Research Is No Solitary Sport

Discovering Chasing Beauty

Written by Anna Stowe, Hope College Creative Writing Major and Student Managing Editor for the English Department

Deep in the basement of the Van Wylen Library, you’ll find the Rare Books Room. Lining its walls are hundreds of books ranging from first-edition novels to tomes of Michigan history. It’s both atmospheric and historical as the honey-toned wood seems to invite curiosity. Beyond the books lie the Archives and Special Collections, a nod to the detailed work of Dr. Natalie Dykstra’s biography Chasing Beauty: The Life of Isabella Stewart Gardner. Rows of chairs fill the small room which is soon filled with eager listeners. At 3 pm on a Thursday, this space often lies empty and quiet, but today is different. 

Today is for storytelling—for imparting the discovery of Isabella Stewart Gardener. 

Isabella’s story was brought to life by Natalie Dykstra, an emerita professor and senior research professor at Hope College. In 2018, Dykstra received a Public Scholar Award from the National Endowment for the Humanities which supported the detailed archival work needed to craft Isabella’s story. Dykstra’s research and writing were also supported by the inaugural 2018 Robert and Ina Caro Fellowship sponsored by the Biographers International Organization (BIO). 

Dykstra opened the talk by describing biography as a genre and providing a brief recap of Isabella’s life. First, Dykstra explained that biography deals with “a fascination with the past, a love of storytelling, and the intrigue of the archives.” Recalling a Virginia Woolf quote about biography, Dykstra described the work as “something intimate. People are never the sum of our theories about them. Biography is a kind of resurrection of the individual.”

As for Isabella herself, at age sixteen, she moved to Paris where she became friends with Julia Gardner and Helen Waterston. By twenty, she had married Jack Gardner and, by twenty-five, she had lost her first and only son, Jackie. At this point, Isabella began to travel the world—it became her second education. Whilst traveling, she created travel journals and photo albums, training her eye to put artwork together in a narrative—which she would later do in her museum Fenway Court. In the museum, no artwork is isolated—there’s both historical and personal context, as though you’re moving through both place and time

Isabella Stewart Gardner in 1888
Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum

Dykstra faced many challenges throughout the project. Simultaneously, there were too many sources and too few. There was an incredible quantity of material surrounding her later life, but very little about her early life. For example, although the loss of her son was pivotal, there’s almost no record of Isabella grieving her son. Periodically, however, Dykstra experienced the great joy of the biographer. While combing through records in Massachusetts, Dykstra discovered the Waterston diaries, including an entry on December 8, 1856, in which Helen mentions meeting Isabella. In Dykstra’s words, “To find your character in newly discovered sources is a biographer’s dream.” 

After introducing Isabella, Dykstra drew attention to the panelists surrounding her—the former Hope students who assisted her in the research process. These students included Hannah Jones ‘21, Aine O’Connor ‘20, Sarah Lundy ‘19, and Melanie Burkhardt ‘18. 

After the introduction, the panel discussion began, moderated by Dr. Stephen Maiullo, the Dean of Arts and Humanities. What follows is a transcript of the discussion, edited for length and with a focus on the research process. 

How did you get involved in this project?

Burkhardt: I started as a TA for Dr. Dykstra. I remember Dykstra mentioning she had an idea for a new book and that she needed a researcher. So, for the next two years, I worked with her. 

Lundy: I worked with the history department already and one day I got a surprise email asking if I wanted to do some research for Dykstra and if I’d like to go to Paris. It was a great experience outside the classroom to work in archives and see what that process looked like in the real world. 

O’Connor: I was sitting in Lubbers one day with my feet up and maybe not looking super professional. Dykstra walked in and I put myself together. We ended up talking and I told her, if she ever needed a TA, I’d be it. Well, later, I wanted to do research in Boston so I asked Dykstra. She said ‘How about Paris?’ 

Jones: I was also working as a TA and had a class with Aine. We got to go to Paris and ended up doing a lot of transcription work–especially on the Waterston diaries. 

What were some of the projects you worked on?

Lundy: For the most part, I was looking for day-to-day life. What was the weather like? What did her family do? What classes did she take? Really, it was lovely to dig into her letters, postcards, etc. It gave an image of her as a person and it wasn’t something I typically thought of in the context of archival research. It was getting to know about Isabella and her early years—a piece of her that was less well-known than the museum. 

Jones: Aine and I worked on transcribing the Helen Waterston diaries. Her handwriting was okay and she’d sprinkle in a bit of French which was fun. In her writing around age 16/17, Isabella was such a talented writer and it was a beautiful picture of the teenagers together in Paris. Helen described Isabelle as having a passion for ‘jollification.’ We dug into the weather, into Jack Gardner’s financial records… It was fun when the requests came in because we never knew quite what they were for. 

Burkhardt: Sometimes it was very hard (and fun) to transcribe Isabella’s letters–sometimes her writing was very slanted. I didn’t go to Paris, but I was able to go to Boston and visit the museum. I spent a day at Harvard at the Houghton Library, transcribing Henry James and TS Elliot. So much of studying English was reading something that someone had already discovered and this was going directly to the source for the first time. 

O’Connor: Outside of transcribing, we cheerleaded the book. It’s hard as the writer because it feels like you’re isolated and it was so lovely to step into the process. 

Dykstra: I’d bounce ideas off of them. You don’t write books alone–not even close–and I was so fortunate to have people cheering me on. 

How did you stay motivated when the research got hard?

Lundy: Research is time-consuming and iterative. Sometimes, you need to take a break and come back later—give yourself that grace. When you’re in a research trip situation, you’re often there because the resources are there. Yes, being in the library is important but the cultural experience of the place–walking the streets–is equally as important. You’d get a sense of being a non-native person and speaker. Back in the US, it’s important to set a schedule and have dedicated research time to work on the project. You needed to figure out what to prioritize and what to come back later. 

O’Connor: In Helen’s diary, we had so many red question marks, things we couldn’t read that left gaps in the story. No research happens alone and it was important to be able to work together. 

Jones: We’re naturally curious people and had a desire to know more. You’d find a word you didn’t know but, if you kept reading, it might show up again and this time you’d be able to read it. In the research process, failure is inevitable but it’s a time to learn, even to change course. It’s an opportunity to pivot. Working in Paris, Aine and I worked about 5 to 10 hours per week. While there was a timeline, it was also pretty flexible. Working together, one person could talk and one could type, then we could pause when we got stuck. 

