It's a Don's Life Read online

  IT’S A DON’S LIFE

  Also by Mary Beard

  Pompeii: The Life of a Roman Town

  The Parthenon

  The Colosseum (with Keith Hopkins)

  The Roman Triumph

  IT’S A DON’S LIFE

  Mary Beard

  First published in Great Britain in 2009 by

  PROFILE BOOKS LTD

  3A Exmouth House

  Pine Street

  London EC1R 0JH

  www.profilebooks.com

  This eBook edition published in 2009

  Copyright © Mary Beard, 2009

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Typeset in Minion by MacGuru Ltd

  [email protected]

  This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  eISBN 978-1-84765-246-1

  For Tony Francis, Xjy, Michael Bulley, Anthony Alcock, Richard, Paul Potts, SW Foska, PL, Jackie, Lord Truth (Ronald Rogers), Jane, Oliver Nicholson, Lucy, Eileen, FG, Arindam Bandyopadhaya, Lidwina, Monica, Nicholas Wibberley, Richard Baron, David Kirwan, Bingley, Simone, Steve the Neighbour and all my other friends on the blog.

  Contents

  Illustration Credits

  Introduction

  Pink or purple?

  Sex in the sculpture garden

  Big Brother at uni

  Tampons for Africa

  Mixed messages?

  Is Latin too hard?

  Does Latin ‘train the brain’?

  Ask a silly question

  What are academics for?

  They make a desert and call it peace

  The knife and fork test?

  Keeping sex out of scholarship

  In the harem

  In the news in Pompeii

  Fiddling while Rome burned

  What makes a good review?

  Freshers’ week

  Veils, turbans and ‘rivers of blood’

  Where is your spleen?

  A captive audience

  What did the Romans wear under their togas?

  The sign of the cross

  The tragedy of George Bush

  Pissing on the pyramids

  Sex on the Beach

  Exams are getting harder – shock

  Racism in Greece and Rome

  Paganism without the blood

  Where’s the loo?

  Do-it-yourself cremation

  David Beckham’s new tattoo – a classicist writes

  Don’t blame Hadrian for Bush’s wall

  Seminar power and willy-waving

  Pompeii in Mexico

  Is David Cameron a Narcissus (... Or, was John Prescott right?)

  ‘La Clemenza di Tito’: Mozart, the Colosseum and Yugoslavia?

  Index linked?

  How to order a coffee in American

  What is Big Brother doing in Durham cathedral?

  Are A levels (still) dumbing down?

  Esperanto, Welsh and the language wars

  Olympia (almost) burns ... but Paris survives

  10 things you thought you knew about the Romans ... but didn’t

  Greek treasures and global treasures

  Upstairs at the brothel

  How many academics does it take to buy a coffee maker?

  The sex secrets of Kennedy’s Latin Primer

  Orientalism ... or, what’s in a name?

  Tips for new students – from an old don

  How am I doing on Amazon?

  A life in the day of a don

  My five favourite Roman classics ... that we have lost

  Why didn’t the Athenians give the women the vote?

  Want a motto? Do it in Latin.

  Labouring classicists – and New Year resolutions

  The rape of Britannia

  What made the Romans laugh?

  Did St Valentine Exist?

  A day in Guantanamo

  Prince Harry: the Roman solution

  Dead men’s books

  Do physicists need French?

  Let’s Get Rid of the Fascist Olympic Torch

  Feminism now: should boys play harps?

  Keep Lesbos for the Lesbians

  The face of Julius Caesar? Come off it!

  Are exams fair?

  The Amy Winehouse exam

  Why ruins are disappointing

  Why research is fun

  Heard the one about the Roman and the barber?

  A good old-fashioned 2.1 is better than a Higher Education Achievement Record

  It’s bonkers to ban Latin

  Barack Obama – and the first ‘African-Roman’ emperor of Rome

  Oxbridge interviews: real advice from a real don

  What’s in a don’s inbox?

  RAE madness

  Underwater Romans

  It’s a don’s life – the book

  Afterword

  Acknowledgements

  Illustration Credits

  Antinous Mondragone: Courtesy Musée du Louvre, Paris. Photo RMN Hervé Lewandowski.

  Ladies toilet sign. Photo by Debbie Whittaker.

  Claudius and Britannia panel: Courtesy New York University Excavations at Aphrodisias. Photo by Guido Petruccioli.

  Bust of Julius Caesar. Photo by Boris Horvat. AFP/Getty Images.

  Disappointing ruins. Taken from (Harper Collins, 2005). Photo by Dave Askwith. Signs of Life

  *

  While every effort has been made to contact the authors of comments quoted and copyright holders, the author and publishers would be grateful for information about any they have been unable to trace.

