The Classics Rant

This is in response to something over at Leila's blog. I just wanted a copy of it here in case I needed to find it again later.

I appreciate that you folks had good experiences and good teachers while learning the classics but I however did not, and I suspect that the article's author is speaking from an experience similiar to mine, or has a child with a similiar experience. I still have a knee-jerk reaction whenever someone tells me a book is a classic.

Tenth Grade: We had a book report due every two weeks. We had a list of classics to choose from expressly for these book reports. I remember maybe four books. That's 9 months of school, 2 books a month (vacation was not an excuse) and I remember maybe 4? We never talked about any of those selections. Also we read, as a class, 1984 and Juius Caesar. When we weren't handing in rough drafts of book reports, getting quizzed on vocab, or diagraming sentences, we were MEMORIZING passages from the classics being read as a class. That's two weeks at a time dedicated to 30 14-15 year olds getting up in front of the class and reciting Mark Antony's speech, which after the second stuttering rendition loses all meaning.

Eleventh Grade: American literature year in Shrewsbury. I remember reading Grapes of Wrath and Moby Dick. We never discussed the Great Depression or how it occured or the ramifications of it. We were quizzed. We were spoon fed that Moby Dick was a story about revenge, and were not allowed to come to any conclusions about it ourselves.

Twelfth Grade: Oh, this one was my favorite. I had one of the best teachers, by reputation, in the school. I was taking AP english. I thought we'd be reading and discussing, finally, because wouldn't that be what a college course did? I was disappointed. We had quizzes 3-4 times a week, on what we should have read the night before. Mind you this does NOT include the constant that was the Friday vocab quiz. When we were't being qizzed, we were writing timed practice AP test essays about the diction or the syntax of our classics. So when did we have time to discuss these rather thickly written books (eg. Crime and Punishment)? We didn't. It seemed to be enough that we could name the characters on the quizzes.

In summary, I went to Art School not so much becasue I wanted to be an artist, but because I was sick of "reading" classics and being forced to regurgitate names and places and essays on the successful diction. Despite my love of reading I never wanted to have to read classics ever again. My high school experience almost killed my desire to read. I can't imagine what it did to those folks who already didn't like reading. So while, yes, there are ways to teach them well, for many it is not the norm. I share the author's opinion. If you can't teach classics well, don't teach them. Teach kids to love reading. Don't teach them that some books are more worth reading than others because of a label. Just let them read.

Heavy Metal and You - Christopher Krovatin

I didn't think this book was going where it went and then it did, so I was kind of disappointed.

What that all means:

Heavy Metal Kid, Sam, starts dating preppy girl, Melissa. Personality wise, these two have no business dating, but they really seem to like each other and get along. Actually Sam is truly jazzed and excited in such an adorable way (this is how I know I'm old, I think teen boy in love is adorable - in a kitten eep kind of way) that this is what made me think the plot wasn't going to be reminiscent of a John Hughes movie, two incompatable people get together and are pushed apart by their different philosphies/life circumstances/asshole friends and then find some how to be togther anyway. This isn't really where the story went, but I was still just a little dissapointed.

Now that that's out of the way, umm, I thought the book was adorable, and I'm sure the author would be thrilled to hear me describe it that way. I finally understand what ya'll are talking about when you say 'literary crush'. I loved Sam. I'm willing to forgive the Holden thing, because his mix CDs were right on target, and his story pauses and rants were great. I was so pissed at Melissa for here reaction to the club incident. I thought what he did was awesome. I was happy where the book went in the end, and how in went there, though I will admit I was worried for a while.

It was good. Read it.

Leila's review.

Which Brings Me to You - Steve Almond and Julianna Baggot

I'm not sure what to do with this one. This falls into the category of something I never would have picked up on my own but since Leila suggested it, I'd give it a try. The premise sounded interesting, two sort of fringe people meet up at a wedding and in lieu of a sexual encounter in the coat closet they decide to step back, and write each other letters (real writing on paper) of personal truths. It was not going to be a courtship through correspondences, it was going to be an exercise in confessions. Ok, still with it.

So what I expected was truths: silly beliefs, philosophies, what shapes a person, and how they came to them. Instead, what I got was a catologue of failed relationships. The first teen age relationships are cute and touching and those always fail and you feel for the characters. But when these same characters are in there late 20's and the relationships are still failing because of personal sabotages, poor descisions, and general ennui with life, it goes from funny to tedious, and just a little pathetic. Was I suppose to feel this? I'm really not sure.

Now saying all that, the writing was fantastic. The authors fall away and you do believe in the reality of Jane and John. Enmeshed into the, what I felt, sad storyline were these fantastic bits of imagery or descriptions that make me want to go read more of both these authors books, as long as they have nothing to do with relationships.

On the Violent Femmes:

I became an insufferable fan. I must have listened to the first album a thousand times, those dark, catchy anthems of the yodeling unlaid, the gospel music of the anguished suburban white boy.

On self knowledge:

Sometimes I would hold onto a simple object-a salt shaker, and aspirin bottle-and I'd envy how it knew its place, its role, its function. It's unbearable now to think how impressed I could be by the pleasurable self-knowledge of a light switch.

I loved the crafting of the language and the descriptions. I just could not take the failed relationship after failed realtionship and the self-absorbed psychoanalysis of the characters throughout each one. So I don't know what to do with this one. I couldn't stand the story, but I post-noted up huge amounts of the books because I loved the language.