Ben Jonson’s “On My First Son” Actually About His Third Daughter

As I read through this week’s posts so far, I started to feel a bit like the odd woman out. I did NOT love Crosman’s article. For me, the most troubling aspect of this article was Crosman’s tone and obvious disdain for Hirsch’s perspective. Isn’t it odd that Crosman (so intent on pluralism) penned an article that is at times arrogant, “hipper than thou,” and decidedly firm in its own correctness? Is it just me, or could this article be subtitled “Why E.D. Hirsch is a Giant Fascist”?

Granted, I haven’t read Hirsch’s writings on the topic of interpretation and where meaning lies. And true, Crosman’s discussion of Hirsch’s terminology (for example, “verbal meaning vs. “significance”) reveals an overemphasis on semantics–though not necessarily the “contradiction” claimed by Crosman (151).

The specific section of Crosman’s analysis that most bothered me was his insistence that Hirsch’s perspective was the literary equivalent of Hobbes’s Leviathan. This analogy follows a short passage in which Hirsch comments on the development of modern approaches to interpretation:

When critics deliberately banished the original author, they themselves usurped his place, and this led unerringly to some of our present-day theoretical confusions. Where before there had been but one author, there now arose a multiplicity of them, each carrying as much authority as the next….If a theorist wants to save the idea of validity, he has to save the author as well. (Hirsch 5-6, quoted in Crosman 157).

Now, this passage strikes me as an entirely logical way to approach literature. Sure, Hirsch uses the language of politics—but is that not appropriate to a discussion of interpretive “authority”? More importantly, would any of us argue that the author isn’t an authority on what he or she intended?

Crosman takes Hirsch’s political language and runs with it. In Hirsch’s world, asserts Crosman, “meaning is either singular or absolute, or it does not exist (the author = the king)” (157). This statement is inflammatory not only because it misrepresents Hirsch’s comments, but also because it alludes to a political text that is commonly read as a justification for absolute, ruthless, dictatorial rule.

But Crosman does not stop there. He continues to portray Hirsch and his ilk as the old guard, wary of “ignorant” and “arrogant” usurpers of authority—and not just of the literary kind. According to Crosman, Hirsch longs for a world in which there is only ever one Truth, a world in which “decent [decent!!!] regard for hierarchy and order is maintained and the state is at peace” (158). As a writer concerned with words, meaning, and connotations, Crosman clearly knows what he’s doing here. He might as well have called Hirsch a “square.”

Despite Crosman’s insinuations and exaggerations, Hirsch’s perspectives on interpretation struck me as entirely appropriate and well-suited to most poetry written before the 20th century.

By Crosman’s own admission, “the convention that authors make meaning arose from a desire to think of truth as single and univocal” (161). For much of history, this was the main frame through which scholars in all fields perceived the world. Most poems were written with a specific plan, purpose, or with “philosophy” in mind. Would anyone honestly argue that there are multiple valid interpretations to a poem like Jonson’s “On My First Son” or Dryden’s “Song for St. Cecilia’s Day”?

Despite what I’ve written above, I do not completely reject critical theories that locate meaning with the reader. I especially liked Crosman’s point that “authors make meaning…in the sense that we all do—as interpreters, as readers” (162). Likewise, the final stretch of Crosman’s argument against Hirsch (during which he drives home the point that “we make the author’s meaning!”) is very compelling.

In a larger, more philosophical sense, Crosman is also entirely correct that we live in an era in which few people except or believe in one singular truth or authority—in anything, never mind literature.

It makes sense, therefore to read most modern poetry with a pluralistic approach. I’d even venture to say that it should be applied (sparingly) to older texts. That being said, those who overuse such tactics run the risk of missing out on interesting and pertinent historical and biographical factors that can bring a deeper understanding to most texts.

Then again, maybe I’m just a square.

Sara

meaning

 Do Readers Make Meaning was a terrific read.  Tying it together with the thinking aloud exercise drove the points made in the article home.  I focused on the Gretel poem, and throughout the reading exercise, the students made their own meaning.  The funny thing was how intent they were and we all tend to be on finding the “correct” meaning.  According to Crosman, there is none, really.  There may be the accepted interpretation, but here we are, daily, searching for the “right” meaning, and what a relief it is to think about and relax into the idea that there may not be a right meaning.  Certainly, as he mentions, there are the far-fetched ideas that some people bring to the table, but even those may be entertained and perhaps some part of the idea accepted.

When Edith focused in on the idea that Gretel may be about Nazi Europe, I sat up a little straighter.  I wondered, could that be.  I liked her reference to those events and how she tied them into the poem.  (Not to talk about you like you aren’t here, Edith)  I do not know the accepted meaning in the poem or accepted analysis, but I like the way the Crosman discussed analysis and the search for meaning.  Edith’s analysis, right or wrong according to experts, held water.  The group listened to her.  She supported her ideas.  They were real and based on her knowledge of the poet, the poetry of the time and genre. 

I think that as students and I guess teachers, we tend to want to be right, and there is a time for sticking to the mainstream concept of a thing.  We gather meaning based on our experience, expertise and insight into a certain subject.  We do reflect on and place meaning on certain readings.  We are not always spot on according to the mainstream but our ideas have validity. 

Crosman says “The text, in other words, supplies me with words, ideas, images, sounds, rhythms, but I make the poem’s meaning by a process of translation.  That is what reading is, in fact: translation.”  During the poetry reading, the group did in fact translate.  JJ asked questions about meaning throughout the discussion.  So did Edith.  They reached for meaning and discovered meaning.  They used their expert and common knowledge to work together in their exploration of meaning.  Crosman talks about giving an Ezra Pound poem to a dairy farmer, finding out what that guy thinks.  He wonders if the dairyman’s interpretation will include his expertise, milk.  He says that we all bring to the table what we know and that knowledge develops the meaning in each work for us.

The expert brings different and rich knowledge to the table.  The expert brings with him or her the ability to decipher through expert means.  The decisions made about a text by an expert will be different than the decisions made by a novice reader.  Nonetheless, the novice reader has put his own meaning into the text or rather, pulled from the text whatever meaning he can.

According to Crosman even the author’s own interpretation of his own work may be ambiguous.  That drives home the point that the article makes: that meaning comes as the poem or work is read.  A poet begins, as Crosman says of himself, with one idea that morphs as the writing ensues.  So then, does the meaning.  So then, does what the reader takes from the reading. 

Laurel Chinn

The Point of Poetry

As I read the Crosman article, my mind kept returning to the poem by William Wordsworth, Nuns Fret Not, that is part of the section in Norton on External Form. Wordsworth conveys the comfort that can be found in confinement. To me, reading poetry is the same. The poet confines me to a certain amount of space, a space large enough to allow me to explore, but small enough to provide focus and definition to my self-searching.

