Failure, as rendered by a straightforward Google search, is defined quite simply as a “lack of success.” Despite this seemingly simple definition, failure, and failure as explicated within the realm of pedagogy, is much more complex, working within varied situations, subtexts, and power structures. This nuanced analysis of failure is explored with dynamism throughout the contents of Failure Pedagogies: Learning and Unlearning What It Means to Fail. As Allison D. Carr and Laura R. Micciche adeptly stress in their introduction, failure has become somewhat of an obsession as of late, with both academic and public discourse focusing on the topic “over the last decade” (1). Interestingly, too, is failure’s connection to “bootstraps ideologies” (1), which is widespread throughout not only the American economic arena, but also that of pop culture – a phenomenon recently highlighted in the preoccupation with Netflix’s release of the film adaptation of JD Vance’s controversial memoir Hillbilly Elegy.^[1]Although Hillbilly Elegy is not specifically mentioned in Failure Pedagogies, I find the connection to “bootstraps ideologies” salient. Bootstrap ideology is commonly defined as the ability to … Continue reading The book, and subsequent movie, have been criticized for their problematic portrayal of success based on the idea that hard work alone can make one successful. Returning to Failure Pedagogies, the collection is significant in its inclusive and pioneering exploration of failure. The concept of failure has been exclusionary due to some individual’s or group’s ability to profit and learn from failure in ways that others cannot, and Failure Pedagogies begins to unpack this.

Additionally, failure has been perceived as a wholly productive concept. Carr and Micciche align this perception to John Maxwell’s theory of “failing forward” (2007). This theory is frequently connected to “means and mobility” (2), which is often exclusionary, focusing on those individuals that fit within and are connected to a dominant discourse and weltanschauung, or worldview. Failure Pedagogies aptly makes the move to frame failure around Sarah Ahmed’s delineation of failure as a “sweaty concept” (2), a nuanced concept more fitting to address the ever-present social inequities that work to influence and define failure.^[2]For more on the notion of “sweaty concepts,” see Ahmed’s book Living a Feminist Life. Chris Hays, in the Foreword, describes the authors featured in this collection as “adventurers,” a term I find welcoming in academia. Forging away from the expected and exclusive, this collection seeks to do more in what Hays delineates as “the value of thinking through and with failure” (xiv). Although failure impacts groups differently, thinking with failure helps to universalize the concept for both faculty and students alike. 

The essays comprising Failure Pedagogies are centered on Ahmed’s conception of failure as one that is not always generative in a positive or productive sense. In short, Failure Pedagogies reminds us that “failure is unthinkable as a singular concept leaning toward success” (3). Considering this particular exigency, this concept is paramount now more than ever, as the storm of social injustices and violence against BIPOC individuals continues to rage. In addition, we have been fighting a worldwide pandemic – a pandemic that has continued to expose these lines of inequities and injustices.

Noteworthy is Failure Pedagogies use of Lynn Worsham’s notion of pedagogy and pedagogical practice as one that should consistently recognize “power relations” and “hierarchical structures” (3). Helpful, too, was Carr and Micciche’s conscious decision to limit content to 5,500 words, a move that augments what they define as “maximum focus” (3). ^[3]Maximum focus here highlights the word count of the essays. Shorter word count allows for more focus, in my opinion, also making the collection more accessible for undergraduate students in writing … Continue reading Moreover, this aspect of “maximum focus” positions Failure Pedagogies as an advantageous collection within a writing classroom. The varied forms of the essays are significant and pedagogically refreshing, ranging from a meditative essay (Holmes and Wittman) to a dialogic essay (Thoune). Students, I believe, would find these forms revitalizing, as well as the content within. For example, students will be able to relate to issues surrounding plagiarism (Pantelides), feedback on writing (Thoune), and fake news (Ridolfo).