  Introduction

  A don’s life is enormously rewarding – and fun. I can think of few better ways of earning a living. It is also hard work, frustrating, and all too often misrepresented. In the absence of any other news, a desperate journalist can always fall back on taking a pot shot at the three-month summer holidays we dons are supposed to enjoy, or on whipping up outrage about the ‘unfair’ selection procedures of Oxford and Cambridge in particular. Do we really only let in those kids who can tell their sherry from their port, or have been trained to cope with our impenetrable – and, frankly, mad – questions?

  Since April 2006, my blog – A Don’s Life – has shared some of the day-to-day realities of working in a university, and tried to quash a few myths. No, the summer vacation is not a ‘holiday’. You won’t find us on the golf course or the beach (unless we are working on seashore beetles, that is). And no, we don’t dream up interview questions about what it would feel like to be a light bulb or a strawberry, just to trip up the unwary (for the inside story).

  Of course, Cambridge is not a ‘typical’ university. There’s probably no such thing. I’ve worked in three, in Britain and the US, and each one has been very different. All the same, I’m sure that many of the themes of A Don’s Life would be recognisable in any university, anywhere in the world (take a look at the ‘willy waving’).

  I’m also a classicist – a species far less endangered than you have no doubt been led to believe. The blog tries to capture something of the pleasure, and the point, of studying the Greeks and Romans: from ancient Roman jokes to the discovery of a battered statue from the river Rhône, which may (or, more likely, may not) be a portrait
of Julius Caesar.

  The posts included in this book are published more or less as they appeared on the blog – with only the occasional explanation added, spelling mistakes corrected and (regular readers of A Don’s Life will be relieved to learn) apostrophes inserted where required. You can dip into them in any order. But there is a narrative that runs from start to finish, from my very first tentative post ‘Pink or purple’ to the semiprofessional blogger at the end.

  I suspect that, over all, the blog makes my life seem more exciting and action-packed than it really is. I’ve tried to capture the flavour of an average day. But in general there is not much ‘blog-worthy’ about an evening spent marking fifteen essays on the run-up to the Peloponnesian War (fascinating a subject as it is), nor about a morning in the library failing to find that crucial reference in Cicero (or was it Livy?) that you’ve lost.

  And it’s not easy to share all those hours spent teaching the students and thinking about how they are getting on. After all, no undergraduate wants to find the failings of their latest essay or exam discussed with the rest of the world on the web. No doctoral student wants to see the latest chapter of their thesis publicly dissected. Do bear this in mind as you read – and turn to the essay at the end of the book for further more leisurely reflections on the ‘blogosphere’.

  You will also find here a growing relationship with a wonderful group of commenters. The comments on many blogs are little short of abusive rants. Not so those on A Don’s Life, which often reflect with wit, learning and experience on the subject at issue, whether it be the bones of St Cuthbert, David Beckham’s new tattoo or the real identity of that statue pulled from the Rhône. Some of my favourite comments are included here, as they appeared on the blog (occasionally shortened, but not edited in any other way).

  I am tremendously grateful to all those commenters who gave permission for their comments to be reprinted. It is to those who have commented most often over the years that this book-of-the-blog is dedicated.

  *

  You can find, and comment on, my blog at:

  http://timesonline.typepad.com/dons_life

  Pink or purple?

  25 April 2006

  Our undergraduates trooped back to college this weekend to be greeted by a big poster explaining how they could ‘find their seat’. Not helpful advice from the housekeeping department. But timely information from the University examinations office to all those students who apparently don’t know where their exams are held, and don’t know where to sit even if they do.

  Easter term in Cambridge is all about exams. Intellectual ambitions get traded in for an anxious diet of revision, morale boosting and what used (before it was banned) to be called ‘hand-holding’. We give parties to take their young minds off it, supervisions to put them back on again. And more advice is asked for and given than even the biggest swot could take in.

  In the old days we could escape a bit, by locking ourselves in our rooms and putting ‘OUT’ on the door. But now emails get you any time of day or night – sillier as the term wears on. ‘Dear Professor Beard, Hope you don’t mind me asking but is it OK to write in pink fibre tip, or would purple be better ...?’ as one emailed me last year. (Answer: Try black/What do you think?/No, I don’t think you’ll fail ...).

