Anthem's Fall

Chapter Forty Four

Chapter Thirteen

Ryan

 

Ryan walked through the softly lit hallways of the Columbia Anthropology department, a faint smell of preservative chemicals and floor cleaner lingering in the air. He paused here and there to look into the glass displays of ancient artifacts and recent excavation finds from around the world: ragged woven fabrics, gnarled and knotted wooden devices, inlaid shards of worn ceramics, and brittle bones of slaves and lords equally forgotten.

Pausing before the closed door to Professor Hilton's office, Ryan leaned against a wide display case and examined an odd-looking stone figurine, its angles and curves softened with time. He felt reverent as he considered the time and place in which this peculiar stone idol had been carved. The chipped sockets stared blankly at him, and in their deadened gaze Ryan could feel the enormity of all the tales its withered face would tell if given the chance.

These hallways and the fantastically exotic historical artifacts on display always inspired him in some warmly quixotic way. Ryan yawned heavily as he looked at the stone carving. It had been a long day, and there had not been a moment to rest since he had awoken at sunrise for his shift at the library.

Professor Hilton's door opened, and a girl stepped out looking rather perturbed as she pushed a pile of papers into her backpack. Ryan caught the closing door and entered the office behind her.

"Mr. Craig, good to see you." Professor Hilton was at his desk, and he seemed more amicable than usual. His windowless office was cramped, the walls covered with shelves of thick textbooks and faded maps. "Come sit."

"You wanted to see me?" Ryan let his backpack fall to the carpet and took a seat in a chair opposite the professor.

"Yes, I did." Professor Hilton leaned back and folded his hands across his stomach. "I was surprised by your essay's thesis this week."

Ryan held back his knee-jerk response of frustration, and instead asked, fully knowing the answer, "What surprised you about it?"

"Well, you seem to have completely disregarded the suggestions we had discussed after your previous essay. I thought we had made a plan to improve the quality of your work."

"Quality?"

"Well, perhaps not the quality. But as of this assignment, every paper you have handed in contains a thesis that's too impractical to be considered academic. We talked about the importance of some degree of applicability in your positions; they must be anchored in the real world. I told you to reevaluate your techniques and create a moderate stance for the essay that was due today."

"You told me to write your stance." Ryan swallowed his rising infuriation and brought his attention to a frayed map on the nearby wall of racial demographics in South Africa.

"Ryan. You need to discuss in your essays what we cover in lecture."

"Professor," Ryan said. "I'm not going to take a specific position just because it's the easiest to defend or because it's what you taught in class. I believe what I wrote, and I defended my points adequately."

"I flipped through it." Professor Hilton tapped the stack of stapled essays. "I will say you made a valid argument. But you need to understand that these essays are assessments of what you have learned. If you don't relate your stances to ideas we have discussed in class, then you might as well not be a student. It is my hope that you will learn in this class. The bottom line is that throughout this semester you have strayed from the directions of your assignments, you cite preposterous sources, and you take stances that aren't discussed in lecture. This is not an open discussion class, Ryan. The standard of grading in my classroom is not to be decided upon by my students. Either write about what I teach you, or you'll receive a poor grade."