Diary of a (virtual) academic conference: #2
ACLA again, one year later.
Foreword
Last year, my newsletter about the American Comparative Literature Association’s annual meeting in Montreal was one of my most-read dispatches (in general—and to my surprise—there seems to be high interest in my writing on academia). I’m back at ACLA this year, though the 2025 conference is being hosted virtually, and this time I am not only presenting but also co-chairing a seminar with
, who is doing her PhD at NYU. Akosua and I both work on American literature of the 20th-century, and our interests in movement (hers in mobility, mine in bodily comportment at the level of gesture and posture) are often complementary in exciting ways. It’s been a delight to work with a friend on this project and to meet like-minded scholars for stimulating discussion. With apologies for fewer restaurant outings and tourist sites than last time, I give you another conference diary….
Thursday
On pre-conference day, I spend the morning trying to get a last-minute vet appointment to no avail. I end up writing and drinking tea while Flora works at a chew and naps at my feet, before tuning into a webinar about academic freedom held by the ACLA Graduate Student Committee.
Interestingly, the panel had been planned months ago, prior to the targeting of universities by the Trump administration, and thus the graduate students who had organized it have decided it is too dangerous for them to appear publicly. Three faculty take up their efforts and lead the conversation, highlighting the profound irony and urgency of this organizational change, especially as the 600th day of genocide is approaching.
I am not sure whether these professors would like their names attached to their comments or not, so I am keeping them anonymous, but I am struck by a few things in particular:
the question of how to read (particularly Palestinian poetry and literature, especially out of Gaza today) with integrity
the paramount importance of working with people you respect and in a way where you can respect yourself
the need to resist the pageantry of revolution for strategy, reminding us that the U.S. academy cannot become a sideshow that distracts from what is happening in Palestine
the question of what one’s field of work really is versus what it is to the American institution (for instance, one speaker considers herself a scholar of the tradition of Arabic poetry, as opposed to a scholar of Middle Eastern studies, a field devised by the U.S. in order to deduce big generalizations and teach its students to work in/for empire)
the question of what the American academy is going to look like in 10 years—will Columbia or Harvard still be recognizable as research institutions? Why would top scholars from elsewhere go to the U.S.?
There are no other events today, so I’ll spend the afternoon working, visiting with family, and doing gentle rehab on Flora’s leg.
Friday
The nice thing about a virtual conference is the consistency of my usual routine—morning outings with the dog, yoga, a slow breakfast, and today, the Hacks season 4 finale. I wash my hair, get dressed, and work on some pitches.
My first panel is “Sex Negativity II” at 1:30, which I enjoy over a sandwich and green tea. The speakers are examining the ways in which sex is said to have been evacuated from both social life and academic theory—queer theory, like movies and Gen-Z, the Internet tells us, has been woefully de-sexualized in recent years, marking a threat to certain kinds of liberatory practices. Across four papers, these scholars thought through the role of sex in sexuality studies, feminist turns to celibacy, and theories (or, per presenter Dana Glaser, styles) of negation/negativity. A few major notes I was left thinking about:
how does queer theory continue and reconstitute itself through resistance—for instance, most of its seminal works tend to be critiques of the field itself, à la Bersani. These often present themselves as attempts at the retrieval of a queerness that has seemingly been lost or misplaced (what kind of rhetorical work does this assertion do?)
how can one read the abjected texts of 70s radical feminism and attend to its forms of irony, literalism, and extremity? How do we understand the problems with these texts but also acknowledge how they have been sidelined in ways that are reductive or simply the result of their failure to make good on poststructuralist or deconstructionist directions of late 70s/80s scholarship? I’m cued to look up an incendiary essay by Ti Grace Atkinson essay on “Radical Feminism” and thinking sex as a language.
how can feminist celibacy be understood not as hatred of sex or a re-entrenchment of heterosexism, but as feminist efforts to denaturalize normative sexual politics and launch a critique of choice?
Next is our panel, “Attending to: Regard and Care.” I give the opening remarks and we introduce our three speakers for the day, who present beautiful works on turn-of-the century painting, the poetic practice of Eve Sedgwick, and archives of Black women’s labour. We text each other questions, volleying ideas back and forth ahead of the Q&A portion. I wonder:
how does reading appear in the “scene of solidarity” (to quote Chris Nealon, as one of our speakers has done)?
can we think of regard and care as critical methods, and not just objects of study? How do they differ along these separate grooves?
how do personal attachments bear on scholarly investments and theorizations? What bearing do our mentors have on our work, conscious or unconscious, and often belated?
Can texts teach us how to read them? How do we pay attention to this without falling into political quietism or poses of disinterested neutrality?
Saturday
I want to attend the panel on “Body/Language” but we’ve got a crucial vet appointment, so I’m focusing my energy on that (to make a long story short: Flora is given allergy medication and cleared to start going on short walks again, but when we get home she slips on the hardwood floor and reactivates the injury. I spend the hour leading up to the panel panicking and trying to keep her still.)
I am one of our presenters today, and so after Akosua’s lovely introduction and another beautiful paper, I talk through the framework of my dissertation, the chapter on which I am newly embarking, and how it can be illuminated further through Christina Sharpe’s notion of ‘regard,’ which is our titular premise for the seminar. I go a minute or two over time but we have been running ahead, so I think it’s fine. I show slides of Lorna Simpson photographs and quotes from Assata. I receive really insightful and generous comments and make sure to note them down and add them to my outline doc.
I want to attend the keynote, but I’m too stressed about Flora’s leg and so spend the rest of the evening doting on her and rearranging the furniture to try and stop her from jumping up or running around.
Sunday
After a nice slow morning of tea, breakfast, reading, and watching Étoile, I pop into the last day of “Complicit Figures, Complicit Forms” to hear my friend Pragati deliver a beautiful paper on Pumzi and “The Couple in the Cage.” I am struck by her organizational clarity and close-reading—there is a polish here that I think I could have used more of yesterday!
Then it’s out to the park with Flora to sit on a bench and chill, say goodbye to a friend who is leaving on a three-week trip, and take some notes. I miss the plenary session I meant to attend because I’m outside, enjoying some fresh air before we get hit with more rain again this week.
What I’m Writing:
Just turned in a draft that is half a review of Catherine Lacey’s The Möbius Book (June 17) and half a personal essay—a big step and shift in genre for me, but I’m excited by it!
About to start on a review of Killing Stella, which is being reissued by New Directions later this summer.
What I’m Reading:
I’ve been bouncing between The Glassblower’s Breath and Sleepless Nights, both of which are perhaps a little experimental for my usual tastes, and unexpectedly similar in both form and content—migrating across time and space with highly fluid, languorous prose and strong attention on the erotic, etc. I’m craving something a little more narratively straightforward, but I hate abandoning books so I may just force my way through at least one of them.
What I’m Watching:
I finished Andor, and I’m not being cheeky at all when I say it might be one of the best shows I’ve ever seen. And very likely the most politically incisive.
The Rehearsal season 2 was a masterpiece, as everyone has said. I also loved Hacks this season, but more for the Jimmy/Kayla shenanigans than the Deborah/Ava ones, controversially!
I thought Sirens was awful, I liked North of North, and now I’m on to Étoile, which is making me want to take up ballet again (but not that badly).