Gina Brandolino: "What a Difference an MA Makes" cont. . .

. . . As you can imagine, I went singing a high hosanna to the terminal M.A., and now you’re thinking that all the bitterness and anger present in this paper is behind us. Not quite. When I met with the director of graduate studies to determine what classes I would take during my first term in my Ph.D. program, I found myself in the midst of a discussion about which of my M.A. classes would transfer—as in, of course, they would not all transfer and I would be essentially re-taking some courses I had completed in my M.A. program. I found myself talking my way out of being enrolled in another “professionalization” course—I had taken one for my M.A. program, but incoming students, whether in possession of a B.A. or M.A., were encouraged to take this course in my Ph.D. program. And in general, I found myself feeling that aside from getting me in the door, my M.A. did not really do me a lot of good, and in some ways, it set me back: Some of the time I had spent in course work (and the money I had spent on it, though it was a great help to have a financial support package, which I did not have when I was earning my M.A.) would have to be re-spent. This feeling intensified as I watched my fellow students who entered with B.A.s only—students to whom I was technically senior—leap-frogging past me: They would do two and a half years of coursework, while I, counting my M.A. coursework, would do four. They would be finished with their degrees and get jobs before they turned 30, while I finished my doctoral exams when I turned 30, streaks of gray starting in my hair. These youngsters sprint past me on the library stairs while we are there together researching our dissertations, while the arthritis starting to set in in my joints prevents me from giving chase.

Okay, the arthritis part I made up. And the truth is that once I was out of course work, which I consider the great rat race of graduate school, my frustration over feeling set back by having completed a terminal M.A. program before entering a Ph.D. program faded, and continues to fade. In fact, now that my focus is on my dissertation and my teaching, I find myself increasingly grateful that I completed an M.A. before entering a Ph.D. program. The benefits are subtler than the drawbacks, but I find them infinitely more valuable than the drawbacks ever seemed debilitating. For one, I feel like I really have a firm grounding in literary history—and I should. Having gone through the cycle of historical survey courses once for my B.A., again for my M.A., and having redone parts of it when I entered my Ph.D. program, I have more notes on, have researched more papers about, have seen the approaches of more professors to, and have done more reading in any given period of literary history, British or American, than anyone could hope for. This has proven immensely useful to me as I put together my own syllabi and lesson plans. Another benefit also connected to teaching is that I find I am capable of relating to and assisting a wide range of students. Other graduate students for whom the road to higher education was easy and assured might not be as familiar as I am with the fears, concerns, and problems of students for whom a college education is not a given. I have been this student, and I am as capable of and comfortable teaching her as I am teaching students whose backgrounds dispose them to being more comfortable and successful in college. This is particularly important to me because, having had my share of problems with higher education because of my own background, I want to help make the university more accessible to this less privileged student.

But the advantages of having gone through a terminal M.A. program are not just about teaching. I have the benefit of being familiar with the faculty of two graduate programs—I have two groups of mentors whom I can go to for help and who keep me in mind for conferences (despite my bitterness and anger, apparently) and other professionalizing opportunities. And, though I exaggerated my age when I referred to those young upstarts who beat me up the stairs at the library, I do often feel like I am, not so much more mature, but perhaps more experienced—in any event, out of necessity, I have demonstrated more persistence than some of my colleagues who have been able to take a more direct route through graduate school. Though it is true of all graduate students, it is particularly true of me that I have not made it this far by accident.

One of my professors once told me that an M.A. is something you earned for fun; the Ph.D. is when things get serious. I can see how this may be true in some cases, but it has been my experience that, for students who have the desire and ability to pursue an academic career but whose backgrounds make such a career path look difficult or even impossible to follow, the M.A. is where the serious work begins, and it can make all the difference. When terminal M.A. programs serve this function—as my M.A. program did for me, acting as the less privileged student’s stepping-stone to the academy—they help let some fresh air, new faces, and new experiences into the ivory tower. This is an invaluable service to provide for both the student and the tower. And I am sure we will all be happy to hear that, as someone who has benefited from this service, I find that, in the end, I really have no business at all being angry or bitter.