Monday, December 9, 2024

Summer Language Program - Gonzaga University/ Spokane Public Schools

Awesome experience. 

- Wesley Schantz

That would be my testimonial. Some of the posters and things I made are probably still around there, examples of the work we would do with our students. Here are a few of the journal posts and reflections from the program, which has kept me busier than I expected over the past couple of summers and every semester in between. If even one student is able to attend TCS who wouldn't otherwise have been allowed, though, that will be all right. 

What is your language learning/teaching background? Why are you here? What are your hopes for Summer Institute? What are your long-term goals for teaching English?

I speak English fluently. This is simply because of where and when I was born; however, as I have grown and become a learner and teacher of languages, I have worked to understand consciously what I once learned unreflectively. In some important sense, then, I am still a learner of English myself.  

I took Spanish and Latin in high school. In college, I went to Spain for a semester abroad, then worked at summer camps in Mexico and Spain, traveling with friends. After graduating, I taught English on a Fulbright exchange in Uruguay. I also learned the basics of a few other languages, spending a summer in France and another in Brazil, working on Homeric Greek in graduate school, and practicing Old English and Old Norse through an online program centered on Tolkien studies. These experiences have helped me better appreciate the structure and development of English, too. Someday I’d love to learn Japanese, perhaps through Spokane’s Sister City exchange with Nishinomiya. 

This brings me to my hopes for the Summer Institute: to better understand how to teach English effectively, and to understand the language of TESOL. I am hoping that by adding this endorsement I will be able to help bring more students from different language backgrounds to The Community School, where I teach. In the longer term, I hope to continue learning and teaching about language for as long as I am able to read and travel. Eventually, I may pursue a PhD in the area of literacy or comparative literature, should the opportunity arise. 

What foreign languages have you learned and how will these experiences – or lack of them – influence your ideas about teaching a language.  How important is it for language teachers to have learned a foreign language?

Growing up in the DC suburbs, I went to school with students from all around the world and had great opportunities to start learning other languages. I chose to start with Spanish, mainly because most of my friends spoke it at home and because older friends of mine were taking it in school. The public schools in my area offered French, Russian, Chinese, and even Latin. The first things I associate with language learning, then, are choice, freedom, and friendship, all very important elements I try to bring to my teaching. 

Still, the basics I picked up in classroom settings and conversations on the way to soccer practice were just a stepping stone to traveling to Spain in college. Language immersion in a distinct place and culture, at least for me, was essential to make the leap from studying a language to really deeply learning it. Encouraging and facilitating opportunities for travel and cultural exchange for students who are serious about knowing another language will be a goal I set myself as a teacher. 

Not just language teachers but any teacher -- or lifelong learner -- should have the chance to study a living language. I wouldn’t want to be prescriptive about it and say they must prove their proficiency, but experiencing what it is like to try to learn another language will certainly give them an important insight into what their students are likely going through. 

What makes a good language teacher?  What three qualities are most necessary in your opinion?  Use concrete examples from your own experience to illustrate your opinions. What qualities are you missing that you’d like to cultivate?

I think about good teachers I have known, learned from, and read about: my friend who teaches Latin and Greek, James Myers; the fighter in the French Resistance and teacher of celebrities, Michel Thomas; and the extreme case of Jacotot, as presented by Ranciere. The first quality that impresses me is their dedication. Embodying totally different walks of life and working in a dizzyingly wide range of circumstances, all three seem to live for their craft. They are/were continually striving to improve their teaching in transformative ways for their students. Mr Myers started a Vergil Club to read the Aeneid alongside students who wanted to go beyond the Latin that was offered at our school. After his brother’s death, he dedicated a Loeb Classics Library to his memory on the campus.

My friends and mentors project total calm and confidence, along with tireless energy and patience. I don’t know a single word for this combination, but I suspect it is all wrapped up with their confidence in, and love of the activity of, teaching. In his audio recordings, Michel Thomas talks about taking full responsibility for the success of the lessons, so that learners need feel no pressure. As we talked about in class, a certain amount of good stress might be helpful for some, but this zen-like calm is more my learning and teaching style. 

Finally, good teachers trust their students. For this, I appeal to Jacotot/Ranciere, who in The Ignorant Schoolmaster develop a remarkable method for teaching languages and other subjects which the teacher him- or herself does not know. It depends entirely on student engagement and motivation. Besides apparent contradiction with my second example, this would obviously need considerable modification for a public school setting, but the account is inspiring! In a very different context, the literacy scholar Gholdy Muhammad describes a similar approach in her Cultivating Genius. So to sum up, I’ll strive to be dedicated, confident, and trust in the genius of my students. 

What makes a good language learner?  Give examples from the class you are observing or from your own experience.  Be specific.

I’m curious first about the distinction between acquisition and learning: our text claims the former is unconscious while the latter takes intentional effort (341). This sounds to me like William Blake/Philip Pullman’s framework of innocence and experience, which I think is more poetic than literal. But if we grant the premise, then the first thing needed for a good language learner is a certain level of consciousness, of thinking about the process of learning itself. Otherwise, we’re still at the level of acquisition.

