Цитатник Англофила - 45: "Letter to a young academic" о разочаровании в академической карьере
Давненько не обновлял любимую рубрику. Возможно, потому, что было намерение давать в ней только действительно оригинальные, нерядовые тексты... В честь женского праздника воспроизведу опубликованное в одном из недавних номеров еженедельника Times Higher Education (THE) письмо-эссе профессора Уорвикского Университета Сьюзен Басснетт (Susan Bassnett) (я сам в этом замечательном университете когда-то провел год). Она в числе других заслуженных ветеранов научно-образовательного сообщества откликнулась на просьбу редакции поделиться с молодым поколением впечатлениями о своей карьере и жизни. Это, на мой взгляд, замечательно написанный текст, в котором с редкой искренностью и тактом выражается сожаление, что карьера (по всем параметрам чрезвычайно успешная) сложилась именно так. И не только карьера, но и жизнь. Жизнь в академическом сообществе, которое характеризуется кратко, но жестко.
Собственно, первый абзац у меня едва не вызвал раздражение: ну зачем перечислять свои профессиональные достижения (виднейший теоретик литературного перевода со знанием многих языков, 20 книг и репутация основателя новой области филологической науки, продвижение по административной лестнице - вплоть до поста проректора ведущего университета, чего до нее там ни одной женщине не удавалось, членство в самых престижных "академиях"...) Но тут же и выясняется: все эти достижения и регалии только усиливают ее сожаление, что жизнь сложилась именно так. Она, оказывается, никогда такой академической карьеры не хотела. А хотела стать писателем. И рассчитывала, что вот-вот она на своих писательских амбициях сосредоточится. Но необходимость зарабатывать деньги (четверо детей, больной муж...), а потом инерция... И вот, читая в Times некролог на кончину своего спутника жизни (он был одним из ведущих авторов жанра travel writing), она расстраивается, что ее поминают как "the eminent academic". И чувствует, что прожила не совсем свою жизнь.
Сожаление это носит, впрочем, вполне экзистенциальный характер. Удивительно, что одного абзаца хватило, чтобы впечатляюще обрисовать свое (когда-то юной идеалистки) глубокое разочарование в интеллектуальной среде - в частности, университетской (где "высокомерие сочетается с глупостью, самообманом и завистливостью")... В общем, мощный, смелый и при этом очень короткий текст!
Letters to a young academic
Susan Bassnett
Reluctant trailblazer
In ancient times, students like me with a double first found themselves being headhunted straight after graduation by universities, usually in the US. So I started out in academia with just a BA. Over 20 books and scores of articles later, I am considered one of the founders of a new discipline, translation studies, and continue to receive speaking invitations from institutions on every continent except Antarctica. Over time, I also climbed up through the university ranks, becoming the first female professor in my faculty and Warwick’s first female pro vice- chancellor. I also became a fellow of the Royal Society of Literature and the Institute of Linguists, as well as a council member of the Academia Europaea. So what’s to regret about such a career?
A lot, actually. For a start, I never wanted to be an academic. When I read the beautiful obituary in The Times for my late partner, Geoffrey Moorhouse, I saw myself described as “the eminent academic, Susan Bassnett” and it brought an additional pang of grief, even though I know Jan Morris, who wrote it, meant it as a compliment. Because I knew when I read that phrase that I would never, ever achieve my childhood dream: to be a writer, rather than an eminent anything. That is my greatest regret. I tried twice to leave academia to launch a literary career but twice I was lured back by the prospect of a regular salary.
I needed the money. I had my first child in the States when writing my PhD, and learned I was pregnant with my fourth, 16 years later, the same day I heard the news of my professorship. I don’t regret having children for a second: they are at the core of my life. But as my then husband had serious health problems for many years and could not contribute to the household budget, I was the sole breadwinner - and chief cook and bottle- washer too - until my widowed mother moved near to me to step into the role of second parent.
So my next regret is that when the children were growing up, I took on anything that paid, which included writing books I didn’t enjoy. My poetry and the writing projects that really mattered to me were sidelined and became a luxury, not a necessity.
We are all children of our age: I was born in the post-war years and grew up in southern Europe, acquiring several languages en route, but my ideology was shaped in the 1960s. I believed the world could change and that a union of intellectuals and workers together would bring about that change. I also believed in the fundamental goodness of human beings. Over the years, my idealism has been stripped away. I now view universities as microcosms of government, where arrogance combines with foolishness and self-deception, leavened with a large pinch of envy. I regret my inability to understand that the ideal society is a fantasy. I regret not having seen through the myth that intellectuals are important. I regret not having acquired the hard-nosed toughness of those born in an age beyond idealism.
