By Alice Asch ‘22
Dear Words readers,
In the beautiful letter of advice that Dalton Greene wrote for this issue, he mentioned playing the role of “Weepy Sentimental Senior” last December, before he left for Oxford (notably not in London, as I’ve totally known all along). The time has come for Kira Schukar and me to take on that role, so I’m afraid you’ll just have to bear with me as I get weepy and sentimental. Here we go.
As a freshman, I didn’t believe I could ever love reading more than I already did, but I was proven so wonderfully wrong. About ten minutes into my first literature class at Macalester—James Dawes’ “Novel” course—it became obvious to me that I should major in English, and it seemed absurd that I had ever considered not doing so.
Professor Dawes was telling us why humans read books, and I don’t actually remember what he said, but I remember how it made me feel. I felt all those fancy things that you’re supposed to feel in college—fascinated, energized, inspired. But I also felt something a bit more innocent: happiness. That’s the real core of why I’m an English major. It makes me happy!
College is hard, hard work. It’s disappointing and confusing and lonely and terrifying. If you’re lucky, however, you will meet people who are kind to you. And I mean truly kind—it’s a simple form of kindness, so pure and so necessary. Nothing else matters, really.
I’ve had the incredible fortune to find a bounty of this kindness in the English department: from faculty, staff, classmates, friends, and my fellow student workers. Truthfully, I’ve always been much more comfortable writing than speaking, but the thing about college is that eventually you have to talk to people, if you want to get anywhere with anything. It turns out that this department is full of pretty cool individuals, and I’ve treasured my conversations with them.
I’m about to thank a bunch of those individuals, and even though I’m on the literature track, I will start with the creative writers. Like many people, I love writing because I love reading. I can’t help but look at the work of authors I admire and think, I want to write like that! I can’t, of course, but it’s damn fun to try.
My creative writing classes have given me two gifts: the space to delve into immersive projects, and the opportunity to receive careful and attentive feedback. It’s a rare thing—to gather up the nerve to display vulnerability, to risk failure, and then find your work met with the utmost thoughtfulness. I am grateful for my supportive peers in those courses, as well as three exquisite professors: Emma Törzs, Harrison Rivers, and Richard Wiebe.
As much as I adore creative writing, I will miss my literature classes most of all. I owe an enormous amount to each of my lit professors, but I would like to thank Penelope Geng, in particular—my magnificent advisor, who led me through my capstone. She makes me feel smart and capable and genuinely excited to write, and I can think of no better mark of a good teacher. In Professor Geng’s comments on the first paper I wrote for her (about Queen Margaret’s heartbreak in King Henry VI, Part 2), she told me to “keep taking imaginative leaps!” If I had to sum up my post-grad goals, they would be precisely that.
I know very little about what I’m going to do with the rest of my life, but I know that I have spent these last four years studying something I love deeply, under the guidance of people I respect. And for that great privilege, I feel like the luckiest person in the world.
I will conclude with another round of thank-you’s, beginning with our department coordinator, and my boss: the inimitable Jan Beebe. If it weren’t for Jan, Old Main 2 would surely collapse into a pile of empty coffee cups and crumpled papers. I have met few people so abundantly generous with their time and attention, so brimming with humor and grace, as Jan Beebe. Not only does she coordinate two entire departments, but she offers daily comfort to about a dozen stressed-out, over-caffeinated student workers, and that is no small feat.
I can rest assured that we are leaving The Words in the masterful hands of Chloë Moore, Zoë Roos Scheuerman, and Patrick Coy-Bjork. They are all talented writers, who (far more importantly) also happen to be lovely human beings. I know they’re technically younger than me, but in all honesty, I look up to them.
And then there’s Kira and Dalton—my dear co-senior editors. These two work with a poise and precision that I have long marveled at. They have both given me endless moments of delight over the past few years, and it is an honor to graduate alongside them and say farewell to our beloved department together.
Writing these final words, I’m feeling a swell of gratitude so overwhelming that it seems almost silly to try expressing it on the page. I can only resort to that good old rhetorical device: repetition. Thank you, everyone. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.
Much love,
Alice