For those who enjoy the topic of student writing: as I was walking my dog this evening, I recalled this delightful piece of satire:
The 1250-Word Expository Student Essay UNPLUGGED
by Mandy Berry
Ever since dinosaurs roamed the earth, college students have started essays by crafting vague, generalizing first sentences that suggest, though not in a pushy or assertive way but, rather, vaguely, that the beginning of every argument, not to mention every attempt at scholarly narrative, should coincide with the beginning of time. Itâs a bold move because it allows for a space of only 3 or 4 following sentences inside which to create a nearly impossibly massive temporal/spatial shiftâwhich must necessarily (and simultaneously!) also be a conceptual, or at least a topical, shiftâfrom the beginning of the universe to the more humble, and ideally more specific, present time goal or goals of the essay itself. Thus, dinosaurs roaming the earth must transform itself into the student writer identifying, and then examining the effects of, for example, Virginia Woolfâs critique of âfamilyâ in To The Lighthouse. One expects, then, that the narrative shift from dinosaur time to current essay-writing time will require the skill of using language as precisely and as economically as possible.
This expectation, and the larger expectation that produces itâthat writing is a somewhat controlled, directed process performed by human agents who have something to write and who desire to communicate that something to other humansâare going to be challenged by this essay more times and in more ways than you can yet imagine; and they are not going to help you as a reader frame, understand, or evaluate this essay. In fact, in the largest possible sense, whatever this expository essay claims to be aboutâand it may not claim to be about anything, or it may, or it may do some unpredictable combination of claiming and not claimingâthis essay is actually a performance of everything in the world it is possible to do with language, sentences, and paragraphs in a state of complete dissociation shaped only by a hyper-awareness of time (it is due in one hour) and of space (it must be approximately 1250 words long). In other words, this essay suggests, and indeed shows, in ways of which it is itself not conscious, that the scene of the production of its own writing is nothing more nor less than a volatile pressure cooker of radical detachment on a schedule.
Now that this essay has offered an introduction, itâs time to offer another introduction. The first one didnât accomplish what it meant to accomplish because it turns out that moving from dinosaurs to Virginia Woolfâs novel To the Lighthouse is too gargantuan and difficult a task to accomplish quickly. However, at this crucial early point, it is unthinkable to allow that this essayâs approach to beginning itself may have been a bad idea, or an impossible feat, because it has begun, and it has picked up some momentum (which will soon be spent), and it has already accrued a not insubstantial amount of itself even prior to mentioning Virginia Woolfâs To the Lighthouse in any meaningful or extended way. So, while the dinosaur thing may have been imperfect as a strategy, its benefit is obvious: this essay now exists. The drawback is also obvious: nothing of substance has been written on an actual topic that corresponds to the assignment sheet. Then again, this essay barely remembers the assignment sheet that can no longer be located. Obviously, in lieu of knowing much at all about what this essay is doing or should be doing, this is the precise moment and location at which to insert a thesis statement: Virginia Woolfâs novel, To the Lighthouse, is an example of how details, setting, and character development all work together to show Virginia Woolfâs ideas about the family.
This essay does not yet know what Virginia Woolfâs ideas about the family were nor if she actually had any ideas about the topic of âfamily;â it may or may not take a stab at what Virginia Woolfâs ideas about the family were, or might have been, at some later point. The best policy at the moment is for you as a reader to share this essayâs own skepticism toward the idea that anything in the preceding thesis statement is true or, if it is true, is of any consequence whatsoever. What this essay does know right now and knows is critically important is that Virginia Woolf committed suicide. This creepy, well-recorded fact is undoubtedly the true meaning of everything ever written by Virginia Woolf, who was inconceivably both well respected and a lunatic, although this essay doesnât exactly know how the act of suicide is itself a meaning but it is. She never had children, and she killed herself by walking into a river and drowning. Right now, as every bit of energy that this essay can produce is already dangerously near total depletion, you should have no memory of the content of the thesis statement located above. Virginia Woolf never had any children of her own, and she committed suicide.
This is an orphan paragraph, a short, irrelevant paragraph that does not merit being a paragraph at all. It may or may not contain information that belongs somewhere else. It was inserted after the rest of this essay was written upon discovery that more words were needed to fulfill the length requirement. The only effect of this paragraph is a feeling of incoherence of the kind that one imagines might accompany time travel. Virginia Woolf was childless her whole entire life.
To explain the first component of the thesis statement, details, the essay now moves to a discussion of details. At the same time, just as it nears the potential scene of the production of something that might resemble a concrete thought about a text, this essay is going to start shutting down. The idea, the tentative desire in operation, is that the remainder of the essay will write itself, operating like a checklist of items from the thesis statement except when it does not which is usually an effect of sentences inserted later as explained above re: orphan paragraphs. But actually, for the most part, as a result of the not-yet-on-point intensity of effort involved in the startup process, this is also the location at which the essay begins to get in touch with its own exhaustion. There are bright moments of bold, relational assertion however inaccurate: Virginia Woolfâs writing is extremely detailed, more detailed than is typical in other writing. There are also moments in which exhaustion is made manifest: Ernest Hemingwayâs writing in his masterpiece The Old Man and the Sea published in 1951. There are also moments that defy existential categorization presented as analysis: Hemingway does not use as many words as Virginia Woolf. Words are what create details. Virginia Woolf uses lots of words and writes very long sentences filled with lots of words. There are requisite yet unmoored attempts to provide textual evidence: Here is an example of Virginia Woolfâs profligate use of words: âShe had the perpetual sense, as she watched the taxi cabs, of being out, out, far out to sea and alone; she always had the feeling that it was very, very, dangerous to live even one day.â There are also astonishing moments of entirely missing the point as an effect of a robot-like attachment to the essayâs own thesis statement checklist: This one sentence contains 37 words and that is exactly what I mean about details. Hemingway would have written this sentence in less than 7 words, probably closer to 4. But he would lose the intense impact of Virginia Woolfâs profligate use of words that creates details.
Now the essay turns to an act of confused but earnest desperation: Despite not being an author who used lots of words to create details, Ernest Hemingway also killed himself. He had some children, but he was an alcoholic. Time to use the spellchecker and then perform a âword countâ operation. Now all the essay needs is an additional 10 words to
Word count: 1251