I have met Professor David Hall. He is going to be one of my professors this year. I had seen him before, during a lecture earlier in the year about the different studies of the law, and how it goes back from the very foundations of formalist legal theory to the more modern versions of… shall we say relativistic legal theory.

Hall is a very commanding presence. He speaks softly – his very first word to the class was a simple “Hello,” barely above a whisper. Given the din in the room of students gathering right before lunch, it was entirely inaudible. But that word – that simple word – was quite enough to get the attention of the entire class. People quieted, shifted, and sat down. “Hello,” he said, barely above a whisper.

He then started a speech which was, dare I say, inspiring. He spoke of how the law was – according to his personal theory – a philosophy that was not only shaped by the flux of the time, but it gave something back. That the law indeed shaped the way our society was formulated. He spoke of the law not as a man looking at his tools, but instead as a man who held something in his hands, something altogether sacred. I saw upon Hall’s eyes not the understanding of a weary lawyer who had seen the workings of the system for a decade, but the very glint of belief, as if he stared into the very face of God.

It was, as I said, inspiring.

But then, you consider the subject matter… contracts. A believer teaching contract law. Something that most of us consider… boring. Formulaic. Prosaic, even. It seems paradoxical. Contradictory.

But there might be truth to it. There might be something more. Something… something worth believing in. He’s at least got my attention – I believe in him, if not the multiplicity of the subject matter.

Many people have asked me how finals are going. So, in the interest of those who have come, and for those who have yet to come, I’ll dedicate today’s post to explaining exactly how everything’s worked out so far.

Basically, law school exams are not like other exams. For one, you’re not being tested on facts, precisely. You’re actually being tested on everything you’ve learned… throughout your entire semester. From the most meager topic you covered in Week 1 to the most ignoble thing you rushed through in Week 14. As I said, these aren’t factual determinations (but knowing facts helps… a lot) but instead whether or not you’ve understood the analytical process they’ve been beating into you.

For two, your entire grade depends, basically, on the one test. Professors might give you a bonus if you were particularly good in class (if you were excellent in class participation, for example, but only did fairly good on the test, you might get pushed up under the theory that everyone is entitled to an off day.)*

In order to study for the test, you basically have to crunch down the information you do have into a manageable “bite size” piece. For example, the book for each class weighs in at around 1100 pages. These – or at least, the topics we covered within them – are condensed into about 40 pages of notes (single spaced, typewritten, with a lot of bulletined lists) in my case. Some classes more (Torts, who always seemed on point and had something important to say,) some less (Property, who never appeared to be on point and never seemed to contribute anything particularly useful that hte book did not already state more clearly,) but around that.

Using the syllabus, book and notes that I have, I condense all of that information into a 20 page “outline” of the course. This is the main study text. It gives me salient points (or at least what I consider in hindsight to be salient points), detailed case illustrations, and detailed descriptions of the law. However – and I should point out here all tests that I’ve taken or will take are Open Book/Note – a 20 page outline isn’t very good for quick review. In the middle of a test I wanna be able to flip and find what I want, get a good idea and work off memory from there.

So I condence that 20 page outline into a 5 page “summary” outline. This has case names, maybe a tag line (Ghen v. Rich, for example, becomes “The Whaler Case”) that helps me remember the facts of the case, and the information relevant to the course from the case (Often, but not always, the holding) expressed in general terms I can use to quickly relate back to the case (ie, if in the middle of an exam I need to use a holding from a case I don’t want to have to decipher my summary of it, I want it to say “Court finds P must show X in this situation” so I can quickly drop it into the test.)

This summary outline I print out and use to review, and I take it with me, along with the syllabus and book (not my notes, because I want to avoid clutter and not my outline because I want to avoid reliance) to the test.

Tests are 4 hours long, and usually consist of 1 – 3 questions. The questions are long “Fact patterns” or stories that have relevant facts about a particular problem as well as a question along the lines of “Name all of the causes of action A might have against X, Y, and Z as well as possible difficulties and defenses.”

You then get to play lawyer and process all of the information, looking for the most minute issues in the question (and some can be quite diminutive.) You think of all possible problems, defenses, analyze the heck out of a given claim and move on to the next one. Rinse, wash and repeat until 4 hours are through.

Overall, the experience is wholly unique. You don’t leave feeling drained, as you might during a regular test, wher eyou are constrained by time. Four hours is quite a bit of time, usually alloting about 15 – 20 minutes to think on one particular question and the rest to write. As I tend to think while I write, this really affords me about 15 minutes of pure thought and 75 minutes of analysis. I don’t tend to stop writing until I’ve either run out of time or run out of thought. Usually I run out of thought, unless the question is particularly difficult.

All in all, I tend to feel pretty satisfied once I’ve completed a test. Except Property, where I finished with 45 minutes left to spare and suddenly dreaded wondering if I had missed a series of minute points. Looking around, I saw some folk who had likewise stopped typing and were staring at their outlines, notes and books with a grim determination, so I decided to do the same nad tried to squeeze a few more rationales out of them. I didn’t really find anything useful, but I supported my stated claims, eating an additional 30 minutes in that, and then I headed to the printers.

So, yeah. That’s a law school exam for you.

*This, at least, is Northeastern’s way of doing things. Other law schools are increasingly more competitive and adamant about strictures.

I may be getting better at this legal writing bit. Last week, I wrote 12 pages of material in six and a half hours (admittedly, 8 of those pages were condenscing 200 pages of material into their important bits.)

This week I wrote 8 pages of material in 3 and a half hours. Actual, legal analysis material too. It helps that I’ve put in all that research (see prior posts where I’ve complained of doing 20+ hours of research) beforehand, I suppose.

I love you, but why do you love the law?
‘Tis plain for all to see that she’s a whore
Whom the righteous have no need to woo
And villians screw, then studiosly ignore.
-V, V for Vendetta

So, yeah. You remember how I said I’ve spent about 20 hours the past few weeks researching case law and the like? Well, the gorrham court of Missouri decided a new case that essentially renders much of that 20 hours of research moot. One silly little decision.

Grumble, grumble.