"Education is about learning to live in a world community, about communicating and questioning and listening." -Rachel Cook, "Beyond Tolerance"
Everyone has lines - these sentences we repeat, maybe varying them slightly each time - that help us to make sense of our lives, of who we are and what we do and why we do it. One of my own is in reference to why I was an English major. I explain that I believe that a liberal arts education - as an undergraduate - is invaluable, that we should not be forced to select a career-oriented major at such a young age, as we are only beginning to figure out who we are and what we enjoy and are good at. I go on to emphasize the studies of history, religion and literature as the most valuable content areas. And ultimately, I explain that I chose to study literature because I felt that I would delve into more of the content of religion and history through the study of literature than I would delve into the content of literature and religion if I were to study history, or literature and history if I were to study religion. Of course the study of religion requires an historic context; in fact, it IS historic context. And of course a study of history will involve religion; the majority of conflicts between men were over religion. But would the study of religion or history introduce literature? Other than textbooks, and in the absence of a very innovative instructor, I would assert not. But literature would inevitably introduce me to history - to histories, actually; to histories of nations, of families, of individuals, and of religions.
This is how my line goes, and it is a portion of the explanation of what led me to where I am now, as I study and prepare to be a teacher of literature.
Rachel Cook clearly understands this. When she says, "education is about learning to live in a world community, about communicating and questioning and listening," it is clear that she recognizes that education is not about memorizing facts and figures; it is not about being able to prove one's ability to memorize facts and figures by reciting them accurately, without the use of props or aids to assist memory, on a test or quiz; it is not about reading for retention or to fill a well with artifacts. Rather, she recognizes that it is about "learning to live in a world community," or, as I translate, learning to be a human. This is done by studying the history of how other humans have lived, and examine where their mistakes and their ingenuity led them, and to reflect on who we are - as individuals and as communities - in our current world, and to be always aware of how we could be better. Isn't it? Isn't this clearly the goal of education?
When her students think she is a history teacher, I have to laugh. First I laugh because I think, of course she is not a history teacher - she is not testing them on facts and figures; she is not having them regurgitate dates and events. And then I laugh because of the irony of what she is teaching them, and how it applies to my snap judgment here. She is teaching them to be open and accepting, to not be fearful of - and thus judgmental of - otherness. And I am praising that type of teaching, even as I am guilty of judging the otherness of another class format - one of which I really know very little. So maybe my own mind is closed a bit, and I have said since the start of this class that I want to be an open-minded teacher - so that closure is unacceptable. But it is there, so just as Cook's students, and my students, and all students, must learn to accept things initially unfamiliar and thus uncomfortable, so must I.
BUT, at the same time, I stand behind my "line," my standardized explanation of why literature. I do so because of the limitless nature of a good novel for teaching what Cook here desires to teach: how to be a good human in a changing world, a solid citizen in a world community, a curious and interested individual committed to contributing to the betterment of our society, both locally and globally.
And Cook is correct - tolerance is not a helpful word. Dissecting language, the power of language, is a part of what our students can take away from us, and her slashed out presentation of the word"tolerance" (along with the other of the word "silence") is an excellent way to model that for her students. She explains so well what tolerance is, so I needn't reiterate. Tolerance is a level above disdain, it is a forced acceptance. Why would we teach this? If we teach understanding, by encouraging students to delve into the cultures of the world literature they encounter, by assigning the roles on the role sheets in literature circles, by tasting food, hearing music, watching film and in all ways immersing ourselves into an unfamiliar culture - all the while maintaining awareness of the single quality that transcends otherness and binds us all: humanity - and the resulting attitude of our students is one of tolerance, we have failed. Miserably.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Evolution
I'd have thought I would be writing about The Book Thief. I think, perhaps, after I finished, I found there was almost too much reaction, too much emotion; somehow, I was stunned and unable to shape my thoughts into something write-able and read-able.
Then I read from our Literature Circles book, and there was something that stuck out in my mind, and that connected my readings and my thoughts on issues within The Book Thief, about The Book Thief, and about teaching novels in general, and it became the focus of my blog for this week.
