Column: Books and Writing
A novel approach: creative writing as higher learning?
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During the Victorian Writers’ Centre’s ‘Advanced Year of the Novel’ course I did in 2011, one of the first questions posed to the group by the tutor – the redoubtable Andrea Goldsmith – was ‘who hasn’t read me?’ I sheepishly put up my hand and received a scolding from Andrea for being so foolish as to accept the tutelage of someone I hadn’t ascertained could write quality fiction. One of Andrea’s writing principles is that writers are best served by learning from those who do it better than them. For this reason she starts her working day absorbed in the work of writers she believes can push her to be better.
I recently had cause to return to Andrea’s stricture, whilst dining with two girlfriends who are completing novels as part of a doctoral degree. Their academic supervisor writes on topics that relate to creative writing, but has not published a novel and does not write novels. Curiosity piqued, I looked up the publication record of the staff that teach creative writing at their university but could find no evidence that any of them write novels.
It’s hard to imagine another academic discipline in which this would be possible. Yet academics with no experience of writing a novel are in this case considered sufficiently expert to teach others how to do it and, what’s more, judge their work. To be fair, some creative writing courses feature novelists I’d swoon to work under, like Gail Jones and Alexis Wright, both at the University of Western Sydney. But it seems bizarre that any supervisors in a postgraduate creative writing course would not have experience as long-form fiction writers.
I don’t begrudge universities extending the range of the traditional humanities offering, creative writing included. Having worked as an academic, I know how damnably difficult it is to attract students and maintain funding. One year, our survival strategies included sexing up the course titles (‘Modern European History’ became ‘Sex, Death and Revolution’) and making our intrepid way to the Engineering Department to teach critical thinking to some (utterly bewildered) third-year students.
Similarly, I can see the enormous advantage of the university for aspiring writers: a structured environment in which to get the work done, access to a well-resourced library, a scholarship to maintain you while you write. It makes me salivate just thinking about it.
Nevertheless, it seems to me that the novel is awkwardly shoehorned into academic convention. The distinguishing feature of a PhD is generally taken to be an original contribution to the existing body of knowledge, based on extensive research. Thus, for example, the University of Adelaide describes its creative writing PhD as providing ‘a coherent demonstration that the candidate has reached an appropriate standard in research and made a significant and original contribution to knowledge in the area’. In a similar vein, the University of Western Australia (where I earned my PhD) describes the degree as ‘a substantial and original contribution to scholarship, demonstrating mastery of the subject of interest as well as an advance in that field of knowledge’ (my emphasis).
Scholarship implies research, the location and evaluation of primary evidence, intimate acquaintance with the body of knowledge in one’s field, and the formulation and testing of a hypothesis. Yet a novel, particularly a historical novel, can be built from all of these things but still be a dull and ultimately unsatisfying read. A novel that succeeds as a novel requires something more than scholarship. It requires imagining oneself into a situation in an authentic way.
I suspect the ‘exegesis’ was the universities’ solution to the vexed question of how to position a novel as scholarship. Typically, a student enrolled in a creative writing PhD is required to write a novel and an exegesis: a ‘scholarly, self-reflective critique’. Friends who have completed an exegesis describe it as a hybrid of writing journal and theoretical treatise that explores the novel. So, for example, if the creative element of your PhD is a work of historical fiction, the exegesis might explore the relationship between fiction and history; and the ways in which they inform, provoke or challenge one another. A useful endeavour, certainly, and one which could well shape the novel. But if the degree requires both the novel and the exegesis, what happens when the two are in conflict? If the intent of the novel as suggested by the exegesis is light years from what the novel actually achieves, does that make it a bad novel or a poor exegesis?
I’m certainly not suggesting that the novel isn’t worthy of attentive and serious study. Having written a PhD and a novel I can say unequivocally that I found the latter immeasurably more difficult. What I am suggesting is that novel writing and academia are strange bedfellows – and that both might be better served by parting company.
S.A. Jones is a Killings columnist, and the author of the novel Red Dress Walking and of numerous essays.
21 Responses to A novel approach: creative writing as higher learning?
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11:52 am, March 5, 2012
As someone who once fantasised about completing a novel by enrolling in a creative writing PhD, and has since done an about-take on that particular fantasy, I couldn’t agree more! I do see the value in these programs from the point of a view of a higher education institution, but not as an aspiring fiction writer who knows that academic writing is an entirely different beast. A fictocritical mode of writing may be able to bridge the gap, and is not widely understood yet.
1:20 pm, March 5, 2012
I see no fundamental awkwardness in linking theory and practice. I have had some of the same reservations you lay claim to here, but in the end when I think about any other art form in this model (say Painting or Drama or Composition), I think there is a great deal of potential in the Creative Writing PhD in terms of developing a personal poetics, enhancing practice and focalising academic theory.
