Saturday, April 28, 2012
Friday, March 16, 2012
Walking a Mile in Their Shoes
I recently returned from a conference in Philadelphia. Our transportation to the conference, where we stayed, all the monies for room and conference fees, were taken care of by the college. We were on our own for gas, parking, food and incidentals, though we can put in reimbursement requests for most of that.
The conference was an innovations in education themed event, with presentations and roundtables, all about innovation in the community college and its classrooms. Predictably, most of the sessions focused on the use of technology to invigorate learning, power better learning techniques, present information, enhance knowledge, make assessment easier (both at the classroom and institution level). In short, it was full of the tech geeks of education. You had people who rely on their Smartphones, iPads, laptops, and access to the wide wonderful wireless world in order to function.
The conference was held at the Marriot Downtown/Convention Center. Which is a "business" hotel--in short, the majority of patrons are placed there by businesses, where the business pays all fees, etc.--like parking and, wait for it....wireless access. In the entire hotel there were two "hotspots"--one in the Starbucks off the lobby, and one in a little raised area that seated about 50 (the conference attendees were upwards of 1400). There was NO access in any of the conference rooms--which made it difficult for many of the presenters since their presentations were designed around links to the web that they couldn't access. The conference did set up a set of laptops so that conference attendees could check their email. Otherwise, it was $12.98 a day to have internet access in your room. Those were your options.
The irony burns.
Then, our happy little band had other problems. There was a communication failure between the funding and the hotel's computer, that meant some of us couldn't check in (that was settled within a couple of hours, but it was very unwelcome after 7 hours in a car and one of us having not eaten in 14). We also hadn't been warned that this hotel, unlike others where I've attended conferences on the college's dime, required each of us to use one of our own debit ($25 hold, per day--there 5 days, $125 hold) or credit cards (ummmm--don't have one!) to have on file for "incidental expenses." That put a serious dent in some of our abilities to, well, eat. Also, unlike most of the conferences I have attended, parking in the hotel's garage was an additional charge-$38 a day in this case, rather than comped for those with rooms in the hotel. And in the past when using a college vehicle the college's fleet gas cards were provided. When we opened the envelope there were no cards, so again, an unplanned expense. While none of these were unreasonable (we'll get reimbursed for the gas and parking), and spread between four fully employed adults, they were unexpected, and at least one of us did not have the resources to adjust.
But as I looked at the situation, and heard extremely frustrated conference attendees complaining about the lack of wireless access, I thought to myself, "Now you know how students feel."
Let me see if I can explain what I mean.
Showing up at the desk, having done "everything right," and being told, despite our paperwork showing that we'd done "everything right," being told we can't check in because the money isn't showing up is like the student who does all the work for financial aid and goes to register and is told she can't because her "financial aid hasn't come through yet." There she is, with all her life in her car, her classes planned, and she gets deregistered and put through emotional hell, because some piece of paperwork got lost in some office somewhere between her and the college. It isn't her fault, it isn't the college's fault, but her impulse is to take it out on either the person who organized everything or the person who has just given her the bad news.
Then there is the student who doesn't make a pest of themselves to inquire about every little fee, every little possible difference between this new college and the college she last attended. Is wireless included in my dorm fee, or do I have to pay extra? Can I park on campus, and is there an additional college parking fee? She gets there, thinking everything is covered, because at her last college all those things were rolled into her dorm fee, and at her brother's college they are, too, so that must be true here, too. Right? No. So now she either has to come up with parking money on top of everything else, and she can't get wireless in her room because she didn't pay the fee, and she can't until she gets her refund check from her loan. Or she could park on the street--5 blocks away, and hope her car doesn't get stolen, towed, or broken into. And remember to move it so she doesn't get tickets. Joy. So she pays for parking, and that cuts into her food for the next two weeks, because she doesn't have enough to sign up for the meal plan, and she's left with only $50 for two weeks, and all the food on campus is SO expensive and she can't cook in her room--there isn't even a refrigeratior, unless she rents one of those! And now she's mad that the college didn't make information clearer in the literature, and mad at herself for not asking annoying questions, because she hates the tone people use when they answer her.
So she checks in to the dorm, after parking her car, and the room is wonderful. And she likes her professors, but she still has to finish the online work from her summer class, because that semester is still going on, even though she's at her new college because unlike half the people at her new school, she isn't on break--she still has work. But she doesn't have wireless in her room, so she has to either haul her laptop off campus to somewhere like Barnes and Noble or Starbucks, and spend money she doesn't have to drink something so she can work there and not be thrown out, or she has to use one of the open labs on campus, and hope there is a computer free. And there are governors on how much data she can use for free, and if she uses too much, it shuts her down and she has to pay an additional access fee. Or maybe she can find people who have access in their room, and use theirs, but she's not that desperate yet.
But she's stressed, and annoyed, and feels jerked around. Because communication was bad, things didn't work as promised, or things were not as expected.
