emprof

UK and other European LoRs do tend to be less effusive than American ones, but this is almost universally true--and we get lots of letters from international applicants every year, so this is a familiar phenomenon. Committees will adjust their rhetorical expectations for LoRs depending on where they're coming from. The American default is to hyperbole, so committees have to parse the differences between "recommend her highly," "recommend her enthusiastically," "recommend her without reservation," "recommend her warmly," etc. I think that in @Indecisive Poet's case, it's more valuable to have writers from the MA institution write than from the American undergraduate institution, since they know the most recent work, and work at the graduate level. Any good admissions committee should know that rhetorical standards are different for UK letters. UK writers sometimes make explicit reference to the fact that the British tendency is not to rhetorical effusiveness, and that the writer hopes that brevity and rhetorical reserve will not be construed as a lack of enthusiasm. But the committee shouldn't even need that reminder.

School prestige is not not a factor. (Litotes!) But I wouldn't say that it's decisive. I think @Dares has a point in saying that there is a particular language (and habits of mind, and methodologies, and preoccuping questions, etc.) that characterizes elite academic discourse. It's the language that the profession uses to talk to itself. And one might more readily, or more easily, encounter that language (habit of mind, methodology, etc.) at Yale than at Unknown University. So perhaps a candidate from Yale will be more immediately legible to an admissions committee as a proto-academic than the UU candidate. There is also the sense--perhaps unfair--that success at a prestigious university presages success anywhere; if an undergraduate institution is truly unknown to the committee, then a straight-A average there might not provoke that same assumption. (The UU could be academically rigorous, of course--but it could not be.) LORs often rate students in comparison to other students: e.g., "top 5%," "top 10%," "2 or 3 best of my career." At a prestigious university, top 2-3 of the career is very impressive. At UU, it might be less so. It's not that the committee knows or assumes the UU student to be weaker than the Yale student; it's just that the information from UU doesn't signify as strongly. That said, committees also love to flatter themselves (and sometimes maybe they're right) that they can recognize "diamonds in the rough" (this is a phrase that comes up all of the time) and "refine" them with expert teaching, mentorship, and advising. There's also a high premium on diversity, including economic diversity and "first-generation college student" status--meaning we don't want a whole class of Ivy League grads from wealthy parents with graduate degrees. If an applicant has gone to a fancy prep school and a fancy university, and is very polished, but the ideas in the WS are uninteresting, that application is much less compelling than one from an applicant from UU who lacks polish and knowledge of the most recent work in the field, but offers a strikingly original approach to a text or topic. And occasionally, applicants from high-prestige undergraduate institutions are identified so strongly with their prestigious undergraduate mentors that the question of "teachability" comes up: does the applicant seem already to be calcified in a particular approach or methodology and s/he would not be adequately responsive to feedback and mentorship? So all of that is to say: sure, it matters. Everything in the application matters. But it matters a lot less than the intellectual excitement that the SoP and WS generate. Hope this is helpful. Happy to natter on further if people have questions.

I think this is absolutely appropriate to share with your mentor. I talk candidly with my former undergraduate students who have applied to graduate school about the reality of living in "genteel poverty" for 6 years, and I will happily advise them about what kinds of financial support I think they should expect from a Ph.D. program. If you attend a graduate program that cannot fund all of its students equally (sometimes the case at public institutions), and others in your cohort have different funding packages, then it could create awkwardness and resentment to discuss your particular fellowship/GA-ship/funding situation with fellow students. But your mentors can and should advise you about compensation.

I fully appreciate your hesitation (and even squeamishness?) about this kind of personal disclosure! And of course, if there is every anything that feels too personal to reveal, the application should not make you feel coerced. But: the several characteristics you mention here (1st gen, community college trajectory, worked full-time, minoritized sexual identity) are *all* recognizable and sought-after traits for admissions committees. It's hard for me to imagine a scenario in which disclosing these several, intersectional traits would not be an asset to your application. Committees are savvy enough to understand intersectionality, and so having multiple vectors of "diversity" would not be construed by any admissions committee worth its salt as "parody" or absurdity. I am deeply familiar with midwestern sensibilities, and so can smile and nod in recognition about your midwestern modesty/diffidence. But the diversity statement is a genre that explicitly asks for this kind of disclosure. It is exactly the right place to bracket your own hesitancy--and also to trust that nothing disclosed there will ever be made public. Everything in your application is protected by FERPA, and cannot legally be shared with other students, family, colleagues at other institutions, etc.

