Packerbacker

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.

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.