I see those students every fall, and every spring. And I saw people just like them at the conference--they were my colleagues. They were the face in my mirror. I hope those professors and deans, the next time they see a student dealing with the same issues, remember how it felt to be in a strange place, feeling helpless and a little bit betrayed by those they trusted and a system that seemed designed to defeat them. It's not about fault, it's not about blame, and it's usually not about "fixing" it. It's about empathy. It's about compassion. It's about looking them in the eye, and saying, "I understand," and having that be true.
The conference was an innovations in education themed event, with presentations and roundtables, all about innovation in the community college and its classrooms. Predictably, most of the sessions focused on the use of technology to invigorate learning, power better learning techniques, present information, enhance knowledge, make assessment easier (both at the classroom and institution level). In short, it was full of the tech geeks of education. You had people who rely on their Smartphones, iPads, laptops, and access to the wide wonderful wireless world in order to function.
The conference was held at the Marriot Downtown/Convention Center. Which is a "business" hotel--in short, the majority of patrons are placed there by businesses, where the business pays all fees, etc.--like parking and, wait for it....wireless access. In the entire hotel there were two "hotspots"--one in the Starbucks off the lobby, and one in a little raised area that seated about 50 (the conference attendees were upwards of 1400). There was NO access in any of the conference rooms--which made it difficult for many of the presenters since their presentations were designed around links to the web that they couldn't access. The conference did set up a set of laptops so that conference attendees could check their email. Otherwise, it was $12.98 a day to have internet access in your room. Those were your options.
The irony burns.
Then, our happy little band had other problems. There was a communication failure between the funding and the hotel's computer, that meant some of us couldn't check in (that was settled within a couple of hours, but it was very unwelcome after 7 hours in a car and one of us having not eaten in 14). We also hadn't been warned that this hotel, unlike others where I've attended conferences on the college's dime, required each of us to use one of our own debit ($25 hold, per day--there 5 days, $125 hold) or credit cards (ummmm--don't have one!) to have on file for "incidental expenses." That put a serious dent in some of our abilities to, well, eat. Also, unlike most of the conferences I have attended, parking in the hotel's garage was an additional charge-$38 a day in this case, rather than comped for those with rooms in the hotel. And in the past when using a college vehicle the college's fleet gas cards were provided. When we opened the envelope there were no cards, so again, an unplanned expense. While none of these were unreasonable (we'll get reimbursed for the gas and parking), and spread between four fully employed adults, they were unexpected, and at least one of us did not have the resources to adjust.
But as I looked at the situation, and heard extremely frustrated conference attendees complaining about the lack of wireless access, I thought to myself, "Now you know how students feel."
Let me see if I can explain what I mean.
Showing up at the desk, having done "everything right," and being told, despite our paperwork showing that we'd done "everything right," being told we can't check in because the money isn't showing up is like the student who does all the work for financial aid and goes to register and is told she can't because her "financial aid hasn't come through yet." There she is, with all her life in her car, her classes planned, and she gets deregistered and put through emotional hell, because some piece of paperwork got lost in some office somewhere between her and the college. It isn't her fault, it isn't the college's fault, but her impulse is to take it out on either the person who organized everything or the person who has just given her the bad news.
Then there is the student who doesn't make a pest of themselves to inquire about every little fee, every little possible difference between this new college and the college she last attended. Is wireless included in my dorm fee, or do I have to pay extra? Can I park on campus, and is there an additional college parking fee? She gets there, thinking everything is covered, because at her last college all those things were rolled into her dorm fee, and at her brother's college they are, too, so that must be true here, too. Right? No. So now she either has to come up with parking money on top of everything else, and she can't get wireless in her room because she didn't pay the fee, and she can't until she gets her refund check from her loan. Or she could park on the street--5 blocks away, and hope her car doesn't get stolen, towed, or broken into. And remember to move it so she doesn't get tickets. Joy. So she pays for parking, and that cuts into her food for the next two weeks, because she doesn't have enough to sign up for the meal plan, and she's left with only $50 for two weeks, and all the food on campus is SO expensive and she can't cook in her room--there isn't even a refrigeratior, unless she rents one of those! And now she's mad that the college didn't make information clearer in the literature, and mad at herself for not asking annoying questions, because she hates the tone people use when they answer her.
So she checks in to the dorm, after parking her car, and the room is wonderful. And she likes her professors, but she still has to finish the online work from her summer class, because that semester is still going on, even though she's at her new college because unlike half the people at her new school, she isn't on break--she still has work. But she doesn't have wireless in her room, so she has to either haul her laptop off campus to somewhere like Barnes and Noble or Starbucks, and spend money she doesn't have to drink something so she can work there and not be thrown out, or she has to use one of the open labs on campus, and hope there is a computer free. And there are governors on how much data she can use for free, and if she uses too much, it shuts her down and she has to pay an additional access fee. Or maybe she can find people who have access in their room, and use theirs, but she's not that desperate yet.
But she's stressed, and annoyed, and feels jerked around. Because communication was bad, things didn't work as promised, or things were not as expected.