The documents you worked to transcribe were written in cursive. How important is it to understand cursive when researching?

Lundy: So much of the historical record is written in cursive. Part of the repetitive iterative process was learning those handwritings—the quirks of each person. Correspondence remains incredibly fascinating because the actual handwriting tells you so much about the person.

O’Connor: Yes, transcriptions are important, but you need to know cursive to get to the actual materials. There’s something life-changing about physically holding those sources.

What inspired you (Dykstra) to write the book and how did you get the team on board?

I asked them because I could tell they were interested. They were good students and I knew that. Plus, they were working on Isabella’s teenage years—the same age they were which lent a unique perspective. It’s important to have different generations working together. 

It took me 18 months to decide to write her story in the first place. She had so many friends, an enormously important art and historical story, and she also lived for a long time. It was a true story and people are very attached to the museum. You don’t take something like that lightly. 

But there were also so many themes of her life that I felt I had something to say about. Her spirituality but also her relationship between heartbreak and beauty and light. She just had this intense curiosity—even at the end of her life when she was paralyzed by a stroke. 

She was a remarkable woman and I wanted to live with that character. 

In the writing process, how did you (Dykstra) manage the narrative story and the dense historical information that provided its context?

You need the stream–the social context–but you need to follow the fish. Your character should be apparent on every page. The reader needs to feel close to her, to see her alive on the page. Biography is a story—everything else can go in the endnotes. Follow the senses to convey her world. That allows the reader to see through the sentences as well. And it takes practice. 

“If I had one piece of advice, it would be to build one good day. Figure out what you need to do and build that day. That’s how books are written. “
Natalie Dykstra 

“Arms Flung Open in the Pursuit of Beauty”

Written by Anna Stowe, Hope College Creative Writing Major and Student Managing Editor for the English Department

On September 11, Winants Auditorium was filled with members of the Holland Community, students, professors, and friends, all gathered to discover the life of Isabella Stewart Gardner. Light filtered through the stained glass windows as the room rumbled with chatter. A few minutes before 6 pm, Dr. Stephen Maiullo, the Dean of Arts and Humanities, opened this year’s Community Summit on Arts and Humanities, a two-day event celebrating the work faculty and students are doing in and outside of the classroom.

After a brief introduction, author Dana Vanderlugt took the stage, introducing her friend and mentor Dr. Natalie Dykstra. An emerita professor and senior research professor at Hope College, Dykstra influenced several students who later joined her in the research process for Chasing Beauty: The Life of Isabella Stewart Gardner (published March 2024). Praising Dykstra’s research, teaching, and writing process, Vanderlugt stated that “the hallmark of scholarship is a passion for teaching–opening doors and windows for others.” With her shoulder-length gray hair, a colorful scarf tied around her neck, and glasses perched on her nose, Dykstra paints a picture of a brave, curious, wise woman. In Vanderlugt’s words, “She is a keen listener and adept at bringing light and grace into hard things… In the book, Isabella chases beauty, but that’s also what’s done in the writing.”

At last, Dr. Natalie Dykstra took the stage, opening her presentation with a long list of acknowledgements. Although a surprising introduction, Dykstra’s words highlight the fact that research and writing are not done alone. Despite being a fundamentally solitary act, the actual process takes a village. 

Isabella Stewart Gardner in 1888

And then we met Isabella, a New York girl. Dykstra’s passion for Isabelle–or Belle, as she called her–was clear as her eyes lit up and her hands came alive with movement. Passing over much of Isabella’s early life, Dykstra emphasized Isabella’s move to Paris at age 16 where she entered a convent school. Here, Isabella met Julia Gardner and Helen Waterston, whose diaries provided a previously undiscovered connection. It was Helen who first called Isabella a New York girl in an entry dated Dec 8, 1856. In 1860, Julia’s brother, Jack, would become Belle’s husband. Dykstra also mentioned the core of Isabella’s motivation: to create a palace and fill it with beautiful things. 

The young couple soon faced tragedy. Isabella’s only child died before reaching his second birthday. Facing the death of her son, Isabella’s grief derailed her. Despite this sorrow, however, Isabella and Jack began to travel the world–visiting Europe, Africa, and Asia. During their travels, Belle filled 28 journals with descriptions, drawings, and anecdotes as if she could put the world on a page. 

Interestingly, Isabella began collecting artwork early on–photos reveal the correlation between the Gardner’s home and the eventual museum galleries of Fenway Court. Unfortunately, tragedy struck once more in 1898. Jack Gardner’s death once again marked Isabella’s house of beautiful things with grief. Once again, Isabella found a new purpose–this time by creating Fenway Court, modeled after a Venetian palazzo turned inside out. A testament to her determination, Isabella is recorded as having overseen the project herself, accompanied by her lunch pail. 

Today, Fenway Court is known as the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum. Its halls are filled with a collection of paintings, sculptures, tapestries, furniture, manuscripts, rare books, and more. Displayed carefully, the museum is more than a collection of objects–it is Isabella’s way of bringing the world to America. 

Dutch Room
Raphael Room
Museum Courtyard

Such a clear recounting of Isabella’s life may rest on a page conveniently, but crafting her story was not without difficulty. Dykstra emphasized this point, explaining that there was very little documentation of Isabella’s early years, but a vast quantity of writings surrounding her later life. In Dykstra’s words, “While I wrote, there was the feeling of weaving her story from gossamer threads, but it was all important. Early accounts of Isabella didn’t seem to match the soulfulness of her creation, its sweep, its seeming spiritual claim… That’s when I realized you had Isabella when you had the museum.” Before she died in 1924, Isabella stipulated in her will that the museum could not be changed–it had to remain exactly as she created it. 

Despite facing immense loss, Isabella Stewart Gardner never stopped chasing beauty.  Even in the cover image of Dykstra’s book, Isabella’s arms are flung open to the world and to experience; “It was as if she said, ‘Come out all of you, this is too beautiful to miss.’ She chased beauty throughout the heartbreak of her early life.”

Following Dykstra’s introduction of Isabella, Vanderlugt joined her on the stage, settling into chairs facing each other for the interview portion of the event. 

What gave you the bravery to write it and drove you to tell the story?