Noticing how in the second language things that come naturally suddenly begin to require conscious effort could be frustrating. So on the heels of the conscious effort, there has to be an openness to seeing everything in a new light. This takes curiosity and patience. I suspect a certain poetic turn of mind is actually helpful, too, since finding such wonder in everyday experiences, in language, is a big part of what poets do. 

So far, I have been thinking mainly in the abstract, but I’m also remembering the time I spent in Spain, immersed for the first time in a new language. That led me to reflect on everything--food, music, relationships, nationality, history--from a new perspective. If I can draw an analogy from that to what newcomers are experiencing in the language classroom this summer, I would definitely add mathematics into the mix. The RAMP UP activities around patterns, reasoning, and prediction are all much less rigid than the way I was taught. Perhaps learning new ways of thinking about mathematics, or any content, in a second language, rather than focusing solely on the language itself, is crucial for internalizing both language and content. The student has to be willing to abide in ambiguity at times, however, because there will always be words and concepts that are beyond them at first. (Probably more than i+1 beyond them!) This is coming back to poetry again (Keats’ negative capability) and philosophy (Socrates’ perplexity). 

Describe the Summer Language Program class you are in or you have observed. Include information about the SLP class name/level, the students, the lesson plan including observable lesson objectives and activities, and focus on how input is made comprehensible, e.g. simplifying instruction, scaffolding, modeling, explaining 3x3 ways, using comprehension checks. Etc.

I think moving into the RAMP-UP program will ultimately be worth it, though it meant missing the first couple of days of morning classes with you all. The curriculum is designed for long-term ELL 9th graders. We have adapted it for our newcomers mainly by taking more time to preview vocabulary, check comprehension, and coach writing. This has meant we move more slowly through the activities, but the most important thing is helping the students find success; the researchers have made it clear that they’re getting plenty of good data and feedback, so our adjustments are welcome. 

The students’ level of English ranges from beginner to intermediate. All of the vocabulary, then, has to be made visual, and even tactile in some cases. For instance, with a problem about handshakes, we had students shake each other’s hand. This was also an opportunity to ask about greetings in their first language/ culture. Comprehension checks involve modeling activities and then eliciting the sequence of steps back from the students. 

The best part of the class is listening to the students’ talk in pairs and small groups, as these conceptual (as opposed to procedurally-focused) activities all do a good job of building in collaboration and engagement. They have even become used to sharing their thinking out at the board. With such a small class, it is impossible to hide, so everyone has been getting a lot of talk time. 

Give a brief overview of the cultural/linguistic groups in your SLP classroom. What socio-cultural elements/factors have you observed and how do they impact (language) learning and classroom behavior, both positively and negatively?

The students come from a variety of backgrounds: speakers of Ukrainian, Karen, and Pashto, along with one or two each from China, Marshall Islands, and Congo. The small data set makes it difficult to generalize, but with that said and allowances for individual differences, there are certainly aspects of student interaction that seem safe to attribute to the cultures they come from. The newcomers all have in common a positive attitude and willingness to participate. This is not so common among native speakers, particularly in a typical math classroom. Their motivation to learn and practice the language is powerfully working to leverage their mathematical thinking. It almost makes me want to teach math in Spanish for my native speakers of English. 

The students who have friends that speak the same language tend to help each other (or distract each other) frequently. They also do a good job including others by recasting in English, but students are also curious about how to say things in their first language, to the point that some Chinese words and Pashto phrases have been making the rounds. The boys are more outgoing, the girls more reserved, across most cultural groups. The students without a language cohort around them, for whatever reason, do seem more serious. We try our best to get them to smile more. We’ve also challenged our Marshallese student to try to convince her friends to show up, but so far without success. My co-teacher has been talking about making a home visit, but after all it’s an optional thing for them to attend. Across most cultures, summer break is highly prized!

What did you learn by observing other teams’ Lesson Presentations?  What did you learn not to do?  How will this affect your teaching in the future? Give concrete examples. 

I found the warmer and lesson presentations to be a really valuable window into what was going on around the program. As my classmates shared their lessons, they also practiced the skills of teaching and pacing their material. Getting to observe and reflect on this process was also very instructive. What made the lessons real, though, and made our feedback useful, was the fact that they were going to actually teach them to students in the afternoon within a day or two. The structure of the program as a whole, with the close connection between theory and practice, is yet another aspect which I observed and learned from. 

The main takeaway from the lesson presentations was the importance of being earnest with respect to content while being flexible with respect to time. I mean that the student-teachers did a great job of fully entering into the role of teacher, letting us pretend to be the students, and conveying the content they had chosen as if it were new information to us, and of the utmost significance that we should practice it. They tied it to their class themes and real-life purposes and provided plenty of activities for students to interact, from reading and writing recipes (for adult learners) to singing about animal superpowers and adaptations (for 1st or 4th graders). Even in our morning classes, of course, we rarely if ever got through all the content. But this was because the discussions and activities, with their purpose of fostering relationship and a sense of being a community of learning, took precedence over coverage. We had the flexibility to work in this way, however, only because there is not a content-focused standardized test at the end of the program (thank goodness).  

Free topic:  What interesting things have you observed that you would like to comment on? Write your own observation task question and then write your answer. 

What effects do grants and research have on the teachers and students involved in the programs they fund?