  And when the day of reckoning arrives, we’re all so keen for our charges to succeed that we turn ourselves into an unpaid taxi service. Any morning in the second half of May, you’ll find the same touching scene repeated all over Cambridge: a tutor driving to the exam room at top speed, transporting some burly young lad with a handsome golden hello from McKinsey’s already in the bag – all because his alarm clock didn’t go off, or he was hung over, or he’d forgotten where his seat was. (In every other university in the country, I should say – except probably Oxford – getting yourself to the paper on time is thought to be part of the test.)

  So is it all worth it? Some of us, given half a chance, would simply scrap the lot. ‘Continuous assessment’ would look more humane and it may well be fairer to women (who, across the board, don’t do as well as men on the current system). And it certainly wouldn’t take such a ridiculous amount of time and energy all round – which is in danger of seeming out of proportion when some 70% of these kids will now get a 2.1 in their final exams anyway.

  For better or worse, grade inflation or superior student effort, gone are the days of the ‘gentleman’s third’; thirds are now the human tragedies. And I’ve even heard it, half-seriously, suggested that we should just give them all a 2.1 as a matter of course, and that exams should only be for those who wanted to ‘bid for a first’. That would certainly cut down the labour.

  But I can’t help thinking that there’s life in the old system yet. For a start, no problem with plagiarism. Unlike with ‘assessed essays’, done in their own time, you don’t have to type every suspiciously clever phrase into Google to find out where it might have come from.

  Anonymity, too, is a good protection all round. We don’t actually know who wrote the scripts we are marking (and, as they now word-process all their term work, we don’t even recognise their handwriting like we used to). While they don’t have much clue who on our side is marking them – certainly not enough of a clue to be able to take the American option of sending their parents or lawyers into your office, or in the worst case appearing with a gun to demand higher grades.

  And having lived through GSCE and A level course work at home, I can’t imagine I’m the only one to think that ‘continuous assessment’ might be a lot more painful than this old-fashioned form of ‘sudden death’. Just stress all the year round.

  So here we go ... only eight weeks and it’s all over.

  Sex in the sculpture garden

  25 May 2006

  The traces were undeniable. We were peering at one of the most famous Roman portrait sculptures in the world, discussing with art-historical intensity the provenance, the marble and the tooling. Then someone had the nerve to point out that on its cheek and its chin were the faint but clear marks of two bright red lipstick kisses.

  The sculpture in question was the colossal head – known as the ‘Mondragone Head’ – of Antinous the young lover of the emperor Hadrian, who died mysteriously, Robert-Maxwell-style, in ad 130 after falling into the river Nile. So distraught was the bereaved emperor that he flooded the Roman world with statues of his beloved, made him a god and named a city after him. There are more surviving statues of Antinous than of almost any other character in antiquity (many from Hadrian’s own villa at Tivoli). They all share the same sultry sensuousness and the luscious pouting lips that characterise the ‘Mondragone’.

  His usual home is in the Louvre, where he ended up in 1808, courtesy of Napoleon. But we were in Leeds, where he has come to be star of an exquisite show at the Henry Moore Institute which opened today. This has drawn together 14 of the many Antinous images, a little gallery of beautiful boys who have travelled from Dresden, Athens, Rome, Cambridge and elsewhere. One of the show’s themes – appropriately enough – is the question of what makes a statue, or a body, desirable. What is it to ‘want’ a work of art?

  The erotic charm of sculpture has a long literary history. Back in the second century ad, the Greek satirist Lucian told the story of one young obsessive who contrived to get locked up at night with Praxiteles’ famous statue of Aphrodite at Cnidus. The young man went mad; but the indelible stain on the statue’s thigh was proof enough of what had gone on. Oscar Wilde picked up the theme in his ‘Charmides’ – an engaging piece of doggerel, in which the hero smuggles himself into the Parthenon and ‘paddles’ up to Athena’s statue.

  Until today I had never quite imagined that this was anything other than a literary conceit. But the evidence was before my eyes.

  The assault on the ‘Mondragone’ certainly did not happen in Leeds. The curators there were as gobsmacked as anyone to discover the tell-tale marks. But at some point between Paris and its unpacking at the Henry Moore, some latter-day H
adrian – man or woman – had given it a couple of real red smackers. In jest, in irony or in passion, we shall probably never know.

  It couldn’t have happened to a more appropriate work of art than this surrogate of imperial desire. Presumably it’s much what the emperor Hadrian himself had in mind.

  Big Brother at uni

  6 June 2006

  Living in a student ghetto in a student city can make you feel horribly middle-aged. It’s not so much their extravagant – or extravagantly revealing – clothing, that you could no longer get away with yourself. Actually I rather like the annual summer display of belly buttons down King’s Parade. And it’s not their youthful argot either. Even I find myself saying ‘uni’, when I mean ‘university’.