Framing

I shall begin this post with a quote from Cornelia Funke’s

novel Inkheart, “Some books should be tasted, some should be devoured, but only a few should be chewed and digested thoroughly.” This was my bemoaned thought this year as I started school. I teach English at the secondary level, and this year I shifted from teaching English as a New Language to English Language Arts. With that change, came a change in curriculum and, therefore, a change in the texts I am required to teach. English is a fascinating topic to teach, not only because it has a great many nuanced challenges, but also because there is such breadth that narrowing a focus that can fit in one scholastic year is a feat. Just like how history classes must grow abbreviated because history ever grows, so too must literature instruction. Except, that is not how literature is taught.

There are books deemed classics, sometimes for good

reason and sometimes for the sake of publishers, and then there are books that are not labeled “classics,” but are still considered of a higher caliber for edification. I will not belabor that topic at this time, I am too liable to wander the weeds. However, these classifications have an impact on the high school English classroom. The implication is that the books taught in high schools should fit into the final part of the quote from Funke. They should be chewed, dissected, your fingers should run across every thread as carefully as someone repairing a net. Yet, to teach that care, or even come close to it, the teacher must go a step further and make the book a part of themselves. That is where I found myself cringing at my new book list.

On the lists of texts to be taught are several that I had to

engage with during my time as a student in high school. Ones that I was more than glad to leave in the past like some hazing ritual that was to be endured and then quickly moved beyond though it could never be forgotten. One in particular runs so counter to myself that I have called it my nemesis in literature as a joke, and yet here he comes to gloat how now he is my nosy next door neighbor. The book I am referencing is The Lord of the Flies by William Golding. I am sorry Mr. Golding, but I am also not sorry as I believe my revolution to your work was half your point. For those of you who do not know this book or have sanitized it from your memory, this story follows a group of boys who get stranded on an island without adults. This leads to them descending into chaos until some of them die and they are later rescued. The point, as I understand it, is to give a warning. Society and her rules are not restrictions, rather it is tutelage, to prevent us from falling to our baser natures. If we kill her, in time we will kill ourselves. It forces the notion that there is no good within us except that which society imposes on us and therefore society is a necessity.

Where this book chafes against me, other than how creepy

it is to me, is that notion that there is no good and what good there is will be snuffed out. I write dark stories where terrible injustices and horrid circumstances happen. However, throughout each dark tale there is a glimmer of hope, a line of light that gets teased out of the shadows until it can no longer be hidden. Golding’s book is almost the opposite. It is dissension into darkness, and if the boys had not been rescued, there would be no escape from it. Even so, if we followed the boys into their return to society, what of their time on the island would eek out into how they continued to interact with the world around them? So, when looking at how thoroughly I would have to consume this book to teach it, I bemoaned it. As an aside, some of you may say to pick a different book if I dislike this one so much. However, teachers do not always get to choose what is taught in their curriculum, and that is the case with this book.

There was no point in continuing to wallow because there

was nothing to be done for it. So, the next question became how to move forward? Where is there hope in this novel? How can I find it and how can I help my students to find it? That, upon long thought, comes down to framing. I can’t change what this novel is. I can’t change how the author decided to convey his message, but I can look for the light. That is the conversation in literature. Many English teachers say that reading isn’t passive, and this is what is meant. We approach every novel we read with our own frameworks. The religion we follow, the beliefs and morals we hold, our life experiences and our desires all play a role in how we engage with a text. This is how a group of people who are reading the same book and come away with a different interpretation.

There is goodness that is within us that is not so easily

defeated. Instead of focusing on the descent into darkness, I will focus on the responsibility we have to each other in society, and the choices we make that have a positive impact on each other, and the characters that hold on to that goodness even when it costs them. I still would rather teach something else, but I hope to bring that little bit of light into the bottom of this well. My goal is that by reframing this book for myself, I will leave my students with a better lasting image. I want them to understand the lessons this book offers while refusing to accept the message that humans will always fall to their most base nature. Our world needs more light in the darkness, not just reminders of how dark the blackness can get.

National Novel Writing Month Update:

I have been working away and made 10k words worth of progress. It may sound like a lot, but with a goal of 60k, I need to be working a little harder. I did let myself get sidetracked by planning the unit that inspired this post. Well, these things happen. I am going more nose to the grindstone this week. We’ll see how far I get. If you're participating as well, I would love to hear about how you are doing. Happy writing!