When we write about creativity, we often refer to the work of geniuses; [distancing] ordinary members of society from the act of creativity by reinforcing a perception that they could never be creative themselves (Dymoke, 2020: 80).
Digital story by Kate Shpota
The state of creativity
The damage wrought by the stereotype of a creative as an isolated genius seems likely to increase within the current context of the UK school system, where an overloaded curriculum and assessment driven pedagogies dominate. The 2023 State of Creativity report notes that creativity has been ‘all but expunged from the school curriculum in England’. Educators across schools and departments in HEIs are attempting to resist the current educational practice which promotes students as consumers and centres our students as active producers in their own learning. Yet, as education policy from primary through to higher education continues not only to cut its emphasis on the humanities and creativity, but also eliminate arts and humanities departments altogether, higher education runs a profound risk of further alienating students from the benefits of creative thinking and artistic practice.
Our undergraduates, being educationalists, use sociological and psychological lenses to understand the social and cultural landscape affecting both classroom learning and community education more broadly. Nevertheless, despite education being at the intersection of many academic disciplines (Sociology, English, Philosophy, History to name a few), students are often reluctant to incorporate alternative approaches into their learning and even less so into their assessments.
Fear and discomfort
As educators, we ask students to embrace discomfort when learning different theoretical approaches or understanding alternative viewpoints. But often, we do not ask them to embrace discomfort in operating outside of the neoliberal HE system, a ‘results driven quantification [which] directs learning’ (Kulz, 2017 p. 55). Within this context, learning focuses on the product (the assessable outcome), rather than the process (the learning journey). Thus, it is unsurprising that our undergraduates initially baulked at the idea of an assessment that incorporated a creative element, preferring essays and multiple-choice exams instead. Hunter & Frawley (2023) define arts-based pedagogy (ABP) as a process by which students can observe and reflect on an art form to link different disciplines, thus encouraging students to lean into uncomfortable subject matter and explore their place within in the wider world. To build more dynamic and critically analytical students, we had to simultaneously encourage an ABP approach so they would understand their academic and theoretical course content more fully while scaffolding their learning through a series of creative activities designed to engage students with different forms of learning and reflection. By incorporating cultural visits, mentorship, and creative assessments into the module, art enhanced subject teaching while encouraging students to think more deeply about their own practice (Fleming, 2012). Yet, incorporating practice was not enough, we were faced with the question: how do educationalists ask students to engage with their vulnerabilities around creative practice (the belief and the engrained fear that they cannot do art or are not good at art) and lead them to an understanding that vulnerability itself can be beneficial?
Perhaps, the most basic answer came by asking ourselves, are we, as academics, scared of implementing creative pedagogies because we are scared of showing our own vulnerabilities? What if we as educators fail at a task and our students see? What would happen if we became vulnerable alongside our students? Jordan (2010) argues that when vulnerability is met with criticism, we disengage as a self-preservation tactic. For Brown, acknowledging our insecurities offers a means of understanding ourselves, developing shame resilience and acting authentically. In our session, our vulnerability as lecturers was tested when engaging with textile art, specifically a battle with crochet. Our students saw educators who were not secure or competent in a task. This resulted in a small amount of mockery, but also empathy and offers of support. By stepping out of our comfort zone and embracing a pedagogy of discomfort (Boler 1999), we encouraged our students to challenge themselves. Romney and Holland (2023) refer to this as a ‘paradox of vulnerability’: by overcoming our own reluctance to be vulnerable with our learners we create connections and a sense of trust. We should add that the session explored women’s textile art as activism and the outcome, a piece of textile art, symbolically woven together by students and staff—all female.
Collective textile piece
Importance of community and connection
Once we examined theoretical and personal aspects of discomfort and vulnerability, to support and enhance our focus on creative practice, we drew on local cultural partnerships. The incorporation of cultural visits, mentorship from resident artists, and creative exercises enriched our subject teaching while simultaneously encouraging students to think more deeply about their own practice (Fleming, 2012). It also built an alliance between social scientists and colleagues in arts and humanities disciplines, capitalising on their expertise and years of honing ABP. Nottingham is a city where the legend of Robin Hood, outlaws, and rebellion intersect with vibrant cultural community. But many of our students do not engage with cultural spaces, leading to double disconnect, first from their own creative practice and second from the cultural sector altogether. Our students expressed their disconnect from the cultural heart of Nottingham was due to the spaces being ‘not for them’ or a worry that they would not ‘understand’ the art. By exploring the city centre as a group, walking from one site to another, we broke down barriers around these prohibited spaces.
Engagement with Nottingham by Alisha Begum
Once inside the Nottingham Contemporary, the resident artists told their own stories of fear, worries of judgement, and expressed anxieties of creative practice, thus setting our students free from the myth of the genius artist – untouchable by self-doubt. This realisation allowed our students to relax and engage worry-free into the creative tasks.
