The revolution’s biggest targets are also its smallest.
In my last year of graduate school, when I was plodding away at my dissertation and, although every day more disillusioned with academia, hadn’t yet decided for sure that I didn’t want to be an English professor after all, I attended the Modern Language Association convention at a Manhattan hotel to interview for a faculty job in Georgia. I met my interviewer in his room. We sat on his bed. It was weird. I felt like a hooker. He told me his area of specialization – I don’t remember what it was. Mine was modernism. He started with a simple query: “What’s modernism, anyway?”