I see those students every fall, and every spring. And I saw people just like them at the conference--they were my colleagues. They were the face in my mirror. I hope those professors and deans, the next time they see a student dealing with the same issues, remember how it felt to be in a strange place, feeling helpless and a little bit betrayed by those they trusted and a system that seemed designed to defeat them. It's not about fault, it's not about blame, and it's usually not about "fixing" it. It's about empathy. It's about compassion. It's about looking them in the eye, and saying, "I understand," and having that be true.
Monday, January 23, 2012
When Tradition Trumps Utility
Recently, in another forum, a woman I used to babysit for was ranting about the fact that "they're no longer teaching cursive in schools." Hmmm.
Ah. Handwriting. When I was growing up, the handwriting in my house was a joy to behold. Daddy went through a spell of being very sick when he was at the age when students were learning cursive. He was stuck in bed for several months, and to make the time pass (this was the 1920's, and even radio wasn't omnipresent), he practiced his penmanship. He developed this wonderful hand, that was pointy, and angular, and...gorgeous. One of my most treasured possessions is four lines of verse he wrote for me, in his own hand.
Momma, on the other hand, was a product of Palmer Method. Moreover, as she was naturally left-hand dominant (back in the 30's, when teachers routinely smashed the hands of students using their left hands for pretty much anything), learning Palmer method with her non-dominant hand was a trial--one, like so many, she assailed, crushed, and danced on in triumph. Her hand was gorgeous--round, flowing. Even when the schleroderma and arthritis made writing a trial, her hand was beautiful and legible.
So it is no wonder that as a child and teenager I wanted my penmanship to be beautiful, but distinctive. I took a bit from Daddy, a lot from Momma, but put my own spin on it. Writing hurts these days, but when I take the time, even now, people look at my handwriting and say "Your handwriting is beautiful," and for a moment it feels like Momma has her hand on one shoulder and Daddy the other, squeezing with pride.
So it may come as a surprise that when Lisa ranted about the lack of cursive instruction in the classroom my response can best be summed up by the phrase "So what?"
Perhaps my problem comes from knowing too much about the history of writing. Our cursive manuscript today is derived primarily from Carolingian Miniscule. Carolingian Miniscule was a hand developed for governing purposes to speed up the time it took to make multiple copies of documents from the Emperor Charlemagne to distribute to vassals and government officials (he who also thought that teaching people to read was a good thing). The calligraphy used before CM was labor intensive and took a significant amount of time, but the connected nature of the letters in CM, which meant fewer lifts of the pen from the vellum or parchment, increased the copier's speed.
Most cursive hands since (excepting extremely ornamented hands like Spencerian and others of that sort) have been devised mostly for legibility and speed of transcription. When the bulk of writing is done by hand, it is essential to make that writing readable and quickly produced.
However, it has been a long time since government and business relied primarily on handwritten documents. And for at least the last twenty years even those documents with sections to be filled in by hand have had,in teeny tiny letters, "Block letters only," or, in more polite circles, "Block letters please." A few years ago the U.S. Postal Service even sent out a communique informing the public that envelopes and packages addressed with cursive script were not guaranteed delivery. Hell--they don't even want you to use upper and lower case!
Even in academia, at every level, more and more "writing" is done in an electronic environment, with a keyboard, even for in-class and standardized tests. And when scribing is done, block letters work perfectly well (and when done with an electronic stylus and pad, block works even better).
Cursive script, as it existed for those of us who were schooled before the 1980's, is not the same as it is now. It does not serve the same utility, and it was for that utility--legible, quickly written documents--that it occupied time in the classroom. Given the amount of material an elementary teacher has to get through, given the time it takes to teach students cursive, if they have no need for it (and, let's face it, they really don't), then teaching it in school becomes uselessly quaint. Cursive script is now most appropriate for calligraphic purposes, and that is how it should be taught. In art class.
However, if they start getting rid of the teaching of writing altogether, I'll have a problem, because that will be throwing the baby away with the bathwater.
I look forward with no more joy than the next person to attics empty of letters written in beautiful cursive hands, where you can tell Grandma's letters from Aunt Josie's without even reading the names, but those days are gone. And holding onto the relic that is the cursive hand will not change that.
Ah. Handwriting. When I was growing up, the handwriting in my house was a joy to behold. Daddy went through a spell of being very sick when he was at the age when students were learning cursive. He was stuck in bed for several months, and to make the time pass (this was the 1920's, and even radio wasn't omnipresent), he practiced his penmanship. He developed this wonderful hand, that was pointy, and angular, and...gorgeous. One of my most treasured possessions is four lines of verse he wrote for me, in his own hand.
Momma, on the other hand, was a product of Palmer Method. Moreover, as she was naturally left-hand dominant (back in the 30's, when teachers routinely smashed the hands of students using their left hands for pretty much anything), learning Palmer method with her non-dominant hand was a trial--one, like so many, she assailed, crushed, and danced on in triumph. Her hand was gorgeous--round, flowing. Even when the schleroderma and arthritis made writing a trial, her hand was beautiful and legible.
