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I really could identify with the student quoted in Appleman’s chapter 5: “Deconstruction is dumb. It’s people who want to feel important trying to destroy meaning.” My point of view isn’t as aggressively anti-intellectual (I hope), but I have to admit to concern about teasing meanings out of texts that the authors never intended. I say this because of the one time I was deconstructed. I had just drawn an illustration in class of a scene from Their Eyes Were Watching God. It showed Tea Cake and Janie facing each other, holding hands – and I had drawn Tea Cake about half a head taller than Janie. Men are generally taller than women, right? So I drew Tea Cake taller. But then my teacher (who I like a great deal but will remain nameless for the purposes of this anecdote) got hold of the drawing. She suggested that my drawing showed sexism because I drew Tea Cake taller than Janie. In fact, I meant no such thing. It really made me angry.

Understand that I’m not saying we should abandon deconstruction because it might upset an author. But what is the point of finding some hidden, unintended meaning in a work, other than, perhaps, the mental gymnastics we have to go through to arrive at that point? Of course, mental gymnastics can be a good thing if the mind needs a workout. So can seeing other points of view. But plucking points of view out of thin air? I’m not so sure.

The last two chapters were not nearly as provocative as the chapter on deconstruction. Between them, I found the metamorphosis of Appleman’s teacher friend Martha to be most interesting. When she started teaching she relied most heavily on the standard textbook. But as time progressed she began choosing more and more pieces of literature from sources other than the textbook. Now, she says, students use the text as a doorstop. Martha also talks about using the various literary lenses: reader response, Marxist, feminist and deconstructionalist. Her classes sound so much more interesting than what I’ve been teaching through this year of practicum. Maybe that’s the reason I should be teaching all lenses, not just the ones in my comfort zone.

Marxist Lit Theory, Feminist Lit Theory, and Shakespeare

This weeks readings cover two topics: different kinds of literary theory, and teaching Shakespeare. I’d like to tackle these subjects one at a time:Marxist and Feminist =Literary= Theory: Notice that I highlighted “literary,” as opposed to calling this “Marxist and Feminist Theory.” My understanding suggests that you don’t have to be a Marxist or feminist — and you don’t even have to sympathize with those points of view — in order to use those theories as a lense with which to read literature.Or do you?As a white male, I identify with white males. Because my family is upper-middle class (even though I personally am but a poor teacher!), I sympathize with the upper-middle class. And don’t feminism and Marxism bash white, upper-middle class males?I have to admit some concern, particularly around Marxist theory. Hasn’t Marxist theory been discredited by the collapse of the former Soviet Union? If so, why is it so important to study?My initial sense is that Marxism and feminism — and Marxism in particular — are given credence only by effete academics, people who’ve never had to get their hands dirty in the real world.I’m open to being told I’m wrong. In fact, I’d =like= to be proven wrong. Everybody, let me know what you think!The second part of our reading — about teaching Shakespeare — is much less controversial, praise the Lord. There’s nothing to argue with here. My only quibble is with the chapter on “active methods.” Moving people around the class to teach Shakespeare … well, maybe I’m slow, but I’m not sure how it’s supposed to work. I guess anything that gets a student on his feet and out of his seat is a good thing, but I’m confused as to how and why that’s supposed to work. Again, any thoughts?Signed,Reactionary Jim

 This week’s readings are diverse, to say the least. The reading that spoke to me most was the manuscript by Rozema and Webb on “Web 2.0.” Since most of my energy devoted to reader’s response will be expended in a classroom presentation, I’d like to use this space to write about Web 2.0 and all of the new technologies — some of which I’d never heard of before.

 Blogs aren’t new to me — or, at least, the concept isn’t new. I used to check into CompuServe years ago (well, 15 years ago, to be exact) and respond to postings by other computer users. I spent most of my time in the forum devoted to comic books, and as a professional in the field at that time I got access for free. One person would post on a subject — say, whether the new artist on The Incredible Hulk was any good, for instance — and other users would follow with responses. You could respond to the person writing the initial post, or you could respond to other responders, much the same way one would respond in a blog.

 That said, I’ve never had a blog of my own. And responding to other people’s blogs? Who’s got the time for it? My Internet use is usually focused and to the point. If I need information on something, I navigate straight to Google, run my search, and read what I need.

One thing that caught my attention in particular was the RSS aggregator. Great concept! I’d never heard of it before. That’s the sort of thing that could be quite useful to me (provided it didn’t clog my inbox!). 