Plagiarism is a constant concern for students, as Kate Pantelides affirms in “After the Accusation: The Lasting Impact of Plagiarism Trauma on Student Writing.” Pantelides states how “[t]he culture of assessment pits students and faculty against each other and problematizes learning and understanding discourse community conventions” (41). In other words, the hegemonic structure of assessment fosters distrust between students and faculty, therefore damaging hope for a dialogic relationship between the two groups. Alas, “[t]here is not much room for risk-taking or mistakes” (Pantelides 41). Students might identify with this sentiment as their fears often prevent them from taking positive risks with assignments due to fear of making a “mistake.” Additionally, there is a sometimes pre-conceived notion that faculty are “pitted” against students – students might feel faculty are trying to “catch them” doing something wrong or that faculty want to make it impossible to earn a high grade. When students know this is not the case, they might be more willing to take innovative risks with learning, especially if they know they will not be severely punished for a misstep or “mistake.” Mistakes are human which is something we need to remind both ourselves and our students. 

Section III, titled “Pushy Failures,” focuses on how failure’s connection to social justice initiatives is of supreme importance, specifically following the recent social justice turn (Walton, Moore, and Jones). Julie Myatt invites us to “learn about advancing social justice projects by studying the incremental steps toward progress taken by our predecessors” (178). Using Hillary Clinton’s 2016 loss as a starting point, Myatt questions how to move forward in the face of loss – her answer lies in using history as a platform for combatting hopelessness. By looking backward to the actions and the myriad of challenges faced by suffragists (and also strongly acknowledging the alienation of women of color from these movements), Myatt builds a framework that we can productively use today in both administrative work and in pedagogy. This framework is based on understanding that “failures are not final but rather a detour on the journey to justice” (188).

Discussing other forms of perceived failures surrounding gendered issues, Maria Novotny and Juliette Givhan discuss infertility and its societal conflation with failure. Novotny and Givhan take on important aspects surrounding infertility specifically discussing how, although discourse surrounding infertility has become more mainstream, women of color are still disproportionality left out of the conversation. There remains more work to be done concerning intersectional fertility research—which is exactly what this essay sets out to do and accomplishes through continuing the conversation. The concept of “rhetorical slippage” is noteworthy here, and Novotny and Givhan stress the application of a cultural rhetorics approach to address failure. We must continue “to make space for other voices” (198) while being aware that rhetorical slippages can often reproduce the very hegemonic narrative we strive to work against, which has been the case with discourse surrounding women of color and infertility.

Elsewhere, Kara Taczak and Debbie Gale Mitchell, in “Embracing the Ugly,” talk through the unique significance of using Bullet Journaling in the classroom – a pedagogical tool that embraces and encourages both creativity and generative failure. By having students address “glows and grows,” they are able to assess the “ugly,” or aspects of themselves that they would like to improve upon. As students are made aware of “what they are/were capable of doing” (222), they might then see failure differently – as something that is truly generative. Also constructive is the use of student examples and graphics, serving as a rhetorical reinforcement of the very thing the authors are promoting.

Section II, “Palpable Failures,” reminds us that failure is very much something we can tangibly feel and embody. The section opens dialogue with problematic “celebratory” success/failure narratives – narratives that often accompany certain hegemonic structures built on power and exclusivity (4). Cassandra Phillips and Joanne Baird Giordano end “Palpable Failures” as they share personal experiences of their work within the University of Wisconsin’s two-year campuses system, alerting us to both successes and failures in their roles as a WPA and developmental reading and writing coordinator. In the wake of learning the program they had developed was being dissolved, Phillips and Giordano provide a valuable narrative that many can relate to in the wake of pandemic-induced budget cuts and layoffs.

Continuing in Section II, Gavin P. Johnson and Ryan Sheehan continue the conversation around “palpable failures,” asking the question of what it means to “embody failure” (127). Johnson and Sheehan investigate failure through understanding failure within the framework of what they term a “queer force” (128). Both building on and critiquing Halberstam’s (2011) writings on failure, the authors rework ideas surrounding failure, positing that Halberstam’s description of queer failure is unethical (131). Using an example of campus activism (the 2018 Silent Sam protest at the University of North Carolina Chapel Hill) and the use of video games in rhetoric and writing classes (here, the Gone Home LGBTQ-themed game is discussed), Johnson and Sheehan conclude that “success can be queer after all” (137). Through “emphasizing navigation” (138), both failure and success, as well as outcomes associated with risks, might impart the change we are consistently hoping for. Like Phillips and Giordano, Johnson and Sheehan focus on failure that can be intensely felt in a tangible sense.