Found poem by Alisha Begum‘I object’ by Nicole Robinson
By joining in with these activities, lecturers and students learned alongside each other, tackling our insecurities regarding our creative abilities together as a learning community. Perhaps community was the most important outcome in the project as connection was central. Exposure to the cultural sites created a feeling of connection with the cultural heart of the city. Students also, perhaps more importantly, reported that they became more connected to an understanding of themselves as creatives, becoming more autonomous and engaged in their own learning.
Digital storytelling: Identity Crisis by Shahnaz Begum
Perhaps it is most appropriate to end this post with the voice of one of our year-two students—the transcript from a podcast created as part of her larger portfolio. She asserts:
Art in education is a goldmine of untouched opportunities [and can be] used to foster students’ holistic development, stimulate creative thinking and engagement with social justice. … and to my fellow Artivists, embrace creativity one canvas at a time.
Katherine Friend is an Associate Professor of Higher Education at Nottingham Trent University. Her work focuses on three themes: the underrepresented student experience on university campuses, the importance of undergraduate engagement in the cultural sector, and reconciling international and academic identities. Threading all three themes together are discussions of one’s ‘place’ and/or ‘space’ in HE and how social and cultural hierarchies contribute to identity, representation, and belonging.
Aisling Walters is a Senior Lecturer in Secondary Education at Nottingham Trent University whose research focuses on the development of writer identity in trainee English teachers, preservice teachers’ experiences of prescriptive schemes of learning, arts-based pedagogies, and students as writers.
The landscape of higher education (HE) in the UK (but also more widely, in Western countries and across the globe) has significantly changed, driven by the massification and the following marketisation of HE studies (Alves & Tomlinson, 2021; Molesworth et al, 2009). The predominance of particular governance structures and schools of thought shape the narrative further (as discussed by Marcia Devlin (2021) in her SRHE blog) and create a deceptively heterogeneous environment, where each prospective student can find their “place”, but all are conditioned to follow a similar narrative.
New disruptions
On this backdrop new disruptions appear, of which we want to focus on two specifically for the UK HE. First, the legacy of lockdowns, bringing more flexible working environment and an astonishing pervasiveness of digital tools together with disrupted earlier education and legacy of health, including mental health, concerns, unsettles further already brittle UK HE sector (as illustrated by SRHE blog by Steven Jones (2022). Second, the advent of Generative AI and its implications for teaching, learning, and assessment. Much has been said about these (Lee et al, 2024; O’Dea, 2024) – our learning points from this rapidly growing literature are that i) significant disruption has occurred and ii) something needs to be done to react to this change in context. In other words, while there are many tried and tested theories and methods in teaching and assessment, they need to be reviewed and very likely adapted to keep up with the changing context.
The change did not occur only in the tools: we argue here that it is not merely a quantitative technical change (eg speed of communication), but a qualitative change, which affected or at least has the potential to affect, the mindset and the behaviour of students (and staff). Together, these factors produce more stressed, more demanding, potentially differently engaged students (sometimes perceived as less engaged), focused on the “added value” of their degrees and their “university experience”, anxious to acquire competences and skills through experiential learning to be in the best position for securing the employment of their choice.
In this rapidly changing context, the need for pedagogical innovations (PI), or at least the desire and the ability to engage with disruptions in the education process, seems almost inevitable. But how do the staff working in the UK HE, respond to this demand? Are the challenges viewed as opportunities or rather as additional pressures, adding to an evolving workload and requirements to navigate a complex bureaucracy?
Research focus: understanding the lived experiences of educators
Our research explores the lived experiences of educators across 13 UK universities, investigating their engagement with PI in the aftermath of the COVID-19 pandemic. By examining how institutional dynamics, personal motivations, and perceived barriers shape decisions surrounding PI, we have developed the initial stages of a conceptual framework, presented at the SRHE International Conference, to guide policies that better support educators and foster sustained PI in teaching. Through 30 interviews with educators, senior staff, and technology-enabled learning (TEL) specialists, we reveal the complex decision-making processes that influence whether and how educators embrace or resist innovation in their teaching practices.
What drives educators to innovate?
Our research highlights a multifaceted landscape where educators’ motivations for engaging with PI are shaped by both intrinsic and extrinsic factors. For many, intrinsic motivations, such as a deep-rooted desire to enhance student learning and a personal commitment to pedagogical excellence, act as powerful drivers for innovation. As one educator noted, “I’m always looking for new ideas. Innovation gives me a sense of purpose and connection with my students, making teaching more fulfilling.” This indicates that where academics feel a strong personal commitment to education, and it is rewarded, they are more likely to embrace innovative practices.
The tension between rhetoric and reality
However, these motivations are often counterbalanced by extrinsic pressures from the institutional environment, whether perceived or real. Many educators reported feeling that institutional strategies, while rhetorically supportive of PI, were undercut by bureaucratic barriers, a lack of adequate resources, and managerial cultures focused on short-term, measurable outcomes. One academic explained, “Innovation is a buzzword here, but when it comes to implementing anything new, we’re stuck in a system that values research output over teaching innovation. There’s little incentive to invest time in something that doesn’t directly contribute to my publication record.” This highlights the tension between institutional narrative and individual motivations, with many educators perceiving a disconnect between institutional rhetoric purporting to encourage PI and the reality of its implementation.
