Gossip

We’re more than a quarter of the way through the school year, and I have begun to fill in my map of the connections among my colleagues: the friendships, animosities, alliances, resentments, etc.  It’s utterly fascinating, and quite often rather surprising, as well.  But it can also be discouraging, revealing pettiness and mean-spiritedness that one would rather not have guessed. 

A few weeks ago, I was doing my own thing in the faculty workroom while three of my colleagues finished up a planning discussion of a literary work that they’re all teaching in tenth grade.  Say it’s Othello (though it’s not; it’s a different literary work, which I am disguising here).  Colleague #1, whom I’ll call Alpha, has taught the play before and is roughly outlining her approach to the play for the others, who apparently haven’t. 

“–Then,” she says, “I like to have a day for talking about Iago’s motivations.  The students are really curious about why he’s such a jerk.  You can talk to them about what’s called his ‘motiveless malice,’ the idea that he doesn’t have what we would be willing to consider a real motive for his actions.  That can turn into a really good discussion about what motive is, in literature and in life, and why people do the things they do.  Lots of good parallels come up.” 

“That’s interesting, ‘motiveless malice,’ says Colleague #2, whom I’ll call Beta.  “Who calls it that?”  It’s a genuine question, as far as I can tell.  She hasn’t heard the term, and she wants some background.

“That’s just what it’s called,” says Alpha.  “Motiveless malice.  I have a worksheet with some good discussion questions.  I’ll email it to you, OK?”

“Great,” says Beta, gathering her papers, as it’s almost time for first period.  “Thanks!  I’ll see you later.”

She scoots out the door to class.  And Alpha turns to Gamma and mockingly parrots Beta’s question: ”‘Who calls it that?’  Geez!”

“I know,” says Gamma.  “I gotta go.”

And off she goes, followed rapidly by Alpha. 

I was really sorry to have overheard that, let me tell you.  First, because it seems to me an absolutely necessary thing, in high-school teaching, to be honest with yourself and your colleagues (and, yes, your students) about the stuff you don’t know.  High-school English teachers have to be massive generalists–you might teach Shakespeare at 8 A.M., Faulkner at 11, and Tolstoy after lunch–and we can’t be experts on everything.  One of the things I treasure about my ninth-grade colleagues is that we are always pooling our knowledge, emailing each other our notes, etc., and I’m never embarrassed to ask them questions.  (We’re especially vulnerable in ninth grade because none of us has taught the fall semester before.)  Beta was well within her rights to ask not only that question, but far dumber-sounding ones, without her colleagues rolling their eyes.

Then–not inconsequentially, but perhaps a little less important–is the fact that the phrase (which is actually “motiveless malignity,” sometimes altered to “malignancy”) does in fact have a history.  Someone did say it first (Coleridge).  I’m not disdainful of Alpha for not knowing that–I had to look it up myself–but not to know that and not to bother to take Beta’s question seriously seems even worse to me. 

I was already aware that Alpha’s often brusque manner with her colleagues has made her not the best-liked person on the teaching staff.  I myself find her annoying from time to time, mostly because of her tendency to explain things–about teaching, about literature–to me without bothering to find out whether I know anything about the subject about which she’s pontificating or, indeed, whether I want to hear what she has to say.  And I am not proud: I’ve listened to much advice, from many different colleagues, since starting this job, and Alpha is the only person who’s managed to annoy me when giving it. 

This is one of those times that I feel really grateful to be 40, not 25, because I think that at 25 I would have made a total fetish of disliking her, whereas at 40 I am marginally more capable of realizing that she has strengths as a teacher that I can actually learn from, and that her manner probably stems from insecurity.  I’ve already seen her tendency to lash out quite startlingly when challenged, and I’ve also seen her rub others the wrong way, so it’s easier not to take it personally, to shrug and say, “That’s Alpha.”

What is still hard for me, though, is to refrain from seeking out allies with whom to vent about Alpha.  A couple of people have vented to me and I’ve tried to sympathize–”Yes, that must have been frustrating”–without dogpiling–”Let me tell you what she said to ME!”  Working with Alpha will be easier if I don’t snark about her behind her back at work.  And besides, once I tell someone that she annoys the bejesus out of me sometimes, who knows where that information will go?  So I come home and snark to Stubb, or over the phone to my sister or a friend. 

And I thank my lucky stars that she didn’t proofread my progress reports.