“Embodied Failures,” Section I, opens with Caddie Alford’s reexamination of the cliché. Alford begins with brief examples from various university writing centers stressing the importance of avoiding the use of clichés in academic writing. Alford notably asserts that “clichés are mechanisms of higher educational gatekeeping” (12) while also affirming their connection to the “classical conception of the commonplace” (14). The commonplace is a concept that continues to be relevant and was the driving force behind Julie Lindquist’s call for program proposals for the 2020 Conference on College Composition & Communication. For example, she implored us to consider our commonplaces while also asking us to consider “what have we learned” in terms of inclusivity. In classical rhetoric, the commonplace refers to shared knowledge of those in a community – Lindquist, in turn, draws on this so we can question commonplaces and their relationship to “social constructions, claims to power, and inclusion/exclusion.” Alford, too, visits this connection to social constructions, power, and inclusion/exclusion, asking us to reconsider our preconceived notion of the cliché and “to assume responsibility for the failure of underestimating the value of clichés” (21). Clichés might help us to realize the importance of inclusivity, helping us to move away from institutional and academic gatekeeping. 

Similar to Alford’s call, Alba Newman Holmes and Kara Wittman take on clarity in writing, delineating how “clarity operates out of an exclusionary logic” (28). Holmes and Wittman ask if philosophers and writers like Heidegger, Joyce, and Butler have “somehow earned the right to their own language (and thinking) that our students have not?” (29). To explain, “clarity operates out of an exclusionary logic” (28). For example, translations of Heidegger are often abstruse. Some students find Butler’s work difficult to read. Joyce’s Finnegan’s Wake is largely written in a created and crafted language. Holmes and Wittman’s bold and welcomed question bolsters one of the overarching goals of this collection, which is to question and blur the lines between hegemonic structures of power which have held the academic high ground for so long. Our students don’t always have to be “clear” (35), as Holmes and Wittman assert. In fact, clarity can sometimes come at a cost, which the authors articulate. As Holmes and Wittman end, they stress “[w]e don’t need our students to imagine they must always be clear; we want then to imagine what is possible – and that they are possible” (35). Dwelling in the realm of possibility helps to redefine failure, which is one of the main goals of this collection.

As many have faced a year (2020) where failure seems inevitable, Failure Pedagogies uncovers the other side of failure – the “sweaty” side that exists beyond the dichotomy of simply viewing failure as a means to later accomplish success. Moving away from a “bootstraps” mentality, the authors in this book guide us to new paths of discovering the many nuances of failure. These new paths are more inclusive, more open. Additionally, failure can still be mitigated by self-imposed ideas of failure, which this collection addresses as well. In the Afterword, Asao B. Inoue profoundly closes the collection, calling for more work on the scholarship of failure in relation to race. As I write this, I am a white, cis-gendered, visiting faculty member. Inoue questions, “What is the relationship between failure and race, gender, and class?” (262). The discussion has started, and we must continue it. I try to consistently provide students with inclusive and varied forms of academic discourse, which this collection ultimately succeeds in as well. 

References 

Carr, Allison D, and Laura R Micciche, editors. 2020. Failure Pedagogies: Learning and Unlearning What It Means to Fail. New York: Peter Lang.

Lindquist, Julie.  2019.  “Call for Program Proposals.”  CCCC, Accessed 15 Oct 2021. https://cccc.ncte.org/cccc/call-2020

Walton, Rebecca W., Kristen R. Moore, and Natasha N. Jones. 2019. Technical Communication after the Social Justice Turn: Building Coalitions for Action. New York: Routledge.