Some quick, late thoughts about YA books on the curriculum.
@DavidDidau blogged on this today, and it got me thinking. This isn't meant as a point-by-point response or anything -- read this, then read his blog, and decide for yourself.
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I think YA books can happily co-exist on the KS3 curriculum with older and more canonical books. That's not to say they're the same, or there are no qualitative differences. I just think our subject can encompass both.
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While the concept of the "Canon" is problematic, most teachers would agree that there IS an academic discipline called "English" and at its core is a canon of agreed-upon "great works". And many would say those works should be at the centre of English in schools.
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Which is all fine.
But as English teachers we don't -- can't? -- just end our involvement with reading and literacy at the school gate. Most English teachers would also say they want to produce lifelong readers. Lovers of books.
Well, ...
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If we want students to engage intelligently and discerningly with books outside of school -- which we all do! -- then bringing some of that engagement into class might not be such a bad idea. We should acknowledge how reading habits are formed and our students read.
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If you're wondering why Year 8 won't move beyond Diary Of A Wimpy Kid at home, then the solution isn't Great Expectations in class.
Great Exp. is worthy of study in the academic discipline of English, but it's highly unlikely to form a reading habit in a reluctant reader.
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To model the experience of reading for pleasure and imprint it on students, it might behoof us to bring some of that pleasurable reading into the classroom.
In balance with the canonical stuff, not in opposition to it. The class who read Noughts and Crosses together might...
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...miss out, for a few weeks, on nuanced patterning of language and imagery. But they will sit transfixed by the story, because that book is gold-dust for reluctant readers.
Which is not to imply that YA books don't contribute towards literary study.
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Doug Lemov, in "Reading Reconsidered", has the great concept of "pre-complex" books. Those are books that train developing readers in the complexities and challenges that "great" books present, but in an approachable and surmountable way.
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So, for example, if we know that Jekyll and Hyde lies on the GCSE horizon, and it presents challenges relating to changing viewpoints, non-linear narrative, archaic language, unfamiliar context etc, then we can choose KS3 books that prepare the ground for those elements.
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That's where YA fiction can play a part -- as a training ground for more challenging canonical texts. Time spent on how changing viewpoints and varying accounts create the mystery in One Of Us Is Lying isn't wasted if it lays a foundation for J&H or Inspector Calls.
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The prose of YA books can indeed be rich, and meaningful to study for its own sake and as a better prompt to creative writing, perhaps, than older adult ficiton. This is the opening of The Lie Tree by Frances Hardinge:
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Plenty to discuss, plenty to model, plenty to engage and inspire.
I like my canonical texts, I really do, and I do think their study is important. Even though policing the canon means making partial, contingent judgements about literary merit and the purpose of English.
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I just think that in our rush to make KS3 English rigorous, knowledge-rich and intellectually authentic -- all fine aims -- we shouldn't be too quick to skip the valuable, intermediate step that YA fiction can provide.
Cheers.
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I made the decision this year not to teach OMAM any more. The book still flourishes in other schools at KS3, no doubt because book cupboards are still full of copies after its heyday of GCSE dominance.
Let me explain my reasons.
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Disclaimer: if this seems all terribly woke, or you love OMAM and you think it's right for your students, more power to you. You do what's good for your school.
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There are elements in OMAM that work brilliantly 84 years after its publication. Its attack on "American dream" capitalism, on the myth of success through hard work, it still potent. And some of the language is divine: I wouldn't expect any less from Steinbeck.
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The best value quote in A Christmas Carol is from Stave One:
Scrooge: "I can't afford to make idle people merry."
Let me break it down:
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"I can't afford"
Scrooge CAN, of course, afford to give a donation to charity. He learns later in the book that just a small amount of money can bring a huge amount of happiness.
But as someone who pursues the gain of money for its own sake...
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he never feels comfortable with the amount he has, and has lost a sense of what the value of his money is.
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Everybody had something to say about it, but nobody said or thought it was at all a small pudding for a large family. It would have been flat heresy to do so.
I love the word HERESY here.
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It's not just that complaining about the scant food would be ungrateful or upsetting for the Cratchits.
It would be HERETICAL: it would go against a shared belief, an ethical code that they share implicitly, that what they have is enough.
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Their poverty is the elephant in the room, but their moral code dictates that family, humility and gratitude are how one lives, not jealousy or anger.
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I’ve been thinking about Sybil a lot in the last week or so, about her treatment of Eva, and how it resonates with current questions about our treatment of the poor in times of need.
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It’s significant that JBP introduces Sybil as an almost comical character. Remember: Sybil’s generation would have all but died out by 1945, and those in the audience in their 50s or 60s would recognise themselves in Sheila and Eric, and their parents’ gen. in Mr and Mrs B.
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So Sybil sits on stage at curtain up, presumably dressed to stand out as her “husband’s social superior”, a relic of the Victorian upper class.
And her first contributions make her seem deliberately out of date:
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I'm making a small but significant change in how I approach a couple of key moments in Macbeth.
I won't be using the words "regret", "remorse" or "guilt" to describe the emotions of Macbeth or Lady Macbeth.
Let me explain...
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What Macbeth experiences in 2:2, staggering out of Duncan's chamber, isn't guilt. It's horror. It's digust at his own actions, and a quickening sense of deep psychological damage done to himself.
It isn't guilt or remorse for his actions.
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Someone who says "I am afraid to think what I have done" is not feeling remorseful. They are feeling repulsion and fear.
Macbeth's desperation to clear his hands of blood isn't a sign of feeling *guilty* as such. It's wanting himself to be clean, not to see the deed undone.
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