Pedagogical Exercise; or, What I've Learned About Teaching from Spinning

If you follow me on Twitter, you know that I tend to tweet about two things: early modern books (#biblionerd) and spinning (#quadzilla). While I try to keep my twitter feed mostly about research, pedagogy, and other professional matters, every now and then I tweet about a challenging early morning bike class or a no-holds-barred instructor.

While the silence and stillness of the freezing cold library reading room and the pounding bass and motion of the dark sweaty spinning studio have little in common, believe me when I say they have both been sites of personal—and professional—growth for me over the last academic year. Yes, you read that correctly: I count group exercise classes as a kind of professional development—but maybe not for the reasons you think. To be sure, spinning helps me structure my day; it results in a burst of endorphins that beats any cup of coffee; and it tests my limits in a way that helps me to put other challenges in perspective. But the spinning studio is also a classroom that has reminded me (and taught me afresh) of what it means to teach well.

As a less-than-graceful student in desperate need of guidance, practice, and reinforcement, I have come to appreciate certain approaches to instruction over others. (Let me assure you that there are a lot of ways to teach a spinning class, and those that work for me may not work for others.) All that said, this post is not actually about spinning, per se, or about how exercise is essential to staying sane and handling the pressures of academia (even though it is that, too). Rather, it’s about accounting for some of the ways that being a student again has made—and will make—me a better teacher.

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Of Pilcrows

 

This is a blog about how we read books, about how books teach us to read, and how books—in both their physical and digital forms—can be used in the literature classroom.

The title Of Pilcrows echoes the titles of essays by Montaigne and others—meditations on a variety of subjects, including friendship, vanity, drunkenness, and experience. This blog therefore seeks to present meditations on the material features of particular books in all states of production, reception, circulation, collection, disrepair, etc., with a special focus on their pedagogical value. You are likely to read a lot here about playbook typography and page design as I spend the next few months at the Folger Shakespeare Library surveying the first two hundred years of English playbooks for typographic experiments and other developments in dramatic mise-en-page—and the few months after that processing my findings and writing my first book.

Typography, broadly conceived as the features of page design, is inherently pedagogical, and the pilcrow ( ¶ ) was among the first pieces of symbolic type to be appropriated from the manuscript tradition with the purpose of teaching readers how to encounter and navigate the printed text.

The pilcrow was used by scribes and later printers to guide readers through scripture and other kinds of texts. It developed from the majuscule C (for capitulum), which was widely used to signal new chapters or verses in manuscript bibles. The pilcrow came to be used in both sacred and secular texts to mark new units of reading and functioned as an indispensable reading aid in medieval manuscripts and, later, in early printed texts.[1] In short, it made it easier for readers to find and follow the principal stages of an argument or narrative.[2]

Although I am not teaching this coming academic year, my ears and eyes are always open for new approaches to using book historical methods in my teaching of Shakespeare, early modern drama, and (perhaps somewhat surprisingly) writing. I will share some of those ideas in this space and hope that those of you who decide to follow me here will share yours, as well. As you will read in my next post, I am particularly interested not only in how to teach book history but also in how to teach with book history, a set of practices that embraces both the presence of bookish and textual objects in the classroom as well as the ever-growing number of book-oriented digital projects and tools available to us and our students online.

[Image from the teaching collection at Rare Book School, Charlottesville VA.]

 

[1] Malcolm B. Parkes, Pause and Effect: An Introduction to the History of Punctuation in the West (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), 302. See also Keith Houston, “The Pilcrow,” in Shady Characters: The Secret Life of Punctuation, Symbols, and Other Typographical Marks (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2013), 3-23. Houston also keeps a fascinating blog, where he writes about punctuation and symbolic type (www.shadycharacters.co.uk).

[2] Pilcrows were deployed in a number of special ways in the printed drama of the 16th century, but more on that anon.