Why We Read or Yes, You Have to Read This
I am something of a classicist when it comes to literature, and this recently has been a subject of debate among not only my department, but English departments across the country. Is there truly a benefit to students in reading the so-called "canon" of literature? Do Hemingway and Steinbeck truly teach our students more than the teen books they might otherwise prefer? One colleague in my department--who I respect enormously--questioned at a recent meeting whether or not we should truly be teaching Shakespeare at all in this day and age.
Once I recovered from my shock (it took me five days to do so) I had this to say...
Yes, we should.
And while I think that response should suffice, I'll explain. First, do not misunderstand me. I am a fan of all literature, and I read voraciously both classic and contemporary works. I am a huge fan of Jonathan Lethem (read Motherless Brooklyn, my all-time favorite), Connie Willis, and Jasper Fforde. I see the value in contemporary literature, and I do not question that many current authors are asking questions and making points in thought-provoking, entertaining, worthwhile ways. I just question whether they are doing it best.
Take Lord of the Flies for example. In it, Golding forces us to wonder what each person is capable of at his/her core--what could we do with no fear of reprisals? Would we do it? Is human nature ultimately an evil constrained by society, or goodness ruined by circumstances? Do other contemporary books ask such questions? One colleague pointed me to Suzanne Collins's The Hunger Games as a suitable alternative. In the series, a teen is forced to kill others in order to survive a twisted reality-TV type situation. Yes, certainly the themes are similar. But in The Hunger Games, our narrator is forced to kill or be killed; she is left with little choice. Each murder is an act of self-defense, acts she struggles with and deplores. In Golding's work, Simon is ripped to shreds by a group of young boys for no other reason than they can, Piggy pushed to his death because his reason runs counter to their savage nature. There is little remorse and certainly no provocation to the murders. Surely, while the basic questions are the same, the point of Golding's work is more provocative and the implications far more serious. So, in my room at least, I'll stick with him.
I teach the classics not simply because they are works a culturally literate person should know--certainly that's a part of it--but because their authors did it best. If you want to examine racism and the lengths to which people will go to preserve an unjust status quo, why not look to To Kill a Mockingbird? If you want to examine the extremes of the 1920s--the greed, selfishness, shallowness, and carelessness--and their effects on the American Dream, where else to look but The Great Gatsby? His green light--his dream in the distance--is the pinnacle exploration of these themes. All else is imitation.
I teach classics because--in the end--I do not just teach English. I teach grammar and paper writing; we study imagery, allusions, and symbolism. That is part of my job. I want to create life-long readers, so I encourage my students to read The Hunger Games and teen books I know they will enjoy. (And there are some truly amazing teen reads out there). Yes, I teach English. But I don't just teach English. I teach students how to think about the world around them--how to understand it in a new way. And I teach them that great literature--the canon--is a way to understand that world. So we slog through slow starts and intense imagery--as my sophomores did with The Great Gatsby--to uncover something new in an old book. We read because sometimes it's about entertainment, and sometimes it's about more: it's about learning, and understanding, and discovery.
So my students will read Romeo and Juliet. We'll laugh at Mercutio's dirty jokes and yes, my girls will tear up as the lovers take their final breaths and Romeo utters the most romantic dying words in literature: "Thus, with a kiss, I die." I smile as my students, who complain bitterly through the first third of Gatsby, give themselves over to the story and gasp in shock as they realize Daisy killed Myrtle and left Gatsby to pay for it. My sophomores will debate bitterly the merits of George ending Lennie's life and expand that discussion to one concerning the death penalty in general. And I truly believe my students, at the end of the year, are not simply better read (though they are) but are better educated, better thinkers, and, hopefully, more compassionate, considerate people.
The classics have lasted because they tell us something vital about humanity in a way others cannot. They are lenses through which we see our world in a new way, we understand humanity at a depth not previously attained. They are classics because decades, even centuries, later, we share Scout's indignation, Ralph's horror, and Gatsby's disillusionment.
And we understand the world better because of it.
Once I recovered from my shock (it took me five days to do so) I had this to say...
Yes, we should.
And while I think that response should suffice, I'll explain. First, do not misunderstand me. I am a fan of all literature, and I read voraciously both classic and contemporary works. I am a huge fan of Jonathan Lethem (read Motherless Brooklyn, my all-time favorite), Connie Willis, and Jasper Fforde. I see the value in contemporary literature, and I do not question that many current authors are asking questions and making points in thought-provoking, entertaining, worthwhile ways. I just question whether they are doing it best.
Take Lord of the Flies for example. In it, Golding forces us to wonder what each person is capable of at his/her core--what could we do with no fear of reprisals? Would we do it? Is human nature ultimately an evil constrained by society, or goodness ruined by circumstances? Do other contemporary books ask such questions? One colleague pointed me to Suzanne Collins's The Hunger Games as a suitable alternative. In the series, a teen is forced to kill others in order to survive a twisted reality-TV type situation. Yes, certainly the themes are similar. But in The Hunger Games, our narrator is forced to kill or be killed; she is left with little choice. Each murder is an act of self-defense, acts she struggles with and deplores. In Golding's work, Simon is ripped to shreds by a group of young boys for no other reason than they can, Piggy pushed to his death because his reason runs counter to their savage nature. There is little remorse and certainly no provocation to the murders. Surely, while the basic questions are the same, the point of Golding's work is more provocative and the implications far more serious. So, in my room at least, I'll stick with him.
I teach the classics not simply because they are works a culturally literate person should know--certainly that's a part of it--but because their authors did it best. If you want to examine racism and the lengths to which people will go to preserve an unjust status quo, why not look to To Kill a Mockingbird? If you want to examine the extremes of the 1920s--the greed, selfishness, shallowness, and carelessness--and their effects on the American Dream, where else to look but The Great Gatsby? His green light--his dream in the distance--is the pinnacle exploration of these themes. All else is imitation.
I teach classics because--in the end--I do not just teach English. I teach grammar and paper writing; we study imagery, allusions, and symbolism. That is part of my job. I want to create life-long readers, so I encourage my students to read The Hunger Games and teen books I know they will enjoy. (And there are some truly amazing teen reads out there). Yes, I teach English. But I don't just teach English. I teach students how to think about the world around them--how to understand it in a new way. And I teach them that great literature--the canon--is a way to understand that world. So we slog through slow starts and intense imagery--as my sophomores did with The Great Gatsby--to uncover something new in an old book. We read because sometimes it's about entertainment, and sometimes it's about more: it's about learning, and understanding, and discovery.
So my students will read Romeo and Juliet. We'll laugh at Mercutio's dirty jokes and yes, my girls will tear up as the lovers take their final breaths and Romeo utters the most romantic dying words in literature: "Thus, with a kiss, I die." I smile as my students, who complain bitterly through the first third of Gatsby, give themselves over to the story and gasp in shock as they realize Daisy killed Myrtle and left Gatsby to pay for it. My sophomores will debate bitterly the merits of George ending Lennie's life and expand that discussion to one concerning the death penalty in general. And I truly believe my students, at the end of the year, are not simply better read (though they are) but are better educated, better thinkers, and, hopefully, more compassionate, considerate people.
The classics have lasted because they tell us something vital about humanity in a way others cannot. They are lenses through which we see our world in a new way, we understand humanity at a depth not previously attained. They are classics because decades, even centuries, later, we share Scout's indignation, Ralph's horror, and Gatsby's disillusionment.
And we understand the world better because of it.
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