Tom Hertweck
After figuring out that his chosen path of chemical engineering would lead to nothing but early-onset ennui and persistent eye fatigue from doing reactor balances at a UNIX workstation under the nerve shattering buzz of fluorescent lighting, Tom high-tailed it to a major that would let him do what he wanted to do all day anyway, which was read books.
As is the case in many programs, environmentally-oriented criticism wasn't a required component of Tom's literature coursework, and so he spent much time with old friends (mostly Faulkner and Vonnegut). However, having learned about and become conscious of the merits of ecocriticism in his undergraduate career from a mentor, it seemed only natural that he would pursue continued training that allowed the interdisciplinary leeway needed to connect the literary arts with the tenets of ecological science, environmental public policy, the history of resource use, and the particular and peculiar culture surrounding nature and place in the United States. In this way, he completed an MA in American studies at Purdue University in his home state of Indiana. Firmly rooted, as it were, in this ecocritical tradition, but working seemingly by himself, there was but one place to go: UNR's program in literature and environment—the red-hot center of the ecocritical world. He has never looked back.
Tom is currently working toward a dissertation involving the wide and wondrous world of food, not only because he is a big fan (he's eaten food every single day since he was born!), but because food is something that is central for him, being both a vegan and someone who is concerned with how his decisions affect others. To be sure, food is the most important choice people make every single day, and yet, more often than not, it is also the choice most people think about the least. How come? This is a big question Tom is chewing on.
Recent conference presentations have sought to understand how the popular genre of the commodity history—works about single consumer goods, like Mark Kurlansky's Salt or Dan Koeppel's Banana—complicate their readers' lives, especially when they explore the history of a particular food. Are these works capitalist propaganda? Could they be ways of making the confusing and obfuscatory systems of globalized trade and production more transparent to their readers? Do they help or hinder concerned consumers who want to make environmentally and socially just choices in the market? Of course they are all these things—and more. Other papers have looked at food and justice issues through the (ahem) lens of popular film. How do communities organize themselves around food production, as in The Milagro Beanfield War? How far should our trust in corporate ethics extend, as in Soylent Green?
Tom would be happy to answer questions you might have about the English department, the L&E area of emphasis, UNR, Reno, food, or really anything else you might like to know. He can be reached by e-mail at thertweck.at.unr.edu