On page 149 of Literature Circles, in the section where two fourth grade teachers describe their initial experiences with Literature Circles, there is an explanation of the space in which they conduct the circles, because, as they say, "who likes to read a book in stiff, upright chairs?" This is true, and it is not something oft discussed in educational circles. The teachers go on to describe the rooms where they read, which "have the feeling of a living room, with couches, recliners, rocking chairs, pillows, rugs, and several floor and table lamps. Just turning off the fluorescent overhead lights and using our special 'mood lighting' really changes the climate in the room."
One might think that this is too student-lounge-like, and this not appropriate for real learning. Those folks might be satisfied with the simple response that the literature circles are in fact quite different than other classroom activity, and that this more relaxed environment enhances the more relaxed mood and atmosphere of the literature circle.
But something more complicated took shape in my mind. Our classrooms have looked the same for a very long time. While our homes and offices and lives have changed dramatically, our classrooms have stayed the same for hundreds of years. It may be a conducive set-up for learning in many, even most instances, or it may not be. At any rate, while we question everything in education - every practice, every teacher, every text, every philosophy - we have not much questioned the physical layout of the traditional classroom.
In the early 1800's - even the early 1900's, the times of Liesel Meminger - our comforts were limited. We sat in wooden chairs for most things; there was no upholstery if you were not wealthy. Rooms were furnished with necessities, and little beyond. As technology progressed, only a select few were able to partake of its pleasures. Not everyone had telephones and certainly not everyone had televisions.
Today, this is not the case. Doesn't every person you know have a cell phone? A television? An upholstered chair? Somewhere in our history - and this parallels a shift in the economy and the of our nation - it became common for not only the wealthy to partake of these comforts, but the whole population. From the lowest income strata of the middle class to the highest strata of the upper class, we all have these creature comforts and they are in no way considered luxuries today.
But in Liesel Meminger's time, she was lucky to sleep in her own room (except when she shared with Max) and to have a full meal (albeit watery pea soup) once a day. She probably had not seen much in the way of upholstered furniture until she visited Frau Hermann's mansion.
In her day, with such limitations placed on such a large population of the people (and the same was true in the U.S., in a way that it is no longer, anyway), there was a very different mindset. People did not feel entitled. I would argue that we do today. Children were disciplined rigidly (as we saw clearly in The Book Thief). I would argue that they are not today. Sitting still in a wooden chair all day was the norm, and if you were to misbehave - well, we saw what happened to Liesel, and to Rudy, and to all miscreants in the schools, both German and American, of those days.
Sitting is a wooden chair all day today is NOT the norm. Outside of school, students are exposed to more comforts than the students of 1900 could fathom. Whether you agree with the comforts we afford our children or not, or with the disciplinary structures we impose (or don't impose) or not, this is our world. We have all inherited it, and for better or worse, we all exist in it. We all partake of modern comforts, and we have all changed - inherently and forever - because of this.
So perhaps we ought to talk about the physical structure of our classrooms? Perhaps students today need a different environment in which to learn. Of course, it has changed somewhat already; there are computers in many, if not most classrooms; most students are texting, with or without permission, throughout the school day. And I am not suggesting that we replace school desks and chairs with recliners and couches. But some changes might make sense if our goal is to teach to the students of today; to effectively encourage a genuine desire to learn in the highly stimulated, and quite comfortable, minds and bodies of the students of 2011.
One of the reasons I chose to write in this manner for this particular entry is to model what I imagine students might do, and what I believe we should encourage them to do - make connections on whatever level appeals to them, and focus on what was of actual interest to them in the texts they encounter. If The Book Thief affected any student in the manner it did me, and left me with tears falling down my cheeks and needing a moment to collect myself, I can imagine that that student may not know exactly where to focus their reaction in conversation with other students. If that student chose to make a connection between the way that Liesel lived in the 1930's and 40's, and the way that she herself lives now, that would be as meaningful and valid as if she wrote a report about the terrors of the Holocaust, would it not? There was so much to focus on in The Book Thief, and I think that as a teacher, the best method may be to allow students to pursue their own diverging interested in the text somewhat freely, until they take shape, and then to encourage them to make some strong connections between those ideas some some intellectual pursuit. That could include writing about their own family's experiences with the Holocaust; it could include making connections between the comforts of that world and those of today's world, or the similarities and differences of children then and children today (what children did for fun then - soccer, bike-riding, and yeah, theft - and what they do for fun now); it could include writing a fictional account of how they imagines Max's or Liesel's life unfolded after the story ended.