Autonomy and trust
Another key finding concerns the role of autonomy and trust in fostering a culture of innovation. Educators who felt empowered within their departments – where trust was placed in their judgment – were more likely to experiment with new teaching methods. As one TEL specialist remarked, “When leadership trusts us, we feel freer to try new approaches. But when we are micromanaged, the innovation just stops. You’re constantly battling to prove that your idea is worth the time it takes.” This sense of autonomy, closely linked to professional identity, is crucial in determining whether educators feel motivated to innovate or revert to traditional methods.
The cost of innovation
However, these ‘empowering’ environments were not universally experienced. Many educators, particularly those in large departments or with heavy teaching loads, reported feeling that the cost of innovation – both in terms of time and energy – was too high. “It’s hard to innovate when you’re overwhelmed with marking, preparation, and administration. It feels like there’s no room to breathe, let alone experiment,” shared an academic. This sense of burnout, compounded by a perception of growing academic bureaucracy, led some to feel that the costs of engaging in PI outweighed the benefits, making it more difficult to justify the time and effort required for innovation.
A balancing act
Perhaps not surprisingly, some educators justified their lack of engagement with PI by citing these perceived institutional constraints. As one educator put it, “We’re told to innovate, but the structure just isn’t there to support it. It’s easier to stick with what we know works than to risk failure with something new.” This reflects the cognitive flexibility educators employ when balancing personal motivations with institutional limitations. As per Goffman’s (1959) ‘front’ and ‘back’ stage theory, educators sometimes present a compliant, innovative persona on the ‘front’ stage in order to ‘fit in’ (Nästesjö, 2023), while in the ‘back’ stage, they rationalize their lack of engagement by attributing it to costs and benefits, reconciling their professional image with their lived experiences.
Reflections
We are certain that some, if not all, of these quotes will resonate with many of the readers: these trends have been discussed in, for example, Lašáková et al (2017) and Findlow (2008). Our aim is not only to systematise and categorise the individual aspects shared with us by both frustrated and aspiring colleagues, but to focus on an in-depth analysis of their motivations. Based on previous literature and our data, we aim to generalise and develop a theoretical framework through the lens of an interdisciplinary management and economics analysis. The preliminary version of this theoretical framework, presented at the 2024 SRHE Conference, should provide a foundation for shaping institutional policies to develop a sustainable pipeline of innovations, in the full respect of both academic freedom and students’ interests. In other words, we hope that our work will facilitate structural changes to unlock the innovation potential and help institutions to help us to innovate.
Kamilya Suleymenova is Associate Professor at the Department of Economics, Birmingham Business School, University of Birmingham with interests in assessment and feedback particularly for large cohorts, Generative AI in HE, as well as institutional and behavioural and experimental economics. Now twice a presenter at SRHE International Conference, Kamilya appreciates the constructive feedback of the community.
Emma Thirkell is an Assistant Professor in Human Resource Management at Newcastle Business School, Northumbria University with interests in pedagogical innovation, experiential learning, and the integration of technology in education. A four-time teaching award winner, she is passionate about bridging academia and practice through innovative curriculum design and leadership in higher education.
Promoting sustainability literacy in higher education is crucial for deepening students’ pro-environmental behaviour and mindset (Buckler & Creech, 2014; UNESCO, 1997), while also fostering social transformation by embedding sustainability at the core of the student experience. In 2022, our group received an SRHE Scoping Award to synthesise the literature on the development, teaching, and assessment of sustainability literacy in non-STEM higher education programmes. We conducted a multilingual systematic review of post-2010 publications from the European Higher Education Area (EHEA), with the results summarised in Kalocsányiová et al (2024).
Out of 6,161 articles that we identified as potentially relevant, 92 studies met the inclusion criteria and are reviewed in the report. These studies involved a total of 11,790 participants and assessed 9,992 university programmes and courses. Our results suggest a significant growth in research interest in sustainability in non-STEM fields since 2017, with 75 studies published compared to just 17 in the preceding seven years. Our analysis also showed that Spain, the United Kingdom, Germany, Turkey, and Austria had the highest concentration of publications, with 25 EHEA countries represented in total. The 92 reviewed studies were characterised by high methodological diversity: nearly half employed quantitative methods (47%), followed by qualitative studies (40%) and mixed methods research (13%). Curriculum assessments using quantitative content analysis of degree and course descriptors were among the most common study types, followed by surveys and intervention or pilot studies. Curriculum assessments provided a systematic way to evaluate the presence or absence of sustainability concepts within curricula at both single HE institutions and in comparative frameworks. However, they often captured only surface-level indications of sustainability integration into undergraduate and postgraduate programmes, without providing evidence on actual implementation and/or the effectiveness of different initiatives. Qualitative methods, including descriptive case studies and interviews that focused on barriers, challenges, implementation strategies, and the acceptability of new sustainability literacy initiatives, made up 40% of the current research. Mixed methods studies accounted for 13% of the reviewed articles, often applying multiple assessment tools simultaneously, including quantitative sustainability competency assessment instruments combined with open-ended interviews or learning journals.