My problem is a lack of rigor in implementation. I think so many authors are drawn to programs for reasons you outline above – the funding, the external discipline, the structure, the community. These are all fine, but I do think that wanting to write a novel is not the right reason for doing a PhD (and would ultimately prove very frustrating). I think the decision to do a CW PhD needs to be grounded in a genuine interest in writing within the academic framework, to use the creative work as a way of testing theoretical constructs…I don’t think it’s the place to write a page-turning blockbuster!
I am sure it is very difficult to write novels and hold down a full time academic job, which is probably why a lot of academics tend to specialise in poetry and short fiction. But I don’t perceive a fundamental problem with a poet supervising a candidate writing a novel as long as the candidate has access to a community of support through peers and other academic staff. I supervised a Creative Writing Honours student writing a fictocritical thesis, which I thought was an exciting marriage of the creative and critical and really showcased what a creative writing thesis can be in the hands of a talented budding academic who is also a skilled creative writer.
1:23 pm, March 5, 2012
(I feel I should add that I haven’t done a PhD. I did a Masters in Creative Writing and because of industry experience have been employed on a casual basis at a university while I faff about deciding whether or not I want to do a PhD.)
1:31 pm, March 5, 2012
I agree. A PhD is a ‘research’ piece. I question how writing a novel for a PhD is a contribution to ‘new knowledge’ when it is based on imagination.
1:46 pm, March 5, 2012
Penni, I would have strong objections to being supervised by a poet if I was specialising in novel writing. They are fundamentally different creative practices.
1:54 pm, March 5, 2012
Penni, your comment has given me a lot to think about. Perhaps we need to think about the ‘PhD novel’ as a new literary genre that sutures fiction and theory; rather than judging it by existing notions of genre.
Sukhmani – am I right in thinking this is where you were going with your comment about the fictocritical?
2:08 pm, March 5, 2012
I have always thought that a writer may write because it gives them a sense of release, freedom or escapism.
Why can I paint or write or dance (I don’t dance), because I feel like it, I don’t want to be studied, anatomised or dissected.
A writer may want to be studies, anatomised and dissected, and there is nothing wrong with it either.
2:33 pm, March 5, 2012
But Jose, assuming you were inclined to dance, would you be happy with the tutelage of a yoga instructor because both disciplines require flexibility?
2:17 pm, March 5, 2012
It probably depends on the poet and the novelist (I am interested in the textures and nuances of language). It also comes down to your personal expectations from your supervisor. I am not looking for a supervisor to do the job of an editor. Instead I would be more interested in being pushed to be academically rigorous in terms of the theory and the ideas behind the work.
Yes, I think genre is an interesting idea. My personal feeling is that the scholarship would be worth more than most novels earn out in the marketplace, so I wouldn’t necessarily be looking to publish a novel of broad appeal at the end, but rather something that would be interesting to a certain type of reader, that contributes to ‘new knowledge’ I suppose, to use Libby’s phrase.
3:26 pm, March 5, 2012
That raises the issue of talent vs tenacity.. a tenacious talented person will outshine a mere tenacious one.
@Penni: art is suffering otherwise artists would compromise and sell out (some of them do); by the way I am not an artist or the writing kind or otherwise.
3:57 pm, March 5, 2012
Being a professionally trained singer doesn’t make you a popstar just as having the ability to replicate a Monet brings you no closer to the master. Good novels are more than just the sum of their craft. As S.A. Jones points out a novel is a work of the imagination, not something easily graded by academia. Sure one can critique the abilities of a writer but these abilities or lack thereof are not generally the reasons we enjoy a good book. I see no barriers to a novel being written as a PhD as surely as one can be written outside this framework. It’s more about how academia can contend with the novel. For me art always defies analysis and de gustibus non disputandum est.
7:39 pm, March 5, 2012
I’m currently writing a novel & exegesis as part of a creative practice led PhD, and have previously completed a Masters where I wrote a novel manuscript & exegesis. Neither of my supervisors have been novelists. For the Masters, I worked with a small cohort of creative writers (we all wrote young adult fiction). As part of the Masters program we had published writers and editors run workshops and give guest lectures, and we also had a professional manuscript assessment. I’m doing my PhD all on my lonesome (part time so no scholarship money or uni-provided place to write). Is it a problem that my supervisor is not a novelist? Not at all. No one is stopping me from finding professional advice support from a novelist if that’s what I want to do (e.g. I’ve completed a professional development program at Varuna to work on my PhD manuscript). My supervisor asks me lots of questions about both my creative work and research, and they’re questions that make me think about what I write and the way I write it. I don’t expect her to be an expert novelist. What I expect is that she gives me guidance through the PhD process, that she gives me support and challenges my ideas about both my research and my creative work. She might not be a novelist but that doesn’t mean she’s not an astute and critical reader. If you’re going to write a novel as part of a PhD, the most important thing is to find a supervisor who challenges and supports you, and, importantly, meets with you regularly to see how you’re going and give you feedback. Doing a PhD takes discipline and commitment. If you’re crazy enough, like me, to go down this path, the most important attribute your supervisor should have is a commitment to helping you doing your best work.