Poetry itself is a medium that lends itself to multiple meanings, emotions more than facts and that is open to interpretation, perhaps more than any other form of writing. If the intended meaning of the author was all the author wanted his reader to gain from reading his work, why not choose a medium that lends itself to detailed explanations and a purpose of informing readers rather than instigating thought? An essay seems a more appropriate choice, or a technical manual. I don’t want to believe that, as a reader, even as a critical reader, that my purpose in reading a poem is only to identify the intended meaning of the author.

At a particularly difficult time in my life, I read a poem that held significant meaning for me. It helped me deal with some tough things and after coming through the other side of my dark tunnel, I read the poem again and began to research some of the literary criticism associated with it. Because of the context and historical setting of the poem, I truly doubt that what I gained from the poem is the meaning the author intended, but that is still the meaning it held for me, and I am still grateful to that author for providing the solace I needed.

As a writer, if my poetry touches someone else and allows them to come to grips with something difficult or provides an epiphany, do I care if it is what I meant when I wrote the poem? No. For me, the intention of writing poetry is to process, to focus, to explore. If a reader gains that from my writing, then they have experienced the intended meaning of the author. I would like to think that accomplished poets feel the same way–that the intention of poetry is not to decree something or other, but to focus both the author and reader so they are able to risk exploration within the boundaries of the poem.

When I write poetry, it is almost always to explore conflicting feelings or thoughts that I would like to better understand. If the poem brings an understanding of my emotions, it rarely means that my feelings no longer conflict with one another. On the contrary, the poem often helps me come to grips with accepting the duality of my feelings, so having a single meaning of the poem denies the true sentiment. Crosman presents Hirsch’s example of the Wordsworth poem, Lucy, in which Hirsch shows “two diametrically opposed interpretations of the poem.” How many human beings experience death and do not experience diametrically opposed emotions relating to it – anger that someone is gone, guilt that they still have life and the person they loved does not, a hope that the loved one is happy in an afterlife and sadness that the loved one is no longer sharing life with them. Why does Wordsworth have to be rejoicing or sorrowful? Isn’t it more likely that he was experiencing both, and that the plurality of feeling is what held meaning for Wordsworth in writing the poem?

It is a sad thought to me to diminish poetry so that it should have only one meaning. Additionally, Hirsch’s belief that it is only the author’s meaning that is valid denies the human connection between reader and writer, which for me is one of the most significant reasons for both writing and reading–and living. Human emotion and beliefs typically do not have one simple meaning; why reduce this medium so rich in its ability to convey the plurality of humanity, to a single, narrow view?

Rip Van Winkle Predicts the Future of Literature Studies

Reading about New Criticism this week provided me with a poignant and sentimental stroll down memory lane. Back in the 1970s when I was an undergraduate majoring in English/Literature, New Criticism was literature studies. For those of you who came into literature studies after this period (and that’s pretty much everyone in our class), I can tell you that those were glorious days. We felt we could tackle any piece of literature armed with a trusty set of skills, a literary vocabulary, an enthusiasm for close readings, and our sheer wits.Imagine what it was like for me to return to formal literature studies in the late 1990s when I decided to pursue my master’s degree in English/Literature here at Mason. I was a stranger in a strange new land. Now, theory reigned. Feminists had things to say. Marx somehow had crept into the picture. Historical constructs mattered. And, new voices were included in the literary canon, voices previously marginalized and entirely off my radar screen. The “world” of “world literature” got a whole lot larger in my 25-year hiatus from the academy. Dead white guys now would have a lot of company on my bookshelf and close readings would no longer cut it as the be all, end all of literature studies.

I am Rip Van Winkle. I fell asleep and woke up to a new reality. But why? What happened to my beloved field? What made the tides turn as they did?

Actually, those tides turned long before even I got into the mix. There was a time – before New Criticism – when literature studies meant something entirely different. Students studied classics, and I’m not talking about Herman Melville here. They read the writers of antiquity and they had to know Latin to do so. Memorization was king. The idea of reading more contemporary works and discussing them was unthinkable in the academy. That wasn’t literature studies.

New Criticism was born after World War I but came into its heyday after World War II. Suddenly, thanks to the G.I. bill, we had an influx of college students the likes of which our academies had never seen before. These weren’t the privileged, well-prepared students of the past; they were servicemen. Now literature professors were confronted with students who had no clue about Latin and never heard of Ovid. What were they going to do with them? The answer was to teach them skills and vocabulary and set them loose on English language texts. New Criticism was the perfect solution to the practical challenge at hand. Now, anyone who could read and who was smart could be taught to study literature – no years of upper crust preparatory school education needed.

Reader Response Criticism speaks of its time, too. It would have been pretty difficult for us to have feminist readings of literature before we had feminists. Pop culture and social politics were fertile ground for baby boomer English professors who cut their teeth in the 1960s. The academy once again kept pace with what was going on in the world.

So where are we headed next? I have a prediction. I believe that the next wave – the one students will read about in the Johns Hopkins Guide to Literary Theory and Criticism in the year 2050 or so – will be what I’ll call Technology Criticism.

We’ve been up to this point wed to the notion that literature is linear; we start to read a text with the first word and end the text with the last word. But take a careful look at the Johns Hopkins entries we read this week and you’ll see that text need no longer be linear. Hot links can take us on a hypertext superhighway anywhere the author wants to send us and where we want to go. That means that each of us is free to experience hypertext in our own unique and nonlinear way.

Literature, inevitably, will harness this technology and the creative freedom it offers. Authors growing up right now will think in hypertext. They’ll write poems, novels, short stories, personal essays – our future literature — without the limitations of linear text. Sound, animation, images – all of that will become part of their texts, embedded in them, giving birth to new genres. The production and consumption of literature as we know it will change, as it always does. And, the academy will follow suit, as it always does, too.

Am I crazy? Maybe. Time will tell. Let’s just see where we are 25 years from now. This time, though, I promise you that Rip Van Winkle won’t be taking any hiatus from the academy. From now on, I’m staying wide, wide awake. – Laura Hills

Cultivating Curiosity: Applying Crosman in the Literature Classroom

Reading through Crosman’s essay, I found myself in complete agreement with his thesis.  Readers do make meaning, but there are multiple meanings within a text.  Individual “translation” can only be viewed as wrong if the interpretation does not logically fit within a wider context.  As Crosman points out in discussing In a Station, the average reader does not look for meaning beyond the literal level.  It is only within critical circles, universities, and classrooms that readers seek a deeper meaning.  The case with most students, though, is that they are average readers.  They typically do not look for meaning beyond the literal level.  It is up to as teachers, then, to revive that natural sense of curiosity.