In terms of disciplines, Economics, Business, and Administrative Studies held the largest share of reviewed studies (26%), followed by Education (23%). Multiple disciplines accounted for 22% of the reviewed publications, reflecting the interconnected nature of sustainability. Finance and Accounting contributed only 6%, indicating a need for further research. Similarly, Language and Linguistics, Mass Communication and Documentation, and Social Sciences collectively represented only 12% of the reviewed studies. Creative Arts and Design with just 2% was also a niche area. Although caution should be exercised when drawing conclusions from these results, they highlight the need for more research within the underrepresented disciplines. This in turn can help promote awareness among non-STEM students, stimulate ethical discussions on the cultural dimensions of sustainability, and encourage creative solutions through interdisciplinary dialogue.
Regarding factors and themes explored, the studies focused primarily on the acquisition of sustainability knowledge and competencies (27%), curriculum assessment (23%), challenges and barriers to sustainability integration (10%), implementation and evaluation research (10%), changes in students’ mindset (9%), key competences in sustainability literacy (5%), and active student participation in Education for Sustainable Development (5%). In terms of studies discussing acquisition processes, key focus areas included the teaching of Sustainable Development Goals, awareness of macro-sustainability trends, and knowledge of local sustainability issues. Studies on sustainability competencies focussed on systems thinking, critical thinking, problem-solving skills, ethical awareness, interdisciplinary knowledge, global awareness and citizenship, communication skills, and action-oriented mindset. These competencies and knowledge, which are generally considered crucial for addressing the multifaceted challenges of sustainability (Wiek et al., 2011), were often introduced to non-STEM students through stand-alone lectures, workshops, or pilot studies involving new cross-disciplinary curricula.
Our review also highlighted a broad range of pedagogical approaches adopted for sustainability teaching and learning within non-STEM disciplines. These covered case and project-based learning, experiential learning methods, problem-based learning, collaborative learning, reflection groups, pedagogical dialogue, flipped classroom approaches, game-based learning, and service learning. While there is strong research interest in the documentation and implementation of these pedagogical approaches, few studies have so far attempted to assess learning outcomes, particularly regarding discipline-specific sustainability expertise and real-world problem-solving skills.
Many of the reviewed studies relied on single-method approaches, meaning valuable insights into sustainability-focused teaching and learning may have been missed. For instance, studies often failed to capture the complexities surrounding sustainability integration into non-STEM programs, either by presenting positivist results that require further contextualisation or by offering rich context limited to a single course or study group, which cannot be generalised. The assessment tools currently used also seemed to lack consistency, making it difficult to compare outcomes across programmes and institutions to promote best practices. More robust evaluation designs, such as longitudinal studies, controlled intervention studies, and mixed methods approaches (Gopalan et al, 2020; Ponce & Pagán-Maldonado, 2015), are needed to explore and demonstrate the pedagogical effectiveness of various sustainability literacy initiatives in non-STEM disciplines and their impact on student outcomes and societal change.
In summary, our review suggests good progress in integrating sustainability knowledge and competencies into some core non-STEM disciplines, while also highlighting gaps. Based on the results we have formulated some questions that may help steer future research:
Are there systemic barriers hindering the integration of sustainability themes, challenges and competencies into specific non-STEM fields?
Are certain disciplines receiving disproportionate research attention at the expense of others?
How do different pedagogical approaches compare in terms of effectiveness for fostering sustainability literacy in and across HE fields?
What new educational practices are emerging, and how can we fairly assess them and evidence their benefits for students and the environment?
We also would like to encourage other researchers to engage with knowledge produced in a variety of languages and educational contexts. The multilingual search and screening strategy implemented in our review enabled us to identify and retrieve evidence from 25 EHEA countries and 24 non-English publications. If reviews of education research remain monolingual (English-only), important findings and insights will go unnoticed hindering knowledge exchange, creativity, and innovation in HE.
Dr. Erika Kalocsányiová is a Senior Research Fellow with the Institute for Lifecourse Development at the University of Greenwich, with research centering on public health and sustainability communication, migration and multilingualism, refugee integration, and the implications of these areas for higher education policies.
Rania Hassan is a PhD student and a research assistant at the University of Greenwich. Her research centres on exploring enterprise development activities within emerging economies. As a multidisciplinary and interdisciplinary researcher, Rania is passionate about advancing academia and promoting knowledge exchange in higher education.
How can online learning programmes help tackle systemic global injustices with creative pedagogies? How can universities build effective educational environments and pedagogies to support critical thinking and vigorously challenge contemporary forms of racism, colonialism and inequity?
