As I sit here and write this, it is a warm (compared to the -15s we have had) 16 degrees out, and there is probably a solid 14 inches of snow devouring the ground. However, I am transported whimsically back to this past summer. A panoramic of greenery and subtly rolling hills covered in the mid-day California sun as the light breeze dances across the patio, my slightly sweating brow, and my thoughts. It is a memory that is permanently splashed across my mental canvass, and one that I desperately hope to repaint many, many more times: wine country.
I have always liked wine. I can think back to my first few years of teaching, sharing a glass with colleagues as we shared on how our classes were going. It was good. I cannot tell you what, specifically, I had or why I thought it was good--just that it was wine and it was good.
However, over the last five or six years wine has become a research passion of mine. It is something I read about and research on a regular basis. I have developed an insatiable thirst for the terms, the regions, the vineyards and all the complexities of this hobby. Since that time, I could tell you great details about most of the wine I have tried, what I thought about them and why--down to the most minute detail. I can discuss their noses, palates, growing conditions, fermentation processes, aging containers, and many other details. And, the more I have those conversations with that sort of depth, the more I love talking about it and reading about it. However, what is really worth noting is that virtually all of these conversations (especially those with trained wine experts who do this for a living) started, after tasting the wine, with a simple, "what did you think?" No one ever asked pointed (and therefore guiding) questions like "tell me what you thought about the wine's nose and why the wine maker went that direction?" Always a simple, "what did you think?"
And yet, until very recently, that is EXACTLY how I have approached teaching literature. We would read the class novel, discussing all of it's complexities (with me guiding them along the way). Students would have a chance to learn from one another, take quizzes over specific passages that I would provide them because I knew they are important ones, and eventually, they would be given a collection of two or three possible essay topics about which they could write to truly demonstrate their understanding of the text.
Let me stop for a second and interject that I do not think that this is bad teaching. In fact, it is the sort of instruction going on in most English classes I have been around, and it works for what it is. Let's be honest, it is much better than simplistic, plot-recall quizzes and/or fill-in-the blank assessments on literature. However, I have seen the light.
Here is what that model doesn't allow; it doesn't allow the student to talk about the specific parts of the book that spoke to him or her (unless it is by chance). Much like with literature, there could be a vast array of reasons why a specific wine is someone's favorite. Within that one wine, one person may be completely enamored with the depth of flavors and others in love with the tannic structure. Yet, if the question either of them got after having a sip was about the wine's nose, they might really struggle to discuss it with the sort of depth and insight they could have displayed if allowed to discuss other aspects about which they ARE passionate. In fact, their responses could even be perceived as not liking the wine or being disinterested in it (even though they LOVED parts of it). So, by that same logic, if the reason a student loved Of Mice and Men was because of the characterization (say he/she was fascinated with the lack of name for Curley's wife) yet the end-of-the text essay was about the development of the settings (the repetition with alteration), that student might not produce the sort of quality of writing he or she otherwise could if simply asked to talk about the book in a scholarly/academic way. And the teacher might be left thinking that the student didn't like the book and/or didn't read it at all.
Recently, thanks to the help of Chris Lehman and Kate Roberts (via their book Falling in Love with Close Reading: Lessons for Analyzing Text--and Life) as well as Kylene Beers and Robert Probst (via Notice & Note), I have ventured out of my comfort zone when teaching literature, armed my students with the skills to know when important moments are happening in the text (as opposed to me point those out or giving them those passages), taught them the language to talk about those moments (discipline-specific literacy), and provided the freedom to do so at their own will (no essay prompt). I was BLOWN AWAY. It has been a long time since I have enjoyed grading reading quizzes and student writing as much as I have been. Each paper is so uniquely different from the next, a beautiful tapestry of the author and the student making meaning together. Here are a few examples of student thoughts that they have posted to Twitter (follow our class conversation via the hashtag #bronke3rdhour):
"LOVE the contrast of sadness and bitterness of tears with the freshness and lightness associated with morning dew" (@ttka0696)
"Did anybody wonder why Shakespeare wrote the opening scene of a love story as a fight scene? It's kind of ironic" (@dwy1310)
"The way the Nurse takes care of Juliet reminds me of the way Calpurnia takes care of Scout in To Kill a Mockingbird" (@mmau1838)
"lines just jump out and say 'read me again'. going to look further into them" (@kleg3059)
The assignment given that produced these great and wide-ranging comments was to go home, re-read material from class, and "Tweet-Mark" (since the whole class is on Twitter, we are doing our text-marking digitally and calling it "Tweet-Marking"). There was no prompt, no "requirements." It was the "what did you think" sort of question.
Now, if you are intrigued at this switch but unsure what to do next, I suggest you consult the experts (Lehman, Roberts, Beers, and Probst...and many others) of which I am certainly not one. However, I can and will challenge you to this question: does your current method for teaching literature have students responding to you or responding to the text?
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