Notes on a Thesis by Tiphaine Rivière (review)

Near the end of the second year of my PhD program, my peers and I spent a good chunk of time assembling our plans of study. The process was shrouded in mystery, mostly because the plan-of-study form required us to outline what courses we would take for the remainder of our years in graduate school, despite the fact that course offerings were only visible to students about a half-semester in advance. We turned in our plans of study with wild guesses and speculation.

None of us knew how long approval from the graduate college would take, only that approval was needed to take our comprehensive exams. Months passed, the pandemic struck. About a year later, during a university holiday, I received a notification that my plan had been rejected, because "the courses taken did not match the courses outlined in the plan of study." No shit. I called the graduate college in a panic, as is the natural response of the graduate student.

"I need this plan approved in the next four months in time for my exam. It took you a year to get back to me on the first plan, how long will the revisions take?!"

Bob, a graduate student working for the graduate college, assured me I shouldn't worry about it. Once I'd submitted revisions, he said, I could just call and they can would expedite the process.

But the process would not be so simple. I made the revisions and emailed my adviser to get her approval. She emailed me back the next day, telling me she could not approve the changes; the previous semester a member of my committee left the university, and I had not yet found a replacement. She could not sign off until a replacement was found. Time was short. I emailed a new faculty member who at the time was inundated with similar requests from students also attempting to replace said faculty member. I heard back a month later, after a second prodding email. The instructor wanted to set up a meeting to discuss my request the following weekend. Time was short. My hair was falling out as it had continued to do since the start of my second year.

By the time I sent in my revisions, I had but a few months to attain approval from the graduate college. I waited two weeks before I called them.

"We can't expedite the approval process," Sandra told me. "We will process them in the order they are received. If you had a deadline you had to meet, you should have sent this in earlier."

I employed my most powerful strategy: pitiful begging.

"But I sent it in a year ago. If I don't get this approved, I won't be able to take my exam. I'll have to wait a whole year. I don't know what to do. Please, you have to help me!"

Sandra told me to get bent. I was ruined.

Oh, well. I found out the next day that the wording in the graduate handbook was misleading (or, more likely, that my reading comprehension skills were severely lacking) and that I did not need my plan of study approved to take my exams. I went home and drank. Such is graduate school.

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Bureaucratic, meaningless struggles such as these are often the subject of the new campus novel, and they are the kind that Tiphaine Rivière manages to capture quite well in Notes on a Thesis. Jeanne Dargan is a PhD student without funding who is struggling her way through a degree in the humanities. She manages to secure a part-time job teaching medieval literature to undergraduates, a subject she knows nothing about. Ironically, at the end of term, her university refuses to pay her. They thought she had another full-time job and cannot pay out the part-time work unless Jeanne can prove...