If I may take a step back for a moment, reading is indeed translation; we take what the author writes and make it our own.  There have been numerous times that while reading a novel I have created specific images of characters in my mind – only to be disappointed by someone else’s interpretation when the work is translated into film.  The Think-Aloud groups demonstrated this act: they gave meaning to the poem by connecting various words to images.  Like Crosman indicates, the group members filled in information where it was lacking and provided a context for the images in the poem.  For example, Naomi connected the green bottle to a medicinal flask.  It follows logically, then, that multiple meanings can, and do, exist when individual readers translate the text in different ways.

The danger here is that students might take this “there is no one right answer” theory and run with it.  I can clearly envision a ninth grader sitting down to plow through a text, shouting “I’m done!” and writing “This means X, and I’m right because you said there is no one correct answer”, then tearing off into the next assignment scribbled into their homework pad.  The trick is to teach our students to think critically, in opposition to Hirsch’s antiquated view.  Hirsch views teachers and professor as supreme knowledge-givers, ready to fill up empty minds with as much institutionally approved information as possible before it begins leaking out of their students’ ears.  The question thus presents itself – why bother teaching students to think critically when traditional higher education seems to eschew such skill?  Fortunately not all lit professors are like this (and I think they are becoming the exception rather than the norm), nor are high school English teachers.  I used to tell my students the story of a paper I wrote in undergrad for my Contemporary American Novel course.  I took a position completely contrary to that of my professor, one upon which she had actually written her doctoral dissertation.  But because I placed my translation of Glasgow’s Barren Ground within a logical context, I received an A on the paper.  The message to my students was clear – no answer is wrong as long as it is provable within a valid framework.  Then, to help avoid assertions that A Tale of Two Cities was really about the American Civil War (shades of Professor Sample’s anecdote regarding The Flea), we practiced making statements of meaning and supporting them with text. 

I found, though, that the concept of ambiguous meaning was difficult for some of my students to grasp.  As Karen revealed, they want an answer and generally dislike uncertainty.  Their beliefs are dictated by traditional schooling mores – in their minds, the teacher is (like Hirsch’s view) the supreme knowledge-giver.  The student’s goal is to find what the teacher wants and present it accordingly.  The “schoolish behavior” lens causes them to do what Crosman says; they create the truths of their academic universe in concert with their “ethical, social, or political needs or wants” (163). In other words, years of fetching brings about academic misconceptions clung to as though they were the absolute truth. 

And so we are left to ponder – how do we open up our students’ minds?  The answer is simple: by opening our own, first.  We must accept multiple readings of a text and understand that all of us – writers and readers alike – make meaning.  We must also accept the responsibility of cultivating deeper thinkers and helping our students learn to ask good questions.  Because from good questions come good answers, and at the end of the day, isn’t that we really want?

Ginny

Can I look on Wikipedia to find out the REAL meaning?

“There is no such thing as the meaning”.Crosman, Robert.  “Do Readers Make Meaning” Reader in the Text.  Princeton:  Princeton University Press, 1980. 154.

          Crosman’s analysis on finding meaning in a text reminded me of the class discussions that surfaced in my tenth-grade class today after conducting a Think Aloud.  (I was so enthused after observing the Think Aloud activity last night that I decided to try it out on my own students today.  I have to admit that I’m quite enjoying using my tenth-graders as guinea pigs for the various strategies I’ve learned about in class, and they have all seemed quite successful so far.)  But before making connections between his article and my “experiment,” let me first discuss how our Think Aloud worked.

            Though I was a bit nervous that my students would be intimidated by the process of not only cold-responding to a poem, but doing so in front of their peers, my fears were soon assuaged.  All I had to do was ask for “three courageous volunteers” and I had several hands go up.  Because I knew most of them would be familiar with the fairy tale Hansel and Gretel, I decided to use Louise Gluck’s “Gretel in Darkness” poem we examined last night.  Interestingly, my students remembered details of the plot of the fairy tale much more clearly than we had been able to; this is perhaps because it’s been fewer years since they’ve read the story.  The three participants focused first on clearing up vocabulary issues; the words “kiln,” “firs,” and “spires” stumped at least one of the students.  They jumped around a lot, looking at bits and pieces of the poem; they were particularly drawn to the image of the shriveling tongue.  To my astonishment, after only about eight or ten minutes, my students had voiced many of the same insights and comments as our participants last night.  Of course they noticed the connection to the fairy tale, but they also suggested that Gretel might be suffering from some type of insanity, that the absent step-mother might actually be present in the poem as the witch, and that through the characters of Gretel and Hansel the poem illustrated the theme of holding on vs. letting go (of the past, of fear).  I was impressed. 

            The class discussion that followed was just as interesting.  Students came up with at least five different, supportable interpretations of the poem, but the kept asking me for the “right” answer:  What does it really mean?  Which one of us has the right answer?  Is it really about the Holocaust?  Or is it simply a retelling of a fairy tale?  Are you holding back on us?  Can I look on Wikipedia to find out the REAL meaning?  If only I’d read Crosman’s article earlier, I could have told them “there is no such thing as the meaning of [the] poem” (154).  But I essentially told them the same thing:  as long as you can logically support your argument, you have a valid interpretation.  I insisted that I had only seen the poem for the first time last night and that I wasn’t “holding back on them.”  They seemed to relish the idea that their thoughts were just as valid as the teacher’s.  That I didn’t necessarily hold the key, the “right” answer, the final judgment.  They insisted that we practice this activity again, with the caveat that I choose another poem that I’m not familiar with so we can “figure it out together”.  Imagine, I’m in cahoots with my students, at their request, to figure out the possible meanings of poems.  I never would have believed it….

My reading process

The Visible Knowledge Project encouraged me to look into my development as a reader.

This weeks readings gave me many great ideas to use in my future teaching experiences. So my post may seem a bit scattered this week.

Randy Bass’s comment about using Word’s comment feature to “think-aloud” made me realize how helpful this feature has been for me. In my editing experience working with a group of foreign students who learned English and reading in their own country, I had to frequently use the comment feature in Word to think aloud the reasons I believed their articles and sentence structures lacked clarity. This in turn helped me discover my own reading and writing process.

I believe Arthur Laui’s method of asking students to write an autobiography of themselves to help them understand the biographies of others is very effective. Writing biographies of others were very difficult for me because of the extent of research that needed to be done and the rigid format we had to follow. Students enjoy to write about themselves to discover their strengths, and as a result can interest them into reading the biographies of others.

From this week’s readings I especially enjoyed Dr. Linkon’s article as it helped answer my questions on how to keep students engaged and interested in reading and how to help them look away from their first impressions. Novice readers and writers are constantly looking to find answers. When a student answers a question in class, he/she may gain a sense of accomplishment for that day’s class. Many times students do not ask questions because they are looking for the perfect question to ask in their readings. Open-ended questions frustrate them because they cannot find that perfect answer.