The hill farmers who are my neighbours today are far wiser than any academic I know, because they understand that life is cyclical, that nature is, as Tennyson said, red in tooth and claw. Regrets? Yes, this eminent academic does seem to have a few.
Susan Bassnett is professor of comparative literature at the University of Warwick.
Собственно, первый абзац у меня едва не вызвал раздражение: ну зачем перечислять свои профессиональные достижения (виднейший теоретик литературного перевода со знанием многих языков, 20 книг и репутация основателя новой области филологической науки, продвижение по административной лестнице - вплоть до поста проректора ведущего университета, чего до нее там ни одной женщине не удавалось, членство в самых престижных "академиях"...) Но тут же и выясняется: все эти достижения и регалии только усиливают ее сожаление, что жизнь сложилась именно так. Она, оказывается, никогда такой академической карьеры не хотела. А хотела стать писателем. И рассчитывала, что вот-вот она на своих писательских амбициях сосредоточится. Но необходимость зарабатывать деньги (четверо детей, больной муж...), а потом инерция... И вот, читая в Times некролог на кончину своего спутника жизни (он был одним из ведущих авторов жанра travel writing), она расстраивается, что ее поминают как "the eminent academic". И чувствует, что прожила не совсем свою жизнь.
Сожаление это носит, впрочем, вполне экзистенциальный характер. Удивительно, что одного абзаца хватило, чтобы впечатляюще обрисовать свое (когда-то юной идеалистки) глубокое разочарование в интеллектуальной среде - в частности, университетской (где "высокомерие сочетается с глупостью, самообманом и завистливостью")... В общем, мощный, смелый и при этом очень короткий текст!
Letters to a young academic
Susan Bassnett
Reluctant trailblazer
In ancient times, students like me with a double first found themselves being headhunted straight after graduation by universities, usually in the US. So I started out in academia with just a BA. Over 20 books and scores of articles later, I am considered one of the founders of a new discipline, translation studies, and continue to receive speaking invitations from institutions on every continent except Antarctica. Over time, I also climbed up through the university ranks, becoming the first female professor in my faculty and Warwick’s first female pro vice- chancellor. I also became a fellow of the Royal Society of Literature and the Institute of Linguists, as well as a council member of the Academia Europaea. So what’s to regret about such a career?
A lot, actually. For a start, I never wanted to be an academic. When I read the beautiful obituary in The Times for my late partner, Geoffrey Moorhouse, I saw myself described as “the eminent academic, Susan Bassnett” and it brought an additional pang of grief, even though I know Jan Morris, who wrote it, meant it as a compliment. Because I knew when I read that phrase that I would never, ever achieve my childhood dream: to be a writer, rather than an eminent anything. That is my greatest regret. I tried twice to leave academia to launch a literary career but twice I was lured back by the prospect of a regular salary.
I needed the money. I had my first child in the States when writing my PhD, and learned I was pregnant with my fourth, 16 years later, the same day I heard the news of my professorship. I don’t regret having children for a second: they are at the core of my life. But as my then husband had serious health problems for many years and could not contribute to the household budget, I was the sole breadwinner - and chief cook and bottle- washer too - until my widowed mother moved near to me to step into the role of second parent.
So my next regret is that when the children were growing up, I took on anything that paid, which included writing books I didn’t enjoy. My poetry and the writing projects that really mattered to me were sidelined and became a luxury, not a necessity.
We are all children of our age: I was born in the post-war years and grew up in southern Europe, acquiring several languages en route, but my ideology was shaped in the 1960s. I believed the world could change and that a union of intellectuals and workers together would bring about that change. I also believed in the fundamental goodness of human beings. Over the years, my idealism has been stripped away. I now view universities as microcosms of government, where arrogance combines with foolishness and self-deception, leavened with a large pinch of envy. I regret my inability to understand that the ideal society is a fantasy. I regret not having seen through the myth that intellectuals are important. I regret not having acquired the hard-nosed toughness of those born in an age beyond idealism.
The hill farmers who are my neighbours today are far wiser than any academic I know, because they understand that life is cyclical, that nature is, as Tennyson said, red in tooth and claw. Regrets? Yes, this eminent academic does seem to have a few.
Susan Bassnett is professor of comparative literature at the University of Warwick.