People have such strong feelings about the museum and such strong attachments to it–deep experiences. Belle was in her 60s when the museum opened and lived another 20 years. There had to be a better story than what had been said up to that point. At the same time, if she had told us what it meant, everything would have turned back to her. Then I realized she didn’t want to insert herself between the visitor and the art. She wanted individuals to chase beauty themselves. She deserved a story that brought her alive. And there was the spiritual side–something I felt I had something to say about. Most people focus on the collection itself–which does make sense, but it’s almost like she got overshadowed by her own accomplishment. And then there’s the theft–13 pieces were stolen and it’s an ongoing investigation. That overshadowed the museum too. It created a double shadow. 

How did the experience of writing compare to the experience of teaching? How do they intersect? 

When I was writing well, I was teaching better. When I was teaching well, I was writing better. It was a synergy–they fed off each other. I mean, it is about audience and storytelling and surprise but in the classroom it’s such a human thing. You never know quite what’s going to happen and you end up going to a new place together–both in the classroom and in writing. I love the element of surprise–it’s life, both on the page and in the classroom. 

You talked about the grief, the tragedy, and the joy. What brought you joy in the process of writing but also now?

While writing, I was very much at my desk. It took five years to get this done. When you’re really in it, it’s not lonely because these people come alive–so alive that it’s almost too many people in my head. At the same time, sometimes it’s not going well and that’s really hard. There’s also the readers–I get emails in the middle of the night saying ‘I just had to tell you…’ and I remember what the writing is for. I was also scared that I would fundamentally change the perception of the museum itself–but, thankfully, that didn’t happen. So yes, it’s just so nice to have readers. 

The museum remains the same every single time–Isabella stipulated that. Is that part of the power of the museum or does that detract? What is the effect of that?

Well, she stipulates that nothing can be moved in her will. She hired the best architectural photographer and attached those photos to the will so that they literally couldn’t be changed unless you went to court and fought. She didn’t want to just bring the painting back but she wanted to bring the experience of seeing the paint where it was. She knew how to display these objects to their greatest effect. It was a struggle to figure out what paintings and installations to talk about and how those could be used to tell the story. Now though, it draws you closer to Isabella. It gives intent–it’s like a scrapbook. And once you have intent, you have a through-line, you have a storyline. 

Throughout this event, Dykstra emphasized her reading, research, and writing process. She showed letters, travel journals, images of the gallery, even photos of Isabella. These served to flesh out Isabella’s character, give her flesh and blood. Reviews for Chasing Beauty are accurate: “…in the dazzling Chasing Beauty, Dykstra found a way into Gardner’s life through diligent research that uncovered traces of the woman in the worlds she inhabited. Evocative and absorbing….” —Washington Independent Book Review

Anna Gazmarian, Hope ’14, releases memoir about mental health and Evangelical faith

Anna Gazmarian’s memoir, entitled Devout: A Memoir of Doubt, is the exploration of the complex interplay between faith and science, particularly in the context of mental health. Growing up in Winston Salem, North Carolina, within an Evangelical family, she was ingrained with a religious framework that offered limited understanding and resources for dealing with mental health issues. This story is about the struggle with her mental health diagnosis and navigating the challenging waters of seeking medical treatment while feeling at-odds with the teachings of her faith.

Gazmarian delves deep into the heart of her personal conflicts, the initial resistance to seek outside help due to fear of stigmatization within her community, and the internal battle between the faith of her upbringing and the scientific approach to mental health. Her memoir is filled with moments of vulnerability, courage, and profound insights as she embarks on a path to understanding and acceptance. Her story is a powerful reminder of the importance of embracing both science and spirituality in the journey towards health and wholeness, encouraging a dialogue that respects and incorporates the benefits of both worlds in the healing process.

New York Times Review

“She Trusted God and Science. They Both Failed Her“
By Carlene Bauer
March 12, 2024

In “Devout,” Anna Gazmarian writes of being given a Christmas present she found impossible to keep: a pendant necklace holding a tiny seed. It was a reference to the passage in Matthew where Jesus tells his apostles that faith the size of a mustard seed can move mountains.

Gazmarian, struggling with bipolar disorder and an accompanying affliction of doubt, threw the necklace into the trash. It didn’t matter that it had been a gift from her well-meaning mother — what it symbolized was of no use to her. “I wanted a faith as large as a deeply rooted oak tree,” she writes, “the kind where you had to lean back to see the highest branches in the sky.” 

The evangelical Christianity Gazmarian had been raised in, which had taught her to see depression as a symptom of spiritual weakness — possibly even the work of the Devil — could not help her realize this vision, and in “Devout” she tells of how she eventually found healing for both mind and soul. 

In this, her first book, she does not condemn what wounds her. “I’ve been breaking down and rebuilding my concept of faith, searching for a faith that can exist alongside doubt, a faith that is built on trust rather than fear,” she writes in the preface. “A faith with room for prayer and lament.” “Devout” is both of these, “offered in the hope of restoration.”

The memoir begins shortly after Gazmarian, having started college in her native North Carolina, receives a diagnosis of bipolar II disorder. She takes this as yet another sign that her faith is at fault — despite having done all the things that millennial evangelicals were told to do. She’d worn a purity ring, listened to the sanctioned bands and stayed away from the supposedly occult- glorifying Harry Potter books. 

But obedience does not stop her mind from turning against itself. Her daily prayer journals contain lists of all the ways she hopes to die. The next years contain five different psychiatrists’ offices, eight different mood stabilizers and two kinds of A.D.H.D. medication. Throughout, she tries desperately to hang onto her faith. 

Pastors are patronizing, and her friends are no better. She’s prayed over, told to pray more herself, quoted to from Scripture and referred to a book titled “Praying for Your Future Husband: Preparing Your Heart for His.” 

That all of this does not lead to a complete renunciation of her faith might be hard to fathom — even for those who mourn the loss of their own. It’s especially hard when the author reveals that, before the diagnosis, her pastor had removed her from a leadership team because he worried she’d be a distraction to the boy appointed church intern. 

But Gazmarian isn’t failed only by a Christianity that, when it’s not teaching her that men and their sexual purity matter more than any woman ever will, teaches her to be skeptical of science. She’s also failed, again and again, by science itself. 