Portfolios are indeed helpful for students to lose fear of the writing process. I always enjoyed writing rough drafts in my English literature classes because I felt I could write about anything I felt about a text without being judged or graded. It gave me a sense of freedom in my thinking and writing, and it made me enjoy reading. Portfolios are in a sense similar because the student can enjoy his/her step by step process without worrying about the final end result. And where once the student felt she must find an answer to feel accomplished, she can instead receive the same feeling of accomplishment by putting all her pieces together to complete a whole.

Key findings annotation three made me think about my “reading process”. I was always told to keep a writing journal, and to write whatever would come to my mind. I wish I had done the same for my writing journal. In my reading process whenever I came upon a word or content that I did not understand, I would skip that section hoping to understand by listening to the class discussion. A reading journal could have really helped in this matter. As students write about their difficulties to understanding a text, they help themselves improve.

The inquiry project annotation helped me realize one thing my teachers did to help me identify good questions to ask about a text were the compare and contrast literary text assignments. Those assignments helped me put both stories in perspective and narrow my scattered thoughts about each story.

Under defining critical reading practices the article mentioned, “good critical reading requires rereading”. Which I completely agree, because it is similar to rewriting. But my question is what about those students who don’t see a point to reading again. They go with the assumption that no matter how many times they read, they will get the same results. How can we encourage those students to reread?

Randy’s key findings annotation 3 helped me understand why many students including me had a difficult time concluding their papers. I was able to write pages on my interpretation to Hills like White Elephants, but when it came to summing the paper up, I would just freeze. My teachers would remind me that the conclusion is just a restatement of the thesis and introduction, except with a slightly different twist. I could not grasp that different twist. So instead I would write a conclusion without feeling it was my own creativity. Randy’s comment on students “not closing down on interpretation” because of a lack of method, can help many students put this matter into perspective.

Simulated Bomb Defusal

Linkon points to the tendency of students to be more open-minded when their research is written informally, and focuses her class around the process of research rather the gathering of it. It seems like a fascinating approach that reflects upon a problem I’ve always had with the research process.

In many research courses, the student develops an initial thesis statement or contention. And while these statements are not meant to be static or unchanging—indeed, the professor often insists upon the opposite—the process still encourages narrow research and close-mindedness. The student is loath to cut what doesn’t belong, or to go in directions they didn’t initially expect to tread.

This is less a loyalty to their own words than it is to the meaning they were initially trying to convey with them. It’s much like we saw in the first week of class: a little girl, rather than replacing her erroneous view of the universe with a correct one, instead tried to reconcile the two. Beginning a research course with a formal statement of intent inevitably assures that you’ll have trouble leaving that contention behind should you need to do so. You’re loyal to what you’ve basically stated as fact.

Linkon’s divests the process of these linear blinders by teaching only the process and eliminating the final paper. So if writing is merely thinking, written down and refined, then this course is more for developing inquisitiveness rather than discovering answers.

But perhaps the problem is not entirely that the research paper is too linear a format for scholarly inquiry, but that the process of beginning it is flawed. Supporting one’s initial contentions closes a door on multiple interpretations and becomes like solving a mathematical proof. It leads to, as Linkon notes, the perfunctory search for a few quotes to fulfill the requirement of “research,” or even the fatal procrastination of doing the papers in the last few days or hours before they’re due.

We should keep in mind, however, that completing a paper in this atmosphere can be an inherently exhilarating exercise. The work is not being ignored in such a situation; far from it, it hangs over the student’s head throughout the semester like a guillotine’s blade. Every day, the student frets over the growing 800-pound gorilla in the room, but is still unable to make any real progress because of their own literal beginning. The only way they ever manage to produce good work in this situation is by desperation. Managing to finish the paper in these last moments becomes the literary equivalent of defusing a bomb two seconds before it detonates.

The sense of release, of having survived with your head only moments from the chopping block, can lead to inherently melodramatic prose which—cultivated properly—can be whittled down to meaning which is often divested of the need to write within the lines set up for oneself. So, perhaps, instead of removing the final paper from the equation entirely, we should insist upon its completion before anything else is even attempted. Give them a mere week’s time to work with; it needn’t be research paper length, but half that would be sufficient.

The novelty of having them begin with the ending may inspire confusion, but that would lead to greater desperation as well. And ff necessity is the mother of invention, and desperation is the father of inspiration, why not put the student into a situation where those former states of mind lead to the latter?

-Matt Boyle

Coffee and Conversation

Coffee and Conversation: I wonder how many online profiles have listed this simple pastime as one of their interests, as a means of describing themselves or peaking the interest of others. Generally, people love to talk about what they think and how they view the world. We are excited by ideas and discussing them. And often our conversations revolve around things we’ve read—whether books or magazines… or blogs. So why isn’t conversation used more in the classroom? And why, when teachers try to get kids talking, is it so hard to get the conversation rolling?

As a reader, student, and a rather introverted human being, my personal answer to why it’s so hard to get the conversation going in the classroom is, naturally, multifaceted:

  • we’re scared of being wrong;
  • we don’t trust our instincts;
  • sometimes, we ARE, as Naomi discusses, just flat out (embarrassingly) wrong;
  • we don’t have a clue where to start;
  • we feel like we’re at a middle school dance and don’t want to be the first one on the floor;
  • by the time we walk into the classroom, we’ve forgotten all the brilliant thoughts we had while we were reading (or as we head off to class our brilliance of the night before seems rather obvious in the light of day); and
  • so much of school is sadly, as Ginny so eloquently put it, about fetching answers to very specific questions.

Both the Difficulty Paper and the Inquiry Project address many of these issues.

As Sherry Linkon points out, “Too often students’ inquiries are guided by neither their own interests nor any genuine questions.” A.k.a., the difference that students perceive between considering a book over coffee and reading one for school. At school, they often have to follow somebody else’s interests from somebody else’s starting point. Both the Difficulty Paper and the Inquiry Project, however, start with the students—where they are and where they want to go. Like a participant in a conversation, they have some control in steering where the inquiry goes. Not only is this more likely to help them develop awareness of their own thinking process, it is more likely to truly engage them in reading literature and searching for meaning (one that actually means something to them).

I appreciate that the inquiry project asks students to reflect on how they approach the text, to think about the process of reading critically. I think that the root of my discomfort and insecurity with “critical thinking” is that it wasn’t something that was overtly taught in the classroom. Teachers told us that they wanted us to think critically, and then threw us into the texts and asked us to make conclusions without helping us identify when we were succeeding in thinking critically.