These are some of the questions I have reflected on over the past almost 14 years of teaching at the University of Edinburgh. In 2011, I embarked with colleagues at the School of Social and Political Science to develop our school’s first fully online distance learning MSc postgraduate programmes, partnering with an interdisciplinary team spanning the three Colleges of the University to co-create and co-teach the MSc in Global Challenges. Addressing global development, health and environmental inequalities, with case studies spanning an array of countries, this programme had students from all over the world. The insights and trajectories of our students have been deeply inspirational – many of our students have gone on to do PhDs, work with United Nations organisations, embassies, non-governmental and humanitarian organisations and work in other kinds of practitioner and research careers. In this blog I reflect on the philosophy of the teaching and learning approach we have nurtured – and associated critical conversations about pedagogy.
We had support from a Principal’s Teaching Award (PTAS) to explore student learning experiences and reflect on our teaching practices, and in 2016 we published an article: ‘Decolonising online development studies? Emancipatory aspirations and critical reflections–a case study’. At the time, it was one of the few critical pedagogy studies to think through ‘international development’ teaching and the risks of replicating colonial logics in online learning modalities (and how to try to counter these). It proposed a critical framework for analysis that took into account barriers to social inclusivity – including the politics of language – that shaped participation dynamics in the programme. It also considered debates regarding critical development course content, rethinking possibilities for bridging counter-hegemonic development scholarship with practice-oriented approaches in a range of social contexts. Our analysis unpacked tensions in tackling intertwined institutional and pedagogic dilemmas for an agenda towards decolonising online development studies, positioning decolonisation as a necessarily unsettling and contested process that calls for greater self-reflexivity.
Some years ago online learning initiatives were treated with suspicion as a technology craze that could not truly build effective communities of critical learners. This is no longer the case, generally speaking. Our online students have carved out sophisticated learning paths while interacting with ambitious courses – sometimes in live discussions and sometimes in asynchronous discussions that built incredible communities of practice. But there are important online learning-specific pedagogic points to keep in mind, as course instructors craft and adapt approaches to support individual and group learning.
One is the risk of re-entrenching problematic dynamics of imperial knowledge production, even when intentions are to do exactly the opposite. There is a need to ensure that online learning platforms grapple with colonial legacies and tendencies – including biases that are easily replicable in virtual technology platforms. It is increasingly recognised that ‘decolonising’ is not simply a matter of ‘bringing in’ authors from Global South countries in reading lists. It is also a matter of ensuring that the underpinning pedagogies, assignments, and learning strategies themselves tackle systemic biases that have often shaped the field of ‘international development’ – and doing so from the outset. This may mean inviting students into at-times uncomfortable conversations about ways of understanding histories of dispossession, or ways of thinking about and governing societies; and ensuring that early course activities trouble assumptions – including about what ‘development’ is/means to different people and whose values are prioritised or overlooked. Some students might not normally read the writings of those who fought during liberation wars against colonialism, for example, but might find such readings different and transformative. There are a range of other possibilities, too, from changing the way that case studies are framed – for example, starting with stories of heavily oppressed peoples instead of starting with the technocratic logics of United Nations and government reports.
Despite global talk of ‘decolonisation,’ there has been a tendency for globally renowned development academics from wealthy countries to dominate reading lists. We have tried in our courses to challenge this – and ensure that activity-focused coursework and online case studies challenge hegemonic assumptions in mainstream policy literature and development discourse. Some of the reflections on our pedagogy were also discussed in a wider influential review article by Shahjahan et al (2022) entitled ‘”Decolonizing” curriculum and pedagogy: A comparative review across disciplines and global higher education contexts’, which notes that ‘decolonization’ has been very differently treated by different educators. Our pedagogy work has also been part of a wider conversation in the scholarly literature on how “precautions need to be taken when incorporating non-Western knowledges into Western universities to avoid mishearing, misrepresenting, exploiting, and decontextualizing them” (Lau and Mendes, 2024; see also Spiegel et al, 2024).
Relatedly, there is a need to be cautious of ideas about “transfer of knowledge” and instead to embrace values built on reciprocal sharing of knowledge in educational practices (see also Parmentier, 2023). Furthermore, attempts at decolonising development education requires attention to the link between learning strategy and wider institutional practices, including heeding inequities in admissions processes and language barriers in higher education. Our work in developing new online learning pedagogies is just part of the story; we have also been interacting closely with university admissions offices on strengthening approaches to make admissions more inclusive. This has included greater recognition of practitioner qualifications and also, significantly, some modifications in how English language testing requirements were addressed in some of the countries affected. This was especially important in contexts where applicants had demonstrable English language proof, from institutional and/or university experiences, but lived far from test centres and could not afford testing.
Our article ‘Decolonising Online Development Studies?’ had a question mark in the title, alluding to the ambiguity of interpretation and the uncertainties that may play out over time. It was cited in other PTAS-awarded studies led by other staff members at UoE, supporting further analysis of specific techniques for building online learning communities (see Wood et al, 2021) How these ideas are to be taken forward is an ethically important conversation that relates to the very core of what education seeks to do, requiring ongoing attention to the interplay of values, philosophies, curricula and teaching techniques.
