FreeLists / lit-ideas / [lit-ideas] Re: Where I'm Coming From

[David Ritchie <ritchierd@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>]

We all know that "which world am I in" feeling that comes from having 
returned from a distant time zone.  When the travel is to an academic 
conference there's a rhetorical disorientation too; we abandon the the 
conversations of the classroom for conversations exclusively with our 
peers.  Depending on the topic of the conference, these latter 
conversations will be in a different register or even a different 
language.  In this instance the thing I noted wasn't jargon or code 
words but a kind of eighteenth century desire to zing with wit.  When 
someone asked, at the end of a talk which concluded that there wasn't 
really any such thing as The Englightenment but something more like 
people who were aware not only that they lived in enlightened times but 
that these times seemed to them to be under threat, a philosopher 
asked, "What follows, philosophically, from your conclusion?"  The 
speaker responded, "I'm not looking for a precise use of words.  
Enlightenment can be defined in an infinity of ways.  What I'm trying 
to bring out is that it's heavily subjective.  I'm looking at the 
social use of a concept...And I'm reminded of that great man who said, 
'I have tried time and again to become a philosopher, but no matter how 
hard I try, I always seem to cheer up.'"

For me this time, there was a third level of disorientation, which came 
from being accepted into the company of Scots.  Since the conference 
was in Virginia, there were a good number of attendees from Scotland.  
Many of the representatives of American and Canadian universities 
turned out to be expatriate Scots.  And there at least three who, like 
me, had parents who moved from Scotland to find work among the English. 
 So in some sense I was coming home at the conference, living among "ma 
ain folk," at least briefly; not in America at all, but in some strange 
and intellectual version of a country I left when I was three.  My 
accent migrated and found a register that those who came directly from 
Scotland couldn't quite place geographically, but which they thought 
was clearly from among them somewhere.  Today I hear it migrating back. 
 Still I have in my ear the sounds of the conference.  I'm typing 
"conference" and hearing "cornfurence," but at the faculty council 
meeting I think I sounded like my old self.  One voice in my head; 
another coming from my mouth.

Like any society, this one had its samurai, all of whom had thrown up 
earthworks a while back and were now engaged--in classic academic 
manner--in the game of lobbing, from time to time, mortar shots at 
anyone who seemed to be interesting in storming their particular hill.  
When they weren't shooting they were, of course, giving polite waves 
and then sweeping feathered caps with grand motions, classic eighteenth 
century bows, deep genuflections.  And then there were the graduate 
students and new-minted temps, whose task it was to take one of the 
balls that had rolled down the hill from an earthwork and add something 
humble to it, a change of direction, a new layer, a bit of sparkle.  
Which efforts were approved from the top of the hills, or given the old 
raised eyebrow.  And then there were one or two versions of me, middle 
career people who strolled around in sturdy garb, behaving as if there 
weren't a war on.  Some of us won considerable applause...from all but 
the samurai.

I had a good time.  At the celeidgh (Scots for singing and dancing 
party) hidden talents were revealed.  When the hired band--which played 
while we did "The Dashing White Sergeant" and "The Gay Gordons" and I 
don't remember what else--took a rest, a Lit Prof from MIT took out her 
button accordion and launched into song.  The fellow from the National 
Trust for Scotland joined in, proving to have a wonderful tenor voice 
(hers was good also).  The guy who gave a talk on gaelic-speaking 
African Americans, then sang the first gaelic song I can remember 
liking--the roll call song which a bard invented for the raising of the 
standard at Glenfinnan.  How alien it sounded, and how moving.

More when I gather my wits.

David Ritchie
Portland, Oregon

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