As I’ve been reflecting on the throughlines for the summer language program, one unexpected theme that keeps coming up for me is the importance of funding. I saw this in so many ways, between the grant that allowed SPS teachers like me to join the program at no cost to us, the research pilot RAMP UP math curriculum, and the longstanding partnerships between GU, the district, and donors that have allowed the program to continue through and beyond the pandemic. I know that it’s above my pay grade to understand or deal with any of the factors that go into such grants, but as I have benefitted from them and, in the case of RAMP UP especially, participated closely in their implementation, I am left wondering, you know, how do these things work? 

My guess is that there is a combination of theory and practice, just like in good teaching, that goes into a successful grant. There is probably a balance between hard facts (numbers of students served, learning outcomes, rate of pay for teacher stipends, etc.) and softer forms of power and persuasion (reputation, testimonials, personal relationships, and so on). And my hope is that with the inclusion of more teachers who play the role, so to speak, of student-teachers, that process of mentoring will in turn receive some reflection and adjustment to better support all the good that these programs do. This piece in particular has been on my mind as The Community School stands to go on a future bond for funding that could enable us to do more as a “Lab School” in collaboration with local universities and schools of education. 

After watching The Birth of a Word and The Linguistic Genius of Babies, write a reflection/response in which you address at least two of these questions:

What to you were the most intriguing findings of the two researchers? Were you surprised by any of their findings? What further questions does this research raise for you?

Both Kuhl and Roy claim that (first-language) language acquisition is mediated by human interaction. Summarize the claims and discuss what, if any, implications there may be for language acquisition generally – for example, in classroom learning contexts.

Do you find their research convincing? Are there any potential problems with bias or validity that you can detect? In other words, do you think their research can be applied to all humans, regardless of context and culture?

You are welcome to use examples from your own experience (e.g. observing young children you know learning their first language).

The most intriguing evidence put forward by Kuhl regards the rapid acquisition of language (more sound recognition than production), even one the child has never heard before, which happens through in-person interaction at a critical period of development. Her work draws on the low-tech universality of 'motherese' and on the most recent brain-imaging machinery, and it is presented in the form of very simple-looking graphs which must condense an immense amount of data. In Roy's talk, analysis of 'the largest home video collection in the world' traces the process of social interaction in the home between child and caregivers. His work suggests that feedback loops between them accompany the acquisition of individual words, subconsciously decreasing and then increasing the complexity of communication that includes each new word. 

As much as the content of our communication may driven by media and the wider social environment, as Roy claims, both researchers agree that human interaction is the crucial vehicle for language acquisition. This suggests that language learning is less about language per se and more about how it is used, or what it might feel like to the embodied participant when it is used. This also raises further questions about how paradigmatic we can take the learning Roy and Kuhl describe for the learning that is grafted on much later by young adult and adult learners in a classroom context. 

I think all research is bound to be biased, however much it may strive to be objective. The audience laughs when they see the extravagant apparatus surrounding the head of the child at the end of Kuhl's talk, and it is unclear how tongue in cheek she is being about the child being unfettered and having 'celestial openness' of mind, when the test subject is clearly restrained physically and no doubt prone to all the very unpoetic tantrums and general human grossness of any little kid. In Roy's case, the subject is his own children and family. There is no possibility of unbiased research, but this may be going a little far. One of the pioneers of such research, though, Piaget, took a very similar approach, and his work is still foundational for a number of educational fields, though hardly unchallenged. In general, science seems to aspire to the universality of mathematics, music, or indeed poetry, and makes claims that cannot stand the scrutiny of the scientific community, but much to our benefit, are challenged and improved in their turn. 

After reading Wright (2010), pp. 23 -48 and Nava & Pedrazzini, (2018) Ch. 1, reflect on why it is important for teachers - of English or of other content areas - to have at least a basic understanding of linguistics and the language acquisition process. Give specific examples from your own experiences or from the materials we have covered in class.

Wright gives a number of examples to illustrate the importance for teachers to have some familiarity with linguistics and language acquisition. He goes on to distinguish some important aspects of the study of language, such as morphology and syntax, which serve to bring into focus features of which we are largely unaware in everyday use. My main takeaway about the importance of thinking about these factors, even if teaching some other subject, is two-fold: for teachers to be cognizant of how much work students still learning the language are doing, and to appreciate more deeply the complexity of the medium which so often seems transparent between us, the language itself. In a subject like math, the importance of discourse for showing evidence of thinking on the part of students, and not simply rote imitation of a procedure, for solving problems has gained attention. The RAMP UP program over the summer, visual thinking strategies (VTS), and approaches to group work in the math classroom based on Building Thinking Classrooms  that get students out of their seats and talking about their ideas at whiteboards have all made my teaching more engaging. All recur to an insight that I should have had more in the front of my mind, though it's a long time since I was immersed in a second language myself: that that was the most impactful learning experience I had ever had, precisely because it made me aware of the language I was using and engaged me more completely in my learning than a class setting could. The closer I can approximate that immersion in math and talking about math, the better and more effective my teaching will be. 

After reading Gibbons (2015) and Nava & Pedrazzini, (2018) Ch. 2, compare how language is scaffolded/made comprehensible for L1 children and children/adults learning L2. What are the main similarities and differences? Give specific examples from your experience or from materials we have discussed in class.