Both Randy Bass and Sherry Linkon emphasize that success comes with slowing down and putting off making conclusions. And as the section “Open-ended Synthesis” states, “the nature of the other elements of critical reading should make it impossible for a good critical reader to claim any definitive meaning or conclusion.” When every class paper seems built around deciding on your thesis, and then developing your supporting arguments, this approach is positively novel. It becomes more like the type of conversation we might have over coffee, where people hash out their opinions, bounce them off each other; where they can be wrong and not feel like their grade is going to suffer; where the point is simply to explore, to think. And just as in (polite?) conversation, there is no definitive, right answer that everyone has to agree with, just lots of steps in an ongoing conversation.

Exploring

The majority of educational research I have studied thus far has been about the learner–Gardner’s Multiple Intelligences, Brain-based Learning, Vygotsky’s Social Cognition. And, as in the Shulman article, I do believe that it is important to respect the learner and what s/he brings to the learning experience, but what I found so fascinating about the Visible Knowledge Project is that it is research focused on teaching, not learning–which is different –and it is research in practice.

Although I appreciate the PDF of the site documents for printing purposes, I am glad that they were not available when I reviewed the site. It would have been too tempting to just read the PDF to make sure I didn’t miss anything. And, I was skeptical of the site so motivation for perusing the site would have been low. I couldn’t see how a “poster” could provide any significant research findings. But as I scanned through the pages, I began to see how the electronic format of the posters allowed the researchers to expand anywhere and to include infinite amounts of information–information that was manageable because it was initially presented in a simple form, but when I wanted to explore a topic more in depth, detailed explanations, examples and related resources were instantly accessible.  I would have missed a lot if I had just read the PDF.

This approach of allowing the learner to explore things more in depth and presenting information in manageable pieces is also what I liked best about the assignments that Bass and Linken gave to their students. They both pieced out the reading and analysis process for their learners so it would not be overwhelming. They encouraged their students to pursue their own interests and curiosity. Linken broke down the process for researching a paper into manageable chunks. This break down of information and process seems much more manageable than just having a final paper due. It also allowed students to see their own progress rather than simply focusing on the end result. Bass’s three role system created a process where students could work together to find a solution so that each student was covering more information with less work by learning and building on the reasoning of his peers. This reminds me of the game where one person starts a story by providing a phrase or sentence and then the next person adds a small piece, and so on, until, what is generally a very creative and interesting story has been told. This process seems like it would provide a collective knowledge of what all the students bring to the table and could provide infinite avenues for discussion depending on the specific interests of the participants.

Not being a teacher in a classroom, so far, educational research has been very theoretical to me. The information was presented in articles, lectures and presentations, and I dutifully applied the “schoolish behavior” I had learned and memorized it. The VKP site provides a dynamic environment that allows me to the opportunity not only to learn about a theory but to know what it looks like in practice and to see real life results. It also presents the information to me in a way that is not overwhelming and that encourages me to explore my areas of interest in the projects.

Reading Posters

Scanning through the blogs so far, it seems that everyone liked the posters. I did. As someone who has not yet taught, they gave me relief. I felt as if I had tried and true ideas and directions on how to specifically apply them in the classroom setting.

In keeping with the difficulty paper idea, the suggestions on this page were all about the students teaching themselves and becoming excited as they dig in to what pleases them to pursue. The inquirey project was a great example of that. I liked that Rikki began to falter with her thesis, but because she had the freedom to explore, she was able to connect the dots and then continue on her path. I liked the

The Inquiry Project and Making the Grade

Grading is the bane of my existence as a middle school English teacher. I have realized that my colleagues in the English department and I seem to spend a great deal of our time, on the job and at home, grading essays and various other written assignments. After six years of teaching, I still have not found a way to run an essay through the Scantron machine, though I have become a rather efficient grader through skillful speed reading and judicious use of my editing pen .

The Inquiry Project attracted my attention with its focus on content rather than conquest. Regardless of all the time and tears I spend grading my students’ essays, they flip through my comments and pen marks looking for a single letter–A, B, C, D, or F. The eleven tasks required to pass the Inquiry Project help focus a student’s attention on the benefit of a final course project, rather than the completion of yet another mind-numbing research paper. Though the breadth of the Inquiry Project does not seem fitting for the middle school student, I believe a well-planned Literature Circle could mirror the reading and writing skills gained in the college-level Inquiry Project.

My eighth-graders and I have just complete our first adventure through the land of Literature Circles. Like the Inquiry Project, all novels chosen for my Literature Circle project contained the analogous theme of race and culture; and like the Inquiry Project, my primary focus of Literature Circles was to refine my students’ questioning processes. I wanted my students to question how each novel portrayed its characters dealing with issue regarding race and culture in America. My students were paired with classmates who chose to read the same novel, and this became their Literature Circle group. Though they had assignments to complete as a group, they were also given time to discuss points of interest and confusion they discovered throughout the reading process. Instead of making each group complete a final project, all students participated in a Socratic Seminar concerning race and culture. A Socratic Seminar combines oral language skills and close-text reading, as well as personal opinion reflections (something all students, regardless of age, enjoy relating). When I informed my students that this “oral test” counted as their final Literature Circle exam, I was bombarded with question about how I would assess their grade. Because of the academic focus on making the grade, my students could not fathom the idea that their intelligent and thoughtful oral responses were of value “grade-wise.”

The Inquiry Project provides a cultural shift in assessment that benefits all levels of education, from pre-elementary to post-graduate. When students focus on the quality of their thoughts, rather than the quantitative value of their questioning, real learning takes place. After receiving their Socratic Seminar “grades,” my students are clamoring for more Literature Circle-style assessments.

Jennifer Carter-Wharton

Education posters

 In reading the posts so far, it seems that most of the class liked the learning posters and ideas.  I liked all of it.  As an inexperienced teacher, I am filled with fear and trepidation at the prospect of developing my first year’s curriculum.  The ideas in the posters and the difficulty book have relieved some of the stress.

I especially liked the idea of blogging, much like we are doing here.  I think it provides that freedom that one of the students expressed with regard to the inquiry project.  The freedom to dig into what you like, to ask, to be frustrated, all without penalty.  I realize that is how the joy of learning must be fostered. 

The inquiry paper was especially interesting.  It follows the same lines as the difficulty papers, but the assignment seems very detailed, and as a semester project, I guess it must be.  I like the structure and phasing in of the project over time.  When Rikki had difficulty with her thesis, the project itself helped her to continue her work in the same vein, because the time restrictions and have-to-ness of the traditional term paper are eliminated.

I think someone else commented on how these projects tamp down schoolish behavior.  In fact, I think that these projects may encourage a new type of schoolish behavior, learning and liking it. 

