The last revised chapter from my 2013 dissertation, “Thomas Nashe and Early Modern Protest Literature” has been recently published in Marlowe Studies: An Annual. Additionally, The Thomas Nashe Project has, to my great delight, featured additional chapters that I’ve revised as articles in their Bibliography of selected recent works. So, what’s next?
Here’s the “bumper-sticker” version:
My research into “Englishing” vernacular protest literature from Chaucer’s time to Shakespeare’s has led me to realize that I simply can’t stay away from satire, from classical models, or their medieval and early modern translators and imitators. Presently, I’m developing a book proposal entitled A Tin Age: Englishing Satire (c. 1400- 16??). I will replace the question marks with numerals once I’ve fixed on which arguments from my research I plan to include.
For a comprehensive list of publications, please see my CV. I have also posted selected publications on academia.edu. Moving forward, I will relocate my publications and talks to this site.
I was delighted to launch The Kit Marlowe Project as one of eight digital exhibits featured at the 2018 Shakespeare Association of America Annual meeting in Los Angeles (3/27/18). The Kit Marlowe Project is a digital space designed to introduce undergraduates with diverse majors to research-based learning and digital humanities practices in the context of studying one of Elizabethan England’s most intriguing literary figures. The site has been designed so that undergraduates may contribute exhibits, encyclopedia entries, and TEI-encoded (Text Encoding Initiative) archival works to a real-world digital project that will be maintained by future classes.
Because I continue creating student-scholar, research-based pedagogical models in my classroom, I need to keep up with my students’ output! I am currently collaborating with students to edit earlier encoding projects for publication on the University of Victoria’s Map of Early Modern London (MoEML) website. I’ve also been co-writing with MoEML’s Janelle Jenstad about our experiences teaching cognate courses at the University of Victoria and Stonehill College – “bibliodigigogy” will be making a comeback! If you are interested in learning more about MoEML’s Pedagogical Partnerships, please visit their site.
In my capacity of Research Partner with Northeastern University’s Women Writers Project, I have recently submitted a web exhibit entitled “Reading Elizabeth I in Women Writers Online” that explores early modern women writers’ treatment of this Tudor Queen. I gave a paper entitled “The Queen’s Two Corpora: Elizabeth I in Digital Contexts” on this work in progress in collaboration with Mary Erica Zimmer at the Women and Culture in the Early Modern World seminar at Harvard University’s Mahindra Humanities Center in February 2017. I’ve also written a blog about this project for NU. Working in the WWO corpora has invited a transatlantic approach to this project that has been extraordinarily exciting. I am eager now to explore the shared points of contact between this project and “Englishing” early literature – across genre, gender, and a giant ocean.
When I recently returned to Tufts for commencement, a friend still in the English grad program was surprised by my active use of digital humanities tools for research and teaching; she knows how much I love spending time in archives. On reflection, my early research on Elizabethan satirist Thomas Nashe directly anticipated what I like most about working in the digital humanities – getting “under the hood” of a text or corpus, taking it apart, figuring out how it works, and then re-framing extant arguments to create original scholarship. Nashe utilizes extraordinarily dense intertextual networks that juxtapose prose, drama, poetry, chronicle history, chorography, philosophy, multitudes of Latin tags, and topical in-jokes that required me to learn about early modernism across disciplines and often languages. He also frequently deploys allusions to classical, medieval, and contemporary works as defensive postures designed to occlude subtexts of often seditious criticism of his Queen, her court, and Crown politics. Until his works were summarily banned in 1599, these maneuvers worked.
Nashe remains my spirit animal in part because one cannot read his work in isolation. That is to say, if Nashe makes sense, then he makes sense in conversation, in the context of these multitudes of intertexts. The Thomas Nashe Project is currently using digital tools for authorship attribution. Someday I should like to see a database vast enough to analyze Nashe’s works in the context of of his intertexts – and that day is not too far off.
My journey from Nashe to working with digital media distantly echoes media guru Marshall McLuhan’s. McLuhan pioneered digital media studies after writing his Cambridge dissertation about Thomas Nashe and the Learning of His Time. McLuhan’s dissertation examined Nashe’s work in the context of the classical trivium: grammar, dialectic, and logic. What struck me when I read McLuhan’s diss was how deeply intertwined writing styles and the writers’ theological and political positions were.
McLuhan understood that the parallel explosions of information technology at the turn of the seventeenth-century and the turn of the twentieth offer an ideal opportunity to think critically about how knowledge is created in the public sphere. Print culture directly informed early modern rhetorical practices across discourses and vice versa. He is also said to have been highly amused when a print run of his influential text The Medium is the Message was misprinted as The Medium is the Massage. I too prefer “massage” – digital media does not directly translate or convey information, but represents an act of mediation, and subsequently interpretation. Whether the intermediary is a human or a computer, there’s always more to digital media than meets the eye. And, one can discover much by using DH tools to explore any kind of digital artifact’s metadata – the stuff under the hood.