This is perhaps the most heartbreaking aspect of the story: watching a young woman desperate to be well hand over her hope to a medical-industrial complex that shows itself to be no more deserving of her credulity than the evangelicalism that broke her spirit. 

Nearly every drug she’s prescribed leaves her reeling from side effects, and nearly every psychiatrist she sees seems to be just as clueless and unsympathetic as the Christians who surround her. Until, that is, a compassionate doctor suggests she try ketamine. That, a liberating poetry class, marriage and motherhood all converge to bring her stability and even joy.

This is perhaps the real story she’s telling. It’s tempting to say that you don’t need to be religious and suffering from a mood disorder to relate to such a narrative — you just need to be American and suffering from one. 

That said, those raised in a restrictive religious tradition themselves may well relate to “Devout.” But while Gazmarian’s writing is marked by an elegant clarity that suggests a close communion with Scripture’s commanding simplicity, there’s not much insight offered into what makes faith worth holding onto — especially when it’s so often weaponized. 

Some who have read widely to heal a religiously traumatized self or an unquiet mind could wish that the author engaged with the long history of Christian thinkers who have grappled with despair. This recovering evangelical (Gen X edition) kept fervently hoping that someone was going to show up and prescribe Gazmarian some Kierkegaard. 

The most receptive readers, ultimately, might be those who believe relatability is the primary gift authors owe their audience. And if such readers feel seen by this book and thus saved from the stigma they, like Gazmarian, might have carried like a cross, that’s no small accomplishment. 

Bauer, Carlene 2024, ‘She Trusted God and Science. They Both Failed Her.’, New York Times, 12 March 2024, accessed April 2024

Additional Reviews

“Gazmarian’s dazzling debut memoir delivers a potent examination of the intersection between faith and mental health.” –Publishers Weekly, starred review

“Gazmarian discovers that hope and lament can coexist; her perseverance
deepens her faith, and she concludes on an optimistic note with a beautiful letter to her daughter.” -Booklist“

“Anna Gazmarian’s Devout is a soulful, candid, deeply curious account of doubt as an inevitable part of faith. It finds grace in the most specific and surprising places: conversations about poetry in the back of a dim donut shop; thousand-year-old olive trees; coloring beside a devoted partner in the evenings; a toddler’s tenderness. This moving memoir is always attuned to the possibilities of community and spiritual sustenance, even as it refuses to efface the struggles at its core–believing that this struggle, too, can be a thing of beauty.” -LESLIE JAMISON, author of The Recovering

“This book is a work of reclamation. With unwavering courage and honesty, Anna Gazmarian investigates the overlapping complexities of religious faith, mental illness, and the often dangerous gospels around healing in both spiritual and secular realms. More than a story of lost and found faith, Devout is a clear-eyed account of what happens when the ceiling caves in and the foundation crumbles, and we have to do the painful yet powerful work of rebuilding on new ground.” –SULEIKA JAOUAD, author of Between Two Kingdoms

“In Devout, Anna Gazmarian reexamines the Bible and her Evangelical upbringing through the lens of bipolar disease to uncover both the violations and gifts of the religious tradition from which she emerged. A smart and searching account of one woman’s journey away from inherited shame and into the light of love.” -RACHEL YODER, author of Nightbitch

“Unlike what she was offered, Anna paints a picture of a life of faith that includes the complexity of humanness. She shows us that despite what rigid, exclusionary, and inaccurate narratives of mental health we are so offered in the church, that a life of faith and communion with God happens not in spite of outside of them, but in the middle of the diagnosis, the doctors appointments, the medication, the brave conversations to ask for help, and the risk to keep trying even when we’re scared. We need more stories like Anna’s to be told.” -DR. HILLARY McBRIDE, author of The Wisdom Of Your Body

Why World Literature Matters: A Faculty Feature by Professor Liddell

Hi there! My name is Graham Liddell, and I am finishing up my first year as a Visiting Assistant Professor in the English department here at Hope College. In addition to teaching college writing, I teach courses in world literature.

Just what is world literature? It can be difficult to define without wading into decades-old debates. For our purposes, I’ll say that world literature is typically understood to mean works written by authors hailing from outside the United States, Canada, the British Isles, New Zealand, and Australia—and usually from outside the Western world more broadly.

These literary works are translated into English after first being published in other languages. (However, “global anglophone literature”—e.g. novels originally written in English by authors from former British colonies—is sometimes included under the umbrella of world literature as well.)

The two world lit courses I offered this year focused on unauthorized migration and Arab diaspora experiences. In the first course, we read narratives about clandestine border-crossing journeys and struggles with asylum application procedures. In the second, we met characters searching for lost identities in complicated family histories of immigration. In both courses, we explored challenging topics, such as border policies, religious coexistence in the Arab world, Orientalism (condescending Western attitudes toward Eastern cultures), and the history of the forced displacement of Palestinians. 

My goal as a professor is for students to find ways to relate to the characters in our course readings and also to connect the literary works to current events—the kinds of international developments that students may hear about on the news, or, more likely, see politically charged posts about on TikTok or Instagram. 

Some students may be hesitant to discuss these issues, and it’s easy to understand why. Undocumented migration and violence in the Middle East can seem like intimidating subject matter. After all, aren’t these problems so complicated that even “the experts” can’t figure them out? If so, how can a mere college student be expected to understand them? Not to mention that the online debates on these topics sometimes get so heated that chiming in can feel truly daunting, if not risky.

So before I explain why world literature is an effective way to approach such issues, perhaps I should make the case for why it is worthwhile for students at Hope College to invest the time and energy in learning about them in the first place.

The global and the local

Sometimes it seems that “current events” only happen to other people — people “over there,” and not to those of us going about our daily lives in Holland, Michigan. Yet in the reality of our globalized world, we are not only affected by these phenomena, but we might also contribute to bringing them about, even if only in subtle ways and without intending it.

Case in point: public opinion on the US’s approach to Mideast war and unauthorized migration could determine the upcoming presidential election. Administrations and campaigns must establish a degree of support for—or at least passive tolerance of—their policies, or they risk losing power. Public opinion and civic engagement thus have important roles in shaping policies on these matters, which, in turn, have palpable impacts on real people’s lives. Certain policy decisions could mean the difference between acceptance and deportation for a Latin American asylum seeker, or even between life and death for a Palestinian civilian weathering Israel’s ongoing military campaign in the Gaza Strip.  

