First Person

Salvaging an Ego, and a Career

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By Henry Raymond

At long last, after three torturous years, my search for a tenure-track job in history has drawn to a happy, albeit unorthodox, close. In May I received a formal appointment letter from one of the two English universities known collectively as "Oxbridge" (and that's as specific as I'm going to get), thereby salvaging not only my badly bruised ego, but also my academic career, which I came dangerously close to abandoning.

For the past two years, I've been a visiting assistant professor in the humanities at Prestigious Northeastern University -- a fact that's done me little good on the market. In three years I've applied for about 60 tenure-track jobs (and perhaps 20 temporary positions); and in all that time, I've garnered only a handful of conference interviews.

Like so many friends in the same position, I went through the standard cycles: self-pity, self-deprecation, self-loathing, self-indictment. I blamed myself, I cursed the profession, I consulted a Magic-8 Ball. I began steeling myself for an alternative profession. And I determined that there was just no way in hell that I'd subject myself to yet another round of rejections and another unhappy three days skulking about the job register at the annual winter conference.

This past February, on a lark, I applied for a position at Oxbridge, never imagining that it would amount to anything. Having been rejected by fourth-tier institutions in states I'd never condescend to drive through, let alone live in, I was pretty sure that Oxbridge would laugh me off of the stage.

Furthermore, my colleagues at Prestigious Northeastern University warned me against Oxbridge. English academic salaries are notoriously low, they said; the instructional system is different from anything we're accustomed to; and the English academy is rife with anti-American sentiment. All of these warnings seemed perfectly reasonable, but beggars can't be choosers.

Then, events moved quickly, and things got weird. Oxbridge asked for a writing sample and, two weeks later, invited me to campus.

Everything about the on-campus interview surprised me. At Oxbridge, job finalists all arrive at the campus on the same day, and interviews and job talks are scheduled back-to-back.

Consequently, all four finalists for my job spent an awkward hour together in an anteroom. We talked about the weather (it was raining), about the grass (it was unusually green for this time of year) and about the past winter (awfully cold). We also tried to catch glances at one another's lecture notes.

When my time came, it all went by quickly: a 20-minute talk followed by a 40-minute interview. No meetings with provosts and deans, no campus tour, no mock seminar with grad students and faculty members, no meet-and-greets, no dinner, no lunch, no opportunity to ask questions. At the end of my hour, the search committee ushered me out of the room politely, but resolutely.

I was almost certain I wouldn't accept the job, if offered. How the hell could these people expect me to uproot my family and move to England, without so much as a campus tour? When the committee chairman asked how he could reach me that afternoon, I could scarcely contain my smirk. "I've been here for two days," I wanted to say. "And now that I'm leaving, you want to chat?" Instead, I simply murmured, "I'll be on a plane to Boston, unreachable." "Right," he replied. "Could you check your email at the airport?"

It took me two hours to get to Heathrow (at Oxbridge interviews, candidates find their own way to and from campus). After checking in at the airport, subjecting my bags and shoes to a scrupulous inspection, and buying a bottle of duty-free vodka, I ambled over to an Internet station, bought five minutes of time, read the latest news off the wires, and then checked my e-mail.

To my absolute astonishment, Oxbridge had offered me a job, at a very good salary, with terms for both renewal and their version of tenure. They wanted an answer within 48 hours.

I did the reasonable thing: I boarded the plane and had three drinks. And then I gave the matter six hours of deep thought. England isn't America, I decided, and different doesn't mean worse. They didn't mean to insult me or blow me off during the interview process -- they simply conduct their interviews in their own fashion.

But 48 hours? I wasn't ready to make so huge a commitment blindly. When I got back home, I contacted a few people at Oxbridge and explained in fairly clear terms my reservations. I knew nothing -- absolutely nothing -- about the place. I had a lot of questions. I was flattered by the offer, but I couldn"t accept it without learning a lot more about the terms and specifics of the job.

Fortunately, all proceeded nicely. Although it's not English custom to talk about money upfront, the people at Oxbridge delved into specifics with me, told me about their housing and insurance schemes, walked me through the details of research and teaching there, explained the Oxbridge pedagogical system to me, and put me in contact with a number of expats who were able to share their experiences as Americans working and living in England.

Above all, I was deeply impressed: The committee liked my work, wanted me to accept the offer, and was bending over backwards to accommodate my American sensibilities. The hiring committee even gave me two weeks to mull over the decision, which is an extraordinary gesture at Oxbridge.

Ultimately, I accepted the offer, and I'm glad I did. My colleagues are very kind and welcoming; the university community seems unusually collegial and friendly; the intellectual caliber of Oxbridge is unparalleled; the academic terms are short, which will allow me to travel and to spend a part of each year in the United States; and I finally have the long-range security I've been striving for these past three years.

And so I've learned the following:

First, the market is capricious. A week after Oxbridge offered me a job, I received a rejection letter from a community college in the Northeast. There's just no rhyme or reason to any of this.

Second, as the old adage goes, first impressions are sometimes misleading. There's clearly a cultural disconnect between the American and English academy. But with a little flexibility, both sides are capable of communicating.

And finally, for those who enjoy some mobility, it's not a bad thing to consider teaching abroad, if just for a few years. There are some remarkably good universities around the world that don't interview at the Modern Language Association or the American Historical Association, but that offer a range of professional and personal opportunities that no American university can match.

Oxbridge will pay for me to go to next winter's professional conference in the United States, something I fully intend to do. This year, for the first time, I won't have to hustle for interviews. I may actually attend a few panels. My story ended well, and I hope others will too.