Saying Why

Sharing why your research is important is a natural topic of conversation at the viva. Saying why can sometimes be tricky. There are so many factors that you might want to share and so many different ways you might have expressed yourself in the past.

In preparation for talking in your viva, perhaps take a little time to reflect and gather your thoughts. Perhaps make some notes or write a summary. The following questions could help you to explore the “why” of your research:

  • Why was it necessary or important to explore the topic?
  • What were some of the unknowns when you started?
  • What did you not understand? (what do you still not understand?)
  • What are the boundaries of your research?
  • Can your work be applied in other ways?
  • What are the benefits of your work in this area?

Sometimes asking “Why?” is too hard. It’s one word but a big question.

Using other questions to reflect can be a valuable way to break past that barrier. Reflecting on several questions can be a helpful way to respond to “Why?”

Good Question!

I listen to podcasts while I wash the dishes. It’s my little bit of “me time” in a busy day!

Recently, while scrubbing away at a pan I was struck by how often someone being interviewed began their response by saying, “That’s a good question…” They said it a lot, and every time they sounded very sincere and genuine – almost delighted to have been asked.

Many years ago in a short presentation skills seminar I was told that saying “that’s a good question” was a good way to stall and play for time to think. It could help to create a good impression and – as a presenter – engage with the person asking the question.

All those things can be true but stood in my kitchen with my hands covered in bubbles it hit me that it was also a really positive attitude to take into the viva.

 

Now, I don’t mean that every time your examiners ask something, you have to smile and say, “That’s a good question!”

But rather than worry in advance about what might come up, or ponder in the moment what your examiners could mean, just think that all of the questions you will be asked will be good questions.

Every single one.

Good because the topic is good.

Good because they get you to talk about something great.

Good because they challenge you.

Good because they highlight something that needs to be talked about.

Good because they help you get one step closer to the end of your viva and passing.

Your role in the viva is to engage with the discussion and respond to questions. Will some of them be tough? Probably – but start with the idea that they will all be good to give yourself a helpful way to engage throughout your viva.

A Key Expectation

It occurred to me recently that a key expectation for the viva, very rarely expressed, is that the candidate will not know what questions they will be asked until they get there.

There are helpful lists of potential questions on the internet. You might suspect or guess some topics. You have your thesis and know that everything you’ve done will be a possible area for discussion. And you can get some ideas of what to expect from your supervisors, your colleagues and the stories that people generally tell about the viva.

But you won’t know.

That’s not a cause for panic or concern, and it doesn’t mean that you can’t be prepared to respond to a question. Rehearse for the viva, place yourself in situations where you have to engage to build your comfort and competence for doing it again in the future.

You don’t need to be prepared to respond to particular questions; you can be ready to engage with whatever question is asked in the viva.

You won’t know what you will be asked at your viva until you get there, but you can still know that you will succeed.

The Red Button

There’s a knock at your door.

A courier leaves a package in your arms. It’s not heavy, but it has a strange heft to it. You don’t remember ordering anything. You’re not expecting something. But here it is, addressed to you.

Unwrapping the package reveals a small brown paper parcel and an envelope. The stationery and packaging are both of a good stock, clearly not from a supermarket shelf or high street stationer’s. The handwriting on the envelope is familiar, but you can’t place it.

For your viva, it reads.

You open the parcel first, cutting the string when the knot proves too tricky. Beneath several layers of paper you uncover a polished wooden box. It’s old, you can tell, but you’re not sure where in the world it might come from. You hold it in your cupped palms, the sides are smooth to the touch. There seems to be no lid or opening. It is a box though, not solid wood: the contents don’t shift much as you carefully move it in your hands, but you can tell that the weight is not uniform.

Resting in the curved top surface is a small recess and a red button.

Perplexed by the box you open the envelope. The note inside has a scrawl for a signature, but the contents are clear enough.

Friend. In case this helps with your preparations. What do you not want to be asked in your viva? Think carefully and press the red button, and you won’t be asked. But think carefully. Yours [illegible]

A hoax. A weird joke from a friend who knows your viva is weeks away. And yet…

What if?

No. It couldn’t be. This is a strange sort of gift. You wrap the parcel up and put it in a cupboard.

Two weeks later you take it out and stare at the box and the red button for an hour.

You make a decision.

 

If the box was real, and you could press the red button, what would you not want to be asked in your viva?

The box is not real! But if there’s a question you don’t want to be asked in your viva then you probably need to do something to rehearse for that situation.