So it is no wonder that as a child and teenager I wanted my penmanship to be beautiful, but distinctive. I took a bit from Daddy, a lot from Momma, but put my own spin on it. Writing hurts these days, but when I take the time, even now, people look at my handwriting and say "Your handwriting is beautiful," and for a moment it feels like Momma has her hand on one shoulder and Daddy the other, squeezing with pride.
So it may come as a surprise that when Lisa ranted about the lack of cursive instruction in the classroom my response can best be summed up by the phrase "So what?"
Perhaps my problem comes from knowing too much about the history of writing. Our cursive manuscript today is derived primarily from Carolingian Miniscule. Carolingian Miniscule was a hand developed for governing purposes to speed up the time it took to make multiple copies of documents from the Emperor Charlemagne to distribute to vassals and government officials (he who also thought that teaching people to read was a good thing). The calligraphy used before CM was labor intensive and took a significant amount of time, but the connected nature of the letters in CM, which meant fewer lifts of the pen from the vellum or parchment, increased the copier's speed.
Most cursive hands since (excepting extremely ornamented hands like Spencerian and others of that sort) have been devised mostly for legibility and speed of transcription. When the bulk of writing is done by hand, it is essential to make that writing readable and quickly produced.
However, it has been a long time since government and business relied primarily on handwritten documents. And for at least the last twenty years even those documents with sections to be filled in by hand have had,in teeny tiny letters, "Block letters only," or, in more polite circles, "Block letters please." A few years ago the U.S. Postal Service even sent out a communique informing the public that envelopes and packages addressed with cursive script were not guaranteed delivery. Hell--they don't even want you to use upper and lower case!
Even in academia, at every level, more and more "writing" is done in an electronic environment, with a keyboard, even for in-class and standardized tests. And when scribing is done, block letters work perfectly well (and when done with an electronic stylus and pad, block works even better).
Cursive script, as it existed for those of us who were schooled before the 1980's, is not the same as it is now. It does not serve the same utility, and it was for that utility--legible, quickly written documents--that it occupied time in the classroom. Given the amount of material an elementary teacher has to get through, given the time it takes to teach students cursive, if they have no need for it (and, let's face it, they really don't), then teaching it in school becomes uselessly quaint. Cursive script is now most appropriate for calligraphic purposes, and that is how it should be taught. In art class.
However, if they start getting rid of the teaching of writing altogether, I'll have a problem, because that will be throwing the baby away with the bathwater.
I look forward with no more joy than the next person to attics empty of letters written in beautiful cursive hands, where you can tell Grandma's letters from Aunt Josie's without even reading the names, but those days are gone. And holding onto the relic that is the cursive hand will not change that.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Art and Utility
I'm in the process of starting the organizing of the new semester. This involves thinking about assignment sequencing, supporting documents, and myriad other pieces of minutia. Some of it is tedious, some of it is fun, and some of it is perplexing.
The perplexing happened today. One of the textbook companies sent me a new "reader" (an anthology of essays that exemplify "good writing" in various modes, by various authors, throughout the ages) and I was reviewing it to see if there was A) any reason to ask future students to buy it and B) if there were any particularly good essays in it I could use for pedagogical purposes. Well, the answer to both was no.
Let's be clear. The anthology is full of excellent writing, by superior authors. Much of it is interesting, and readable. If this was a book I was considering for a class on "The Art of Personal Essay Writing" or "Provocative Thoughts for the New Millenium" I might easily say of this book "That's it!" in my best Lucy Van Pelt voice. But, no, this is a class called "College English" and there is very little in the book that is a model for college and post-college writers other than the use of Standard English. This is not a modeling to be scorned, but is insufficient for the task at hand. I need something that will model good writing of the type the students will be rewarded for producing, that is consistent with the tasks they will be asked to perform.
Again, it is important to be clear. The essays in the anthology do demonstrate critical thinking, use of evidence, and explication. These are some of what students will be asked to do both within the institution and when they leave its "not-so-ivy-covered" halls. The problem with the essays as exemplars is they are...too "arty." As they should be--they were, for the most part, written for a purpose and an audience that would seek these essays out as part of a leisure activity in which part of the point is to travel along with the slow unraveling of argument in a desultory, often evocative way, during which time the reader revels both in the ideas being presented and the artistry and nuance of the presentation.
Given that one of the things we stress for students is that they attend to the purpose for which the reader comes to the writing as a guide for how the piece should be written, these essays would be ideal for models of the writing leisure reading non-fiction.
However, with the possible exception of one or two assignments in an English 1 class, or the student studying "Creative Writing:Non-fiction," the purposes for which the reader comes to student-written material is unlikely in the extreme to be this kind of writing. As such--these essays as models are worse than useless. They are misleading, and ultimately leave students confused.
