I know the changing roles of technology in our lives and societies has become cliché; still, this anecdote is just too bizarre not to share.
As some of you will likely have noticed, I've started posting reaction papers I wrote for my class on Literature of Modern Germany. The reason: I have a few German(-speaking) friends who read this blog and the reaction papers are basically written just like blog posts. Why not?
So here's how the story goes. At the bottom of all my emails, I have a link to my blog - among other things - just to discretely recruit unsuspecting potential readers. This has led to a wonderful variety of people mentioning to me that they've checked it out - and apparently sometimes even liked it!
But today, when I received an email from a senior administrator at Mount Allison (yes Graeme, I've learned to be vague enough to maintain people's anonymity) with whom I'd been corresponding about university politics, and at the end of the message I read: "I've been enjoying your blog, by the way, and particularly enjoyed your analysis of Der Vorleser," I couldn't help but think how uncanny the whole situation was.
Here's this apparently really important administrator I'm little more than acquainted with, whom I was unaware could even read German, who enjoyed a one-page "analysis" of an albeit popular German novel that I wrote for an undergraduate German Literature class at American University in Washington, DC.
Of course, it's flattering, but that's not the point. The point is that no situation remotely similar could ever have happened ten years ago.
Recently I was visited by a very good friend who had just returned from a long walk in the woods, and I asked her what she had observed. 'Nothing in particular,' she replied. I might have been incredulous had I not been accustomed to such responses, for long ago I became convinced that the seeing see little.
How was it possible, I asked myself, to walk for an hour through the woods and see nothing worthy of note? I who cannot see find hundreds of things to interest me through mere touch. I feel the delicate symmetry of a leaf. I pass my hands lovingly about the smooth skin of a silver birch, or the rough, shaggy bark of a pine. In spring I touch the branches of trees hopefully in search of a bud, the first sign of awakening Nature after her winter's sleep. I feel the delightful, velvety texture of a flower, and discover its remarkable convolutions; and something of the miracle of Nature is revealed to me.
-Helen Keller, Three Days to See (1933)
NB: Helen Keller was deaf-blind.
How was it possible, I asked myself, to walk for an hour through the woods and see nothing worthy of note? I who cannot see find hundreds of things to interest me through mere touch. I feel the delicate symmetry of a leaf. I pass my hands lovingly about the smooth skin of a silver birch, or the rough, shaggy bark of a pine. In spring I touch the branches of trees hopefully in search of a bud, the first sign of awakening Nature after her winter's sleep. I feel the delightful, velvety texture of a flower, and discover its remarkable convolutions; and something of the miracle of Nature is revealed to me.
-Helen Keller, Three Days to See (1933)
NB: Helen Keller was deaf-blind.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Spot the Difference
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Washington DC 2007-08
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Nicholas Dubé
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Tuesday, March 04, 2008
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1 comment:
A footprint to prove that I am reading your blog...
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