With regard to genre and connectivity, I love the idea of bringing up similarities between texts of the time and then exploring them.  I think that would bring the idea of a genre or an era into bright focus for the students.  I know that sometimes when that bell goes off in a classroom and you have grasped an idea clearly, it encourages further study.  Teaching connectivity will help students to apply this sort of thought in so many aspects of their education, as is the goal.

I did not understand nuanced readings and will ask in class unless someone can enlighten me here. 

On the first poster they discussed the idea of having students critique other students’ writing.  What a great way to get the writing done and also to create interest in reading.  The story of a friend, current and interesting, has got to be more interesting, at least initially, than any of those in the anthology. I think it would open discussion of critique and it would also encourage the students to step out a little bit and take chances.

One of the most compelling things in the posters and the difficulty paper book was the idea that students had developed their skills on their own with these tools. It makes learning fun, because it is self-directed.  It makes learning stick, because it is your own process.  I think it would develop a sense of compassion for others as well as each student’s experiences are discussed in class. 

Laurel Chinn

And the Flow Chart Continues…..

I noted in last week’s blog that the required readings reminded me of flow charts.  This week’s articles give me the same feeling.  Although, I have yet to teach my own class, I attempt to apply what I’m reading/learning to my book club girls (7 sixth graders).  It’s a tight time squeeze and really I’m only introducing these concepts.  But I agree that student reading habits can change via instruction and student effort.  The process paper that Prof. Linkon described would be beneficial in strving for this change.  Unfortunately, this isn’t possible in this casual setting. 

What I believe is possible though is modifying Prof. O’Connor’s stratedgy. (She has the students design web pages).  Using poster board, the girls can  draw a “web” to link the issues. Hopefully then, they can (literally) see how the layers in the context and how the issues intersect.The book we’re reading is The Dollhouse Murders.  It is multilayered-sister with a disability, family secret regarding the murders of the grandparents, guilt over present and past tense relationships and adolescence.  Not all the girls are “getting it.” It doesn’t help that the most vocal of the group is saying this the most.

Another girl claims to have finish the book, yet couldn’t recall details from the first four chapters.  In general, it seems they are reading, but for what purpose, besides solving who dunnit, I’m not sure except to say they finshed the book.  So I reread aloud the parts that I wanted to explore in order to set the  foundation of the story.  I also suggested that they either just read what’s assigned weekly or reread the book. So I do support recursivity.  I also use it in my own reading.

(I need to digress here because of the guy next to me. I’m in the computer lab on campus and am amazed by how many students freely use their cellphones even with postings banning cellphone use decorating the room.  Not only can I hear him, but also the other person’s voice on the line! I suppose I’m showing my age here).

Okay. Another stratedgy I really like, in part because I’m an avid photographer, is Prof. Jaffe’s project.  It reminds me of I Wanna Take Me a Picture, where teaching photography to underpriviledged children worldwide provides them an opportunity to more richly explore their family/ world/culture. Then they write stories that contain details and feelings that do reflect a level of self-awareness.  And since the skills of writing and reading intertwine, this stratedgy can laterally tranfer into their reading skills.

I look forward to using these strategies more fully once I’m teaching.  In the meantime, I’ve begun to examine myself as a reader. I need to expand from being a literal reader to making more connections between ideas within the context and with other texts.  I also need to take the time to make those nuances and annotations.  It’s fascinating to read about these projects and methods. I only wish that I had learned them sooner.        Susan  

Where Does the Time Come From?

Between the two different projects that we read about, I would have to say that Sherry Linkon’s was the most interesting to me. I also probably had the most questions about that one and how I could apply it to 9th graders as opposed to her college students. There are some ideas that she gives that are obvious in how they could connect. For example, I really like the idea of having students annotate, so I’m trying to think of how I can have them do so even though the books don’t belong to them and I can’t provide Post-It notes for everyone. After our discussion last week in class, it got me thinking a lot about myself as a reader. I remembered Prof. Sample saying that if you just highlight things, you’ll forget why. So I practiced annotating this article this week, and wow! What a difference I had in ideas. I could feel myself thinking more about what I was reading and interacting more with the text than I normally might – even if I’m just highlighting. I might be hooked on annotations now. I want that for my students. I feel like it’s something that would be easy to incorporate with ninth graders.

Another idea I really liked was that of recursivity. I think that by having students look at the text more than once, we’re forcing them, in a way, to become experts with it. It’s true that we might read something once and understand it enough to be able to discuss and form opinions and ideas, but the more we read any text, the more we will understand it. The problem is getting students interested enough to want to motivate themselves to read beyond just that first reading. I admit that this is something I struggle with as well. I know it will be easier the second time, but there are usually time constraints, etc. that prohibit me from being able to have just a second reading, much less a third and so on.

This leads me to my first questioning of the reading. In a collegiate atmosphere, I can see how it would be really beneficial to a student to have the entire 14 weeks to read and re-read a select few texts and think about them in order to develop questions and learn how to successfully seek answers. However, in a high school atmosphere, I’m a bit skeptical, mostly because of the time constraints. As high school teachers, we don’t have much choice in the curriculum that we teach. I have a guide that tells me what I need to complete each marking period, and it doesn’t leave me with a lot of time to allot for re-reading of texts. I’m torn between wanting them to become experts and knowing that I have only so much time in which to do it. Not only that, but if the kids aren’t prepared for their benchmarks and SOLs and administration finds out that I’ve been having them re-read material instead of teaching them new, they will certainly be coming to have a talk with me.

The second aspect of Linkon’s project that I found myself questioning was the lack of paper. I think that the portfolio idea is wonderful and I like how she spent more time going through the steps and letting the students work on smaller pieces at a time so that it didn’t seem overwhelming. But I have to wonder if there was not still some way to incorporate a paper into that assignment. Sure the students did the research and they learned how to think effectively, but the lack of formal assessment makes it almost seem like busy work – just with more learning involved. She says, herself, though, at the end, that her next step is to figure out how to incorporate some kind of formal assessment in there. I think how I would incorporate it is similar to the way I saw it done when I was in high school (is that allowed?). We had a graduation project to complete and we spent chunks of time throughout the year getting ready for it and writing small pieces of it at a time. While I wouldn’t have the whole year, I think that, if spaced out properly over the course of the marking period, it would be beneficial to the students to not feel like everything is being piled on them at once.

All teachers should read and learn about this project

 As and avid reader and writer I seek out more information if I do not fully comprehend what I’m reading. I often wish my students would do that as well. I like that these researchers aren’t saying that these methods will create expert readers, but rather each kid will improve. How much they improve to me is irrelevant because there’s growth. I think creating a visual such as the map on the Active and Critical Reading page will allow students to see how they interpret reading and they will grow from that understanding. Often times when readers understand how they read and what’s necessary for the ultimate comprehension, it is easier to target those specific goals. I was particularly interested in the self-awareness part of the map because I never thought to make them aware of their own personal style of reading by specifically asking them to look or at least explore how they read.