Why? Students are most often asked to clearly and articulately argue for a narrowly defined interpretation, course of action, or evaluation; clearly inform a reader about a specific issue, event, or person; or demonstrate understanding in a straightforward manner, even if the understanding itself is nuanced or nebulous. Their readers (whether faculty, fellow students, employers, or co-workers) want the structure to be conventional and the points clearly sign-posted. When evaluating quality, the discerning reader will value an elegant use of language (though they are more likely to reward Dior than Gaga in this), and will enjoy the occasional play of wit or personality, but the personality of the writer should not dominate the writing. If you present the student writer with models by Twain and Didion, Swift and Sartre (and don't even get me on the questionable value of using translated works), personality is often the very meat and bones of the piece, with the actual point being the flourish, not the substance. And the signposts are subtle, sometimes only visible upon re-reading a second or third time. The writing students are asked to do is the type where the readers require clarity on the first pass--and that obligates the writer to certain elements that are almost antithetical to the kind of writing exemplified in this, as well as most, academic "readers."
Further, the length of the pieces is an obstacle--not in the reading (though, truthfully, students quail at the thought of much beyond a 2000)--as a model. For one thing, in most of these cases to make the point the author is trying to make, the way they are trying to make it, requires pieces of this length. They are perfectly appropriate to the writer's goals and the readers' expectations and desires. Again, student writing, particularly at the 100 level, generally runs between 500-1000 words, and the purposes and expectations of the reader are best met within this frame. This requires a different kind of thesis, a different kind of progression, than the kind exemplified in these essays. Once students move outside of our "hallowed halls" the writing they are expected to do will be more within these strictures than that of these beautiful examples of expository prose.
Unfortunately, none of the readers I've found that have examples of the kind of writing students are actually asked to do seem to include examples that are structurally valid models and well-written. They either have all the use of language nuance one would expect of a memo from "Chuck" at "New Zealand Tire and Wreck" about the kegger on Friday after work, or they are a 500-1000 word excerpts from a longer piece (and if you don't want to hear my rant on translations, then you REALLY don't want to hear my rant on excerpts).
Truly, somewhere, somehow, there must be a company willing to put together an anthology of articles 500-2000 words long, non-fiction, from business, science, and social issues (including media, personalities, politics, and culture) that are structurally sound, demonstrate good critical thinking, and are examples of excellent use of grammar, vocabulary, tone, and voice. And, before you ask, no--I'm not willing to ask for a 1 year sabbatical to try to put one together.
So, Dear Santa, next year for Christmas, I would like....
The perplexing happened today. One of the textbook companies sent me a new "reader" (an anthology of essays that exemplify "good writing" in various modes, by various authors, throughout the ages) and I was reviewing it to see if there was A) any reason to ask future students to buy it and B) if there were any particularly good essays in it I could use for pedagogical purposes. Well, the answer to both was no.
Let's be clear. The anthology is full of excellent writing, by superior authors. Much of it is interesting, and readable. If this was a book I was considering for a class on "The Art of Personal Essay Writing" or "Provocative Thoughts for the New Millenium" I might easily say of this book "That's it!" in my best Lucy Van Pelt voice. But, no, this is a class called "College English" and there is very little in the book that is a model for college and post-college writers other than the use of Standard English. This is not a modeling to be scorned, but is insufficient for the task at hand. I need something that will model good writing of the type the students will be rewarded for producing, that is consistent with the tasks they will be asked to perform.
Again, it is important to be clear. The essays in the anthology do demonstrate critical thinking, use of evidence, and explication. These are some of what students will be asked to do both within the institution and when they leave its "not-so-ivy-covered" halls. The problem with the essays as exemplars is they are...too "arty." As they should be--they were, for the most part, written for a purpose and an audience that would seek these essays out as part of a leisure activity in which part of the point is to travel along with the slow unraveling of argument in a desultory, often evocative way, during which time the reader revels both in the ideas being presented and the artistry and nuance of the presentation.
Given that one of the things we stress for students is that they attend to the purpose for which the reader comes to the writing as a guide for how the piece should be written, these essays would be ideal for models of the writing leisure reading non-fiction.
However, with the possible exception of one or two assignments in an English 1 class, or the student studying "Creative Writing:Non-fiction," the purposes for which the reader comes to student-written material is unlikely in the extreme to be this kind of writing. As such--these essays as models are worse than useless. They are misleading, and ultimately leave students confused.
Why? Students are most often asked to clearly and articulately argue for a narrowly defined interpretation, course of action, or evaluation; clearly inform a reader about a specific issue, event, or person; or demonstrate understanding in a straightforward manner, even if the understanding itself is nuanced or nebulous. Their readers (whether faculty, fellow students, employers, or co-workers) want the structure to be conventional and the points clearly sign-posted. When evaluating quality, the discerning reader will value an elegant use of language (though they are more likely to reward Dior than Gaga in this), and will enjoy the occasional play of wit or personality, but the personality of the writer should not dominate the writing. If you present the student writer with models by Twain and Didion, Swift and Sartre (and don't even get me on the questionable value of using translated works), personality is often the very meat and bones of the piece, with the actual point being the flourish, not the substance. And the signposts are subtle, sometimes only visible upon re-reading a second or third time. The writing students are asked to do is the type where the readers require clarity on the first pass--and that obligates the writer to certain elements that are almost antithetical to the kind of writing exemplified in this, as well as most, academic "readers."
