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Turow aims to represent the intense psychological and physical stress he and his classmates experience at Harvard Law School, and he makes clear in the Aftermath that many of his observations are applicable to first year students across the country navigating demanding law programs. Scott demonstrates how legal education differs from other academic programs through the intense learning demanded of students from day one. The case reports that use dense, depersonalized language become an instant barrier for students, and the first four-page reading assignment turns into hours of work for Scott as he tries to ferret out the facts of the case. The complexity of the reading assignments alone causes a frenzy among the students in the first week of school, leading to “complaints of insomnia, fatigue, stomach trouble, crying bouts, inflated consumption of food, liquor, [and] cigarettes” (48). Students wear themselves out trying to keep on top of course work, especially in the first week, that critical period of intensive learning. Even as students grow more comfortable with the concepts and language—and thus believe they’ll have more time to relax—professors assign longer and more complex cases to read, making the workload unrelenting throughout the term.
The scale and intensity of the work almost completely changes how the students think, even outside of school. They are so absorbed in the world of law that all their conversations eventually turn to discussions of course material or legal concepts. Scott notices that students start to take on the character of a lawyer when they speak by using precise language and argumentative tones: “It was strange at first to hear classmates saying in the hallway, ‘Quare if that position can be supported?’ or employing Legal in other contexts—‘Let me add a caveat’ to mean ‘Let me give you a warning’” (49). This change bleeds into the students’ lives outside school, and Scott learns that he’s started “badgering and cross-examining” (75) his wife during arguments. The constant stress of the program also affects the students’ interpersonal relationships. As students grapple with the workload, they become resentful, envious, and suspicious of their peers. The tension during the term, but especially at exam season, causes students to lash at one another, like when Scott’s study group members all complain about one another behind each other’s backs. In the few moments Scott escapes the law school environment, he recognizes just how blind he’s become to the real world: “It’s hard to believe all I’ve missed while so absorbed: the football season, television shows, political doings, many recent movies” (162). After these epiphanies, Scott creates a school/life balance that allows him time for non-law things he enjoys, like reading, seeing movies, and spending time with his wife.
The students’ psychological changes and stress sometimes manifest in physical ailments, demonstrating the effects of intense academic exhaustion and exertion over an extended period. As students try to cram in their revisions, many sleep only three or four hours and take only a half-hour break to eat—otherwise, they are concentrating entirely on their coursework. Scott’s stomach is “perpetually clenched” (88), he has a constant rapid heartbeat, and he always feels “on the verge of a light sweat” (88). Students turn to substances to alleviate their pains and fears, as Scott does before his first exam. This moment exemplifies the complete panic students endure during exam season, both physically and mentally. Scott takes pills to help him fall asleep, but his anxiety is so strong that they aren’t effective. He then tries alcohol and ultimately resorts to thrashing about to get his nerves out. Scott’s brief diary entry at the end of exam season sums up the scale of his physical and mental exertion, which applies easily to his entire first year experience: “I feel rotten. I feel wasted” (171).
Along with the pressures to simply keep up with law school’s demands, students face immense pressure to stand out amongst their peers. Law schools like Harvard foster an atmosphere of competition and antagonism among students as they all strive to be the highest achievers. Registrars admit only those with the highest grades and LSAT scores, so the students are used to being at the top of their respective classes. However, when surrounded by hundreds of others with similar records of success, students feel a heightened urge to distinguish themselves: “There was something, some faith in distinction, which has brought us to Harvard Law rather than to a less revered school” (58). Students are initially eager in class to speak up and correct one another, viewing this as the only way to display their intelligence. As the year goes on, Scott notices that students try to keep their competitiveness a secret, and they find open displays of skill and ambition gauche. Still, when assignments like the Legal Methods argument and moot court occur, students leap at the chance to compete against one another and prove themselves as the best.
The chance to work on the Harvard Law Review looms in the background of first-year education, and students work themselves into a panic trying to beat one another to the honored position. Students immediately compare their marks from the Civil Procedures mock exam, using these meaningless grades as a sure indicator of who will make the Review. When the actual grades of first-term exams are released, some students only speak in terms of whether they’ll make the cut, following up a report on their grades with, “I’m not sure I’ll make Law Review” (205). Students with grades that put them in contention feel an additional pressure to maintain these grades into the second term. For example, Stephen talks nonstop about the Review, assuming he’ll make the cut and working even more intensely to ensure this ambition comes true. Stephen’s high grades raise the competitive stakes for him, warping his attitude toward his legal education. Upon entering law school, Stephen wants to devote himself to public interest work and teaching, but he soon sets his sights on the biggest corporate firms, as the high salaries at these firms offer an additional, concrete measure of his success.