The annotation techniques mentioned made me actually feel like I was doing something right by my ESOL classes. As we discussed in class, annotating texts does truly enhance the reader’s comprehension or lack thereof. Annotating a section you don’t understand and attempting to problem solve why it’s confusing is very useful. I always copy entire chapters, poems and plays to allow my students to highlight, question and really read the texts. Though we are not supposed to write in books, I often tell my students to lightly pencil or keep a piece of paper tucked in the text with page numbers and questions if I am not able to make photocopies. I wish I used this method my first couple of years teaching because they actually use annotations to ask questions in class. I now avoid those terrible, generic textbook comprehension questions and turn their questions into meaningful discussions. With my ESOL population or even any population one question is probably the same question for at least another kid in class.

Another example I enjoyed was Arthur Lau’s students that wrote autobiographies to help them better their understanding of reading autobiographies really impressed me. I do think mirroring styles can help students understand important features that differentiate books, poems and stories. Of course I’m not saying there’s one way for any of these, but having an understanding of one or two ways and then having the skill to expand on that knowledge is a powerful tool for any reader or writer. Reading and writing go hand in hand in this respect. Much like Lau, Patricia O’Connor makes her students create web pages that explore the author’s depictions of Appalachian culture and history so that they better understand why the author wrote so accurately about the location. Making these personal connections by having students create their own writing or research author’s methods will allow students to have a better understanding. Literature is multi-faceted as is learning so it makes sense to find a variety of ways for students to connect with the texts they read and understand it as well.

I really enjoyed Sherry Linkon’s Inquiry Project because my colleagues and I often discuss students who just want to know what to do, how to do it, where to look, how many sources and the end result is stale. She said that her students “wanted to know exactly what steps to take in order to find the right answer of the right amount of material,” and that reminded me of our constant struggle to get meaningful research from students. Because research is one of our SOL strands, we often do it because we have to. However, to use research as a matter of literary exploration is a very interesting and exciting concept for me. Linkon said that without requiring it, students were exploring other pieces of literature and research that enhanced the original text they chose.  They not only explored what they didn’t understand, they used that information to enhance their comprehension. I would use this on a smaller scale in my classes. I’m not sure how, but there are great ideas and points she outlined that I know I could use to meet the needs of my students.

Evaluating the Merit of Students’ Connections

  The enthusiasm the students expressed regarding Sherry Linkon’s Inquiry Project was encouraging because getting students to slow down, reread, and reconsider first impressions are very difficult goals to achieve. Consider the words of one student, Mark: “I liked how I was able to discover MY answers instead of the answers that I thought Dr. Linkon wanted me to find.”  The question I have regarding the project is what is done when “MY answers” are not supported by the text.  I do not see allowance in the course for evaluating the merit of connections that they students make, just that they make them.  However, when student, Rikki, wrote about reading No-No Boy, she said “there were some parts that were confusing the first time I read them, and I had to go back to make sure I was reading it right.”  Rikki understands that there is a right way to read it, which means there must be wrong ways to read it that should be avoided.  Rikki speculates on the connection between style and subject matter and makes a plausible and interesting conclusion, but ultimately, her ideas cannot be proven; not at all sure of her connections, she expresses them in terms of what “seems to” emphasize and what “could be” an extension.  Randy Bass also offers examples of student work on his poster, and we see a similar lack of certainty by his advanced student: “It seems there is a spiritual connection,” he writes. I do not understand the value of forcing students to make such speculations for speculations’ sake.Linkon makes a link between literature and writing when she says that the value of critical thinking and inquiry is to formulate new ideas to be shared.  “No researcher completes the entire study of any text,” she writes.  “Rather, we build on . . . the work done by others,” so “you need to be able to communicate clearly what you’re thinking, and if you can make your work engaging and enjoyable to read, all the better.”  But in addition to being engaging and clear, it should be logical and true.  Due to the interactions of text, reader, and culture, Linkon identifies critical reading, in part, with shifting and contradictory meaning.  I disagree that the meaning of a text changes, and contradictory meaning is non-sensical.  Although my inquiry into the historical and cultural contexts may cause a shift in my understanding of the text, it does not change the meaning of it.  Nor does it make any sense that a text should contradict itself.  Scholarly inquiry should lead me to resolve apparent contradictions.   Naomi

Circular Approaches

There was much that I enjoyed about the readings this week; however, I think the most impressive quality to me was the circular nature of the work. As in the action research process the work presented in these posters is not finished…it has been presented as findings and is the beginning of the next cycle. I feel that too often in educational research what happens is that the research is done, the findings are published, and then the public accepts published findings as the truth; so if you as an educator do not achieve success through the implementation of said findings, well you must have done something wrong.

As has been mentioned earlier, Randy Bass’s work even included that reflective piece for the oral mid-term and final. Much in the same way as the readers were scattered and non-leaner, so are our thought processes (again as has already been mentioned), so why shouldn’t we allow our students the opportunity to explain their thinking and their answers. Besides as we all know if we give students questions to answer about a reading they will just hunt and scan until they find what they think is the right answer and then write down what they find. Or worse, they will have a friend that will allow them to just copy down their answers. More often than not, they both get the wrong answer in this situation.

Having had a great deal of exposure to below grade level and struggling readers in my first five years of teaching, I have been exposed to a great deal of professional development and course work on reading. Therefore, I have employed many techniques in which I expect students to interact with the text. In honesty, nothing makes them more angry – at first – then when I don’t just give them questions to answer. One of the strategies that I have found to be most effective is a double-entry journal. Through the use of double-entry journals, we will read a text together identifying and commenting on the basic elements of the story (setting, character, plot, themes, etc.) This is done through modeling with me keeping a journal on the overhead for them to copy down. As the year progresses, I ask for them to include more and more in their double-entry journals and provide them with less and less support. Although they do a great deal  of belly aching and whining everytime I respond that ‘yes’ they will be keeping a reading journal, without fail it is the one thing the majority of them will write about at the end of the year as being the most helpful thing they have done in class throughout the year.

Although I provide a great deal of support for my Gen. Ed. classes through reading journals, I do not give as much support to my AP students. This is one of the areas that I struggle with because even though many of the students are at a higher level, not all of them have the same skills entering the class. The sad truth of the matter is that many of them are only taking AP classes to get out of the Gen. Ed. classes because there is no middle ground opportunity. So long story short – I know that there is more that I could be doing for my Gen. Ed. populations, but I feel like I’m making headway there; however, it is the lower end of the spectrum students in my AP classes that I feel are slipping threw the cracks.