If we think about it, the issues of Mideast violence and unauthorized migration aren’t simply “issues.” They are the real experiences of human beings who are either in our midst or just one or two degrees of separation away. People who harvest our fruits and vegetables and prepare our meals, or who drive our buses and Ubers. People our churches may serve or raise funds for. People like the hundreds of Syrian and Afghan refugees who have been resettled in West Michigan over the past few years. Or the Palestinian Americans living in southeast Michigan and Chicago, some of whose family members were recently killed in Gaza.

Where does world literature come in?

In my view, the most important benefit of world literature is that it provides a window into experiences that are not one’s own, and it demonstrates that these experiences are invariably more complex than what stereotypes or dominant narratives would suggest. 

In my course on unauthorized migration literature, students read Signs Preceding the End of the World, a novel by Mexican author Yuri Herrera that tells a very different kind of border-crossing story than what students might expect. The main character, Makina, does not cross into the United States to seek a better life for herself, but rather to find her brother and bring him back to Mexico, as if to save him. 

In Herrera’s wonderfully allegorical prose, the Northern domain of “the anglos” is depicted not as a land of opportunity, but as a wasteland in which border crossers’ bodies and souls are at risk of being irrevocably lost to labor exploitation and forced assimilation. Herrera likens the personal transformation that happens to some migrants after they’ve left home to a kind of death—a passage into the underworld.

Alongside Herrera, students read selections from anthropologist Jason De León’s book The Land of Open Graves: Living and Dying on the Migrant Trail, through which they learn about the history of US border policies and the migrants who subvert them. My hope is that students make connections between the experiences of the fictional character Makina and those of the real-life migrants De León writes about—some of whom literally die on the “migrant trail.” These connections may trigger a newfound awareness about the stakes of ongoing political debates over undocumented migration.

Clandestine migration is a process that sometimes involves the literal destruction of one’s identity papers, and it typically requires migrants to conceal their presence at least some of the time. The fear is that this secrecy will result in erasure—the disappearance of migrants’ identities along with their IDs. How, then, might the lives of undocumented people be documented, their stories heard and valued? I argue that literature is one important solution to this problem: fictional works about unauthorized migrants can speak in ways that migrants themselves are often prevented from speaking in real life.

Not ‘humanization,’ but engagement

One important caveat: I caution against the idea that world literature “humanizes” the characters it depicts for its English-language audiences. In the language of humanization, there is the subtle, absurd suggestion that it is Western readers’ recognition of non-Western characters—and by extension their real-world counterparts—that makes them human.

For me, the goal of world literature is less about recognition than about possibilities for engagement in response to reading it. Such engagement can take various forms. It might look like making an active effort to learn more about a given topic of international significance—perhaps by watching documentaries or reading other books. It might involve connecting with a community organization or taking part in advocacy initiatives. Or it might mean learning the language that a certain work of world literature was originally written in.

My own engagement often takes the form of translation in an endeavor to make works of contemporary Arabic literature accessible to broader audiences. In graduate school, I had the opportunity to edit an edition of the literary translation journal Absinthe. The issue, which can be read online here, is entitled Orphaned of Light and features recent migration-related short stories, essays, passages from novels, and poetry translated from Arabic to English. And in recent months, I have been translating short stories by the Palestinian author Yoursi Alghoul, who lives in Gaza.

One of these forthcoming short stories, “A Life Dipped in Blood,” was written and is set during the ongoing war. The piece invites readers into the inner lives of Palestinians who are currently undergoing the horrors of bombardment and blockade. Alghoul’s work is a stunning example of world literature’s ability to facilitate visceral encounters between people who are separated by impassable borders—in ways that headlines and social media posts never could.

On Writing, Fishing, and Failing: Alumni Spotlight with Taylor Rebhan (’14)

What do you do now? And we’d love to hear a bit about how you got there as well.

My day job is writing advertising, marketing, and brand copy as a Senior Writer at REI Co-op. By moonlight, I write creative non-fiction with the hope of publishing a book of humorist essays.

I graduated from Hope with an English Major, Creative Writing Emphasis, and a Communications Minor. After graduation, I found a paid internship program for college graduates at a Detroit-based advertising agency. I applied to be a writer, but it was the social media team who hired me. My boss later told me, “I looked at your resume and saw something called the Mellon Scholars. I thought, ‘I don’t know what that is, but it sounds like we can trust her with the password to the Cadillac Twitter account.’” 

How did your Hope English education shape you?

How didn’t it! I think about it often. Three aspects continue to rise to the top.

Faculty: Drs. Pablo Peschiera and Natalie Dykstra changed my life. I was blessed not only to be their student but also to have apprenticeships, so to speak, as a Teaching Assistant and through research projects and jobs on campus. The ability to have such deep ties and access to their wisdom was incredibly formative.

Method: Whether it was practicing our critique technique in Ceramics with the late, great Billy Mayer or having a heated discussion about whether we can truly know ourselves in Stephen Maiullo’s classical lit class, how to have open, honest, and respectful dialogue is the bedrock of a Hope education. It’s a skill that has paid true dividends over the course of my life in all aspects, from career to personal life.

Values: The faith-centered education at Hope gives you the tools to seek, develop, and nurture your personal values. It is vital to move through the world with an anchor. Hope helps you form yours. It asks, what do you hold dear? What do you consider to be moral, just, ethical? What would you do if you were faced with a challenge to your deepest beliefs? We wrestle with these questions our entire lives. Hope is a unique place in that it fosters curiosity, courage, and compassion as you seek the answers. That sticks with you long after graduation day.

What advice would you give to current English majors or students considering an English major?

Don’t be afraid of AI. Learn it. Use it. Think of the ways we can make sure we don’t abuse it. It might be intimidating to major in something the world says will be obsolete. Don’t let it scare you away. We need you now more than ever.

AI will never replace the beautiful, 100% certified organic neural network in that noggin of yours.

Favorite book read recently or in college?

These days I always have one book on hand and one book in-ear. “On-hand” is a physical book I grab when I have a minute to sit down and get lost. Right now that’s George Saunders’ A Swim in a Pond in the Rain. I love to read books about writing. I love Russian lit. It’s a win-win.