Further, the length of the pieces is an obstacle--not in the reading (though, truthfully, students quail at the thought of much beyond a 2000)--as a model. For one thing, in most of these cases to make the point the author is trying to make, the way they are trying to make it, requires pieces of this length. They are perfectly appropriate to the writer's goals and the readers' expectations and desires. Again, student writing, particularly at the 100 level, generally runs between 500-1000 words, and the purposes and expectations of the reader are best met within this frame. This requires a different kind of thesis, a different kind of progression, than the kind exemplified in these essays. Once students move outside of our "hallowed halls" the writing they are expected to do will be more within these strictures than that of these beautiful examples of expository prose.
Unfortunately, none of the readers I've found that have examples of the kind of writing students are actually asked to do seem to include examples that are structurally valid models and well-written. They either have all the use of language nuance one would expect of a memo from "Chuck" at "New Zealand Tire and Wreck" about the kegger on Friday after work, or they are a 500-1000 word excerpts from a longer piece (and if you don't want to hear my rant on translations, then you REALLY don't want to hear my rant on excerpts).
Truly, somewhere, somehow, there must be a company willing to put together an anthology of articles 500-2000 words long, non-fiction, from business, science, and social issues (including media, personalities, politics, and culture) that are structurally sound, demonstrate good critical thinking, and are examples of excellent use of grammar, vocabulary, tone, and voice. And, before you ask, no--I'm not willing to ask for a 1 year sabbatical to try to put one together.
So, Dear Santa, next year for Christmas, I would like....
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
31 of 52
The Company: A Novel of the CIA by Robert Littell
If I expect to get through 52 books in 2011, then I need to stop picking up 900 and 1100 page books. Littell's The Company clocks in at around 900 pages. At least 700 of those are well worth the time--I'm not going to quibble about the rest. Given that the book starts in pre-Wall Berlin, and the action ends with the August 1991 coup attempt in the Soviet Union, the length is understandable.
After finishing the book I was struck with a question of who and how much in the book was history and how much was fiction. Apparently mine was not the first mind to pose that question, given what I was able to track down on-line. The central protagonists are ostensibly fictive, but almost all of the other named characters (including numerous presidents, CIA officers, and civilians) are either historical figures or thinly disguised ones--which then leads to questions about how much of the action is "historical" or "thinly disguised." If the novel in fact hews closely to the truth I'm not sure whether I'm prouder of the C.I.A. than I ever expected to be or more appalled at the workings of both our and other governments than peace of mind can coexist with.
That said, Littell makes the characters, even minor or secondary characters like Boris Yeltsin and Kim Philby, leap off the page as people of conviction. I never thought I'd ever have any sympathy for either of them, but this book manages to make me feel that. When it comes to the main characters, he does that in spades--creating characters who can elicit a full range of emotions from the reader. I was impressed.
Apparently this author has written a number of books about modern espionage, especially the CIA. I'm going to see if any other them are shorter than this one--if yes, I'll probably read them. But now it's on to the tome on my night table. It's 200 pages longer than this one. What was I thinking?!
View all my reviews
If I expect to get through 52 books in 2011, then I need to stop picking up 900 and 1100 page books. Littell's The Company clocks in at around 900 pages. At least 700 of those are well worth the time--I'm not going to quibble about the rest. Given that the book starts in pre-Wall Berlin, and the action ends with the August 1991 coup attempt in the Soviet Union, the length is understandable.
After finishing the book I was struck with a question of who and how much in the book was history and how much was fiction. Apparently mine was not the first mind to pose that question, given what I was able to track down on-line. The central protagonists are ostensibly fictive, but almost all of the other named characters (including numerous presidents, CIA officers, and civilians) are either historical figures or thinly disguised ones--which then leads to questions about how much of the action is "historical" or "thinly disguised." If the novel in fact hews closely to the truth I'm not sure whether I'm prouder of the C.I.A. than I ever expected to be or more appalled at the workings of both our and other governments than peace of mind can coexist with.
That said, Littell makes the characters, even minor or secondary characters like Boris Yeltsin and Kim Philby, leap off the page as people of conviction. I never thought I'd ever have any sympathy for either of them, but this book manages to make me feel that. When it comes to the main characters, he does that in spades--creating characters who can elicit a full range of emotions from the reader. I was impressed.
Apparently this author has written a number of books about modern espionage, especially the CIA. I'm going to see if any other them are shorter than this one--if yes, I'll probably read them. But now it's on to the tome on my night table. It's 200 pages longer than this one. What was I thinking?!
View all my reviews
Sunday, August 21, 2011
New Crayons
Tomorrow is the first day of the new academic year, at least where I teach. Every year I greet it with equal parts of fear, anxiety, and joy.
Beginnings are always scary--beginning a new semester, beginning a new relationship, beginning a new...anything. New, by its very nature, is "different" and we are hard-wired to be suspicious of the new, to be cautious, to assume it is dangerous until proven otherwise. That instinct has done us a lot of good over the ages. It has helped us become, among other things, the dominant lifeform on the planet. (It is also responsible for some not good things--like bigotry, prejudice, xenophobia, stagnation, and nationalism--but that is another issue, for another post.) So, there's that.
