A Note about Notes
When coming to France, I knew things were going to be different than they were in the US. I mean, it’s only logical that a different, and some might say more mature (I prefer “elderly”), culture would have a university system steeped in their own traditions and thus a flavor of academia that was all their own. In that respect, I was not disappointed, as the French system is nothing if not unique. However, much as registering for classes has proven to me that an older system does not mean a wiser or more perfect one, I’ve also learned that the transition between the two systems, the necessity of keeping one foot in the American world of GPA’s and transcripts and the other on the sol français where they are only concerned about the moyenne and promote a far more laissez-faire attitude, is equally grating on my nerves.
As with most of my rants, this one was provoked by yet another moment where my apparent utter ignorance of the way things are done here, or a complete lack of savoir faire, had me wanting to throw myself headlong into the Seine. What happened? The number 9 is what happened, meek and feeble sitting atop a hefty 20. Basic mathematics will tell you that a 9 is 45% of a 20, so when I saw that scrawled in crimson ink on one of the few assignments that will be used to determine my grade for my translation class, my aforementioned suicidal urge becomes more understandable. Admittedly, 10/20 in France is an average grade and equates, according to Middlebury’s official scale used to convert French grades, to a B-, so a 9/10 isn’t la fin du monde (the end of the world), but it is both not passing and highly disappointing.
Look, I’m fine with getting terrible grades if I deserve them. Well, not fine, but I can accept a bad grade for bad work. In this case, I’m not sure I deserved an A, but the rough equivalent of an F-, I’m not so sure was fair either. Sure, I should have stuck with my gut and put the work in the passé simple (a literary tense equivalent to the English preterit) instead of the passé composé (a tense that expresses the same idea but is spoken or used in less formal writing), but as we had translated several literary texts in class using the passé composé (and I’d left my good friend Bescherelle, master of conjugation, at home when I was working on this), I thought I was well within my rights to use either. Yeah, not so much, although it appears that that bothered her fairly inconsistently as not everyone was docked for being insufficiently erudite.
Among other little piddling things, it’s not only the inconsistent grading, but the lack of clearly spelled out expectations that has me fuming. Professors expect us to know how to work in the French paradigm, which gives anal retentive new meaning, let me assure you, without bothering to ask themselves where we, the foreign students, should acquire such knowledge. One French methodology class before flinging us from the high dive into the deep end of French scholarly waters doesn’t really cut it. Furthermore, though a 9/20 might be “plutôt correct” (fairly respectable) in France, is it so much to ask that the professors, especially those that teach at the American center, know what constitutes a passing grade for us and what does not and what a B- does to a GPA? Also, if we are being graded as French students in version (the English to French section of class which is considerably more difficult), should we not both know this ahead of time and be graded as such in thème (French to English), thereby allowing us to even out our grades (I wasn’t dissatisfied with my grade in thème, but I do feel as though I was graded as an anglophone)? Is it impossible to tell us that French professors want you to read ALL of the textbooks before class (which I find ridiculous) starts more than three days before class? What about teaching horny chauvinistic professors that American women don’t put up with the same bullshit that their European equivalents are used to and taking action when sexual harassment becomes a daily part of class? Basically, is it so much to ask that an American university that has had a school in France for decades has the professors and administrators do their homework before asking us to do ours?
What this all boils down to is the overwhelming feeling that my time and effort is not be respected in this program. I know a master’s is supposed to be hard, and I know that part of what makes getting it abroad more prestigious is that it proves you can navigate a foreign, and in this case Byzantine, system and succeed, but I feel like a culture that prides itself on being so bien elevé (well brought up) seems to be falling short where politeness is concerned. Maybe it’s the East Coast in me, maybe along with too many books and too many pairs of pants, I checked too much cultural baggage. “Time is money” where I come from and “the customer is always right” but here, time, especially that of a foreigner, is practically worthless. If I am expected to force my commentaire composés to fit their three part style, they can come to class prepared with a clear lesson plan ready to teach and not just fake it as they go along. If I’m paying $50,000 to be here, their classes should not feel like something they threw together just to collect a paycheck. I want to feel like they care about what they’re teaching and that, though they are professors, that they respect the fact that I am a human being who needs to be taught not mocked. When doing a cost/benefit analysis, I should not feel like this program is resting on gilded laurels.
I was recently asked for my opinion of what I’d like to say to the students who are potentially coming next year to this program, and though I’m sure my comments would be swept under the rug, here they are: you will learn a lot in this program, that is undeniable, but what makes Middlebury special is the school abroad and the language pledge, not the way it teaches. If you’d like to improve your French, do a work abroad program where you will spend your time speaking the language and read on your own time at a pace that allows you to digest and enjoy the books instead of hurrying you through them. In short, if you’ve got $50,000 just lying around, instead of coming here, why not do something more practical like buy a new Lexus or start a cocaine habit? You’ll have more fun and, given the economic climate and the realities of the job market (or lack thereof) for French speakers, you won’t be any worse off.
Yes, this is a little overblown, exaggerated, and reflects my complete and utter frustration more accurately than it does my actual opinion of this program, but still, it had to be said.