I think we ought to give our students certain "comforts." One of the most important things I took from both The Book Thief and the Literature Circles reading was the notion that fun is important. Despite the most painful of times that Liesel lived through, and the horrible things that happened to Rudy and herself, they sought fun. Kids will do that; that will never change. We as teachers have to stimulate that fun-factor when we are teaching literature if we ever want the students to enjoy reading, and not only do it of necessity. While we might maintain our traditional "hard" classroom environment forever, perhaps the unexpected inclusion of floor pillows or background music will soften students to the tasks before them, make them more comfortably interested, and make the experience FUN.
Then I read from our Literature Circles book, and there was something that stuck out in my mind, and that connected my readings and my thoughts on issues within The Book Thief, about The Book Thief, and about teaching novels in general, and it became the focus of my blog for this week.
On page 149 of Literature Circles, in the section where two fourth grade teachers describe their initial experiences with Literature Circles, there is an explanation of the space in which they conduct the circles, because, as they say, "who likes to read a book in stiff, upright chairs?" This is true, and it is not something oft discussed in educational circles. The teachers go on to describe the rooms where they read, which "have the feeling of a living room, with couches, recliners, rocking chairs, pillows, rugs, and several floor and table lamps. Just turning off the fluorescent overhead lights and using our special 'mood lighting' really changes the climate in the room."
One might think that this is too student-lounge-like, and this not appropriate for real learning. Those folks might be satisfied with the simple response that the literature circles are in fact quite different than other classroom activity, and that this more relaxed environment enhances the more relaxed mood and atmosphere of the literature circle.
But something more complicated took shape in my mind. Our classrooms have looked the same for a very long time. While our homes and offices and lives have changed dramatically, our classrooms have stayed the same for hundreds of years. It may be a conducive set-up for learning in many, even most instances, or it may not be. At any rate, while we question everything in education - every practice, every teacher, every text, every philosophy - we have not much questioned the physical layout of the traditional classroom.
In the early 1800's - even the early 1900's, the times of Liesel Meminger - our comforts were limited. We sat in wooden chairs for most things; there was no upholstery if you were not wealthy. Rooms were furnished with necessities, and little beyond. As technology progressed, only a select few were able to partake of its pleasures. Not everyone had telephones and certainly not everyone had televisions.
Today, this is not the case. Doesn't every person you know have a cell phone? A television? An upholstered chair? Somewhere in our history - and this parallels a shift in the economy and the of our nation - it became common for not only the wealthy to partake of these comforts, but the whole population. From the lowest income strata of the middle class to the highest strata of the upper class, we all have these creature comforts and they are in no way considered luxuries today.
But in Liesel Meminger's time, she was lucky to sleep in her own room (except when she shared with Max) and to have a full meal (albeit watery pea soup) once a day. She probably had not seen much in the way of upholstered furniture until she visited Frau Hermann's mansion.
In her day, with such limitations placed on such a large population of the people (and the same was true in the U.S., in a way that it is no longer, anyway), there was a very different mindset. People did not feel entitled. I would argue that we do today. Children were disciplined rigidly (as we saw clearly in The Book Thief). I would argue that they are not today. Sitting still in a wooden chair all day was the norm, and if you were to misbehave - well, we saw what happened to Liesel, and to Rudy, and to all miscreants in the schools, both German and American, of those days.
