I am now no longer a working professional but a full-time student (+part-time Latin tutor), so with the advent of actually having [lots of] homework, I naturally turn to the heretofore much neglected Florentissima to not only procrastinate, but to cope with ‘Zoom University,’ the new 2020 norm of higher education.
Following unsuccessful attempts to sneak across the Canadian border in a kayak, I am at last resigned to at least a semester (possibly an entire year) of pursuing my Master’s Degree from the comfort of my parents’ house (thanks for making me coffee every day, Dad). Undertaking a program reliant on manuscripts and Very Old Books without access to either of those things naturally presents a unique set of unforeseen circumstances.
The following rambling reflection highlights some of the funnier unforeseen challenges resulting from the combination of medieval studies + remote learning. If these anecdotes prove prophetic, I am in for a semester of inconvenient but amusing mishaps.
Right at the start of the semester, I ordered via AbeBooks an affordable pre-loved copy of what promised to be a fascinating book with plates of several manuscripts from the Hispanic Society of America Museum & Library. Purchasing the book, appropriately titled ‘Illuminated Manuscripts,’ seemed a no brainer – I am taking a class this semester on the Medieval Liturgy, I am trying to narrow my personal research niche within the field of medieval Iberia, and my paleography class in undergrad focused mainly on insular, not Mediterranean, texts so I need the practice. Regardless, the book would make for a great coffee table conversation starter material for years to come.
You can imagine my disappointment, then, when after the typical long-ish shipping time from the AbeBooks affiliate bookseller, I received a lovely book in pristine condition…of very much not-medieval paintings. Here it is – does this look like ‘Illuminated Manuscripts’ to you?
But it gets better. Does the bookseller has a copy of the book I intended to order? They have not responded to my inquiry thereof after 2 weeks, so I really have no idea. But I am not optimistic (cue ominous music).
Upon further investigation, it appears that the book I thought I ordered may not, in fact, exist. There exist other books about the manuscripts in the Hispanic Society Library, but none with the title or description of the listing I paid for. I am now embroiled in a turgid used books customer service process between AbeBooks and the unresponsive affiliate seller which involves a lot of ‘wait 2 more business days,’ so wait I must. Moral of the story: curb your enthusiasm and double check ISBN numbers.
An even more entertaining mishap has resulted in my new role as the unofficial Zoom Backup to a Monday morning class.
Between the second and third meetings of aforementioned class, the internet gremlins interfered with the recurring Zoom meeting link such that the professor – a self-proclaimed Luddite – was not the ‘host’, and nobody could get out of the dreaded limbo of ‘waiting for the host to start this meeting.’ The designated departmental tech support person was naturally unavailable at the moment to provide a solution.
A half-hour-long email chain of observations, suggestions, and non-suggestions between professor and class ensued. Keep in mind this is a two hour lecture with very dense Latin readings, so any time covering the material lost is irreparably so. I began to wonder if the classic lightbulb joke could be replaced with ‘how many medievalists does it take to issue a link for a new Zoom meeting,’ so I stepped up and replied-all with a link to my own Zoom room. Hurrah! Class could resume.
One small step for me was apparently such a giant leap for studentkind that I have been asked to be “prepared to Zoom into action” next Monday in case of a similar fiasco. I sincerely hope my services are no longer needed, but will gladly take on the honorific cognomen dea ex machina in the meantime.
The final challenge, and most likely producer of future dumpster fires, is obtaining access to various obscure-but-essential reference books on my syllabi (you know, the ones that don’t exist in PDF and cost $500 used). How many of these venerable tomes will I track down? For how many friends with access to real live libraries will I buy dinner in return for a glimpse at a rare German monograph? Stay tuned, whether this will be a more Herculean or Sisyphean undertaking, there will be stories.
Honestly, despite every challenge and minor disaster that comes with remote learning, I would rather spend this year doing nothing else. Reading medieval Latin – even Latin versions of impenetrable Greek philosophical treatises – really fills me with joy like nothing else. Though this isn’t at all the grad school experience I expected when I started Florentissisma in anticipation of burying myself in manuscripts this fall, I am excited to continue sharing interesting pieces of the medieval world and how I’m coping with learning about it over zoom.
But if you happen to have any spare medieval manuscripts for sale on the DL, I’m in the market.
Musings of a medievalist mama 