“In-ear” is an audiobook I listen to when I’m walking the dogs, rucking, running errands, or cooking. I’m on an insatiable Andy Weir kick right now. I started with Project Hail Mary, and I can’t stop. 

What’s the worst advice you’ve been given?

At some point, the idea was put in my head that you must be good at something for it to be worth doing. And that’s rotten advice. I’m glad I discovered it’s not true.

First, no one starts off good at anything. Failure is a necessary predecessor to success. But even then, being good at something isn’t the point. It’s the doing at all.

Last summer, I started fishing as a hobby. There’s a lot of stabbing myself with hooks and getting line caught in trees and knots breaking at the worst possible moment. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I’m not crushing any state-record monster bass, just embracing looking foolish in the pursuit of happiness. 

It’s humbling and wonderful to enjoy something and not be good at it. Claw away at that song on the banjo. Take as long as you need to run that mile. Reel in that average-sized fish. You don’t have to be good at something for it to be good for you.

If you could start a nonprofit, who would it help?

My dream is to retire young and run a nonprofit that trains and places service dogs with American veterans at no cost to them or their families.

What’s something that has surprised you since graduation?

How many people don’t know how to write clearly, even graduates from copywriting programs at state university advertising schools. It is a precious and valuable skill. 

English and More: Double Majors in the Department

Wondering what a double major with English looks like? Unsure of which majors can be paired with English? Seniors Carole Chee, Will Vance, and Piper Daleiden give us a glimpse into their experiences as double majors and offer insight into how an English major can complement other areas of study.

Carole Chee (’24): English and Women’s & Gender Studies

My name is Carole Chee, my pronouns are she/her/hers, and I am a double major in English Literature and Women’s & Gender Studies (WGS). The incredible opportunity to study under both these departments arose, in large part, from areas of privilege that I am extremely grateful for and keenly aware of.

The ability to carry over AP and dual enrollment credit from high school, paired with the flexibility of a liberal arts education, created room in my four-year plan for me to focus on the courses that I was interested in. It was a mix of this freedom, my breadth of interests, and indecision that led to my double major, and I am forever thankful!

As a Third Culture Kid (TCK) who grew up in Malaysia, a country rich in cultural and religious diversity, I’ve been constantly surrounded by and in pursuit of new perspectives that can widen my worldview. The power of stories to uplift those perspectives—especially marginalized and otherwise silenced voices—has been a main focus in both my English and WGS courses. From analyzing the gendered aspects of characterization in literary works to discussing the necessity of intersectional and ground-up liberation in publishing industries, each semester has further shown me how inherently connected my majors truly are. I once read “The Yellow Wallpaper” by Charlotte Perkins Gilman twice within the span of a few weeks—for an English course and then my WGS keystone.

Pursuing a double major is not for the faint of heart (and, as I noted earlier, can be quite inaccessible) but is incredibly worth it. I’ve honed invaluable skills in managing diverse curricula, forging interdisciplinary connections, and embracing multiple perspectives. These experiences have equipped me with the ability to juggle schedules effectively, prioritize empathy, and foster intersectional communities—a toolkit I eagerly anticipate applying in my post-Hope life.

Upon graduation, I plan to utilize my double major experience in the field of librarianship! I’m especially interested in creating access to resources and exploring how structures of power impact the way we categorize knowledge. The privilege to leverage my diversified education in creating empowerment is certainly not one I take lightly, and I know I’m well-equipped to do so because of my double major.

Will Vance (’24): English and Physics

Hello all! I’m Will Vance, a senior English literature and physics double major from Westfield, Indiana. Double majoring has been an interesting experience for me, in part because I wasn’t planning on majoring in English when I entered college. I had weighed what my interests were and picked what was likely to pay the best, but English ended up coming back around. I took several English classes for General Education requirements and decided to add English as a minor somewhere around the start of Junior year.

So, funnily enough, I’ve only formally been a double major for a little over a year. I think, ultimately, I couldn’t stay away from English because it gets closer to what I really love.

My favorite genre has always been fantasy; I’ve always been drawn to magic. And, as the saying goes, “sufficiently advanced science is indistinguishable from magic.” The draw to physics, in my mind, is that many areas of it feel like magic. My chief area of interest is astrophysics—how can exploring the stars not spark a sense of wonder, a sense of magic? The limitation being, of course, that doing so involves crunching numbers rather than reading fantastical stories.

Once I was back in the world of English, I found myself extra aware of frequent failings in the physics realm. Primarily, I became quite aware of difficulties in communication. Expert-to-expert communication within physics is handled just fine since both parties are privy to jargon and the science involved. When it comes to making research posters, however, I’ve definitely become aware of how language is not universal. Ideas within the research group that have acquired a one-word shorthand are actually concepts which even your average physics student would not be aware of. Communicating the story of one’s research in a way that is both coherent and technically detailed is a far more challenging task than I think many in the sciences give it credit for.

Outside this personal experience of overlap, I think the funnier experience from being a science and English double major is that no one expects it. Just about every time I’ve told someone my majors, I get the same, surprised, “Huh. What are you going to do with that?” There are, of course, the practical answers—I could be a technical writer, or any number of positions that primarily uses one of those degrees. There is an obvious need to correct the idea that English is relegated just to the classroom and publishing houses, but I think the other underlying implication is that physics and English are radically different. And while in form and content, yes, they certainly are, to me the central appeals aren’t so different. Dive deep enough into either subject, and they’re asking the same question—why? There is a reason that the moon, sun, and stars feature so heavily in poetry as well as physics. Look at them the right way, and I think it is hard not to feel the wonder of being alive.

Piper Daleiden (’24): English and Psychology

Hi! My name is Piper Daleiden, and I’m a senior double major in English literature and psychology from Milan, Michigan. I also have the privilege to be the Student Managing Editor for the English Department’s blog. When I started college, I didn’t quite know what to study. While I loved my English classes in high school, I thought that I needed to choose a future career and then determine my major from there. As I took some classes during freshman year to fulfill the General Education requirements, I started to see that my favorite courses were the ones that involved reading and writing.

I also found psychology to be fascinating and very relevant to working with others in daily life. My mindset shifted, and I recognized that I could pick majors that would make me most excited about learning. I ultimately decided to declare English and psychology as my majors, trusting that my academic interests would open opportunities to a variety of future careers when the time came.

