Paris and the Defence

For the past 25 hours I have been entirely released from the numerous academic commitments that have strangled and sapped my soul for the past 2 (and 18 of the last 19) years. Yesterday, at 10 a.m. GMT I began the defence of my thesis on the historical, political and intellectual determinants of Russian nationalism. It was supposed to last thirty minutes; instead, I was under the microscope for three times as long, defending my methodological choices and the focus of my examination from savage critiques. I was told that my paper did not focus on the idea of 'appartenance' or belonging to /membership in the nation (it was not meant to). That I did not touch upon the idea of race (I did, but minimized its importance). That the paper had nothing to do with the teaching from the program (guilty as charged), and that my analysis was too "Anglo-Saxon" (true again). I should have known better than to have a sociologist rather than that rare beast, the 'political scientist', as my thesis director.

I do admit that it was a very general paper and was written as such more for my own intellectual curiosity and personal edification than to be a focused work on a particular aspect of my topic. I also belatedly discovered that it was missing about thirty citations from my change from MLA format to footnotes. Anyway, it was a rough defence, but when I emerged, barely alive, from the unrelenting criticism of my methodology and myriad attacks on my choice of subject, I was awarded a 14 for my troubles, which is a mention bien, or Honors. Now the French grading system is pretty messed up. The maximum note possible is 20, though as the joke goes, on a good day God might get a 20. 19 is reserved for experts in the field when they are on a roll, 18 for vastly superior work from lesser mortals like PhD students and low level experts. 10 is passing and most students are happy with that; anything above 12 is considered very good. Anyway, this was good news since, after my disastrous time-management on my Politics of International Trade exam at LSE, my chances for honors there seem dim.

On the other hand, I turn 25 in 11 days and I am scared. turning 22 was pretty hard because, unlike all of the other previous years, nothing useful came from that transition: thus began the slippery slope towards receding hairlines, viagra, midlife crises, broken hips and senility. Now I'll officially be crossing the threshold to the (shudder) late twenties and it's sort of freaking me out. Anyway, I have to go watch Matlock. Peace.