Gibbons adopts a "field, tenor, mode" conceptual apparatus and situates language learning in a larger Vygotskyan framework, while Nava and Pedrazzini speak of "form, meaning, use," hewing more narrowly to second language acquisition, but in both cases they recognize the importance of scaffolding for the actual learning process to get rolling. The main differences for L1 acquisition and L2 is, to adapt Krashen's formula, the size of the i to which we are adding our nominal 1 (1 what? I need units! And this is especially fun given that i usually stands for an imaginary number, the square root of negative one...). Crucially, too, the L1 is usually learned mostly from caregivers, at least until more abstract levels of academic discourse, while the L2 is conveyed by a variety of other sorts of relationships wherein care is generally not the main focus. It is interesting that the vogue in education, even up to the secondary level, has been to emphasize more and more a caregiving model in SEL being taken up, particularly in the wake of the pandemic. In some way, this seems to acknowledge that students i, again in academic terms, is likely more limited than past generations' and requires more thoughtful scaffolding for more students. Once we accept that one size does not fit all, though, what effects will this have on larger structures and institutions of teaching? 

I think that the RAMP UP program had a lot of great scaffolds built in, like the stair-stepping problem was intentionally chunked in smaller sets of stairs so that students could observe patterns. We took advantage of our surroundings and had the students go walk up and down the grand staircase and look at patterns in the stained glass windows. We set up word walls and "found pattern" tables. As far as the connection to the mathematical imaginary number, I hope you didn't take my mention of imaginary numbers as dismissive of your work measuring i in terms of SLA! I'd push the analogy further at the risk of overdoing it: one cool application of the concept is for graphic representations of complex numbers, whose coordinates are real and imaginary (rather than the usual x and y being two real numbers). There we get fractals, structures whose properties involve infinite repetitions of self-similarity. All of which is just to say, maybe one way to think about i in the SLA sense is as a measure of the complexity or intricacy speakers are capable of, rather than the raw quantity of their production or fluency; say, an ability to produce hypotheticals or counterfactual statements ("imaginary numbers"), as well as statements of what is ("real numbers").

In your view, what are the key differences between usage-based and dictionary-and-grammar theories of language acquisition? How would practitioners (teachers) teach differently if they espoused one view or the other?

Dictionary-and-grammar theories assume that students need words and structures in order to translate their thoughts from L1 to L2. I've learned and taught this way all the way through my public school experience and as a substitute teacher in Spanish classes. Some conceptual anchor or theme unifies the material, such as "food" or "travel"; a vocab list is filled out and drilled; one or two new grammar points are practiced, such as "-ar verb conjugations in the present tense" or "me gusta + verb," and these are assessed with quizzes and tests whose main function is to check that students can produce, more or less memorized, the words and structures taught them, orally and in writing. In usage-based theories of language acquisition, a third quality of use is connected with the categories of meaning and form roughly acknowledged by dictionary-based methods. Having a purpose for using the language dramatically enlarges the meaning of meaning beyond dictionary definitions or translations, and the form of forms beyond top-down grammatical structures. In public schools, the use is to get a grade. In study abroad experiences, the use is much more immediate and authentic, but simulating this in a classroom is possible, particularly if the L2 is used for building real relationships between learners and connecting them with cultural topics of real interest. As they use the language, they notice the patterns that otherwise would have been provided to them whole-cloth, and they internalize meanings and connotations of words by practicing them in context rather than in isolation or with reference only to L1. In shifting towards teaching this way, of course, we have to overcome students' prejudices about how learning a language is supposed to look. It takes time and may not be supported within administrative structures dealing with inertia and standardized test anxiety.

After reading Nava & Pedrazzini, (2018) Ch. 3 and skimming Schmidt (1990) and/or Schmidt & Frota (1986), reflect on how important attention/awareness is in the process of language acquisition. Do you think that input processing and corrective feedback help learners to "notice the gap"? Give examples from your experience or from materials we have discussed in class.  

Input processing, with its connotations of computers crunching numbers, becomes a little more palatable when combined with the organic warmth of attention and awareness. As the research summed up in ch 3 suggests, certain aspects of language are generally noticed by all learners, such as the primacy of nouns, and particularly first nouns in a phrase. This is reminiscent to me of both Chomsky's framework of the brain wired for language acquisition, and of the account of Augustine in his Confessions, taken up by Wittgenstein in his Philosophical Investigations, of how he learned language: by essentially pointing to things and naming them. It helps explain the accepted "method without a theory" of providing dictionary and grammar instruction which remains more or less the default in language classrooms. When input processing, or the thoughtful emphasis on using L2 with students in light of these findings, is combined with corrective feedback, attention can be brought to bear on particular elements of the language that might otherwise escape students' notice. I'm thinking of my recent attempts to learn Japanese and how closely its phonemic palette is echoed by Bemba, as you pointed out in the demonstration lesson, down to a word like "nani" even being used in a similar way. Paying attention to the input of the spoken language, then seeing the written form, then making a connection with meaning, has helped that cluster of new phonemes stick, even after just a single lesson. For "noticing the gap," though, nothing has quite the impact for me as socratic questioning in seminar discussion of texts, which dominated my learning and teaching for about a decade before moving to Spokane. I still use this format with a text like Flatland in my project based classes today, though admittedly I don't find many opportunities with beginners in my language study wellness to dig into texts in an L2. 