Finally – some readings that truly speak to me! I think this discussion of classroom management is much needed and long overdue. In fact, classroom management is my single biggest problem as a student teacher. And it affects everything I do. For example, it’s hard to implement the latest idea in collaborative learning when half the students are swinging from the light fixtures (that’s hyperbole, in case you’re wondering). It colors my attitude toward teaching, too. We need to hear more about classroom management. I anxiously await the lecture part of this lesson. Particularly the part about praising your students.This brings up something I’ve noticed about my mentor teacher: Other than grades earned for good work — which are fairly rare — she never praises her students for ANYthing. I noticed this when I became painfully aware of receiving no positive feedback from her. Oddly enough, she told me that she –did- give out positive feedback … and then proceeded to give me 15 minutes of negative feedback. I was curious, so I started watching her classroom management, and I became aware that she treated everyone this way. That was at least some consolation to me. In any case, they say that a mentor teacher can show you what =not= to do as well as what you should do. Positive feedback, which I give my students as often as realistically possible, is something I want to keep in my bag of tricks. For example, I was careful to praise one of my ESOL students for his contributions during class — and his next written essay was surprisingly free of English errors. Could it have anything to do with pumping him up with a little praise? Maybe. One last thing: Because I teach two ESOL classes, the article about linguistic diversity was especially interesting to me. I’ve often wondered how I would fare if somebody dropped me in the middle of Mexico and demanded that I take classes taught in Spanish, a language with which I have only a passing familiarity; I probably would fare no better than some of the kids fare in my class, I suspect. I’ve been aware of how some of them react — you can just see that deer-in-the-headlights look when they don’t “get it.” I strive to give the kids extra time to discern meaning, and it seems to help. I find it interesting that some of them have already done things that Curran’s article suggest: buddying up with someone else, for instance. I think here of two Vietnamese girls in my 5^th period class who stick to each other like glue. The same goes for a pair of Mexican girls. They converse back and forth and (most of the time) help each other through the vagaries of the English language. I let this go because it seems to help them — even though my mentor teacher officially prohibited languages other than English when she started the school year. It’s nice to see my hunch confirmed by an expert. 

I love our Teaching Shakespeare readings this week. They (almost) make Shakespeare sound like great fun. That brings up an interesting question, though: How am I to dialogue with a book with which I have no disagreements? I suppose I could play the devil’s advocate, but that works only when there seems to be a viable opposing point of view. But with this book … what’s to argue with?

For example, I agree wholeheartedly with Rex Gibson’s view that all class activities should be “student-centred” (p. 116 and various other places in the text). This is the mantra that my practicum mentor teacher keeps trying to pound into my head. Again, what’s to argue with?

The closest thing to controversy in this book is Gibson’s discussion of those critics who disapprove of doing studies of Shakespearean characters (pp. 110-111) “They mock investigations that speculate about characters’ backgrounds.” Gibson’s reply: “Such a stance is misplaced intellectualism, a narrow and improverished textuality … (the characters) have an uncanny and delightful way of living in the mind and heart.” So there.

These readings make me cringe a little bit, mostly in self-recognition. I’m that teacher who teaches literature out of context. When I teach, I usually nudge my kids toward that one correct answer. It’s not that I wouldn’t appreciate hearing other considered viewpoints; I would. Problem is, especially with the ESOL students, getting any response out of them is a major accomplishment. Many of them, especially the college-prep students, seem to have tuned out to me altogether. So getting them to say something, anything, would be great.

Is it possible to use theory to get them to talk? I don’t know. I’m of the opinion, though, that I have to get them used to opening their mouths first. Any suggestions as to how I should do that would be greatly appreciated.

 One last thing: As one of our authors pointed out – I think it was Appleman – teaching context requires continuity. One idea ought to flow smoothly from the preceding idea. But with the high-stakes exams we have to give — where test prep and the tests themselves keep eating into our schedule – continuity is darned near impossible. What’s a teacher to do?

This week’s readings leave little doubt: high-stakes testing is bad, BAD BAD. Unfortunately, I would have to concur. At my school we periodically have to suspend our syllabus to “teach to the test.” It’s a real pain. I can see easily why some teachers burn out and quit over those tests. And it doesn’t seem to be doing the kids any good, either. In my experience, they either stress out over testing, or they adopt an attitude of nonchalance that guarantees that they will do poorly. What I like about two of the three readings is that they’re very pragmatic in the face of high-stakes testing. It’s as if the authors are saying, “We can’t get rid of high-stakes testing, so we may as well find a way to co-exist with it.” For us teachers to stress out over the tests … well, we don’t make enough money to be crusaders. I like the authors’ “deal-with-it” approach. One last thing: The International Reading Association’s brochure takes pains to point out that the group is -not- against teacher accountability. The perception that teachers don’t take responsibility for their students is what drives the public’s desire for high-stakes testing, I think.  We know better, don’t we?  

This week’s readings answer the discussion questions posed in our syllabus. I take them in no particular order:

            Why teach Shakespeare? To infer from Gibson’s book, because it’s potentially a lot of fun. I found the “Principles” chapter to be the most interesting — it outlines the assumptions underlying Gibson’s approach. The assumptions include things like Shakespeare being learner-centered (something of which my mentor teacher keeps reminding me!) and physical (you have to act it out). The most maddening chapter was the one about perspectives, which discusses how Shakespeare may be viewed through various theoretical lenses. While I realize that we use some of those lenses ourselves, they seemed so … dare I say it? … silly. By using these perspectives, they seem to be making the study of Shakespeare much more difficult than it needs to be.

            What is a case study? I guess it’s the subject of the article by Johnson and Fox. Interviewing a couple of tomboys was interesting, of course, and I’m sure it represents at least one student point of view among many competing points of view. But the authors go on to admit that while these girls aren’t typical, they believe that their feminist desires represent the desires of all young girls. Actually, I’m more inclined to believe that these girls actually represent the biases and prejudices of Johnson and Fox.

            Learning from Teacher Research. According to Cochran-Smith and Lytle, teachers ought to do their own research. I think this is what my research teacher was talking about when he described “action research.” The general idea, as I understand it, is that Knowledge (with a capital “K”) is not limited to university researchers — classroom teachers can get into the act, too. In the article the authors write of six examples of hands-on classroom research.