Three Things Thursday: Fragments, Convergence, Thucydides

It feels like as good a time as any for a Three Things Thursday:

Thing the First

I’ve been thinking a good bit about fragments lately and also about writing, and I’ve become more and more worried about my own fragmentary writing habits. This semester, in particular, I’ve started to take 45 minutes here, 30 minutes there, and an hour hereabouts to write. The results are varied. I produce words and have filled in an outline. On my best days, there’s a sense of accomplishment comparable to completing a satisfying work out. On my worst days, I jump from section to section, reading a bit, revising a bit, writing and it feels like I’m snacking at a buffet. 

I understand, of course, that at some point, this manuscript will come together. The fragments — some of which deal with the fragmentation of our contemporary experiences — will come together into something approaching a cohesive whole. At the same time, this feels not only a bit artificial, or at least presents a dishonest account of itself. That may be fine. All of our writing might lie in some ways. I get that.

But I do wonder whether our world (or my world?) is becoming increasingly fragmented. Is this just the modern condition? Are some people’s worlds more fragmented than others? Are we also going to be able to pull together the fragments into something cohesive? Should we? 

Thing the Second

Years ago, I started to think about whether my research interests might (or maybe should?) converge in some ways. I even blogged about it here, here, here, and here. Needless to say, those moments of convergence aren’t the same as moments of convergence that I’ve experienced at different times in my career. Lately, I feel like my four major research projects: Slavic stuff at Isthmia, the two long-standing projects on Cyprus (PKAP and Polis), and archaeology of the contemporary world don’t really come together with much clarity any more. When I think about things like editing and publishing (e.g. NDQ and The Digital Press at the University of North Dakota) or Sun Ra and pseudoarchaeology, I start to fret that the tangled trajectories of these projects aren’t producing any kind of focus. 

Of course, this may not be a crisis. Maybe it’s pointless to even expect a convergence in an age where things seem more prone to scatter than to coalesce. I’ve thought about the hedgehog and the fox. I vaguely hope that being scattered helps me find new connections, on the one hand, and avoid burnout, on the other. When I get frustrated with PKAP or Polis for example, I can step away from it rather than bashing my head into an obstinate database or hassling a recalcitrant colleague into finishing his section of the volume. Maybe this is fine.

Thing the Third

I’ve read Thucydides with my Greek History students this week. To be clear: I’m not a Thucydides scholar, but I’ve hung around with him enough to wonder whether this is the right time to be reading him.

Of course, I’m teaching Greek history so it’s not like I can swap Thucydides for Tacitus. On the other hand, there is a reason these days to, perhaps, put aside Ezra Pound’s Cantos for, Kathleen Raine’s On a Deserted Shore, although, in the spirt of fragments and in the age of social media, Pound’s poetry does make a certain amount of sense.

Spring . . . . . . . Too long . . . . . . Covfefe . . . . . .

I might, instead, stick with Eliot’s “Burnt Norton” these days.