After reading Nava & Pedrazzini, (2018) Ch. 4 and skimming Ellis, R., Loewen, S. & Erlam, R. (2008), reflect on the role(s) of implicit and explicit knowledge in language acquisition. Give examples from your experience or from materials we have discussed in class. 

If I'm following the discussion in ch 4, drawing on the likes of Ellis et al., and interpreting the upshot of your research into L1 and L2 speakers catching errors correctly with the online test--a big if--then the role of implicit knowledge predominates in the everyday use of language. In real interaction, there is no likelihood of pausing to apply an explicitly learned rule; rather, following Helprin and related theories, we are most likely reaching for some handy prototypical chunk of language and adapting it to our needs in the moment. When errors arise and are noticed, it is because something "sounds a little off," not because a rule is broken so much as because an atypical form wanders into our field of attention, which compares awkwardly with our more familiar prototypes. The main use of explicit knowledge seems to be in service of surfacing what is already implicit, or helping something new to more readily settle in that range of the implicit from which we are prone to pull language in a given scenario. It is helpful for reflecting, as we're doing here, and thinking about our thinking, but plays an ancillary role in the interactions outside a classroom or research setting. This is important to bear in mind, given that so much teaching still tends to emphasize the explicit knowledge of rules and vocabulary over the productive use of L2.  

After reading Nava & Pedrazzini, (2018) Ch. 6 and skimming Klingner (2008), reflect on three of the “Common Misconceptions” (p. 6-7 of Klingner (2008) Have you held or encountered any of these? How could you use your knowledge of SLA principles & processes to advocate for MLLs?

"Errors are problematic and should be avoided; [learners] are not ready to engage in higher level thinking until they acquire basic skills; all learn at the about same rate; a slow rate of learning indicates a possible disability." These common misconceptions are rife in schools, both for language learning and for other subject areas. The case of AI is instructive here, too: because the models can produce language, seemingly effortlessly, we assume that they must be intelligent. Whatever kind of intelligence that might be, though, it is not the human intelligence with which we have to deal as teachers. Errors, higher-order thinking, and different ways and speeds of processing material are all just as much evidence of intelligence and learning. Thinking about the section on automaticity and fluency in ch 6, SLA in Action and the research it summarizes make clear how much cognitive work is going into the production of speech in a second language. The table on 167 would be the sort of thing that might give teachers pause before they leapt to the conclusion that MLLs were in any way deficient, as it lays out the complex processes underlying even seemingly relatively fluent L2 speech in a series of stages L1 speakers most often completely take for granted. 

After reading Kumaravadivelu (2003) ch. 3 reflect on what it means to maximize learning opportunities. Give examples from your experience or from materials we have discussed in class.

The paraphrase of Alexander Von Humboldt (by way of Chomsky) with which Kumaravadivelu opens his chapter on learning opportunities provides one of those examples where both content and form serve to exemplify the point under discussion. Language, turned to think about itself, is rife with these. What Von Humboldt is saying, and what K develops throughout the chapter, is that the teacher's main role is to facilitate, rather than to control, the learning process. We can accomplish this with all sorts of strategies, including by seeking out the sorts of community connections that drive projects at TCS, but the primary or underlying one seems to be to get out of our own way and making more openings for student talk time. In the case of an author, this might look like seeding a chapter with a quotation for readers to follow up on if they choose. Students, even those who are strong readers, always say they have trouble liking any book they're assigned or "forced" to read, but they might love to browse freely in the local library and stumble on a book like Magnificent Rebels, by Andrea Wulf, and say to themselves, "Oh, there's that name Von Humboldt..." (In my case the order of events was reversed, but I think the point stands). Such breadcrumbs and apparent loose ends open out the assigned reading into avenues for exploratory, chosen reading. Even the textual activities of students, which appear traditional, can in this way lead into the kind of involvement K envisions as maximizing learning opportunities: asking authentic questions, even about controversial topics, in the target language. In a meta sense, the English language itself is a vehicle for maximizing learning opportunities, as K points out in the interview on canvas. Learning a language is at least in part facilitated by thinking about language, and in the case of English this includes concepts of power, global influence, and linguistic cachet. As your example of the Arabic-speaking women suggests, though, it can also open up the space to talk about ideas that are normally unspoken in the L1 due to cultural factors whose authority, for better or worse, English as the global language has the power to dissolve. 

What is the teacher’s role in negotiating interaction in the classroom?

Kumaravadivelu posits three levels of interaction: textual, interpersonal, and ideational. As he discusses these in terms of input and interactional hypotheses, they clearly overlap and build on one another. Taken together, the movement up and between the levels of interaction paints a picture of the teacher as scaffolding not just isolated lessons or concepts, but co-constructing with students a whole edifice of chutes and ladders (with plenty of "U-shaped curves") in four dimensions. When students can have conversations, even simplified or basic ones, involving the ideas that really matter to them, their practice will feel more meaningful, as well as being more effective at actually helping them learn the use, form, and meaning of their L2. The teacher's role includes intentional efforts to move learners into interpersonal and ideational interactions, both through planning and through opportunistically seizing any chance to switch up the lesson should the students seem willing; checking for comprehension and eliciting further thinking with questioning and layers of input; and helping raise students' consciousness of the patterns or errors they may begin to notice. Perhaps most importantly, the teacher negotiates their own interaction to raise student voice and mitigate the likelihood of the teacher voice over-managing or determining the flow of conversation.  