Dr Sam Spiegel is the director of the Global Challenges MSc programme at the University of Edinburgh, where he serves as the Deputy Director of Research for Knowledge Exchange and Impact at the School of Social and Political Science. He is also a senior lecturer at the Centre of African Studies and has published extensively with colleagues in Zimbabwe and in other regions of the world on migration, displacement, borders, critical pedagogy and social change.
I spoke with Dr. Timothy Oleksiak, Assistant Professor of English at the University of Massachusetts—Boston, about two of his essays, “A Queer Praxis for Peer Review” and “Slow Peer Review in the Writing Classroom,” recently out in College Composition and Communication and Pedagogy. In these essays, they present theory and practice for a pedagogical practice they call slow peer review, a different way to approach that classical strategy of writing classes, student-to-student peer review, where students swap drafts and give each other feedback on how to improve them. Slow peer review does have students swap drafts but asks them to spend a lot more time with the drafts than usual, reading them very carefully and thinking about them deeply. Slow peer review then asks students to respond in different and more in depth ways than just giving the writer suggestions. I found the essays really compelling, opening up so many questions with relevance far beyond this specific practice and far beyond even just the teaching of writing.
In our conversation, which you can watch below, we discuss opera, “the improvement imperative” (i.e., there are more things to do in a writing classroom than help students write better, even as that remains a key goal), and the concept of “cruel optimism” (which refers, in this case, to an unhealthy attachment to certain teaching strategies that aren’t working and won’t suddenly start working through being tweaked). We also discuss the ways in which writers and readers of drafts both participate in “worldmaking.” The idea here is that each draft someone writes envisions a world in which some are included while others are not, and peer reviewers can help writers imagine more clearly what sort of world they’ve built. We also discuss what all of this has to do with queer theory. Lastly, I asked Timothy whether this peer review pedagogy isn’t actually a reading pedagogy. While he’s not so sure, he does have students “read the drafts five different times” and directs students to consider such questions as “What does it mean to be fully human in this world?” (i.e., in the world of the draft being read). Those seem like scaffolds for deep reading to me. At any rate, whatever else this pedagogy does, it does ask students to really read each other’s writing. And that feels extraordinarily valuable to me.
In The Teaching Archive: A New History for Literary StudyDr. Rachel Sagner Buurma, Associate Professor of English at Swarthmore College, and Dr. Laura Heffernan, Associate Professor of English at the University of North Florida, turn to archives from the actual classrooms of major literary critics of the past century to see what the available course documents tell about the history of the teaching of literature. This approach contrasts with existing histories, such as Gerald Graff’s Professing Literature, which are based on archives of published works about teaching rather than archives of teaching itself. While this book will naturally interest literature teachers most, I think that Buurma and Heffernan’s methods and findings have wider implications across academia. Every discipline has a pedagogical past to learn from and a future to archive for. One of the most surprising findings in the book is that landmark works of literary scholarship often had tangible roots in classrooms. Seeing this documented helps us better appreciate that the classroom is a site of disciplinary scholarship in its own right. I’m grateful to Buurma and Heffernan for this fascinating historical work and for responding to my questions over email.
CORRIGAN: I’m interested in the origin of the project. What prompted you to turn to archives of actual classrooms? What gave you the idea that you might find a different history of literary study there than what has previously been found based on archives of scholarly publications?
BUURMA & HEFFERNAN: Well, the project really began as an attempt to investigate how the New Critics actually taught. We had both heard New Critical pedagogy invoked over and over again as the foundation for how literary scholars teach, even if they are practicing historicism in their scholarship. And mentioning the New Criticism immediately brought to mind the familiar image of a professor leading students in a close reading of a single poem on a page. But what, we wondered, was this imaginary of the New Critical classroom predicated upon? New Critics wrote *about* teaching in their major works: Cleanth Brooks’s The Well Wrought Urn, for example, begins with a classroom scene in which the student senses the aesthetic value of Wordworth’s Westminster Bridge sonnet but needs to have that native critical judgment nurtured and amplified and modeled by the teacher through practices of closely attending to not just what the poem says but how he says it. But how did Brooks actually teach?
So we started there, and luck had it that Brooks’s papers at the Beinecke Library at Yale included transcriptions of not just his lectures but his students’ comments and questions from his Modern Poetry course (he had planned to publish a book of his lectures, and these complete transcripts were to be the basis). So, we were able to get a real sense of the ups and downs of his classroom hour; the kinds of unexpected queries he fielded from students; the historical facts he included or even misreported; and the ways that the sheer time that he spent on certain poems (like Marianne Moore’s “Poetry,” which he deemed a “failure”) belied a different kind of literary valuation at work than his stated theoretical account of what makes good poems good.
From there, we saw that there was a lot to be learned—indeed a whole other disciplinary narrative—by witnessing how scholars taught alongside what they wrote. We went to see, in the same spirit, how other foundational formalist critics including Eliot and Richards taught in their classrooms. But we also began to wonder and investigate what kinds of teaching were happening in other kinds of institutions in these same moments. Scholarly publications—particularly those manifestoes or arguments over how we should teach or read or research—tend to overrepresent figures at elite institutions. So looking at teaching instead gives us back a sense of the much bigger field of practice in these eras.
