking in the oven. The oven came from a generous coworker named Justin who had an extra one. It's like a family-sized toaster oven. Justin gave it to us at work, and I carried it home.

My wrist brace is on as I type. The combination of playing basketball and using a computer mouse at work has left me with a case of tendinitis. The wrist brace makes me feel like a cyborg. First, the pharmacy had to order one. When it came in, it was for the wrong hand. Eventually, I got the right one. The guy at the pharmacy put it onto my hand at the counter. I felt like a child and had to loosen it outside.

Our basil plant is dying on the coffee table. Ela, my officemate, took us downtown one day, and when we were walking past the plant stores, I stopped and wanted to buy it. I gave the man what would amount to a twenty dollar bill. He began to go from shop by shop to get change. This happens often. At the florist. At the corner market. Ela pulled the exact amount out of her purse and gave it to the man. She said to take the basil as a gift. Today I've pruned it and tried to give it more sun. I'm not sure how it will fare.

The card for our internet company sits on the coffee table next to the basil. On the card is a phone number in case I want to call them. I don't. Although I've never tried it, I'm guessing that speaking on the phone in Turkish is not my forte. It's hard enough to understand people in person when I have the help of paralinguistic gestures to guide me. The internet we have now is faster. I can use YouTube. But it cuts out sometimes, and I think it's the wiring in the building. On the night that we began the internet-getting extravaganza, the internet guy showed up to my officemate-and-neighbor's apartment earlier than expected. By the time I showed up our translator, another coworker, seemed as if she needed to go. I rushed to agree to a contract. The guy had me sign some papers and gave me a modem. Then he asked for my passport. I asked how long he needed it. My coworker said, "You'll go with him to the store now." I was in my slippers.

Our new bed is made and to my left in the bedroom. It is a queen, I think. One day this week the security man asked for our key. We gave it to him without knowing why. When we got home we had a new bed.

My legs are sore, although I rested all of yesterday and today. On Fridays the male coworkers play soccer together. I know it's called football here, but in the midst of conversations, I always forget and call it soccer. My coworkers say, "It's okay. We understand." I am fairly worthless when I have the ball. I have kicked the air more times than I'd like to admit. I have touched the ball with my hands. I have taken a shot from six feet away from the goal and despite deliberately aiming to the right of the goalie I have kicked it straight at him. Nobody knows what hackey-sacking is here, but I assure them that I can do that.

To my left, Jena is writing an email. She is the only person who understands ours trials and errors as closely as I do. And she is amazing. Case in point: We're at the home improvement store, and she knows the centimeter size for fitted sheets. Meanwhile I'm wondering to myself how I can say "Not King" to a store worker. Another example: After getting her haircut, she walked around with me in the sun today helping me to collect small Weeping Willow branches that I think I can make into baskets. I know this doesn't sound like much, but having a hobby, one that is fairly mindless and something that I can do while watching Star Trek, seems very important right now. Before we left, a professor of ours said that that Jena and I were lucky to begin our married life in a new country together. We could grow together strongly that way. Right now it feels like we have.

Work 9/2/14

work

meetings
people
trips to get water or chai (tea)
constructing a syllabus that is more internally consistent than it needs to be and that will change immediately upon the beginning of classes
distractions
realizing this is the most time Jena and I have spent apart for the last two or three months
trips to the bathroom
trying to remember everyone's names
getting computer errors in Turkish
learning about my "committee"--materials development and curriculum design
feeling competent thanks to four years of graduate education
finding out how to use the bus website
going on a "tour," which was really an excuse to buy plants, a toaster, bread, and salt and pepper shakers
discussing D. H. Lawrence with a Brit
asking Jena how her day was
easily being tired at night