When I declared my majors, I didn’t consider how they might interact. In fact, I expected them to remain very distinct from each other. I would learn about people and relationships, take exams, and do research in psychology, and I would read about fictional and historical events and write essays in my English courses. I’m happy to say that this separation has not been the case. My psychology courses are heavily rooted in reading and writing, and while psychology papers are certainly different than papers for English classes, I’ve been able to apply the analytical and organizational writing skills that I’ve gained from my English major. For example, when I was doing psychology research, the other students in my lab often asked me to proofread and revise parts of our paper and poster because they knew that my English major had prepared me with these skills.

English classes haven’t just supported me for my psychology major; psychology has also made its way into my work for my English major. When I tell people my majors, they often respond with a joke about how I’ll be able to psychoanalyze characters, and while this wasn’t my intention when declaring my majors, I’ve certainly seen this play out. During one semester, I was simultaneously taking Social Psychology and British Literature. In lecture, my psychology professor taught us about benevolent sexism. A few days later, as I was reading a piece for my English class, I realized that the characters in the piece were demonstrating benevolent sexism, and I incorporated my new psychology knowledge into a writing assignment for this English class. Small moments like these remind me that studying English has allowed me to develop a variety of skills, from analyzing writing to drawing deep connections, which will enhance my learning and work in other subject areas and wherever I go after graduation.

On Love, Life, and Not Asking the Important Questions: Visiting Writers S.A. Cosby and James Fujinami Moore

Written by Abi Rhee-Vanderwall, Hope College Creative Writing and Communications major

On Wednesday, March 20th, students and faculty at Hope College gathered for the newest installment of the Jack Ridl Visiting Writers Series. Margaret Voetberg commenced our night, welcoming the brilliant southern noir author S.A. Cosby and the profound, sensual poet James Fujinami Moore. 

Rebekah Cook had the honor to introduce James Fujinami Moore, stating in her introductory speech that “Moore’s poetry doesn’t shy away from the indecent.” As Moore took the stage, we’d soon see what Rebekah meant. 

Moore read seven pieces of poetry, most of which came from his debut collection Indecent Hours. His poems had a variety of subject matters, ranging from sex, to mourning, to his experiences as an Asian American. One thing stayed constant throughout Moore’s works: the sincerity and rawness behind every word.

In his poem “Notes on The New Year,” Moore says, “The dead come back to us like rain.” The gentle nature of this line contrasts the sharp, almost dangerous nature of a poem circulating gun violence and Asian hate. Seeing this, there is a careful way he goes about crafting his words, one that deeply resonates with the readers while still staying true to the uniqueness of his world.

Moore continued to share pieces of himself with the audience, stating, “I believe that your writing can reveal more about you than you might want it to.” When reading his work, you can see how Moore might feel this way, especially in poems like “Third Date” and “If I Should Die Eaten by A Pomeranian.”

After Moore completed his reading, Ali Wintermute graced the stage to introduce S.A. Cosby. He appeared unassuming in a black baseball cap, and yet only S.A. Cosby could describe blood as “rose colored calligraphy.” As he took the floor to read from his novels All Sinners Bleed and Razorblade Tears, S.A. Cosby introduced us to a world in the south that only he could share.

He started off his time with us by reading from All Sinners Bleed, a story that follows former football star turned police chief Titus Crown as he battles with secrets in his town that threaten to break out. After a schoolteacher is killed in a shooting and the shooter is killed by Titus’ deputies, he discovers that things run far deeper than he once thought.

After reading the prologue and first chapter, it was evident that Cosby has an innate ability to craft deep, webbing stories that are able to capture the readers on every page. Despite the overall thematic scheme of violence, Cosby’s work is nothing short of beautiful. In a quote from chapter one, Cosby describes the residual mourning of one of his characters, saying that the memories of a lost loved one “wrung heartache from him like water from a washcloth.” It’s notions like this that remind the audience of the true passion and realness behind Cosby’s writing. He speaks truthfully from his soul and remains dedicated to crafting a story that not only suits the needs of his readers but quells a type of pain in them as well. 

After Cosby finished reading from his pieces, Moore joined him on stage to answer questions from a waiting audience. One member asked the authors about the challenge of addressing violence in their work. “All violence is a confession of pain. I believe that almost all violence—the violence I write about—is consequential,” answered Cosby. In another question regarding the topics of their work, the authors were asked what questions they address in their pieces. Moore answered, “I think it’s important to ask the questions you don’t necessarily need the answers to. It can guide you to the principles you’re actually looking for.” We closed the night with the opportunity to buy books and meet the writers. Overall, themes of every kind were addressed, and many members left this installment deeply moved. How honored we are to have closed this season out with these wonderful men, and how grateful we all should be to have writers like them to answer the important questions we don’t ask but desperately need. 

Changing Environments, Changing Identities: Tsering Yangzom Lama and Shane McCrae

Written by Madeline Chrome ‘26

On Tuesday, February 20th, a crowd of Hope College students and faculty gathered in the dimly lit Schaap Auditorium to hear authors Tsering Yangzom Lama and Shane McCrae share their work at the latest installment of the Jack Ridl Visiting Writers Series. As 7 o’clock drew nearer, the chattering of the audience fell to anticipatory whispers, laptops opened for notetaking, and faces angled up toward the stage. 

After a lovely and thorough introduction, Lama ascended the stairs and took her place behind a podium in the center of the stage. She opened her novel, We Measure the Earth with Our Bodies, and shared that she would read first from the beginning of the novel and then briefly from the middle. And read she did. The audience’s attention mirrored the placement of the auditorium’s spotlight: solely focused on the woman weaving a story in front of them. The scene Lama painted took place on the Nepal-Tibet border in the mid-1800s during the infamous war that cost the Tibetan people their country. Though no spoilers are allowed, I can share that the scene and novel as a whole addressed the unique history, culture, and identity of the Tibetan people. Lama’s soft and rhythmic voice held the audience captive as she drew us further and further into a world of changing environments and identities. 

After her reading, Lama responded to several questions about her novel and her process for writing it. During this part of the event, the audience learned about Lama’s own experiences with her Tibetan identity and heritage and how this influenced her writing this novel. I think I can speak for a great portion of the audience when I say that Lama left us all wanting to learn more about Tibet and its people, as well as our own cultural identities. 

