Thus far, reactions to Pictures from an Institution have been interestingly mixed. Some think it's hilarious and smart. Some think it's disturbing and dumb. Some think it's disturbing--and perhaps a sign that I am dumb--that I have posted it at all. Some complain that I have not laid out for Critical Mass readers exactly what I think of it (as if that wouldn't be both patronizing to this blog's audience and sabotaging of the piece itself). Some think they know who Erwin R. Sackville is. Others think that whoever he is, he is most certainly a rapist--or at least a habitual harasser (to these, I heartily recommend not trying to match your potentially libelous verdict to a real man). To all, I offer the following quotation from Oscar Wilde's De Profundis, the magisterial reflection on being that the great student of pretense wrote while imprisoned in that other numbing institution, jail: "Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else's opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation." This seems both to describe a point Pictures of an Institution is making and to be a conscious condition of its writing.

Pictures of an Institution's MLA cycle continues tonight with Part Three: "The Interview Suite."

******

Friday, December 28, 2001. Interviews are being conducted in Chairman Stan's suite. The faculty of Planckton Hall are hiring in three areas this year: postcolonial performance studies, new media studies, and women's literature. Chairman Stan has extended a warm invitation to the entire Planckton Hall faculty to attend the interviews, and his suite is packed. The four members of the Planckton Hall executive committee are present; the nine combined members of the three separate search committees are present; numerous interested faculty bystanders are present; as are a handful of advanced graduate students who, it is imagined, will imbibe the secret of the job selection process from witnessing the agonies of their peers. These last are easy to identify: they are all young women, they all have short spikey hair of artificial hue, they are all either pierced or tattooed, and they all have the anemic haunted look of people whose moral principles prevent them from eating properly and getting enough sleep.

All the chairs are taken, and people are sitting six to a couch. Some perch on the radiator while others stand along the wall. Carol Mann is the last to arrive. Even the seats on the radiator and the standing room along the wall have been taken. She lowers herself onto the floor as decorously as she can and wishes she had not worn a short skirt.

The room is abuzz with caffeine and talk. Chairman Stan has ordered room service for twenty to fortify his troops. Coffee flows and crumbs fly as the representatives of Planckton Hall prepare to pass judgement on the undifferentiated desperate ranks of their would-be compeers.

"What's new media studies?" Carol feels a tap on her shoulder and warm meaty breath on her ear. She twists and looks up to see the florid face of Horatio Samples, wearer of tweed and eater, apparently, of bacon. Carol has never exchanged more than a passing hallway nod with Professor Samples, a Hemingway specialist who frequently forwards fly-fishing spam to the faculty listserv. He is a large man, even from a distance. He is very large indeed up close. Carol peers at the wide pores on his red nose, the wild white tufted brows, and the clearest blue eyes she has ever seen. He seems somehow to twinkle, and she says, without thinking, "Sir, you beg the question. The real question here, the question with which we must all grapple in our inmost hearts, is, 'What is postcolonial performance studies?'" Horatio Samples hoots and claps Carol on the shoulder like a man. "You've said it, young lady. You've said it. Have some danish," and he passes her his plate.

"Basta! Basta!" A spoon clangs on crockery and the din subsides. All eyes turn to Chairman Stan. "Dearly beloved colleagues! How good of you all to come. We are gathered here today to choose three lucky persons to join our distinguished faculty, to become part of our exceptional scholarly family. We have an honor to confer, and a decision of lasting importance to make. Watch these twelve candidates carefully, my friends. Question them closely. And choose the three who will serve us best. Now, without further adieu, I hereby declare interviewing season to be open! Amor vincit omnia! Let the games begin!"

A muffled knock comes at the door, and the first candidate is shown in.

to be continued