I should have mentioned that significant life curveballs are absolutely a meaningful indicator of resiliency and grit, and a diversity statement is a perfectly appropriate place to disclose such things. Applicants who have overcome adversity in various forms (family crises or losses, economic hardships, personal setbacks or challenges) should use the diversity statement to demonstrate that their commitment to graduate study and an academic life is not naive or unconsidered, but one that has been tested in the fires of "real life" and emerged intact. So yes, the kinds of adversity you mention are helpful for admissions committees to know about, so they appreciate your commitment to and seriousness in the field. Sounds like you handled this perfectly!

Director of grad admissions in English at R1 University here: we couldn't give a flying eff about your GRE Q score. Major studies have shown that GRE scores are a poor predictor of who will succeed in graduate school. They have a weak predictive power about performance in the first year, and no predictive power beyond that. So we look at the verbal score with healthy skepticism, and nothing beyond that. I strongly suspect that leading programs will stop requiring the GRE at all for humanities Ph.D. programs.

I was thinking about this while I went for a run, and I did think of two concrete pieces of advice. 1) When identifying faculty with whom you think you'd like to work in a particular department (and you should definitely do this, to make a case for why you are a good fit for this department specifically), make sure they are full-time, tenure-line faculty with publications. Lecturers, visiting professors, and "instructors" generally cannot sit on dissertation committees. Applications that talk about working with such faculty can come across as naive or under-advised. (There are of course major ethical issues about the exploitation of non-tenure-line faculty, which is an issue for another conversation ...) 2) Applications often provide an opportunity to draft an optional statement that explains how you would contribute to the diversity of the scholarly community. If you are a URM (under-represented minority), or a first-generation college-student, or have an unusual educational trajectory (started in community college, say, or worked full-time to pay your way through college), or a minoritized gender/sexual identity, or have a diagnosed disability: this is a great opportunity to disclose that information. Admissions committees are ethically obligated to ensure the diversity of their cohorts, and committees are dedicated to making sure that candidates with these markers compose a substantial part of their admitted cohort. (Could you imagine the rightful outcry if a prestigious institution admitted an all-white, all-male class? Cf. this article.) BUT: if you are a white, straight, cis, relatively privileged child of professional parents, this is NOT a good place to talk about how you have volunteered with underprivileged populations and so understand their plight, or are committed to teaching writers of color. Such diversity statements, however well-intentioned, can inadvertently communicate a kind of "white savior" attitude that can actually work against you. Although it seems counter-intuitive *not* to respond to an opportunity to make a case for yourself with additional information, it's probably safer not to submit a diversity statement than to make a far-fetched or unconvincing case.

The waiting is brutal. But your abilities and your potential don't hinge on the responses. Grad admissions is an agonizing process. It's actually a committee that many faculty groan about, because it's so difficult to parse the minute differences between excellence and excellence. Even a straight "no" could mean that you were a contender until the very last second.

No, I promise--I've served on grad admissions for many years, directing the committee several times, and we're not looking for additional reading material! And we're definitely not looking to find out any dirt on our applicants in underhanded or nefarious ways. I'm not sure this is advice, exactly, but I'd just remind all applicants (especially at moments of disappointment) to keep sight of the fact that we have *way* more applicants who could clearly succeed in the program than we can admit. And even of those we admit (my institution aims for a cohort size of 6-8), we can't secure all of them academic jobs when they finish, even if they were spectacularly successful in the program (winning fellowships, publishing articles, writing stellar dissertations). We sometimes joke, grimly, that we're doing more of a favor to the applicants we reject than the ones we accept. Not to spread doom and gloom about the profession--I'm sure you've heard it all before. But it's worth keeping in mind that there are lots of ways to have a rich intellectual and professional life, inside and outside of academia.

Oh, I wasn't in the least offended! But I know all too well the inevitable paranoia attendant on the application process. (It keeps going throughout the academic life cycle: tenure, promotion, fellowships, book proposals, grants ...) I just didn't want to be the source of additional anxiety! Definitely love the idea of being a fairy godprof.

Oh, thanks! I read the posts speculating about profs lurking and started to feel sheepish ...

I'm the director of grad admissions in English at an R1 university. I'm not lurking to find any information on applicants! (By the time we've read your applications multiple times, we have more information than we can even process!) Rather, I'm trying to figure out what information might have been shared about particular/additional fellowships awarded--specifically, whether other admittees are aware that they were not awarded these funds. FWIW, GRE scores are really bad predictors of who will succeed in graduate school, and we try not to rely on them almost at all.