 Sorry, I feel as if I’ve droned on about what I do in this post rather than about the readings. One thing that I have done with my AP students as an extra credit assignment was the creation of a MySpace network for the characters of the Iliad and what the VKP readings gave me the idea of is kind of an expansion on this idea to a research project that we going to be doing as part of an individual book project.

 Okay, okay, enough…talk about non-linear posting. I’m really just stream of consciousness blogging here so I’ll come back when I have something relevant to write.

Breaking Schoolish Behavior

For many students, reading has become a task to complete in preparation for class and or the first step in finding an argument for an assigned paper, not a process of exploration, reflection, or contextualization. (Linkon, “Defining Critical Reading”)

Having little knowledge of the scholarship of teaching literature, I was fascinated by the Visible Knowledge Project (VKP). I knew such scholarship existed, I just had never read the “behind the scenes” perspectives of educators tackling the question of how to help students become more critical and active readers.

As I explored the VKP website and read educator’s posters, one formative experience in my personal literary narrative came to mind. Flashback to the summer of 1993: the summer before sixth grade. I was determined to win my local library’s “Reading Stars” contest. To be more specific, I was determined to beat one “Jane Doe,” a friend with whom I had a particularly competitive relationship. With a cash prize at stake, both of us geared up by loading our bookbags with the newest and most interesting books our library had to offer.

To ensure that we were in fact reading the books we checked out, we had to fill out summary cards in which we identified the genre, the main characters, the basic plot, and central themes of every work we read. Now, I had always loved reading. As a child, I was often scolded for hiding a book in my lap at the dinner table. Perhaps because the majority of my reading occurred outside of school, my main “goal” in reading was “fun.” (Though I doubt I would have looked at reading in terms of goals at all). Not long into this contest, however, I was reading only with the dreaded summary card in mind. In my family, we referred to it as SCOD—the summary card of doom.

I did not win the contest. If you must know, “Jane” won by piling her library bag with children’s books. (Seriously, how hard is it to fill out a SCOD for The Hungry Caterpillar? Right?). Our friendship eventually recovered, but at the time, I was very disappointed. I was angry with her for turning to children’s books, but I was also I was annoyed at myself for not discovering–and taking advantage of–her strategy and making that sweet cash prize mine-all-mine.

Not long into my middle school experience, I learned that the dreaded SCOD that had tormented me all summer long was actually a blessing in disguise. I began to read everything with a SCOD in mind. I had always been a good student, but suddenly, I was pulling A’s left and right. My parents were pleased. My teachers were pleased. I was even asked to create a list of reading strategies to share with my classmates.

But despite all this attention, something was off. I no longer enjoyed reading—at least not in the way I used to. Instead of seeing reading as exploratory, I started reading for a distinct purpose: information. I became a master-skimmer and scanner. I attacked each text with the ruthless efficiency. Further, I began shunning more challenging and non-traditional texts because it was harder to find “the answers.”

This strategy pretty much worked for me through 12th grade. Sure, my readings became a little more nuanced. I identified more complex ideas and offered more interpretations. Still, for the most part, Linkon’s quote (included at the top of my post) was the modus operandi—and not just for me, but for most high-achieving students at my high school. Such “schoolish behavior” is what got us into top colleges. Once there, most of us found that in many cases, these strategies continued to work. In higher-level courses, however, the jig was up. “Where are you in this paper?” asked one especially perceptive professor.

I’ve already written entirely too much, but I want to note that Linkon’s Inquiry Project struck me as a well-planned, step-by-step method of breaking students’ schoolish behaviors. It’s ironic that it might take such structure to make students more comfortable with open-endedness; however, the structured approach is key. You can’t just say “suspend your analysis and read with an open mind” to students that have been trained to read like they’re on a “seek-and-destroy” mission. As both Linkon and Bass point out, students of all levels are uncomfortable with uncertainty. There is perhaps nothing so frustrating as a teacher who does not define their expectations.

The inquiry project defines expectations and identifies intermediate steps, but it also alleviates the pressure of finding “the answer” or producing a research paper. The structure of the assignment provides clear guidelines, while allowing room for student-directed research and analysis. Linkon’s discussion of Rikki’s analysis of No-No Boy provided a great example of this process. (I don’t know how many times I abandoned a particular line of research because I couldn’t find enough background articles).

Whew. Sorry for the marathon post…I guess this is kind of a combined literacy narrative/weekly response. I look forward to discussing the VKP in class this Wednesday.

Sara

Laura’s Take on Bass’s Oral Assessment Idea

I become overwhelmed and disheartened sometimes by the large volume of writing my students generate and that I must read. I’m always on the lookout for strategies to help reduce the time I spend with student papers – that is, without shortchanging students.

So far, I’ve learned a few strategies. For example, last term in English 610 (The Teaching of Composition), Professor Gallehr recommended that we become speed readers. He told us that reading quickly is a great skill for a writing teacher and one we’re all capable of developing. Professor Gallehr also advocated that we limit the comments we put on papers. I’ve tried both of these suggestions and while they do save time, I feel like I’m rushing through student papers and may miss something important.

In my study of the Visible Knowledge Project this week, I hit on another idea. Randy Bass says he shifted from written to oral midterm and final assessments. That would certainly cut down on the paperwork. But three concerns immediately spring to mind.

First, it’s not clear from the poster whether Bass teaches his students how to have worthwhile “conversations” about literature in preparation for the oral assessments. I’m guessing that class discussions help But I wonder how else Bass teaches the conversation skills he assesses. Is the midterm the first opportunity his students have to receive one-on-one feedback on their conversation skills? I’m not sure.

Second, it occurs to me that students who are already good conversationalists and who are at ease speaking will have a huge advantage on this kind of assessment. One might argue that good writers and test takers have a leg up on written exams and that this is no different. Still, I can imagine that there would be students who would clam up in an oral exam; stage fright might do them in.

Third, how much time does Bass spend on the oral assessments? He says he videotapes the conversations. He also says he dubs and compresses the tape onto a CD and puts his comments on as a Word file. Then, he has students write a brief response looking closely at two places in the oral midterm and reflecting how they might have answered questions better or differently. When you add it up, it seems likely that Bass is spending even more time than he would grading a written exam. But it’s time spent differently. I suppose that counts for something.

Despite these concerns, there’s one thing I like a lot about Bass’s oral assessment idea; his students get to have a one-on-one conversation with him. I read a study once that suggested that freshmen in a community college who spent as little as 10 minutes with a single instructor were more likely to remain enrolled than those who didn’t have that chance. We must not forget how much it means to our students when we talk with them meaningfully and individually, especially when we do so outside of the classroom. I love student conferences for this reason. And so, too, I like Bass’s idea because he’s hit on a way to ensure that every student gets that all-so-important one-on-one time. – Laura Hills