Saturday, July 2, 2016

A Loss to The Conversation

A few years ago, a friend and I were talking about some of the truly great scholars in our field, and what it is that makes truly great scholarship. We were both touched by the friendliness and openness that had been shown to us by these stars of the discipline, even when we were just starry-eyed graduate students and young scholars first finding our way. We developed a theory that great scholarship and kind natures are connected – that the very generosity of spirit through which these people had reached out to us and others could be the impetus behind their wonderful and paradigm-changing work. Perhaps, we thought, the kind heart that causes a luminary to start a conversation with an unknown young scholar is the same heart that creates broad-reaching, inclusively-written criticism or an accessible, useful edition.

It is the reach towards others, the desire to connect, which distinguishes scholarship that changes things and lasts for years. Scholarship is, after all, a discourse. A conversation. Someone who works above all else to be a helpful contributor to the conversation is almost certain to make the conversation a better experience for everyone else in it. I am reminded of a mantra shared with me by a wonderful actor that the most important work in a scene isn’t figuring out how to do what you’re going to do, it’s figuring out how to make it easier for the others in the scene to do what they’re going to do. Great scholarship is not soliloquy; it is part of a dialogue.

Acknowledgements from Charlotte
Scott's Shakespeare's Nature. Just
the first one I picked up. 
One of those luminaries my friend and I spoke of has left the conversation, much too early and to the great detriment of all of us. The loss is stunning. I did not know Russ McDonald well. I knew him, as we say in the South, “to speak to.” I feel terribly cheated that I will not have a chance to know him better. His family and friends and colleagues and students must be devastated at a level I cannot fathom. I will tell you what I do know. He was one of the most gracious people I ever met. He asked me about my work, congratulated me on a recent publication, encouraged me to keep at it when I found myself stuck on a difficult question. I know he dropped everything to support his friends. I saw him do it. He loved theatre – LOVED theatre – and when I said I couldn’t live in London and get anything done because I’d be at the theatre every night, he laughed and expressed bewilderment about people he knew there who never went to the theatre. Can you imagine? he asked. Can you imagine living here and not seeing all these wonderful plays? I could go broke on theatre tickets. I know he loved his students and that he meant a great deal to them. I know he was a sounding board and valued pair of critical eyes to his friends and colleagues. Read the acknowledgements of scholarly books and you’ll be amazed how many of them mention Russ.

He contributed thoughtful, accessible scholarship. He contributed his attention to others and a friendly, kind spirit. If you are looking for a model of what kind of scholar to be, you cannot do much better than Russ McDonald.


The conversation will always have what he has contributed to it. I wish so much that we could have had more.