Sitting is a wooden chair all day today is NOT the norm. Outside of school, students are exposed to more comforts than the students of 1900 could fathom. Whether you agree with the comforts we afford our children or not, or with the disciplinary structures we impose (or don't impose) or not, this is our world. We have all inherited it, and for better or worse, we all exist in it. We all partake of modern comforts, and we have all changed - inherently and forever - because of this.
So perhaps we ought to talk about the physical structure of our classrooms? Perhaps students today need a different environment in which to learn. Of course, it has changed somewhat already; there are computers in many, if not most classrooms; most students are texting, with or without permission, throughout the school day. And I am not suggesting that we replace school desks and chairs with recliners and couches. But some changes might make sense if our goal is to teach to the students of today; to effectively encourage a genuine desire to learn in the highly stimulated, and quite comfortable, minds and bodies of the students of 2011.
One of the reasons I chose to write in this manner for this particular entry is to model what I imagine students might do, and what I believe we should encourage them to do - make connections on whatever level appeals to them, and focus on what was of actual interest to them in the texts they encounter. If The Book Thief affected any student in the manner it did me, and left me with tears falling down my cheeks and needing a moment to collect myself, I can imagine that that student may not know exactly where to focus their reaction in conversation with other students. If that student chose to make a connection between the way that Liesel lived in the 1930's and 40's, and the way that she herself lives now, that would be as meaningful and valid as if she wrote a report about the terrors of the Holocaust, would it not? There was so much to focus on in The Book Thief, and I think that as a teacher, the best method may be to allow students to pursue their own diverging interested in the text somewhat freely, until they take shape, and then to encourage them to make some strong connections between those ideas some some intellectual pursuit. That could include writing about their own family's experiences with the Holocaust; it could include making connections between the comforts of that world and those of today's world, or the similarities and differences of children then and children today (what children did for fun then - soccer, bike-riding, and yeah, theft - and what they do for fun now); it could include writing a fictional account of how they imagines Max's or Liesel's life unfolded after the story ended.
I think we ought to give our students certain "comforts." One of the most important things I took from both The Book Thief and the Literature Circles reading was the notion that fun is important. Despite the most painful of times that Liesel lived through, and the horrible things that happened to Rudy and herself, they sought fun. Kids will do that; that will never change. We as teachers have to stimulate that fun-factor when we are teaching literature if we ever want the students to enjoy reading, and not only do it of necessity. While we might maintain our traditional "hard" classroom environment forever, perhaps the unexpected inclusion of floor pillows or background music will soften students to the tasks before them, make them more comfortably interested, and make the experience FUN.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Who Could've Seen? (The Power of Images in YA Literature)
I was initially astounded by the number of novels I purchased for this class, and set in immediately to tackle as many pages as possible as early on as possible. American Born Chinese frightened me, to be honest. The word "graphic" conjures negative images in my mind. It was not an easy book to locate in the Barnes & Noble where I chose to attempt to procure it and several other titles on our list, and I was not digging the section in which I found myself - with the assistance of a store clerk - scanning the shelves for a yellow cover. Fortunately, we were able to find it and I took it home and opened it immediately.
I read American Born Chinese weeks ago now, and I read it voraciously. Who knew? It was sheer delight, cover to cover. I am not prone to comic books, nor even comic strips in the newspaper. I perhaps think of children's stories - children's, and not adolescents - when I think of pictorial illustrations, and apparently, for some (narrow-minded) reason, rejected that. (This is adamantly past tense: I rejected that. No longer).
I aspire to be a teacher, and I aspire to be an open-minded teacher. It was in fact the word(s) I chose to write on my paper in class last week, when asked what one word I might use to describe the type of teacher I want to be. OPEN MINDED. But I rejected the very thought of a "graphic" novel.
Reading American Born Chinese changed that for me, and reading Jeffrey Wilhelm put that change into perspective - and the combination made me feel inclined to forgive my earlier narrow-mindedness. Wilhelm so romantically describes the role of the teacher as a constant learner. The best teachers must consistently do research, of so many varieties: of their students' interests, of new works that will appeal to the various students they teach each year, of new methods for meeting students' divergent interests, of new educational theories and approaches, and always of themselves - of their own gains and persistent limitations in creativity and communication.