Have you ever seen any examples of the deficit model in action, either as a learner, a parent, or an educator? If so, what did you do about what you observed, if anything? How would you advise others?  My add on: The example can be from any scenario.

The deficit model remains the default, both in theory and practice, against which we all constantly struggle. From learners, we hear them saying they can't do math problems, even right after we've given a mini-lesson on the topic. Asset mapping, an activity where they brainstorm their strengths, whether academic, social, or other, is one way we've tried to shift their mindset. We also have them write autobiographical vignettes from their past math experiences in an attempt to trace their journey, as well as hopefully jogging their memories and prior knowledge. On the staff side, professional development based on the work of Gholdy Muhammad has been illuminating for me, hearing from teachers around the state about the support or lack thereof for addressing deficit-based thinking about students of different races. Her framework highlights embedding historical strengths in lessons and projects, again positioning students as critical and capable thinkers. The main deficit I worry about in my own practice is simply time. I don't see a good way to recover it, but I do try to keep some time set aside for reading and learning to keep from entirely forgetting what that feels like.

Prior to reading, I would not have put oral comprehension on the same level as reading comprehension when it comes to the "active construction of meaning" on the part of listener/reader. Along the same lines, I would not have seen as much overlap between automaticity in the two domains. For me, reading and writing are so much further from automatic vs speaking and listening, or that is how I have always thought of them. I would not have considered genre as important in the context of oral communication. With all these analogies between the written and spoken word, I keep thinking of how technological change is blurring the distinctions between literacy and oracy as time goes on. I think back to the striking passage in Augustine's autobiography where he wonders what Ambrose can possibly be doing, reading silently. Perhaps he is saving his voice? he imagines. And the similarly striking passage at the moment of his conversion, accompanied by the playful, angelic voice chanting "take and read." It's presumptuous to be sure, but I think of our society now and the individuals who make it up as standing at a similarly paradigm-shift sort of moment in history, one whose transition is not to silent reading but to the possibility of only ever engaging with "literature" via audio-visual media; and one in which the playful voice chanting "take and read" is the voice of a video game character or AI companion, not a neighbor or an angel. 

As an introductory assignment in my language and code elective class, I had students make conversation cards. I asked that they include their name and pronouns, languages (human or machine) that they were interested in studying this semester, and any reflections about prior language/code study they had done. Finally, I asked that they share a goal they had (near or short term, ie. travel, cultural understanding, job skills, etc.). None of this directly bears on the metalinguistic awareness examples listed in Lems, but I did find it a helpful activity for starting students thinking about why they had chosen the class, metacognitive in that sense. For me, the hardest part of learning a language is understanding humor, actually getting a joke in real time, but playing with words to make "jokes" is something that comes relatively early. Teaching English (ELA) to native speakers, I have used the poem "Jabberwocky" as a way to surface many of these ideas, such as real words, syllables, patterns and how they help us "automatically" discern or guess at the meaning and function (parts of speech) of words. This was with 7th graders. In the context of working with lower levels of understanding of the language or academics overall, songs and games provide a way to build metalinguistic awareness as well as building a positive class culture. 

I feel bad for missing this past Thursday at Yasuhara. I didn't have time that day to check in with my team, but I hope the Watermelon Game warmer went well. The rearrangement of letters is not quite a morpheme game, but it comes pretty close. That is, in playing, you'll likely arrive sooner or later at a variety of morphemes spelled with some of the letters and find that you're able to reuse and recombine them in various ways. You'll notice, perhaps, that certain chunks function as morphemes in some cases and not in others. Water is one morpheme. The -er part can be broken out and used with "lone" to form "loner". There its meaning is something like "one who does x" with the structure "x-er". Confusingly perhaps, water is not one who wats. The word "ate" is a morpheme, too, but not in the word "water," where it is pronounced totally differently. But the morphemes "won" and "one" are pronounced the same... It's such a brilliant game for flagging and noticing all sorts of fun things, so I'll at least try to discuss it with the students next time. A variation for next Halloween might be brainstorming scary words together: fright, trick, treat, ghost, etc. and then taking turns combining them in the format "x-or-y" to see if anything more silly than "trick-or-treat" can be produced. My guess: yes! One strength of these sorts of  warmers is that they get students writing in a low-stakes way. 

Monday, April 17, 2023

Calm Before the Storm

From the tornado into the hurricane, they tell me. Like going from Kansan Oz to Katrina, or Maria. Hurry up and wait for it. I miss just from hearing about them rice and beans from Costa Rica, where the seniors went on their trip, and think again about those conduits of experience we wrap around culture, how best to honor those gifts we're given of learning and traveling, how best to pass them on to others in some form or fashion, as Joe tells me I ought to.

