Poor William Shakespeare, so commonly heralded for his efforts in poetry and play-writing, but ignored in his ability to analyze the world through the rhetorical mode of comparing and contrasting.
Don't believe me? Consider this:
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest;
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
Mastering the art of comparing and contrasting is a priority in college classrooms for a couple of reasons. First, because you will, no doubt, be asked on essay exams to compare and contrast things. It's a common prompt. In your physiology class, you might be asked to compare two systems of the body. "What are the similarities and differences between the endocrine system and the lymphatic system?" Or in your political science class: "How are the circumstances behind the rise of ISIS similar yet different to the rise of the Third Reich?"
The second reason comparing and contrasting are marvelous skills to learn is because one of the best ways to learn, talk, or think about something is to compare it to something else. When you go see a movie, you might find it difficult to judge whether or not it was good if you don't have something to compare it to. Was it better than the main actor's last movie? Was it as good as the other movies in that genre? When you're asked to learn new material in school, you may not realize it, but you'll rifle through your brain trying to find something to compare it to. That's why we so often make analogies in our lives. Pay attention the next time you're trying to explain a difficult concept to someone (or they're trying to explain it to you)—I bet before the conversation is over, an analogy will be made. And probably a good one.
Not all compare-and-contrast is done through analogy, but I bring it up to illustrate that comparing and contrasting is a pervasive part of the human experience. That's why it is such a great analytical lens. When I ask my students to write a movie review, I often ask them to analyze it in light of another movie. When they write product reviews, even without me guiding them to do so, they often will compare the product with a similar product, such as comparing the new iPhone with the new Galaxy, or comparing the new iPhone with its older model. It is instinctual for students to do this. And then when I use the phrase "compare and contrast," their eyes glaze over, like I just said, "let's recite the rules of grammar!"
Like all the rhetorical modes, comparing and contrasting creeps its way into just about every good piece of writing. In personal essays, such as the literacy narrative my students write, they often compare their experiences with those of others. In argument essays, they compare their solution to a problem with the (often absurd) solution of other people. Compare-and-contrast might just eat up a line or two of your paper, or it might serve as the main structure of your essay—it all depends on what you are writing.
If you are writing a passage or a paper that depends heavily on a comparison, there are a couple convenient ways you can go about organizing the material.
The first is called item-by-item, where you discuss all the points of item one and then move on to discuss those same points of item two. For example, you might have a paragraph where you talk about the history, ideology, and demographics of ISIS, and then a paragraph where you cover the same points with the Third Reich.
Organizing your comparison item-by-item works best if it is a short paper—a page or two. In fact, many students feel it is easier to write if they focus on one item at a time.
The second option for organizing your paper is to use a point-by-point comparison, where you would discuss each point in the context of the two items. For example, you might have a paragraph discussing the history of ISIS and the history of the Third Reich. The next paragraph would discuss the ideology of the two groups. And so on.
Compare the following two sample outlines for comparing ISIS and the Third Reich in a short essay:
Item-by-Item
Introduction
Point-by-Point
Introduction
Section 1: ISIS
¶ History
¶ Ideology
¶ Demographics
Section 2: Third Reich
¶ History
¶ Ideology
¶ Demographics
Conclusion
Section 1: History
¶ ISIS
¶ Third Reich
Section 2: Ideology
¶ ISIS
¶ Third Reich
Section 3: Demographics
¶ ISIS
¶ Third Reich
Conclusion
When writing longer essays (more than, say, a page), I prefer the point-by-point comparison simply because it is less taxing on the reader’s memory. If you spend three pages discussing the history, ideology, and demographics of ISIS, then the reader has to remember those points when they start reading about the Third Reich. By doing a point-by-point, you can keep all that information fresh in their mind as you flip back and forth between the items (ISIS and the Third Reich). If you choose this organization, be prepared to use lots of phrases like, “On the one hand,” “on the other hand,” “while,” and “however.”
In the follow two examples, the same comparison is organized into an item-by-item paragraph and a point-by-point paragraph. For visual convenience, everything about Mrs. Johnson is underlined while everything about Ms. Reade is in bold.
After you read them, ask yourself which one you thought was more interesting or easy to follow. The answer will be different for everyone, which is why there is no right or wrong way to organize your comparison. If you are consistent with plotting your analysis point-by-point or item-by-item, you’ll be fine.
