Facts not required By Karl Whitney The Guardian, Tuesday 1st June 1999 - - - - Are you a genius or a failure? Karl Whitney dares historians to find out by dazzling their examiners with a didactic style all of their own Without much ado, I am going to pass on some advice on a subject close to my heart: history. I've chosen it firstly because I am due to sit a history exam any day now, and secondly because many readers will know as much about it, if not more, than myself. History began very early on. We don't know exactly when, because details are sketchy: yellowed expense account slips dating back to the Stone Age, re-runs of the Flintstones, and so on. It is thought history began officially on a Tuesday, though we have only gleaned the day and not the year. The reason for this is not difficult to fathom: there are only seven days in a week but too many years to be bothered with. For me, finding out that historians used the same method for their research as your average gambler was something of a victory for the common man, but less than a knockout for the academic community. So now you've got a bit of background on the wacky world of historical thought, we should get down to specifics. But we won't. Specifics are an unnecessary part of any exam and have no basis in fact. Examiners hate facts and can often be observed shouting at encyclopaedias in the libraries at weekends. Think back to some historical event you have heard about: let's say that old favourite, the French Revolution. A quick glance at the facts leaves one pining for the time when most stuff was forgotten. At least you didn't know where you were then. Yet, overlooking the facts and mainlining pure psycho-didactic opinion is a sure way of developing your own style. And examiners are crazy about that. They love either really good or really bad essays. The latter give them a chance to come up with anecdotes to tell their red-faced corpulent brethren in the staff bar, the former are necessary to set the bad ones in horrible relief (though they are less entertaining in terms of a story to pacify a drunken lecturer). If you can't come up with either: start digging, amigo, 'cos you're not meant for this world. Best marks are reserved for those students who can combine various disciplines in their essays. For me, to whom discipline is a country as far away as wealth, it's nigh on impossible to integrate... oh, I don't know, let's say history with philosophy, calling at sociology, psychology and Shakespeare along the way. But, like the finest minds of past generations, fear holds no fear for me. Here is an example of the kind of work I mean: "While scraping through the dregs of Russian history in an attempt to discover a discernible personality lurking within the lumbering mass of Joseph Stalin, I stumbled across the reason why all human relationships are transitory. "I promptly forgot it. But was Marx right, or was his view of alienation merely a way of overcoming his preoccupation with his mother? (This is a subject which Freud skated across in a paper he wrote whilst smoking opium with the ghost of Hamlet's father). Frankly, they are all wrong, and I am the only one that can see through their subterfuge of lies and hogwash!" I believe I have provided enough ammunition here for most of you to scar your examiners using some similarly hardboiled proselytising. It's a thin line we tread between genius and abject failure, but it's worth trotting along for entertainment's sake alone. And if you end up a drunken, lonely, emotionally scarred recluse (ie, an artist) as a result of my advice, there's no need to thank me: it was nothing. To read this piece on the Guardian site click here -------- Journalism | Stories | Home | About