CORRIGAN: Early in the book, you stress that your book is a history of teaching—not an endorsement of how the particular teachers in your study taught (p. 17). But as I read, I kept finding things these teachers were doing really creative and interesting, such as Edith Rickert having her students create visual representations of elements of style in a text (p. 99). Were there times in your research where you thought, “Oh, that is good teaching” or even “I’m going to use that in my classroom”?
BUURMA & HEFFERNAN: Yes—and we think it’s actually a testament to how creative and interesting and maybe above all experimental literature teaching has been—we weren’t looking for model practices or assignments, but so much of what we came across seems worth stealing for our own classrooms, even though we try hard in the book to point out that we’re not holding up these figures as examples of Great Teachers or—what would be even less useful—suggesting that somehow teaching in the past used to be better and that we need to return to some previous, unfallen state of literature teaching! Because we don’t think that at all. In fact, one of the things that prompted us to write the book in the first place was knowing how hard we were working to learn to teach well in our own classrooms, how much time we were spending inventing new courses and assignments and little strategies for solving problems we ran into in the classroom, and how we saw that—despite omnipresent messages in higher ed about how bad college and university teaching is!—most of our colleagues and friends in the profession were working hard at being engaged, effective teachers and were often using really inventive methods to help their students learn. And we realized that no matter how many professors of literature were doing that, somehow engaged, effective teaching was always being framed as exception or unusual, and not the norm—and the norm, despite what we saw in our everyday professional lives, was always framed as this boring unengaged research who hating being in the classroom and just droned on to a lecture hall of bored students. So we thought that it was likely that if the present of teaching looked very different than official stories about it, there was a good chance that the past of teaching would look very different as well, if we could figure out how to find it.
And like you, other people also seem to have found the practices we document in the book useful. In his review of the book, Ben Hagen writes that:
The Teaching Archive is not a “How To” guide, yet Buurma and Heffernan acknowledge that “some of the past teaching [they] describe seems new and exciting now” (17). I can confirm that reading and rereading The Teaching Archive is pedagogically generative. This past semester (Spring 2021), inspired by the example of Spurgeon, I asked graduate students to create personal indexes of The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. As we learn in chapter one, Spurgeon’s 1913 Art of Reading course did not conclude with an academic research paper but led students “just [up to] the point where [they] would begin to write a research paper,” working slowly through a process of studying, note taking, and “coordinat[ing] information into knowledge” (30, 31). Index-making, according to Spurgeon, is far from a “banal scholarly practice[]”; it is, rather, a “thoughtful” activity that “encode[s]” the values and perspectives of any given indexer—“recording this and not that, subordinating one point to another” (36). Building an index of a text, or an anthology, reveals networks of ideas as well as chains of citations and references, “set[s] of strands that you can reorder and reconnect” (36). This research emphasis on note taking and indexing—not paper writing—encourages students to make something and also to acquire a personal hold on obscure or difficult material; moreover, this activity leaves students (including mine, I hope) with a surviving record of what mattered to them in their studies, an organized set of data that they can “then recompose . . . into the shapes of [later] interpretations and arguments” (37).
CORRIGAN: One practical takeaway from your book might be an encouragement for teachers to more carefully archive our teaching materials. You mention, for instance, how rare it was to have “meticulously preserved” teaching notes like those of Caroline Spurgeon (p. 25). Do you document your own teaching any differently now that you’ve written this book?
BUURMA & HEFFERNAN: Haha, no! We should but we don’t, really. We always mean to take good notes about a class—what worked and what didn’t—but fail to do so nearly every term. (Josephine MIles, one of the poet-scholar-teachers we write about, jotted a very short and charming version of this end-of-term notes-for-next-time in one of her English 1A notebooks, which simply read: “Kill error + model style / Rouse C’s / Personal confs before midterms.”) Our teaching documents themselves are well stored because they’ve been made in word processors from the beginning. And of course, that big archive is keyword searchable—we’ve both had the uncanny experience of discovering a document of teaching notes on a relatively obscure text that we were looking up to cite or read for the first time (no kidding!).
CORRIGAN: On a related note, it strikes me that, just as your book was coming out, the pandemic forced so many teachers to do some pretty intensive archiving by making all aspects of our courses available electronically in various online, remote, and hybrid formats. Of course, intentionally online courses existed before the pandemic. But the scale we just saw was unprecedented. Do you have any thoughts on what this past year or so of teaching under these conditions might mean for cultivating “the teaching archive” going forward?