Not wanting to be asked a question won’t remove the possibility. Practice and preparation will help just in case you should encounter that one question you really don’t want to be asked.

Knowing Enough

You can’t know what the first question in your viva be will be until it’s asked.

You can’t know how long your viva will be until your examiners say, “OK, we’re done!”

You can’t know how you will respond to a tricky question until you experience it.

You can’t know in advance just what you’ll need to correct after the viva.

There’s a lot you can’t know before you get to the viva and experience it. That’s just the way it is.

But you can know that you’ve done enough to get you there. You know you’ve done enough to succeed. You know who your examiners are in advance, and can know all about their research, if that helps. You can know what to expect from the viva by reading regulations and listening to stories of viva experiences.

When you stop and think, there’s a lot you can know before you get to your viva.

Understandable

It’s understandable that the nature of the viva could make a person worry. It’s understandable, given what any PhD candidate has to do to get to the viva, that the person being examined might be concerned or worry about how to do their best.

Or better than their best!

And it’s perfectly understandable why the thought of being asked this question or that question – or any question – might make someone feel nervous, concerned or stressed.

To simplify the situation, in the viva, questions are just questions. When you hear a “?” at the end of the sentence that’s your cue to talk. Your cue to talk about what you did, how you did it, what you know or what you think. It’s your cue to say something: to ask a question, to share a response, to say you need to think or to say you’re not sure.

Your examiners have to ask questions to find out what they need. You have to respond to those questions to try to meet those needs.

There are no good or bad questions, although it’s reasonable to expect challenging questions that you have to think about. It’s understandable for you to be nervous about being asked, but also reasonable to expect you to rise to the challenge of responding.

Pause, Don’t Stop

Pause in the viva to think about what you’ve heard.

Pause to gather yourself if you lose your train of thoughts.

Pause to check something in your thesis.

Pause to make a note.

Pause to take a sip of water.

Pause to break a question down because it’s really big and needs to be considered.

Pause, but don’t stop. Don’t stop because you are almost there. Don’t stop because whatever nerves you feel – whatever you feel – you have almost finished.

Pause whenever you need to in the viva. Ask for a break, a longer pause. Don’t stop.

Conclusions Aren’t The End

Thesis conclusions invite questions in the viva. Whatever the nature of concluding remarks, they can always lead to requests that go further or dig deeper.

  • “What next?” or “What now?”
  • “Are you sure?”
  • “What else could you…?”
  • “How else could one…?”
  • “How do you know…?”
  • “But what about…?”

If thesis conclusions were truly the end then vivas would probably be much shorter. There would simply be a lot less to discuss probably!

Instead, conclusions are a resting point. A pause. A clear mark that a destination has been reached, while also showing that there’s more to know or more to do.

First and Last Questions

The first question in the viva is likely to be simple: it’s something you will be able to respond to. A question that asks about an aspect of your work that is familiar – maybe a big picture, “How did you get started?” or “How would you summarise your research?” Simple to understand and asked by your examiners to help start the viva well.

Sometimes the first question is characterised as easy, in contrast to an expectation that questions get much harder. Is the last question of the viva supposed to be hard? I’m not sure.

The last question could be, “Have you got any questions for us?” Whatever it is, the last question comes after all of the others. Nervousness should hopefully have faded away. You might be tired from the effort, but you could also be more relaxed than you were at the start of the viva.

All questions in the viva could be challenging. All questions could be well within your capability as a researcher. First and last questions deserve the same attention and focus as any other.

Forget easy and hard. Remember who is being asked, what they’re being asked and why they’re being asked.

Tell Them

In my earliest academic days I was given the following advice for structuring a presentation: tell them what you’re going to tell them; tell them; tell them what you told them.

“Them” in this case was the audience. Over the years I’ve realised the heart of the good advice here: set expectations, share what you’re sharing and summarise at the end.

It is good advice generally.

In the viva you’re at the stage of telling your examiners what you told them in the thesis, more or less. You’ve set it out for them, they read it; now you have to summarise, clarify, expand and make sure they get what they need.

Of course, there are more ways you could tell them at the viva too.

You could tell them a story. You could tell them more. You could tell them what you left out. You could tell them what you didn’t get to do. You could tell them what you hope to do in the future. You could tell them what you plan to do next. You could tell them your opinion.

You could tell them lots of things, but remember that the viva is not a presentation, and it’s not the questions that come at the end. It’s a discussion. Prepare to tell your examiners lots of things, but prepare to be part of a conversation rather than someone simply answering questions.