Blogger George Evans recently wrote a blog post called “In Defense of Slow” where he states that “many things in education are simply too fast…in this rush to cover content, to get through standards…we lose the heart and soul of what we should be there for.”
I connected with this instantly, as I’ve often thought and written
about how cramming too much feedback into a single paper or too much content
into a single lesson often leads to less learning. Sure, the amount covered by
the teacher is more, but the amount ultimately retained by the students tends
to be far less.
Here’s a mystery: why, when I talk
to teachers about what literature they teach, does crime fiction rarely if ever
make the list? I can make some guesses: lurid subject matter, graphic
descriptions of gore or sex, a kind of literary snobbery, anticipated parent and/or
administration disapproval. However, having spent the last several years reading
crime fiction—primarily from countries outside the U.S.—I could easily put
together a collection of titles whose content is in no way lurid, does not
truck in gore, and handles sex scenes, if any, in mature and discreet ways. That
leaves the presumption that crime fiction is not serious literature and should
therefore not be taught in school. Let me use the rest of my allotted word
count to help us get beyond the loner, gumshoe, Sam Spade stereotypes and
create an argument for those outside your classroom who would raise eyebrows or
hackles or worse.
As a high school English teacher,
summer means one thing to me: reading for pleasure. Each May, I get giddy with
the thought of the stack of books I plan to delve into during my two months
off. Inevitably, I almost never reach my goal of getting through the whole
stack. Sometimes it’s because my eyes are bigger than my timetable, sometimes
it’s because I stumble upon different books throughout the summer I want to
read more, and sometimes it’s because a book that seemed so promising turned
out to be a slog that I can’t bear during summer days (War and Peace, I’m looking at you!). No matter the end result, at
the beginning of every summer I try to build a stack that’s a mix of
professional and pleasure reads that will inspire me for the coming school
year, ones that span several categories aimed at broadening my horizons and
challenging me as a reader and educator. Here are the categories and selections
I’ve chosen for summer 2019.
We have all heard that collaborating is an opportunity to stretch our thinking by hearing what others have to say, or have read, or are reading on a topic that we are exploring. That is what is occurring as I co-write a book with Ivannia Soto; I am learning about resources from my writing partner, in addition to reading what she has to say, and the combination makes collaborating a powerful experience. One book Ivannia recommended is Ijeoma Oluo’s So You Want to Talk About Race. A self-proclaimed “internet yeller,” Oluo brings a fresh, current, and serious look at racism in ways that are on the one hand personal and on the other generalizable. She helps us to see, in today’s climate, how it comes in many subtle, but no less-damaging forms than overt racism.
The last pieces of writing I see from students
each year are reflective in nature. Some celebrate areas of literacy growth and
proudly exclaim, “I am a writer!” Others share classroom routines, like
creative writing and poetry, that have stuck with them throughout the year.
There are a few students who are gracious enough to thank me for enlivening a
love for reading and writing that they had lost over the years. These
reflections would brighten any teacher’s soul.
My summer reading has begun with This Is How It Always Is, by Laurie Frankel. I chose this book for two reasons; I am a parent trying to raise gender-aware and sensitive kids and also an academic, a sociologist who studies gender. These are two roles that often overlap but at times can be difficult to negotiate. I want my children to express gender in whatever ways they see fit and yet I am aware of the constraints of social structures on gendered bodies. This novel is a wonderful depiction of how and in what ways a family deals with gender. Frankel tells the story of a family, made up of two-heterosexual, cis-gender parents that have four kids, all boys. However, the last child, Claude, struggles with his gender (boy) and sex (male) identity. The story follows how and in what ways the family influences, reacts to, and shapes the transition of the young child.
When I was a kid,
I always kept a novel on my lap during class, hidden (I thought then) from teachers’
eyes. Between math problems and history lessons, I’d sneak-read a few
paragraphs. Summer was, for me, a chance to binge on books without interruption
or subterfuge. It still is.
As a teacher I’ve purposely overlooked the lap-reading of my book-obsessed students, though I do insist that they keep up with the actual classwork, as I did when I was on the other side of the desk. Indulging them isn’t an exercise in nostalgia but rather a chance to learn about the genres and authors they treasure, which I then explore during the gloriously free hours of summer vacation. Some works have become part of my teaching strategy; many have given me a connection to students I couldn’t reach in other ways.