When I was a kid, my dad, my brother, and I all went to a
Star Trek convention together. My dad grew up watching James T. Kirk and Mr.
Spock on the original series, and he made sure to bring up his sons in the same
tradition; every Saturday evening, we gathered in front of the TV to watch
Picard, Riker, Data and company seek out new life and new civilizations.
It only made sense, then, to attend a convention where
hundreds of like-minded people would be gathered to celebrate and discuss the
fictional universe Gene Roddenberry created.
When we arrived at the convention, though, we discovered
that, although we were genuine fans of Star Trek, we were little more than
casual viewers compared to kind of die-hard fans show conventions attract. One
guy’s homemade Borg outfit looked as convincing as the costumes on the real
show, and as far as I could see, he stayed in character the entire time.
During the convention’s costume contest, most of the
dress-up conventioneers were proud to introduce themselves and explain the DIY
intricacies of their cardboard phasers and felt-patched Starfleet uniforms. But
not the Borg guy. When asked to introduce himself, he responded, “We are Borg,”
as if that explained the situation perfectly.
I hadn’t thought about that Star Trek convention in a while,
but it came to my mind several times this weekend while I listened to graduate
students present papers at the “Of Monsters and Miracles” conference at the
University of Western Ontario in London.
I heard papers about The Jersey Shore, H. P. Lovecraft,
Bernhard Schlink’s The Reader, Carlos
Castaneda, Bram Stoker’s Dracula, the
ways Mexican drug cartels use music videos to spread their messages and
vengeance and intimidation, and a few others. I presented a paper about Attack
the Block, a British alien invasion move that was released in the summer of
2011 and that not very many North Americans have seen.
Many of these papers, mine included, focused on fairly
obscure subjects and were read to rooms of people who had not seen the movie or
read the book being explicated. But even if you were lucky enough to have
someone in the audience who was familiar with your topic, chances were good
that they had not studied or researched it to the extent that you had.
In other words, while the presenters could appreciate one
anothers’ obsessions, because we all had similar degrees of obsessions, we were
not unified around them the way die-hard fans at a Star Trek convention are,
because we all obsessed over different things.
At the same time, though, these people were closer to an
“ideal audience” for my paper than most of my friends and family. Not many
people understand the kind of work and focus it takes to create a paper you
could be invited to read at a conference like this.
In the end, I’m thankful I had the opportunity to go to the
conference and present my paper. It was a good experience, and it’s something
that will look good on my CV when I apply for jobs. But at the same time, I
couldn’t help but think, Is this it? Is driving to far-away schools, sleeping
in cheap hotels, dressing up in my best academic outfit, and listening to
papers that I barely understand half the time really as good as it gets?