10:48 am, March 6, 2012
I got my Masters and made enquiries about doing a PHD, but the mention of the word exegesis sent me scurrying for the safety of my Bob Marley collection where i remain happily ensconced.
11:54 am, March 6, 2012
That sounds like an eminently sensible thing to do.
9:49 am, March 7, 2012
Interesting piece which raises for me the issue of whether it is better to learn from a practitioner or a theorist. From my experience, this is not an issue that is unique to creative writing courses. One of my degrees had a mix of lecturers who fell into both camps. Whether it was by luck or design, the majority of lecuturers who were practictioners were more insightful and more in touch with the issues I would eventually face in the workplace.
More than this though, I ultimately found that I learnt more in my first year of work, than the two years of study (I think this is the same of writing – for me, I learn more through the act of doing). But this doesn’t mean the course was a waste of time. There are many other things that university courses provide. For me, my classmates became a professional network of colleagues I’ve kept to this day and having the ‘piece of paper’ helped me get my foot in the door for my first job. So regardless if a course is taught by a practitioner or career academic, if you think it will help give you the discipline to sit down and write or access to peers who will challenge you and enrich your work then it sounds to me like time well spent to me.
1:15 pm, March 8, 2012
If you’re contemplating a creative writing PhD it’s worth checking out what kind of exegesis is required by university at which you plan to enrol because that seems to be the challenge for many (of us).
There’s been some good discussion put forward at ‘Text – Journal of Writing and Writing Courses’. I’d recommend one article in particular, http://www.textjournal.com.au/april11/krauth.htm). The kind of exegesis you’d feel confident completing (something purely academic, something more reflective, or something totally different) might even be a good starting point to choosing a program.
I agree that the best supervisor need not be writing in the form you choose to write in but they’ve got to be capable of providing direction, especially with the exegesis. It’s likely harder to pick a program on that basis but still worth considering, and there are enough writers coming through PhD programs now that it’s possible to get some insight from them individual programs. Ask around. Most are – at least in private – brutally honest about their experiences.
9:59 am, March 9, 2012
Patrick, agree with you re the Text commentary. I read a lot of their material whilst preparing this post and was particularly struck by the fact that Australia pioneered this academic innovation.
And yes, I received some ‘brutally honest’ gold when I asked around. My particular favourite (from someone who wrote a fine novel): ‘Exegesis? Oh please. I completely ignored it then read some Foucault and Derida with two months to go and spewed it all out again’.
12:26 pm, March 9, 2012
‘Oh, pleases’ are common, I think. Some candidates do a great job of contextualising their creative work through the exegesis even if it’s a mad dash to the finish line. Mine started on a handicap, was soon overtaken by the creative work, and is now on it’s knees crawling toward the line wondering why it ever agreed to run in the event.
5:58 pm, March 9, 2012
If you don’t mind my asking Patrick, is getting the degree itself (and therefore completing the exegesis) important? Or is it enough to finish the novel?
2:37 pm, March 12, 2012
I hear that getting the degree is supposed to provide a great sense of accomplishment but for me the most important part (given that I don’t intend to pursue the academic path) is the creative component – that felt like accomplishment enough. The rest feels a little like just finishing what I started.
For others, though, getting the degree, if not putting them on the path to a rewarding and fulfilling academic career it will still offer them that sense of accomplishment, even if the only copy of their creative work remains bound in the completed thesis. That could be you PhD novel right there – fiction and theory so tightly sutured together that the creative may never struggle free.
My own (preferred) approach for the exegesis had been purely academic, with no direct reference to my own work or its process of composition but the form of exegesis I am required to produce (for the University of Newcastle) involves sustained self-reflexivity. If I had my time again…
3:13 pm, May 28, 2012
What an interesting debate. In theory, I completely understand what you’re saying about a creative writing supervisor needing to be experienced in the form their students are working in. However, in my case, my supervisor, had not written any long form fiction but was incredibly skilled at responding to the text as it formed and guiding me through the writing process. His students included a Vogel winner and a winner of the TAG Hungerford award, and a large majority of the first-time novelists he supervised were successfully published. So based on my own experience, I would say it is not always necessary for your supervisor to have experience in the form you’re working in.