Musings on Search Committees

Job applications and interviews are nothing new to ACRLog. Violet finished off her series on being unemployed and interviewing in February, there are older posts about how to interview, and more recent ones about AI in the job search. Lately, though, I’ve been thinking about things from the other side: how do search committees work and how do librarians get hired?

Hailley wrote about chairing search committees and how that impacted her other work. There’s also a lot of scholarly literature out there about search committees broadly and about librarian search committees specifically, including how search committees can work more effectively together and how search committees can push to integrate better interviewing practices and more diversity.

I write from a slightly different angle, wondering what the point of search committees really is. Having served on several at this point and been interviewed by a few more, I find myself with questions about the entire system.

Search committees, in theory, make the process of filling an open position at a library a group effort. To an extent that undoubtedly varies between institutions, they determine the criteria to judge candidates, conduct multiple rounds of interviews, evaluate and discuss candidates, and more. This is unquestionably a lot of work, especially if the search committee is thinking critically, properly screening candidates, and consciously working to bring in diverse and qualified candidates for interviews.

Doing this work effectively will also likely involve hard discussions and compromise. Search committees must work through how everyone on the committee perceived each candidate’s strengths and weaknesses and what these impressions mean when paired with the library’s needs. This is not easy work, nor is it clear cut. Different candidates will bring different things to a job, and it’s entirely possible that more than one would be able to do the job well.

What, then, is a search committee to do? Listen to each other, compromise, and try to work out what recommendations to make in a situation where there is no single right answer—at least if it all goes well.

But herein also lies one of the oddities of the search committee (in my experience anyway—every institution is different and I have no idea what else might be happening out there, which is partially why I’m writing this post). The search committee makes recommendations, but ultimately decision-making power likely rests elsewhere, possibly with upper library management or possibly with the university librarian or someone in a similar role. It can then very much be opaque as to how final decisions are made.

From what I’ve gathered on the subject, based on talking to people, my own experiences, and combing through the literature (though, to be honest, there isn’t a lot out there), it seems that those who make the decisions do everything from simply rubber stamping a committee’s decision, to making it clear what their preference is, to simply thanking the committee for their work. All of this is down to the institution and the individual in charge.

But it all leaves me a little troubled. Again, search committees, when they work well, are doing a lot of work. What’s the point of this work if, ultimately, the committee is only advisory? What, especially, is the point of this work when the committee has made efforts to remove biases and seek out diverse candidates if the committee are not actually the ones who can hire said diverse candidates? Are all the papers about more effective search committees missing the mark?

Cynically, I might say yes, but I understand that there’s nuance. For the diversity question, inclusion has to start at the bottom—in this case the search committee—and rise up through all levels of the organization. It is not a waste of time for search committees to make interviews more accessible and to interview diverse candidates. University librarians are also not constantly placing their thumbs on the scales and making their own decisions. Or, when they are, perhaps they have good reason to do so.

But still—is this a good system? This is a question that, in the land of academia in which we exist, can probably only be answered at the level of an individual institution: are search committees working well in this individual library? And, if not, what would librarians at this institution want to see improved?

Change, of course, is hard. In this case, any sort of change or even analysis of the situation should likely come from conversations about how things are working, including what’s going well. Any proposals for change would eventually need to go through the proper channels, be that a working group, a steering committee, or something else.

I’m not advocating for a complete overhaul of the system (unless we think collectively that’s a good idea), but there might be small changes that could have a positive impact. For example, the role of the search committee could be made clear to candidates during their interview—are they making the decision or is someone else? To the extent it’s possible, other factors impacting a decision could be shared with the search committee, bearing in mind, of course, that there are things that need to remain confidential. All it might take is setting clear expectations for the search committee, those making hiring decisions, and the candidates. To me, it seems that much is left unspoken, but as so many of the details vary from library to library, being more explicit does not seem unwarranted.


What about you? How do search committees work at your institution? How have they worked when you’ve interviewed? What’s worked well? Is there anything you’d change?

Landing the first librarian job

Editor’s Note: Please join us in welcoming Emily Zerrenner, Research and Instructional Services Librarian at Salisbury University on Maryland’s Eastern Shore, as a new First Year Academic Librarian blogger for the 2022-2023 year here at ACRLog.

The process of landing my first academic job was a whirlwind with a steady downpour. From about February on, nearly every day I was scouring job boards, writing cover letters, tweaking my resume and creating a CV. First interviews were always exciting before nerve-wracking; I could count on some of the questions asked (Why do you want this job?) and I would daydream about the location. In every place I applied, I checked PetFinder. I wanted a job, and I wanted a dog. Sometimes my questions would have less of a straight answer. Could I fit there? Could I make a life there?

I distinctly remember the first interview I got. I was so excited, because it was on the East Coast and the campus was beautiful, and, and, and. I came up with many reasons. I thought I nailed the interview. It was a bright spot in the seemingly endless gloom of a Midwestern February.

Then I wasn’t invited for a second interview.

I wasn’t surprised, necessarily; but I had hoped so hard that it would work out. I had long been warned about the academic job seeking process, and I saw the graduate assistants a year before me go through it in Spring 2021. At that point, I steeled myself for the marathon ahead.

I had a spreadsheet to input information about every job I applied to. Light green highlight meant I got a first interview, dark green meant a second round, and I just moved the rows of rejections to a separate sheet so I didn’t have to look at them. No highlight meant my application was received, but I didn’t hear anything. (This happened to more jobs than you might expect.) Google Drive learned my habits of opening that sheet pretty much anywhere I went: “you usually open around this time.” I had a general resume and CV, a general cover letter with everything I could possibly talk about, and folders where I dropped the customized materials for each position.

I was still in three graduate school classes during this time, working 15 or so hours a week as a graduate assistant, and teaching workshops and one-shot library instruction in the meantime. Even though I began graduate school in Fall 2020, this felt like the hardest pandemic semester yet; I was so close to the end of my degree and so burnt out from juggling not only my responsibilities as a full-time student, but also managing the risk of COVID-19 at every turn.

April was the worst month. I had a second-round interview every week; all of them were over Zoom (which, eight hours over Zoom is perhaps its own form of torture) but I was flown out to visit one campus. The day after I got back from that campus visit, I had the second-round interview for the place I work now. I was so incredibly exhausted that I was convinced I wouldn’t get that one, but I kept pushing through. It was like having a final project every week, except these final projects determined the course of my life. In total, I applied to 17 jobs and completed 30 hours of interviews across institutions (not including the travel and preparation time).

I received and accepted a job offer at Salisbury University a week before I graduated, which I recognize is so lucky on my part. Moving to an entirely new state alone, away from everything I knew was its own challenge – one that I am still adjusting to. In this field, it’s almost expected that you will move away from friends and family; you have to follow the work. The long job application process is well known and documented, and yet we’re still using that same system. Additionally, I have a lot of thoughts about reimbursement culture in academia; grateful as I am for moving cost reimbursement, that initial financial burden almost made it impossible to actually make the move for this job.

But I’m happy to report that my Petfinder browsing paid off, and I’m slowly making a life here – both as a new academic librarian, and as Emily.

A dog's face with black and white markings