The Semester of Our Discontent by Cynthia Kuhn

Author:Cynthia Kuhn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: amateur sleuth books, british cozy mystery, cozy mystery, academic mystery, english mysteries, female detective, murder mysteries, murder mystery books, murder mystery series, mystery books, women sleuths
Publisher: Henery Press
Published: 2016-11-29T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

This month’s mentoring meeting was focused on the expectations for tenure-track faculty. Stonedale’s motto, “Ever More,” was certainly appropriate, I thought, studying the large framed school crest on the wall behind Chancellor Wellington, who seemed positively giddy as he reeled off the achievements for which we would need to strive: the highest possible course evaluations, to be supported by the highest possible faculty observation reports, with the highest possible student advising numbers and membership on the highest possible number of committees—divided among department, college, and university—plus, of course, a book or two. “With,” he added, flashing a smile, “the best possible press.”

I’m sure I wasn’t the only one in the room who was having difficulty breathing at the thought that we were supposed to accomplish the best possible everything, which meant that excelling was the lowest possible standard, but I was the only one who found herself horrified to have raised her hand. The chancellor gently flicked a piece of lint from the arm of his immaculate suit, which no doubt cost more than my whole monthly—maybe yearly—salary, and nodded at me.

“Thank you for that explanation, Chancellor Wellington. May I ask a question?”

He waved his hand benevolently to indicate that I should speak.

“Is there a certain number in each category for which we should aim?”

Chancellor Wellington leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Mentors? Would you like to answer this one?” It was impossible to tell if he didn’t know the answer or if he was simply disinclined to provide a concrete standard—in other words, something tangible for which to aim. That is not how academia works, generally speaking. For example, with your doctoral dissertation, you must go boldly where no scholar has gone before; however, you must also choose something that allows your claims to be supported by existing research, which narrows down the whole originality aspect quite a bit. Moreover, you need to choose something familiar enough that your committee members can remain the experts during the process, which eliminates pretty much anything they have not read. I’d somehow muddled through that project, but now that my career was on the line, I was desperate for clarity.

Judith turned to me. “There isn’t one number per se, Lila. But there is a picture, developed over time, created by the annual evaluations performed by the chair, in which each of the areas is addressed—”

She was interrupted by an irritated-looking professor whose table card identified him as being from Political Science. “We rank you. Annually,” he snapped. As if Judith hadn’t just said that.

Simone regarded him delightedly, clearly enjoying his contribution to my mortification.

“But how do we know if we’re on track to meeting the annual requirements?” I asked, noting relief cross the faces of several other new professors—they may have had the same question, or perhaps they were just glad they weren’t the one blurting things out, as I seemed unable to stop myself from doing.

Irritated Prof sighed deeply and drummed his fingers on the table. Chancellor Wellington smoothed his silk tie while glaring at Judith, silently demanding she shut me up.

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