It used to be flashlights under the covers with comic books—now
it’s phones, tablets, E-readers—there is something delicious about wanting to
read so much that we sneak it. I’m not
talking about social media, compulsive scrolling, online shopping, gaming, or
texting—that doesn’t count as reading—but being eager to return to a book does.
It would
seem that school should inspire the love of learning, as libraries do with
clubs and book fairs—but, unfortunately, school ruins reading for most of
us. In this blog post, I want to address
this problem and to offer a model to help us recapture our passion for reading,
so much so, that we abandon our Netflix, YouTube, and whatever new distractions
and addictions have emerged since I posted this essay—because we can’t wait to indulge
our love of books.
On one end
of the continuum is self-motivated, indulgent, glorious wanna reading—the kind we talk about with your friends and never
seem to see in a class; the kind where we fall in love with an author and
scramble to find everything she or he has written. On the other end of the
continuum is studying boring gotta textbooks
in anticipation of quizzes for get-it-over-with courses and grades.
But there are
some truly fascinating works presented in classes that belong on the love side
of the continuum—that are ruined by how they are “taught.” So, it’s not even so much what is included in classes as how we are harassed into, literally,
confronting them. It is truly tragic to
me that, when I ask my students in their senior capstone courses what they love
to read, they look at me like deer stunned by high beams in the middle of the
night. It has been so long that anyone
cared about their experience of reading—since they felt any passion for reading
themselves—that they don’t know how to answer.
Teachers placed themselves between them and books, co-opting, mediating,
and grade-quantifying their experience.
First, it’s such a ridiculous expression:
“I’m teaching Shakespeare.” Under one
interpretation of the expression, that’s ludicrous. Can’t teach Shakespeare anything—he’s totally
gone. And teaching conjures in all of us
the fear of metaphorically being the dunce shamed in a corner, having our
knuckles rapped with a ruler, or having to suffering detention. I reject the prevailing pedagogical model
that favors learning standard information over learning how to appreciate, that
favors assessment models over learning. Teaching should be about inspiring,
modeling for, and empowering students to create meaningful, and intellectually and
emotionally satisfying lives.
Reading was ruined for me,
too. That’s why I can write this. It has
taken me years to actually read through a book without taking notes, highlighting,
annotating the margins, and memorizing “key” ideas. It has taken me years to question whether a
book is worth reading through, just because it is a published work that someone
else required me to read. It has taken
me years to think of books as treasured friends to turn to for relaxation, adventure,
illumination. It’s only now that I’ve stopped, as a teacher, thinking of the
works I assign to classes as reading chores for myself.
To rehabilitate us all, I don’t
give quizzes to police whether students have read our texts. We develop an atmosphere of commitment and
engagement early on and most students come prepared—that is not negotiable. And
I certainly don’t give multiple choice tests.
Horrendously, there are some teachers who actually administer quizzes
and multiple-choice tests in Creative Writing courses. Really?!
I have discoursed on this in other posts, but my focus in our classes is
not what I want, but what students actually get from their readings.
I ask first, a show of hands, of
those who have read the portions of texts we will be considering that
meeting. Most students are honest, and
they know the rest of us will know—given the nature of our discussions—whether they
showed up that week. That’s usually
enough embarrassment for them to come prepared. After that, it’s all about making
the reading belong to THEM not to me as the arbiter of grades. And my hope is
that they will be able to recover from studying and learn how to enjoy the
readings.
One of the following questions will
often catapult us into our discussions: Did you like reading this? Why or why not? What caught your
attention? What did it mean to you? Is this good, engaging writing? Why or why not? What questions arose for you?
Just as a docent will show visitors
how to view new, experimental art in a museum, our class is a place where I can
model different doorways by which to enter a piece of writing, such as imagery,
theme, characterization, structure—but not everyone thinks alike, and not all
strategies will resonate with all students.
I don’t require all students to equally engage with all our
strategies.
Even more than discussion with the
whole class, my students discuss readings in small groups—that’s nothing
new. But I don’t micromanage the
direction these discussions will take with checklists of questions tending
toward “approved” responses. We come together after group readings to benefit
from the often unique and inspiring insights that emerge from the reading pods.
Here are strategies to remember if
we are to pull our readings away from the study end of the continuum back to
the love-of-reading end:
Less is more. Good books deserve rereading and
rereading. What’s my take away this time
from these pages?
Don’t be thorough—be deep. If I try to memorize and retain everything I
read in that limited corridor which is my left brain—I’ll drop it all. Best to
carry away one idea that matters, and to integrate it. Otherwise I’ll drop it all after the test and
it won’t be available to me after.
Take what you like, and leave
the rest. Most teachers would balk at this. My devotion is to inspire—not terrify.
Consider the continuum. Are you reading or are you studying? Ask yourself these questions as antidotes: Do
I love this reading? Why or why
not? How is this reading about me, and
not about the teacher or the test? How
can I use this reading to find deeper and more satisfying meaning in my life? How can I integrate this reading into what I
already know? What else could I read
along these lines that might be more inspiring?
I invite you, as well, to read the
blog post on TRUST—learn to trust yourself, as a reader, despite the
environment of distrust that standard education fosters. Will it be on the Test?: Trust and Joy in the Classroom. The love of reading and your passion for
literature will return if you make it your own.
I look forward to hearing about
your experience of how studying can ruin reading for you. How can and do you nourish
your love of reading?
Works Cited