Wilhelm discusses the use of the visual in his "Reading is Seeing" chapter and adds to the use of graphic novels such as American Born Chinese the use of student-created visuals to guide, enhance and deepen student engagement with literature. The results he describes, mostly in the three initially unengaged students he chronicles in that chapter, both warm the heart and encourage the desire for success in any would-be or current teacher.
To achieve that success, the open-minded teacher - the one I envision myself as; the one I will strive to be - must question herself relentlessly. She must question her beliefs as to how she learned to love to read, and what books she loved. She decided, after all, to become a teacher of literature, so it is likely that her love was sparked and supported early on by an innate ability. We all have innate abilities, but what about those students for whom that ability is athletics or mathematics or music, or anything but reading? Those students may learn in very different ways, may appreciate very different books, and may struggle with very different aspects of the process of reading. As Nancy Frey and Douglas Fisher discovered in their study on the use of graphic novels in an urban high school, the power of books that they had originally shunned as valueless ("comic books at best and a waste of time at worst") was exponential. Their students grew immensely in their literary skills as a result of reading these novels that their teachers were open-minded enough to seek out, realizing that students enjoy a different popular culture than they themselves do, and that to enter that culture - to the extent that they identify traits of it that may appeal to their students' sensibilities - was the sort of open-mindedness that they needed to adopt in order to meet truly teach their students, and thus to succeed at their jobs.
I read American Born Chinese weeks ago now, and I read it voraciously. Who knew? It was sheer delight, cover to cover. I am not prone to comic books, nor even comic strips in the newspaper. I perhaps think of children's stories - children's, and not adolescents - when I think of pictorial illustrations, and apparently, for some (narrow-minded) reason, rejected that. (This is adamantly past tense: I rejected that. No longer).
I aspire to be a teacher, and I aspire to be an open-minded teacher. It was in fact the word(s) I chose to write on my paper in class last week, when asked what one word I might use to describe the type of teacher I want to be. OPEN MINDED. But I rejected the very thought of a "graphic" novel.
Reading American Born Chinese changed that for me, and reading Jeffrey Wilhelm put that change into perspective - and the combination made me feel inclined to forgive my earlier narrow-mindedness. Wilhelm so romantically describes the role of the teacher as a constant learner. The best teachers must consistently do research, of so many varieties: of their students' interests, of new works that will appeal to the various students they teach each year, of new methods for meeting students' divergent interests, of new educational theories and approaches, and always of themselves - of their own gains and persistent limitations in creativity and communication.
Wilhelm discusses the use of the visual in his "Reading is Seeing" chapter and adds to the use of graphic novels such as American Born Chinese the use of student-created visuals to guide, enhance and deepen student engagement with literature. The results he describes, mostly in the three initially unengaged students he chronicles in that chapter, both warm the heart and encourage the desire for success in any would-be or current teacher.
To achieve that success, the open-minded teacher - the one I envision myself as; the one I will strive to be - must question herself relentlessly. She must question her beliefs as to how she learned to love to read, and what books she loved. She decided, after all, to become a teacher of literature, so it is likely that her love was sparked and supported early on by an innate ability. We all have innate abilities, but what about those students for whom that ability is athletics or mathematics or music, or anything but reading? Those students may learn in very different ways, may appreciate very different books, and may struggle with very different aspects of the process of reading. As Nancy Frey and Douglas Fisher discovered in their study on the use of graphic novels in an urban high school, the power of books that they had originally shunned as valueless ("comic books at best and a waste of time at worst") was exponential. Their students grew immensely in their literary skills as a result of reading these novels that their teachers were open-minded enough to seek out, realizing that students enjoy a different popular culture than they themselves do, and that to enter that culture - to the extent that they identify traits of it that may appeal to their students' sensibilities - was the sort of open-mindedness that they needed to adopt in order to meet truly teach their students, and thus to succeed at their jobs.
Why Classics?