I like the three “E’s” in this definition and I would argue that the goal of digital humanities is to explore, evolve, and engage in ways that help us re-frame our conventional understandings of information processing and knowledge making.
Tufts’ own Perseus Project offers a watershed example of digital humanities in action – I have seen the project evolve from hero to hydra as they work toward their goal of making the “full record of humanity” accessible. The Perseus team has devoted extraordinary amounts of time to translating, transcribing, and encoding pre- and early modern texts. (And, I’d like to thank everyone involved for continually helping me stretch my Latin proficiency.)
At a DH talk I gave with my colleague Mary Erica Zimmer at Harvard’s Mahindra Humanities Center in February 2017, the moderators invited the seminar attendees to introduce themselves by name, affiliation, and discipline. When the introductions reached Northeastern’s Syd Bauman from the Women Writers Project, he replied: “undisciplined.” Syd might be on to something.
One talks much about “interdisciplinarity” in the context of digital humanities. But the prefix, “inter,” or “between,” suggests precisely the kinds of gaps one encounters institutionally. More often than not, “interdisciplinary” courses are a pastiche of content areas and methods that illuminate shared practices and points of content – and that’s great! (I’ve taught a few of these myself.) But the prefix “inter-” insistently informs disciplinary difference.
Such disciplinary difference appeals to educational systems and institutions because it facilitates creating manageable taxonomies, specifically, manageable taxonomies that can be assessed. But knowledge does not evolve along disciplinary boundaries. Scholars understand this fact.
DH platforms and projects do not simply connect the space between disciplines – as the “inter,” the prefix to “interdisciplinary” suggests. These connections enact not just links, but extensions of knowledge that are extensible – like the XML (extensible markup language) we use for markup. To be fair, knowledge has historically been extensible, but written representations of knowledge have conditioned humans to think linearly and two-dimensionally.
The Perseus Project’s ambition to make “the full record of human knowledge available” is wildly exciting – in part because they’re clearly not worried about scope-creep! In all seriousness, at the crux of every project I’ve worked on is a desire to aggregate as much data as possible so that one may explore the evolution of knowledge in the context of its inception. By building increasingly large datasets of that reflect “the record” of human knowledge, we will have the opportunity to recognize contingencies that make discoveries possible, we will realize that what seems like a fixed “record” is anything but.
I can’t help but think that by translating knowledge into the language of computer networks, we transform it into energy.
Already, DH projects emerging around the globe are, like Gutenberg’s printing press, agents of change, traversing discourses and simultaneously extending them node by node to revolutionize the way we make knowledge today — or, perhaps, better reflect the way knowledge has always already been made.
As each year passes, I do my best to resist judging 365 days of wildly disparate events as “good” or “bad.” Life, like most of my literary arguments, is a both/and scenario. I haven’t been spending much time on social media (and, by extension, my “new” web blog) because the wildly fluctuating emotional responses to world events in my feeds were simply too much to absorb. On reflection, I see that my own broken world-view likely inspired me to pursue research on Ciceronian, Stoic, and Nashean versions of cosmographical contemplation last summer. It’s a useful practice that may come in handy now. As our calendar rather arbitrarily turns from one year to the next, it might be helpful to think about how the world looks if we fly up out of the atmosphere and see it from the universe’s perspective. On the one hand, we might think: “Wow! We’re part of something truly special and possibly divine.” OTOH: “Wow! The Roman Empire is a pinpoint” (paraphrasing Cicero), or “Our armies are like ants on a field” (paraphrasing Seneca). During the early modern period, we witness many lamenting the “world turned upside down.”
It is a constant and common trope that has been repeated through the ages. Yet one might also ask “was it ever turned right side up?” I think many of us know, at risk of over-simplifying a complex problem, that our present global turmoil results simply (there, I said it) from humans being humans. It’s been a long time in the making and a long time coming. The new administrations in the US, UK and elsewhere are plainly symptomatic of this evolution.
That said, I suggest we take advantage of this fresh start and think about how one might practice perspective in 2018. Personally, I think a bit of stoicism might help us face up to our reality without over-sentimentalizing problems. We need strength and conviction to move forward with dignity plus, for those of us who are scholars and teachers, to help our students do the same. 2017 was not so different from many other years – there were ups and downs, sure. Moreover, 2018 may not depart much from its predecessor. But it offers an opportunity to find balance, so that we might stay perched – however precariously – on our magnificent globe whichever way it happens to be turned.
I’ve long wanted to share this recycled woodcut of Thomas Nashe sans ball & chain, prefacing a sweet ballad about a young man with no money who a girl marries for love (1631). I can’t help but wonder if this image represents a sentimentalization of “tender young Juvenal” or is just dumb luck. Sung to the tune of “Lie Lulling Beyond Thee.”