Shakespeare in 2011

I am presenting this week, on Shakespeare, and so I put quite a bit of thought into the material - especially the articles on teaching Shakespeare. 

I have read Romeo and Juliet before, of course, though a refresher is always necessary.  I had not read anything quite like the Manga version, though I am familiar with and embrace adaptations of all sorts. And of course there is the overarching fact that I myself chose to present for this unit - and to do the group teach on Shakespeare as well.  Nonetheless, I was at a loss.  Those articles were what consumed me, more than the original text itself, and I think this may be a good thing.  I think it may be born of the fact that I have begun to think like a teacher, and I found myself adopting the student attitude that I would surely encounter, from at least some of my students, which is "ugh, why?" or something similar.

And why is a good question, actually.  Why do we value Shakespeare in the unparalleled way that we do? How many people - honestly - do you know that read Shakespeare for pleasure?  Can you honestly proclaim that you would rather sit down with a Shakespeare play for pleasure reading than you would with - well, whatever you enjoy reading for pleasure? (For me, it might be Jhumpra Lahiri - something contemporary - and it might be Leo Tolstoy - something entirely not contemporary - but it would surely not be Shakespeare). And yet, we place this enormous emphasis on Shakespeare and feel proud of any familiarity with his work.  We quote his work like mad, even if we are not well read (case in point: in a film I watched recently entitled Conviction, Juliette Lewis plays a teeth-rotted drug addict who aptly notes that "something is rotten in Denmark" in one scene; her character's familiarity with Shakespeare had surely been curtailed shortly after she reached the legal age for dropping out of school). Culturally - and outwardly - we all proclaim to love Shakespeare, and we all want a little piece of the pie.  But personally - and inwardly (and thus very honestly) - I know nary a soul who truly takes great pleasure in reading Shakespeare.


{I will provide one caveat to that: those of us who were English majors in college may actually harbor a great love for what remains of our in-depth studies of Shakespeare.  But that caveat is hardly needed, as it will make itself prominent without my assistance in but a moment.}

There are a couple of reasons for this phenomenon, I think.  The first is rather simple: Shakespeare is meant to be performed.  Even the most imaginative readers do better in their appreciation of the humor and the general animation of the characters when they are acted out as they were intended to be. The particular humor of Shakespeare is better in choral laughter than it is a singular - and solo - guffaw. 

The far more important reason (which ties in closely to its theatrical nature), however, is this: Shakespeare is thematic.  Those aforementioned English majors, and all honest-to-goodness lovers of Shakespeare - and even those who may not even be educated in much of Shakespeare's work but who nonetheless quote him aptly, as Juliette Lewis's character did in the film Conviction - love what is buried in the stories of the plays; the lessons, the maxims, the tenants, the themes.

"Something is rotten in Denmark" means something enormous, something profound, something culturally relevant, and something we all understand, even outside of the context of the play (Hamlet) from which it is adopted.  "To be or not to be" is the same.  There is this unique combination that comprises Shakespeare, where the reading is revealing, the performance is highly entertaining, but the legacy is in the theme - which you could not arrive at, of course, without the reading - and rereading.  In fact, the reading becomes more appealing the second time around.  Once you are familiar with the thematic weight and import of Shakespeare, you want more - you even cherish occasional re-reads, in which you may increase the depth of your connection with these words of such legacy.

In sum, then, those people who actually enjoy reading Shakespeare are those who have read Shakespeare before, perhaps even many times.  This is like many things of value, I suppose.  Many people report that their first time on a snowboard is not at all enjoyable; they spend the majority of their time on the ground. But I know that any person who has ever suffered through that first experience will defend a great love of the activity.  The same is true for running as exercise, or knitting, or playing the guitar - or any activity that is in any manner (intellectually, mentally, physically) challenging and rewarding.  Appreciation is born of a commitment that leads to a mastery that eventually fosters appreciation (with many painful and difficult steps in between).

But good luck telling kids that, right?  This may be amongst their least favorite lines, in fact. And we wouldn't be very good teachers if we told them, actually.  Rather, we have to show them.  We have to get them through that first reading of Shakespeare without losing them entirely.  If we get them through a first reading (even a cursory one) and can move into some hands-on playing, they might just survive.  If we can play a bit with the text, in all kinds of ways - performing it and rewriting it and drawing it and connecting it in every way possible to not only modern life generally, but our own lives specifically - we might even move past survival mode, and everyone knows that life is far more enjoyable when we have the luxury of moving past survival mode.

"Shakespeare deals with familiar and abiding concerns."  If we can make our students feel that truth, we should not have to answer the why? But that is a genuine struggle, especially for a teacher with more than twenty students at once . . .

Referenced:  http://kbagdanov.wordpress.com/2008/08/11/why-teach-shakespeare/

Real Food

The end of Feed was devastating to me.  I have definitely come to think more like a teacher over this course, because it occurred to me that this ending might not affect my students in the same way, and that it might be difficult to have them step outside of themselves and examine their own worlds - as it was difficult for Titus to accept the things that were wrong with his world, and as it is difficult for all of us in our way.

It might be particularly difficult because I come from a different generation; I know the pleasures of playing barefoot, hauling buckets of twigs and berries up to the tree house via a "rope" concocted out of twigs to make play "dinner."  I know the pleasures of imaginative play, with nothing but our brains and our bodies at our disposal to amuse us through the long summer.  My appreciation of this has to be tempered with an appreciation for the world of students today.  I have to remember my love for my iPhone, so that I can position myself squarely on their level and imagine how they might feel about the pleasures of the technology that narrates their lives.  Only then might I be able to get them to open up about what they may not like about it, and to get them to a point of self-reflection and cultural reflection, in which they are able and willing to be honest about the world they exist in, and all of its glory and all of its flaws.

This, of course, is an exercise is critical thinking.  It goes beyond an analysis of the novel, of the 21st century, and of the role of technology in our lives, socially, professionally and in every other way.  It is instead an exercise in the most coveted act of critical thinking of all - that of self-reflection and self-criticism.  If we can all agree that the amount of time that we spend on "screens" - our own feeds, though not yet implanted - is detrimental on any level, how can we forgive ourselves for pushing the entire population further down the road to a true "Feed" if we do not begin to limit our time on such "screens"?  To honestly self-restrict, as we would if we decided we had gained too much weight or had slacked or procrastinated too long on any project that meant something to us?  We all have responsibility for where we head culturally; nothing can actually be "done" to us without our consent.

Titus breaks my heart when he ignores Violet's list of things she wants to do at the end of the novel, and I think this may also affect the students, whether they have run barefoot on sand or not.  It brought to mind a song I heard recently which, for whatever reason, brought a bit of emotion to my day.  The chorus in the song talks about how it is always those simple and unaffected things in life that are most appreciated.  The chorus refers to some particularly simple things:  "a cold beer on a Friday night, a pair of jeans that fit just right."  And it resonates with the listener - or at least it sure did with this first-time listener.

Violet's list is composed of many such things:  dancing, sitting somewhere quiet (without the background noise of engines), seeing art, going to an old country store that "only sells beer and jerky," renting a hotel room, going :into the office" every day, getting older, calling the dog in and being called Nana. These are the things that have been lost in the culture that exists in Feed.  They are the simplest things; things we still look to today, things students might be able to relate to.   I think there is a lesson to be learned in literature, but as in the best literature, the largest lesson here is in life, and in making a commitment to maintaining the health and viability of our world - the one that we love and that we desire to live in.  I am designing a lesson plan to that end currently, centered around this novel.