Students might want to consider the different teaching styles of Mrs. Johnson and Ms. Reade before deciding which one to take for Advanced English. Mrs. Johnson is a ball of energy and has no problem keeping students awake. She talks clearly and pauses to emphasize key words and concepts. Additionally, she is funny, and she loves it when students ask her questions about the material. She’s happy to pause the lecture to make sure everyone understands before moving on to the next point. Above all, she is very enthusiastic about literature, and that enthusiasm is contagious. Ms. Reade, on the other hand, has a different approach. With her sleepy demeanor and soft, monotone voice, students often complain that it is hard to stay awake in class. Ms. Reade also discourages students from interrupting her to ask questions. She expects students to keep up, and if they don’t understand a concept, they should see her after class. The most important thing to her, it seems, is that she covers everything before the bell rings. She is very knowledgeable about literature, but she doesn’t seem enthusiastic about it. These differences in teaching styles between Mrs. Johnson and Ms. Reade can impact how well students do in Advanced English, so students should choose accordingly.
Example of a Point-by-Point Comparison
Students might want to consider the different teaching styles of Mrs. Johnson and Ms. Reade before deciding which one to take for Advanced English. Mrs. Johnson is a ball of energy and has no problem keeping students awake. Ms. Reade, on the other hand, has a lethargic demeanor and a soft, monotone voice, often lulling students to sleep during her lectures. Students have expressed appreciation for the way Mrs. Johnson talks clearly and pauses to emphasize key words and concepts. They have noticed, however, that Ms. Reade often mumbles and glosses over important concepts, making it hard to take notes. Mrs. Johnson has a great sense of humor and loves it when students ask her questions about the material. She’s happy to pause the lecture to make sure everyone understands before moving on to the next point. Ms. Reade, while known to laugh at her own jokes, is rather serious and gets annoyed when students ask questions. She seems more interested in covering all of the material than actually helping students understand. Above all, Mrs. Johnson is very enthusiastic about literature, and that enthusiasm is contagious. While Ms. Reade is very knowledgeable about literature, she doesn’t seem enthusiastic about it. These differences in teaching styles between Mrs. Johnson and Ms. Reade can impact how well students do in Advanced English, so students should choose accordingly.
The following is from an intermediate writing course (commonly called English 2010 or English 102). The assignment was to compare a current artifact (such as a cell phone or magazine or tv show) to a similar artifact from the student’s year of birth.
Of Cops and Robots
by Paul Whitaker
When Almost Human aired its pilot last year, one of my coworkers moaned that “they just can’t think of anything new, can they?” He told me about the show that Fox executives were now apparently trying to rip-off and rebrand: a short-lived drama from 1977 called Future Cop. At the conceptual level, they sounded the same: a veteran police officer, hardened around the edges, would be begrudgingly assigned a new partner, an android, and together they would learn, amidst their many crime-fighting exploits, not just what it means to be friends, but what it really means to be human.
I had to admit that he was right—it didn’t sound particularly new: artificial intelligence, androids learning the quirks of humanity, crusty police detectives, the odd-couple partnerships, hard-won friendships, and procedural crime dramas. But then I watched the pilot of Almost Human and quickly discovered that even though the show might riff off the same tropes and elements as Future Cop, and even though they would both ultimately fail after only half a season, it could hardly be called a “rip-off.”
Launched just months before Star Wars, when America couldn’t seem to get enough sci-fi action—but hadn’t quite yet been introduced to sci-fi as a source of mythology and philosophy—Future Cop seemed to have a sure-fire recipe for success—namely, robot-humans taking on the bad guys. Unfortunately, there was a specific brand of sci-fi television viewers were after, all laser beams and space ships and interstellar travel. What they got, instead, was a bumbling police officer who constantly acted befuddled by the intangibles and perplexities of human nature, failing to grasp simple concepts and emotions. The show might have been able to save face among its viewers if Haven, the robot cop, could have gotten beyond his awkwardness long enough to be awesome, taking on aliens and super-villains and rocking the streets with his x-ray vision and superhuman strength. Instead, he used his super-strength to pose as a semi-adequate boxer to take on a corrupt boxing ring, his super-computer brain to count cards and bring down a criminal gambler, and his lack of smell to stay in the police station when a stink bomb was thrown into the locker room as a diversion during a robbery. As the odor of the bomb faded away, so did any hopes of the show finishing a full-season run.