A major incident illustrates the passionate competitive atmosphere and the resentment students feel for those who appear to be pulling ahead: the conflict over Scott’s study group’s outline. The group create an outline for Civil Procedure, at Stephen’s behest, and when they learn about the exam’s content, they feel confident that the outline will be a huge benefit for them because it covers material from the entire full-year course. The other students in Section 2, however, perceive the outline as an unfair advantage. Students scramble to resurrect long-dormant study groups and start similar projects, but they know they’ll never be able to catch up to the work Scott’s group has already completed. Scott feels upset for causing conflict, but his repressed ambitions overwhelm him, and he grows vicious and hurtful in his attempts to hold onto the competitive advantage the outline offers. In a moment of reflection, Scott recognizes that the law school’s competitive atmosphere led him to forget his own moral values, and in his blind desire to out-score his peers, he became someone cruel and indecent, which is not who he wants to be. Scott’s vow to not let Harvard’s standard of excellence draw him further down a road of viciousness indicates his understanding of how competition can change a person’s behavior.
Throughout the text, Turow offers a critique of certain aspects of legal education at Harvard Law School that haven’t evolved in the school’s nearly two centuries of existence. Due to this stasis, Turow comes to see law school as a rite of passage rather than as an total educational institution. A major criticism concerns the Socratic method, which—as practiced at the school—leads to the frequent humiliation of first-year students. He describes Socratic questioning as a deliberate breaking of social mores and the contract of large groups: “In the Socratic method, professors are informing students that what would normally be a safe personal space is likely at any moment to be invaded” (26). Being interrogated in front of a 140-person classroom places unneeded psychological stress on the pupil. The Socratic method also prevents other students from asking questions about the material, since students feel apprehensive about butting in to the professor’s line of questioning. Turow knows that law schools won’t get rid of the Socratic method because it allows them to teach large groups of students without hiring large numbers of faculty, but he wishes there were safeguards so students don’t feel undue stress in class. Perini exemplifies the kind of professor Turow wants future students to avoid. Some students claim to feel physically ill at the thought of Perini’s class because he’s fostered an atmosphere of intense anxiety, which is counterproductive to learning.
Turow also voices criticisms of the law school’s grading system, both the use of letter grades and the reliance on a single exam to determine a student’s grades. The distinctions between As, Bs, and Cs—and their pluses and minuses—is often slim and indeterminate, which makes the stratification of students along these lines somewhat arbitrary. Students and progressive professors like Morris prefer pass/fail grades for the first year, since students are expected to learn so much in so little time, and it’s nearly impossible to accurately assess their knowledge within such specific rubrics. Turow reveals that donor law firms who interview at Harvard provide the main thrust for keeping letter grades, because it helps them quickly distinguish between potential candidates. Turow objects strongly to the school’s valuing of corporations over students, and he declares, “That’s commerce […] not education. That’s product packaging” (211). The exams themselves also don’t allow students to fully demonstrate their learned skills. With three to five written answers in four to eight hours, students are limited in what they can show, and the typical “issue-spotter” style often contradicts classroom discussions. Turow proposes offering more mid-term assignments, like legal writing or smaller tests, so a student’s grade is cumulative and assesses their progress at key points throughout the term. Such a shift would mean more work for faculty, which Turow suggests is one reason the faculty resists changing the format of courses. With only one exam, students don’t know, going in, whether they have a good understanding of the material, and if they perform poorly, it can have lasting impacts on their self-confidence, their drive to learn, and their job prospects.
On a more abstract level, Turow condemns the law school’s focus on rationality, logic, and definitiveness. In class, professors try to make students use language so precise that there can be no room for counter arguments. Students are taught to reject their beliefs and closely held values in favor of arguments based in logic and rules. Many of Turow’s Harvard peers viewed this style of learning as a form of indoctrination, steering students to adopt a conservative worldview shaped by corporate interests. Turow thinks students should fight back against this excessive rationalism with compassion and sensitivity—two skills necessary for lawyers when dealing with clients in complex circumstances. To achieve more social sensitivity in the law school curriculum, Turow proposes including comparative elements in case studies—like connections to film and literature, or contact with real clients. This way, students will escape the rigidity of rules and the bubble of law school and will understand how the legal world interferes in and navigates ever-changing societal contexts.
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