Two days on from Little Brother's due date--though we were all so sure he'd come a week early--it feels much later. Christmastime and Eastertide kids. A second spring break or early summer starts all the same, as this is when we contracted my long term sub to tag in, and I can't complain. It's also the day Granny and Grandpa are heading out, after being here with us a couple weeks in which we thought we needed the help, only to find it was the company. A lot of restaurant food, a lot of playtime for William. He understands practically everything now, and that seems to include the idea that he'll be a big brother, and that just as people are born, they eventually die. This is the one thing we know most surely, and yet nothing else about it. Not the time or place, and we know it only second hand. Somehow, at Easter, even its finality is revealed as questionable. So while William is understanding more and more, we come here to the limits of what I know myself, and to teach him about it a prospect fraught with uncertainty, a long-term project we'll have to work on together, hopefully for a long time.

That said, there's also plenty of nearer-term plans to re-up on at long last. Japanese, Spanish, French in various forms, and the magic circle quote in Cassirer's Language and Myth; revisiting Kierkegaard and Nietzsche in light of Jenny Odell's Saving Time, on the moment and nihilism; Bakhtin likewise, that knight of infinite resignation and perhaps faith, for writing about the school, and about games, endless material. The cruel fates of Oscar Wilde and Alan Turing, like a parody of Socrates, complicating their viability as role models; Proust and Virginia Woolf, too. That longish piece from Eva Brann on the epic and novel, to which the only comment was a gripe about the time era conventions. Still needing to write some more about T3, Undertale, and the philosophy of games; to generalize the audience by finding a better storytelling voice, rather than the petulant academic one I fall into so often. The books on the psychology and sociology of games reviewed briefly. The organization of wellnesses and credits tout court. Reading and child care groups; the prospect of a lab school. The limitations of data, dangers of reductive uses and misinterpretation of the purpose in the first place. 

Uncovering older projects: a Demons-like novel in a historical fantasy mode, with the quote from Jefferson about digging in his cellar; the Coffee Dragons series for kids; essays for James and the others; trying to publish stories, poems, and the rest, however mediocre. The essay on FF, of course, and PP, which made it as far as getting substantial comments and await rewrites, amounting to an admission of comradery and requiring a reserve of confidence, that not being exceptional in this does not mean the work is not worth re-doing. Audio for podcasts, to keep those rolling as much as possible, and recording some of the piano pieces for musical interludes, intros, outros, those little touches that help make the thing more fun, and more a work of care and art than a chore or afterthought. Curricula for parents and kids, too, in the Shandean vein, how helpful it is for books, movies, play to connect together: I Spy, or Totoro sleeping under the trees at the Easter Egg hunt. How when Mei is lost, the mom and dad are even oblivious, spared but for the miraculous arrival of the corn with writing on the husk. That scene of Charlie Chaplin and the corn cob which Odell describes, right alongside references to the Simpsons and Beavis and Butthead. 

Maybe time to reconnect with Spark and the Ulysses book club, to get in touch with local writers for help with publishing. Certainly past time to find a church to volunteer with, for language learners, the widows and orphans of the verse. Undertaking to rejoin seminars, reaching out to the Catherine Project; reconnecting with Signum and the Pixels. Remembering to scan headlines but then to read on archive as long as it may last rather than the news, to listen to books rather than quite so many podcasts, and more often to leave silences, breaks, for nothing in particular. To sit and look out of the window, or over the fences; to play music, not letting the instruments go to waste while waiting till next year to try again to get the band started. 

At a certain point I must have given up keeping journals organized at all, and now I don't know where I've been writing things. I have three or four paper ones going, kept in different places around the house, and any number of files on a nearly full drive where it's easier to just search than it is to put things in folders of any sort. Then there's this blog, as well as the ones for video games and whatever else we talk about on the squares, books and films, mostly. 

I notice the NY Times has turned to games as generator of virality and FOMO; their longtime film critic walking away for good; their culture writers' podcast appearing and disappearing like 3 Card Monty. So it seems even the pros are gotten the best of. Watching Ted Lasso, remembering when The Wire was what everyone talked about, all about games and players. 

I finally have started to remember dreams again, imaginary people and places. Goals to read Magister Ludi alongside Maryanne Wolf's attempts to re-read it, and to compare her work and Gopnik's on literacy and play for a PhD of my own. Dealing with the self-consciousness, self-protectiveness in writing privately, and how conveniently that means the inevitable lack of privacy effectively prevents writing. Resultant cycles of self-recrimination, resentment, forgiveness, anxiety, to the point of wanting therapy or psychedelics to help break through. So far, just writing anyhow, even if no one, me included, will ever read it. 

Friday, April 7, 2023

Justice and Peace

I find that there is a strange recognition attached to anything related to the year of one's birth. 

So, to take an example at random, when this spring break was warm and I finally sat down (laid down in the hammock) to read it, I noticed that the title printed on my book of selected poems by Seamus Heaney reads 1966-1987

The end of art is peace. - "The Harvest Bow"

Or, to take something more timely, the protest chant "No justice, no peace" seems to have arisen in or around the year 1987, when it was popularized by Sonny Carson (wikipedia). 

'No peace for all of you who dare kill our children if they come into your neighborhood...'

I understand my life differently and better in the light of these words and events that immediately precede it. Such recent works and histories as we never quite get around to studying in school, we have to look into for ourselves later. 