There's also that social anxiety that comes when you are going to meet new people. Tomorrow, based on enrollment counts and my scan of my rosters, I will meet 141 new people, each one of whom I, as their teacher, want to respect and who I want to respect me. It would also be nice if they liked me. Previous experience, both as a student and as a teacher for more than 20 years, tells me that won't happen. About 10% will come to like me, and an equal percentage will come to hate my guts. More than half will respect me, but at least 30% won't have more than casual disdain. So, tomorrow, I'm going to meet roughly 50 people who will never find anything I do "acceptable." So, no surprise there about the anxiety.
But they are anxious, too. About 60 of the people I meet tomorrow will be first time college freshmen. Talk about exciting and scary! Many will be living away from home for the first time, and no matter how liberating that can feel, it also feels lonely and unsafe. They will be trying to learn a new system of education, a new campus, a new life. And they will be surrounded by strangers. At least I have my colleagues, and familiar spaces. The new students have none of that.
But the beginning of a school year is also full of promise and possibilities. When we were children it was marked by new clothes, and new pencils, new folders and notebooks, and, if we were lucky, a new lunchbox with our favorite cartoon character/TV show/rock star on it. There was a new room, a new teacher, old friends in new seats, and the possibility of new friends. A new start. Maybe this year I'll be good at dodge ball. Maybe this year I'll like math. Maybe this year...
For me, the most emblematic signal of a new school year came in a yellow and blue box, labeled "Crayola." Nothing smells so much of possibility as a new box of crayons. And as you take one out of the box--the paper crisp and unblemished, the color clear, the end beautifully pointed (but flat on the end!), nothing holds so much possibility. Will you use the crayon to make a venn diagram? To color neatly in the lines? To create a beautiful image to go beside the poem you've selected to share with the class? To create a daringly individual self-portrait for the art show? To write in anger on the wall? To deface the desk?
Nothing so much in any school year is emblematic of choice, of the individual's ability to make something of their environment, to define themselves, as a box of crayons.
For all the new is dangerous, and requires caution, and good judgement, new is also about beginnings, and we can choose how we begin. And we must, for as we begin, so we go on.
I think I'll start with cerulean.
Beginnings are always scary--beginning a new semester, beginning a new relationship, beginning a new...anything. New, by its very nature, is "different" and we are hard-wired to be suspicious of the new, to be cautious, to assume it is dangerous until proven otherwise. That instinct has done us a lot of good over the ages. It has helped us become, among other things, the dominant lifeform on the planet. (It is also responsible for some not good things--like bigotry, prejudice, xenophobia, stagnation, and nationalism--but that is another issue, for another post.) So, there's that.
There's also that social anxiety that comes when you are going to meet new people. Tomorrow, based on enrollment counts and my scan of my rosters, I will meet 141 new people, each one of whom I, as their teacher, want to respect and who I want to respect me. It would also be nice if they liked me. Previous experience, both as a student and as a teacher for more than 20 years, tells me that won't happen. About 10% will come to like me, and an equal percentage will come to hate my guts. More than half will respect me, but at least 30% won't have more than casual disdain. So, tomorrow, I'm going to meet roughly 50 people who will never find anything I do "acceptable." So, no surprise there about the anxiety.
But they are anxious, too. About 60 of the people I meet tomorrow will be first time college freshmen. Talk about exciting and scary! Many will be living away from home for the first time, and no matter how liberating that can feel, it also feels lonely and unsafe. They will be trying to learn a new system of education, a new campus, a new life. And they will be surrounded by strangers. At least I have my colleagues, and familiar spaces. The new students have none of that.
But the beginning of a school year is also full of promise and possibilities. When we were children it was marked by new clothes, and new pencils, new folders and notebooks, and, if we were lucky, a new lunchbox with our favorite cartoon character/TV show/rock star on it. There was a new room, a new teacher, old friends in new seats, and the possibility of new friends. A new start. Maybe this year I'll be good at dodge ball. Maybe this year I'll like math. Maybe this year...
For me, the most emblematic signal of a new school year came in a yellow and blue box, labeled "Crayola." Nothing smells so much of possibility as a new box of crayons. And as you take one out of the box--the paper crisp and unblemished, the color clear, the end beautifully pointed (but flat on the end!), nothing holds so much possibility. Will you use the crayon to make a venn diagram? To color neatly in the lines? To create a beautiful image to go beside the poem you've selected to share with the class? To create a daringly individual self-portrait for the art show? To write in anger on the wall? To deface the desk?
Nothing so much in any school year is emblematic of choice, of the individual's ability to make something of their environment, to define themselves, as a box of crayons.
For all the new is dangerous, and requires caution, and good judgement, new is also about beginnings, and we can choose how we begin. And we must, for as we begin, so we go on.