Since then, sci-fi television has proven time and again to be a fickle mistress, with the arbitrary cancellation of highly-rated shows such as Firefly, Doll House, Caprica, and The Sarah Connor Chronicles. TV executives have been quick to pick up pilots of shows about time travel and androids and space ships, but they have been just as quick to abandon them despite rave reviews and consumer ratings. In the thirty-seven years between the demise of Future Cop and the rise of Almost Human, the popularity of sci-fi television has grown astronomically. So why did Almost Human fair just as poorly as its cheesy, low-tech predecessor, Future Cop?
Backed by J.J. Abrams after his rousing success with the new Star Trek movies, Almost Human was launched with high hopes and even higher critical praise. It continued the themes forwarded by Future Cop, and producers gambled that America would finally be ready for an android-cop show that focused less on robot hardware and more on the existential question of what it means to be human. There were no stink bombs or fixed boxing matches, but there were just as many protracted scenes of great dialogue between the partners about humanity, mental health, individual rights, and the co-existence of humans and sentient machines—all wedged, of course, between high-speed chases and shoot outs and epic explosions. Where the 1977 sci-fi viewer seemed to only want rocket ships and laser pistols, the 2014 viewer seemed hungry for these deeper philosophical questions (and those who weren’t could still feast on the CGI mayhem).
The things that seemed to tank Future Cop were the things that should have guaranteed the success of Almost Human. Dorian, the android cop, was not a bumbling robot like Haven from Future Cop. In fact, he was, in many ways, even more human than Detective Kennex, his partner. Designed to have the full array of human emotions, Dorian’s android brothers had proven to be unstable and volatile. They were decommissioned and replaced by non-emotional androids—those who would be more akin to Haven. Detective Kennex, who couldn’t stand the robot-like demeanor of the non-emotional androids, threw his android out of a moving car and resurrected, so to speak, the decommissioned Dorian, knowing that despite his volatility, an android with real human emotions would be a better decision maker and a more capable detective. But as the show weaved through beautiful CGI landscapes and amid all the high-tech gadgetry you would expect, and as Dorian and Kennex’s complex relationship become something resembling friendship—everything, it seemed, hitting the perfect sci-fi notes—Fox executives panicked at the slightest dips in numbers, and despite having higher ratings than Glee, Bones, and The Following, they weren’t willing to hedge their bets that the viewership would grow fast enough to exceed the costs of production. Assuming the fan base would turn on them just as quickly as Dorian’s overly-emotional counterparts turned on their partners, Fox pulled the plug and killed the series before it could even discover what it really was.
Future Cop and Almost Human were both victims of America’s unclear expectations of sci-fi television. While both had a fan base who accepted the show for what it was, each also had many would-be fans who just couldn’t decide what to make of it: some thought it should be a cop show and ditch the android premise; some thought it should be more sci-fi and less police work; some thought it should be more action and less philosophy; and some thought it should be more technology and gadgets and less emotions and relationships. It’s trite to say, “You can’t please them all,” but sci-fi television seems to suffer particularly from this sentiment. Needing to please a varied fan base and viewership, all with competing expectations, it’s likely that even in another thirty-seven years, a show about an android-cop and his crusty partner won’t be able to survive the sci-fi television gauntlet. Special effects and technology and CGI might improve, and so might America’s desire for great stories and mythology and philosophy, but we’ll always be plagued with the reality that few can agree on what sci-fi should be. We all, it seems, have a notion of what it could be, and then we feel let down when we’re given something else. Television executives sense this, and their biggest failure ultimately isn’t the creation of a bad show—a show that disappoints its viewers—but giving up on a show before viewers can accept it for what it is. With sci-fi, it takes viewers a little bit longer to do this, which requires a little more time and patience than with other television genres.
My advice to future network executives in 2052 deciding if they should pull the plug on their new android-cop show: give it a couple seasons. Be patient as viewers figure out that it’s both a cop show and a robot show—and probably a pretty good one. They might be wary at first, wanting more of this or that, but they’ll get there eventually. They're only human.