Author and poet McCrae soon replaced Lama behind the podium. He first read from his memoir, Pulling the Chariot of the Sun, which he deemed—with good reason! —a resurrection story of his own. Written in lyrical prose, the snapshot McCrae shared from his memoir was that of his kidnappers’—otherwise known as his grandparents’—home. Questions of memory and identity circled around the auditorium as we listened to McCrae share his first piece.

Following this reading, McCrae gave a reading of several of his poems and shared with the audience each of their inspirations. Every poem varied in length and energy, but they were all connected by the heart of the poet who had written them. Often prompted by his reaction to current events on the news, McCrae’s poems were powerful reflections on America and the challenges each of its citizens face. McCrae’s writing style and perspective were unique, and his humor—sometimes lighthearted and other times dry—delighted the audience. I believe he gave everyone in the audience something to reflect on as they returned home.

This passionate night of poetry and prose alike moved the audience and inspired questions of identity, culture, and history that transcend all measures. Hope College thanks esteemed authors Tsering Yangzom Lama and Shane McCrae for giving us another powerful addition of the Jack Ridl Visiting Writers Series.

New Faculty Spotlight: Professor Liddell

Interview conducted by Piper Daleiden, Hope College English and Psychology Major, Student Managing Editor for the English Department

What class(es) are you teaching this year?
ENGL 113 — Expository Writing (Course theme: “Coming of Age”
ENGL 110+210 — Unauthorized Migration in Contemporary World Literature (Fall)
ENGL 110 — From There, From Here: Modern Arab Diaspora Literature (Spring)

What do you love about teaching?|
I love encouraging students to follow their academic curiosities and creative instincts. I also love when students make intriguing observations about literary texts that haven’t occurred to me before (it happens all the time!).

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Where is your favorite place to travel?
Over the years, I have spent a good amount of time in the Arab world (Palestine, Jordan, Morocco, Lebanon), and I go back regularly to visit friends, conduct research, and practice my Arabic. But so far, my favorite country in the world to visit has been Mexico—friendly people, amazing food, sunshine, nightlife, and a beautiful blend of cultures.

If you could teach any class, what would it be?
I would love to teach Arabic language classes here at Hope!

What’s one book you think every student should read?
The Grapes of Wrath. (Think about it in the context of present-day issues of migration in North America and around the world.)

What are your favorite hobbies?
Making music with friends (guitar, ukulele, voice, a little piano), enjoying the outdoors, learning languages.

Yes, And!: How Hope English Builds Friendships That Last a Lifetime

Hannah Jones ’21 and Aine O’Connor ’20 first met as teaching assistants for Natalie Dykstra’s English 113 class in the fall of 2018. They quickly became close friends, and that friendship transcended far beyond their respective English 113 classrooms: they traveled to Paris, became roommates, and took as many English classes together as possible. Both would go on to get degrees in library and information science at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign and work as librarians, Hannah at the University of Minnesota Duluth and Aine at South Dakota State University. Here they share a few lessons their English major taught them—and how it’s helped them stay close post-Hope.

Maybe it’s because we technically met as co-workers, but we’ve always enjoyed working and writing together. Over the years, we’ve been blessed to have many opportunities to share projects and ideas with one another, all of which stem from our time at Hope in the English department. We wanted to take the opportunity with this blog to lay out a few life lessons Hope English taught us and to share our gratitude for how the department shaped our friendship then and continues to shape us now.

The authors in front of their Hope cottage, April 2020.

Lesson 1: Learn how to agree and disagree well. Good discussions about literature teach you very quickly that consensus on every issue is impossible, and at the same time, consensus on certain issues is critical. While we share many values and opinions—and continue to influence one another—there are also things we disagree about. Too often, we see friendships, whether in real life or in literature/media, end over a difference of opinion, and we feel lucky that we have a foundation of knowing how to disagree about a book to fall back on. That’s not to say that all differences in values can (or should) always be worked through, but that it’s important to decide on the issues that truly matter and learn how to disagree well on the issues that don’t. If one of the great benefits of reading is to see those different from us as fully human and as equally complex as we view ourselves, that fact must carry into how we discuss what we read (and beyond), and Hope’s English department offered us a safe environment in which we could practice the skill of disagreement.

Lesson 2: Learning isn’t (and shouldn’t be) a solely serious endeavor. From the first class we took together (Professor Salah’s wonderful Jane Austen and Popular Culture class) to the last (Professor Gruenler’s terrific Tolkien class), we were known to break down laughing, sometimes at inopportune moments. Whether we were encountering Austen’s unfinished short stories or Norse dwarf names—which included Tubby, Swig, and Great-Grandpa, among other gems—we couldn’t always treat even great literature with utter seriousness. Fortunately, with our professors, laughter and levity could lead to richer, more interesting conversations and creative analysis, especially when studying an author as humorous as Austen. As librarians, we embrace humor and laughter in our teaching sessions and our meetings with students, because we know there is tremendous value in approaching learning with joy alongside gravity, especially when that joy can foster better connections with colleagues and peers.

The Norse dwarf names immortalized on Hannah’s wall (gifted by Aine).

Lesson 3: There is more. We designated the ampersand (&) as the symbol for our friendship (one of us is ready to get it tattooed; one of us is a scaredy-cat). Why? Partially an inside joke from a transcription project we completed together, the ampersand also reflects the bedrock of our friendship: “Yes, and!” We said “yes” to working together as TAs, then to traveling and researching together in Paris, then to becoming roommates, and then to attending grad school together, where our graduate assistantships enabled us to continue working together as we began establishing our careers. We got so lucky almost six years ago when Professor Dykstra asked us to collaborate as TAs, but that luck could only have happened because the English department supported undergraduates stepping into leadership positions and celebrated creative approaches to teaching and learning. Our experiences at Hope, and the English department in particular, helped convince us that our voices and lived experiences mattered, that our contributions to scholarly conversations were valuable. Because of that support, we continue to say “Yes, and!” in our friendship as well as our scholarly pursuits. 

Both of us are forever grateful and would be thrilled to talk with any current or future Hope student about the value of the English department and/or about librarianship. 

Oh, and one last lesson—if the English department gives you the opportunity to go to Paris, DEFINITELY go to Paris. We miss you, Hope English!

The authors in the forests of Illinois, October 2022.