I think I'll start with cerulean.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Paradigm Shift
Remember high school? Remember "pep rallies"? Remember gearing up for games by the cheerleaders making posters that hung all over the walls? Remember the special level of energy that filled the halls, the arena, when you were gearing up to meet that special "rival" team? Every school has an "arch-enemy"--the team that the stories are about, the team you "hated."
As a student of Morrisville-Eaton Central, one of the Warriors, our special foe was Hamilton Central's Emerald Knights. By the time I was in school, it was a little unfair. Because of consolidations, a rivalry that had at one time been a fair, even contest between Morrisville District and Hamilton, was now a contest between MECS and HCS, and MECS averaged 2.5 times the number of students as Hamilton. But the rivalry remained. And the prize, in football, was custody of "The Jug," a big ceramic liquor jug, that had a (probably scatalogical) story attached involving breaking and entering and crazy reckless drives down dark country highways at breakneck speeds in the wild 1950s. Whether true, or not, it was part of the lore of the rivalry. And high school students love a rivalry.
I lived smack on the border between the two districts. In fact, the village of Hamilton was 1.5 miles closer to my home than Morrisville was, and the Hamilton HS was 3 miles closer than the MECS HS out on Swamp Road. But I was in the MECS district, so there I went. But Hamilton was stronger in music, it was where my voice teacher was, and as a freshman I had been selected part of the county's traveling Select Chorus, and there were a number of Hamilton students there, and we became friends...and the rest is history. I have as many Facebook friends from Hamilton as from Morrisville. In fact, I caught a lot of grief from some people in Morrisville because I was such good friends with "Greenies." I was a traitor, and sometimes I paid for it, as only a high school student can pay for such "betrayal."
Hamilton has stayed a smaller school, and Morrisville has continued to grow (it is within what is today considered an easy commute to Syracuse), while Hamilton has frozen. With the increasing costs of running school districts, and the costs of athletic program, Hamilton's teams, especially football, has suffered. And Morrisville hasn't ever been a force to contend with on the gridiron (though we have had seasons of brilliance in basketball, wrestling, and cross country--and our girls under first Evelyn Vaughn, then her daughter Patti, were always strong). So, MECS has been having trouble recruiting players, and Hamilton has always had trouble fielding a full field, let alone having depth on the bench.
The solution? Merge the teams.
This year, the MECS/Hamilton Warriors will wear MECS red and white for home games, and Hamilton green and white on the road. We have met the enemy...and he is us.
If you listen hard at board meetings, and among those who pay attention to the hard facts of maintaining a school district, you know this is just the thin edge of the wedge. The districts are in talks to merge, and it will probably happen, creating a district that will run from Nelson to Earlville, Peterboro to Lebanon, more than 20 miles corner to corner.
The times, they are a changin.'
As a student of Morrisville-Eaton Central, one of the Warriors, our special foe was Hamilton Central's Emerald Knights. By the time I was in school, it was a little unfair. Because of consolidations, a rivalry that had at one time been a fair, even contest between Morrisville District and Hamilton, was now a contest between MECS and HCS, and MECS averaged 2.5 times the number of students as Hamilton. But the rivalry remained. And the prize, in football, was custody of "The Jug," a big ceramic liquor jug, that had a (probably scatalogical) story attached involving breaking and entering and crazy reckless drives down dark country highways at breakneck speeds in the wild 1950s. Whether true, or not, it was part of the lore of the rivalry. And high school students love a rivalry.
I lived smack on the border between the two districts. In fact, the village of Hamilton was 1.5 miles closer to my home than Morrisville was, and the Hamilton HS was 3 miles closer than the MECS HS out on Swamp Road. But I was in the MECS district, so there I went. But Hamilton was stronger in music, it was where my voice teacher was, and as a freshman I had been selected part of the county's traveling Select Chorus, and there were a number of Hamilton students there, and we became friends...and the rest is history. I have as many Facebook friends from Hamilton as from Morrisville. In fact, I caught a lot of grief from some people in Morrisville because I was such good friends with "Greenies." I was a traitor, and sometimes I paid for it, as only a high school student can pay for such "betrayal."
Hamilton has stayed a smaller school, and Morrisville has continued to grow (it is within what is today considered an easy commute to Syracuse), while Hamilton has frozen. With the increasing costs of running school districts, and the costs of athletic program, Hamilton's teams, especially football, has suffered. And Morrisville hasn't ever been a force to contend with on the gridiron (though we have had seasons of brilliance in basketball, wrestling, and cross country--and our girls under first Evelyn Vaughn, then her daughter Patti, were always strong). So, MECS has been having trouble recruiting players, and Hamilton has always had trouble fielding a full field, let alone having depth on the bench.
The solution? Merge the teams.
This year, the MECS/Hamilton Warriors will wear MECS red and white for home games, and Hamilton green and white on the road. We have met the enemy...and he is us.
If you listen hard at board meetings, and among those who pay attention to the hard facts of maintaining a school district, you know this is just the thin edge of the wedge. The districts are in talks to merge, and it will probably happen, creating a district that will run from Nelson to Earlville, Peterboro to Lebanon, more than 20 miles corner to corner.
The times, they are a changin.'
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