BUURMA & HEFFERNAN: Well, one thing we worry about is how much of that archive now exists within Learning Management Systems. Canvas, for example, is set up to encourage you to build out your “How to Revise a Thesis” handouts or your introductory notes on a novelist within the platform itself rather than linking to or embedding external documents. Feedback, too, often happens within the LMS. Laura, for example, has had to be really mindful about all of this because she saw how much of her own teaching record was disappearing from her personal computer—she’d go to write a recommendation letter for a former student and realize she had no record of the students’ work or her feedback on it to access. And another thing we worry about is the extent to which universities have tried to capture intellectual property in individual instructors’ courses in the chaos of everything going remote; we probably don’t even yet know to what extent this has happened at various universities. That’s an issue that faculty and faculty unions are paying more and more attention to, we think, but there aren’t really uniform practices or policies around this yet—and of course, many people don’t have a union and then advocacy for faculty around this issue can end up getting lost, or happening in piecemeal ways.
But you’re right that all of those issues and attendant dangers aside, there are a lot of exciting possibilities for what we might be able to know about teaching during this moment because of how much of it was happening remotely and has left more traces than usual—video recordings and transcripts and probably millions of hours of voicethreads and video assignments and blog posts and text chats. And we also noticed that more instructors were entering into the classrooms of instructors at other institutions. The two of us, for example, recorded lectures together, podcast style, for one of Laura’s UNF classes earlier this year, and we saw many other visits and guest lectures being organized on social media during that time. This kind of growing awareness of what’s going on not just within your colleagues’ classrooms but across different kinds of institutions seems really, really promising to us because it could serve not just as a foundation for stronger subfield scholarship but potentially also a foundation for the kind of cross-institutional labor organizing that disciplinary formations will need to nurture more and more.
CORRIGAN: Your history of literary study focuses on the teaching of “major literary scholars” (p. 3), in part so that you can contrast their writing about the discipline with their teaching of the discipline and in part (I’m imagining) because major scholars are the ones most likely to have their papers archived. But I’m curious, do you have any guesses about how different your history might look if it had been possible or practical to look at an even broader range of teachers—especially the great majority who are not major literary scholars, not well known at all?
BUURMA & HEFFERNAN: Yes—we focus on major literary scholars for exactly the reasons you describe, but part of what we found is that research is happening in tandem with teaching for everyone, whether they are writing major critical monographs, editing important collections, and publishing widely read public writing or not. This is partly because teaching itself requires research—when we prepare to teach classes, most of us find ourselves reading scholarly articles, tracking down new sources and texts, and searching out how peers past and present have taught a given text, topic, or course. All of that is literary studies research, even though we might not always recognize what we do when we prepare classes as research, and even though there’s no way to put that work down as research on a cv or make it count as research in an annual review. So we’re hopeful that we’ve written a history that opens up to the work of the great majority you mention.
CORRIGAN: I love your observation that most of literary studies takes place in classrooms. You write, “literary value seems to emanate from texts, but is actually made by people. And classrooms are the core site where this collective making can be practiced and witnessed” (p. 6). When we teach, we’re not transmitting literary studies to students for later. We’re doing literary studies with them right now. That feels revolutionary. What might change, would you guess, if more of us who teach literature consciously adopted this stance—that our courses are not about the discipline, they are the discipline?
BUURMA & HEFFERNAN: We’ve thought about this question a lot. We think it’s an insight that a lot of teachers understand, in a tacit way, through their practice. For example, there’s a line in our introduction just past what you quote here that reads, “The answer to the question, ‘Did I miss anything last week?’ is ‘Yes, and you missed it forever’” that REALLY resonated with readers. People shared that excerpt on Twitter more than any other part of the book. Because we all do know that what we’re doing in these classrooms is much more than content transfer—we’re creating knowledge!—but it’s relatively rare to see that insight ratified within the institutions in which we work, and so it’s difficult for teachers to really keep hold of it as a conscious insight about our everyday work. And if we could really hang on to the fact that we are actually creating literary value in our classrooms, we think we’d not only see new differences AND new connections to the work of other disciplines, but we’d also have a better sense of how literary studies is in some ways distinct—and so perhaps we’d be more consistent at describing and claiming the expertise we exercise in our teaching, and thus better equipped to advocate for the conditions we need in order to do that teaching well.
Because if it’s rare for the institutions in which we work to ratify (or even be able to get out of the way of) that insight, it’s even rarer to have the kind of labor this teaching entails valued by those institutions. In her “Money on the Left” podcast appearance about her book, The Order of Forms, Anna Kornbluh pointed to just this section of The Teaching Archive:
But people need time for teaching. And that means that they need small class sizes, they need workable loads, and they need the ability to have preparation that involves reading new things and changing their course syllabi all the time and like genuinely encountering and making ideas happen in the classroom. There’s this line in Rachel Buurma and Laura Heffernan’s book, The Teaching Archive, about how like in the humanities you deal with students saying like, “I couldn’t make it to class, what did I miss?” And they say, “You missed everything and you missed it forever.” Because we make the knowledge happen in that haptic, collaborative, and dynamic moment of mutual determination of meaning. That is what you missed. So I think we need time for research driven teaching and research generative teaching. And what we also know is that it is just emphatically and empirically good for students, about small class sizes, about a lot of individual attention, about a lot of dynamic kind of evolution of what’s on the syllabus, and a lot of in-person collective work.
