As springtime arrives and the job-market results drift in, a young candidate's mood turns contemplative. How does she (or he) make sense of the vagaries of the job market -- who wants you, who rejects you?
I found my job candidacy passed over by numerous public universities and liberal-arts colleges, and not a single department offering a temporary visiting-lecturer position considered me. Yet I was short-listed for tenure-track positions at arguably the most prestigious institutions I applied to, and was chosen by a humanities institute for a postdoctoral fellowship. I tried to make sense of this pattern of rejection and interest.
Had I defined my scholarship too far outside the traditional boundaries of anthropology? Was my odd social science/humanities background and my even odder circus dissertation topic a bad fit for colleges interested in the basic curricular needs of stereotypical anthropology courses on distant lands and exotic peoples?
Perhaps I could have written my letters and C.V. to more closely match search-committee expectations and the usual anthropology jobs to get a better reception across the board, I thought.
But I had to face facts. I don't fit the traditional disciplinary expectations because I never wanted to. Trying to hide my odd background and research interests is like trying to hide an elephant in the closet. Better to bring him out into the ring, raise the lights, and say, "Ladies and Gentlemen, children of all ages..." and let those who aren't interested at least pause a moment on their way to the door.
I had to ask myself some hard questions, not just about what kind of a scholar I presented in my cover letters and how that might be modified, but about what kind of a scholar I actually was and the kind of career I honestly wanted. I want to skip (slip?) easily across disciplinary boundaries, explore fascinating aspects of culture wherever they're found, have fun teaching and writing across the board.
I had a wonderful, promising interview at a liberal-arts college with an attractive interdisciplinary mission. They eschewed all departmental divisions, forming bridges where too often there are fences in academe. I could not have imagined a more interesting, active, and collegial community of faculty members and students. The exciting possibilities for new courses, team-teaching, and experimental projects had me mentally packing my bags and moving in.
But for an interdisciplinary college, the interview questions revolved suspiciously around defining the differences between anthropology and other social sciences -- exactly the emphasis I thought we were trying to get away from. "How is anthropology different from sociology?" they asked me. "What anthropologists would you teach that no other social-science theory uses?"
I suppose the lesson of the multicultural circus communities I studied should have warned me. National stereotypes and boundaries are strong in the circus not in spite of but BECAUSE of international diversity. Take down the departmental walls in an interdisciplinary college, and a shared understanding of disciplinary difference might even more forcefully emerge.
A week after my visit, the search-committee chair told me I had garnered strong support, and the final decision-making process forced extra meetings and a weekend of re-reading files. But they ultimately decided upon a candidate "who could be considered a more 'traditional' anthropologist," he admitted.
Not every college or anthropology department supports the stereotypes of our field, of course, and there are plenty of excellent anthropologists out there doing what might be considered "odd" research and teaching. I got my first interview, at a prestigious Ivy League university, probably because I was different from the norm.
My reception at Ivy University was great. Interview meetings turned into lively debates on cultural phenomena and teaching techniques. Questions and discussion after my talk ran overtime, and even the administrative assistant stayed until the end. But ultimately, they too decided to go with "different interests," and chose a candidate who had done traditional fieldwork in Melanesia.
There seems to be a heavy burden of proof regarding good nontraditional scholarship, and maybe I simply haven't yet established a thorough, convincing record. When the race gets close, I need to do more. Only time, more experience, and publishing will take care of that.
Being on the job market is tough for everyone. You're putting yourself out there to be poked and prodded, weighed and measured. It's hard to stand firm and confident if you're found somehow wanting. Particularly for a newly minted Ph.D., it's tempting to try to find validation in the process. I could question my value and choices as a scholar, doubt my definition and performance. Part of me does. I assume even an established scholar would feel a twinge of self-doubt.
Making sense of rejection is difficult, particularly in the cases where your candidacy does not make the first cut. But along with disappointment, I admit I feel some relief. Sure I could have done those jobs, but they weren't my ideal. In retrospect, I guess you could say that I wasn't considered for what I probably didn't want. But it still hurts.
The rejection letters reassure you of a strong applicant pool -- hundreds of scholars deep and dozens of specialties wide. Form notices commend you on your impressive credentials and regret that they cannot pursue your application further. Many conclude with a warmly supportive postscript of best wishes in your academic career pursuits.
I received so many such letters that I almost missed the first one that wasn't a rejection. It was only one page of paper, a thin, apparently disappointing envelope from a humanities institute offering an unstructured postdoctoral research fellowship. I danced around the living room with my dog to celebrate.
The fellowship -- temporary time out for just writing and thinking -- sounds like heaven to me. I want to finish and publish my circus book, start some new research, and use the time before I begin the postdoc to learn a new language and write some more. Concerns about job security, paying back my student loans, and having to shortly re-enter the job market aside, of every job for which I applied, this is what I most want right now.
Trying to make sense of what search committees look for in a candidate and figuring out how to present myself to best match was not the real point of launching a job search. Learning to understand and define myself and what kind of scholarship I want right now and for the future is. That's an ongoing career process, and I've only just embarked.