Because my Blog #2 is late, I have the advantage of responding to some of the conversations we had in class concerning Chapters 1, 2 and 3 of Wilhelm's "You Gotta BE The Book." We discussed Shakespeare and Nathaniel Hawthorne a bit in class, and why they are "classics," and what in general makes a book a classic. I pondered that for some time, and have arrived at the same conclusion (satisfactory to me, though I doubt all would agree with me) that I began with.
One student responded to the question of what makes a classic with the definition, "a novel revolutionary in its time." This may be true, though I am not in agreement that it is the main factor in the definition of a "classic." Rather, I would argue, a classic is defined by its quality of timeliness, and that quality of timeliness is revealed in the enduring contemporaneity of its themes (and other elements, such as character).
What marks enduring works of literature, and admits them to our canon, is their ability to appeal to readers in any age; to sustain in value long beyond the specific time and place of their creation; to capture something about the human experience that transcends time and place.
Shakespeare has endured because the characters and themes in his work(s) are ones that decade after decade, century after century - despite a multitude of differences that have characterized our modern world versus Shakespeare's (including drastic language shifts) - have endured and are able, therefore, to both teach us about our collective history and our individual existence and, perhaps most importantly, the triumphant lessons of humanity and humanism.
"The Scarlet Letter" should still be taught because it still has a valuable message to deliver; a message still relevant and applicable in today's world. While the individual or group being scorned may (have) shift(ed), the experience remains quite the same, and the potential for evaluation of the self and its place in the world(s) around it remains invaluable. In fact, a recent film (Easy A) captured this "heart" of "The Scarlet Letter" (perhaps in a way more appealing to today's adolescents). And teaching the enduring relevance of the classic by using its modern interpretation is often a wise move for a teacher of adolescent literature; it very often captures student interest with much more vigor.
On the other hand, the "classics" - which constitute our canon - are also a mechanism of power and control, whereby those in power continue to control an entire cultural set of beliefs. That is a topic for another blog, to be sure, but it bears mention here that the classics should by no means be taught exclusively. They should remain options - some perhaps less optional than others - but they should always be re-examined for appeal and usefulness, and the teacher's mind should always be open to introducing new works, of varying genres, to the repertoire of his or her own canon - else she is not doing her job.
One student responded to the question of what makes a classic with the definition, "a novel revolutionary in its time." This may be true, though I am not in agreement that it is the main factor in the definition of a "classic." Rather, I would argue, a classic is defined by its quality of timeliness, and that quality of timeliness is revealed in the enduring contemporaneity of its themes (and other elements, such as character).
What marks enduring works of literature, and admits them to our canon, is their ability to appeal to readers in any age; to sustain in value long beyond the specific time and place of their creation; to capture something about the human experience that transcends time and place.
Shakespeare has endured because the characters and themes in his work(s) are ones that decade after decade, century after century - despite a multitude of differences that have characterized our modern world versus Shakespeare's (including drastic language shifts) - have endured and are able, therefore, to both teach us about our collective history and our individual existence and, perhaps most importantly, the triumphant lessons of humanity and humanism.
"The Scarlet Letter" should still be taught because it still has a valuable message to deliver; a message still relevant and applicable in today's world. While the individual or group being scorned may (have) shift(ed), the experience remains quite the same, and the potential for evaluation of the self and its place in the world(s) around it remains invaluable. In fact, a recent film (Easy A) captured this "heart" of "The Scarlet Letter" (perhaps in a way more appealing to today's adolescents). And teaching the enduring relevance of the classic by using its modern interpretation is often a wise move for a teacher of adolescent literature; it very often captures student interest with much more vigor.
On the other hand, the "classics" - which constitute our canon - are also a mechanism of power and control, whereby those in power continue to control an entire cultural set of beliefs. That is a topic for another blog, to be sure, but it bears mention here that the classics should by no means be taught exclusively. They should remain options - some perhaps less optional than others - but they should always be re-examined for appeal and usefulness, and the teacher's mind should always be open to introducing new works, of varying genres, to the repertoire of his or her own canon - else she is not doing her job.
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