Thesis This

It’s mighty rough trying to talk to seniors these days. Most of us still fret about what we’re doing next year, we’re burnt out by classes and we hate the Core more vehemently than ever. We try to distract ourselves by coordinating elaborate Spring Break trips and even starting new relationships, but it’s to no avail because a lot of us, tragically, are writing theses.

Seniors have engaged in a year-long discussion about their theses that is as redundant as it is uninteresting, and as pathetic as it is boring. Dear lord, it’s a thesis we’re talking about here. Although some concentrations require original research, not many of us will produce something that hasn’t already ever been said before—and before, and before that. And it’s unlikely that any of us will alter the course of the universe with our conclusions either. As such, the thesis is simply a research paper; a bit longer, and a bit more in-depth than most we have written, but a research paper nonetheless. So go ahead and introduce your argument, supplant it with evidence and then slam it shut with a conclusion. Besides a couple of revisions and advisor meetings, the thesis should be your basic “wham, bam, thank-you ma’am” operation.

Instead, an entire subculture has sprung up around the all-important, life-changing thesis. Rather than develop secret handshakes and sport, say, Adidas headbands in solidarity, we spend our time procrastinating, typing, staying in on Saturday nights and, of course, complaining. Even those of us smart enough not to write one have developed Thesis Envy, and have taken to telling stories about their friends’ thesis woes. And with due dates looming near—my beloved history and literature thesis is due in just eight days—we have entered a most difficult, most trying and most annoying time of the school year.

Thesis-writing seniors have mistakenly fallen under the impression that anyone actually gives a hoot. To set the record straight, we don’t. In fact, we don’t have even a bit of interest in thesis topics, advisers, titles, page numbers or bibliographies. Not even an iota so, please, stop talking it. Frankly, no one except maybe your significant other and your parents is interested. And that’s only because the first is obliged to listen, and the second wants to make sure you graduate come June.

Most seniors have a difficult time taking such advice. First semester, all the rage was talking about blowing off summer research or switching topics or something else just as tantalizing as that. Reading period and exam period were an opportune time to complain about thesising in Cambridge while everyone else made good with the snow in New Hampshire. And nowadays, we have the pleasure of seemingly endless conversations about deadlines, revisions and library fines. To be honest, it’s been a rather unpleasant journey for all involved. Seniors spend more time complaining about their theses than writing them, thereby perpetuating their pointless drivel of moans and groans. And everyone else has had to listen to them go on—and on and on—about their sorry state.

A point about this, if you will: any complaining thesis writer didn’t have to write one. Although there are some concentrations that require theses, no one forced you to study history and literature or social studies. And if you did choose either one of those, you’ve known since your sophomore year that you’d be writing a long research paper during your senior year. Moreover, there is really no reason to write one anyway; everyone knows you can graduate from Harvard with honors if you can scrape together a B average.

So seniors, for the love of God, when you’re about to gripe about your third chapter or grumble about your advisor, hold your tongue. Talk about something, anything, else instead: the Gold Medal fiasco, the hottie in your Warren Court section, Boston’s crappy weather. Even Crossroads would be a more appreciated, exhilarating conversation topic. And to everyone else out there not writing theses, resist the (incomprehensible) temptation and don’t ask about them. You know you’re not really interested, anyway, and your feigned curiosity only perpetuates the misconception that anyone actually cares about bibliographies, MLA-style footnotes and the cost of acid-free printing paper. Not to mention the findings of some random Senate committee in 1953.

Suck it up, seniors. Just get the thing done so you can enjoy the Spring already.

Jordana R. Lewis ’02 is a history and literature concentrator in Eliot House. Her column appears on alternate Thursdays.