Perhaps part of the reason those words, that cadence, have particularly resonated with so many ever since, though, is that they hearken back to the Psalmist's formulation and refashion it profoundly:

Kindness [or 'mercy'] and truth shall meet; justice [or 'righteousness'] and peace shall kiss. Truth shall spring out of the earth, and justice shall look down from heaven - (Ps. 85:11-12)

I just want to lay that alongside some events happening now, preceding another imminent birth in our family:

Update: The Tennessee House voted Thursday to expel Democratic Reps. Justin Pearson of Memphis and Justin Jones of Nashville, the chamber’s two youngest Black members. A resolution to expel Democrat Gloria Johnson of Knoxville, a retired teacher who is white, narrowly failed.

Before Justin Pearson was elected to the Tennessee House, before he gained acclaim for stopping an oil pipeline project planned for his neighborhood, he was a student in Memphis schools who wanted a textbook. 

Pearson, then 15, brought the issue to the Memphis City Schools board. The next day, the books were found sitting in storage. His principal was reprimanded, and district officials demanded that school leaders across the city prove that they had handed out textbooks.

“Justin Pearson may have been without a government textbook for the first 11 weeks of school,” The Commercial Appeal wrote about the Mitchell High sophomore in 2010, “but he has learned one thing about democracies: Embarrassing elected officials in public meetings gets action.” - chalkbeat

Like any second-time-parent-to-be, I've been wondering what it will be like having another kid. Like everyone keeping up with current events, I've been concerned about the impacts of this or that political or technological change: AI upending writing and teaching, and the opposing slogans of the culture wars. I rarely write in any way publicly about anything so personal on the one hand, or so mainstream and current on the other, but I have to propose that in these interesting times we should study well both the words in the streets and in the screens; both the "books in storage" and the books of scripture; for there are important echoes there to mark our lives and the lives of our children. 

Friday, December 23, 2022

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Bird that Steals Shiny Things: Philip Pullman Among the Poets

The book I reread
Not so much a single book as all the poetry I know by heart, and all the poetry I don’t know by heart and want to. Poetry is everything. - Philip Pullman in The Guardian

The last piece of writing I had picked out to look at with the memoir writing group at my church was Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird, by Wallace Stevens. Then the pandemic and politics put paid to that.

But the words of the poem recently winged their way back into my head, like the birds of Plato's Theaetetus or Robert Louis Stevenson via William James. Stevens' Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird connected itself somehow to a favorite phrase of Philip Pullman's (everything I think about comes back to Pullman eventually, or to EarthBound, or both). To whit, whenever he's asked what his daemon would be, he tends to give some variation on the formula "a bird that steals shiny bits of story."

As I've been on something of a biographical-encyclopedic kick lately, then, with a piece about Shigesato Itoi forthcoming in NES Pro magazine, I thought it might be time to revisit Philip Pullman. Or so a little bird told me. 
 
Playing off of Stevens' poem, here are thirteen ways of looking at Pullman's life and work.

1 The Eye: Vision and Attention in Northern Lights/ The Golden Compass

I
Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.

In the first chapter, we get to expand on this "revaluation of consciousness" idea 


2 A Tree: The Worlds Revealed by The Subtle Knife and The Amber Spyglass

II
I was of three minds,
Like a tree
In which there are three blackbirds.

Continuation of the foregoing, with emphasis on the worldview Pullman espouses. God's Spies in Shakespeare and the Great Shift. Mnemonics, after all, are essentially a way of enlisting the imagination to serve and strengthen memory. Stories, then, are concatenations of such memorable images encoding and disclosing a whole range of possible meanings according to the imaginative engagement of the reader. The same question might be asked analogously of imagination--what is it, and how better to engage it, that we ask of memory and attention--of Dust. The witch counsels memory, and patience, and the angel imagination and work. Mary Malone, for all her insight into the present moment, has little to say at this juncture, only expressing a desire to learn to see her daemon. The knife will be broken, but what of the spyglass? or say, the lodestone resonator, to communicate across the worlds? If not the quarterly scholarly review and conferences, at least a symposium, perhaps, would be in order, a festschrift in honor of a significant birthday, or something of the sort. A bibliography, a timeline, and collected reminiscences, imaginings, works-in-progress, and so forth. Worth a try. 
The dust in the box from Atlantis in The Magician's Nephew, rings and wood between the worlds... Lewis' fall narratives of Charn and Venus. 


3 Winds: Pullman's Practice of Writing and his "little books": Lyra's Oxford, Once Upon a Time in the North, The Collectors, Serpentine, and The Imagination Chamber 

III

The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.

Considering the art and business of being a master storyteller. Via Lyra's Oxford, Once Upon a Time in the North, The Collectors, Serpentine, and The Imagination Chamber


4 A Man and a Woman: His Forgotten Materials: The Haunted Storm and Galatea

IV

A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a blackbird
Are one.




5 The Beauty: Race, Class, and Gender in How To Be Cool, The White Mercedes/The Butterfly Tattoo, and The Broken Bridge 

V

I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.


6 The Shadow: Traces and Mysteries in The Sally Lockhart Books
Language and story echoes of the adventure tales of his youth, penny dreadfuls, comics... 

VI

Icicles filled the long window
With barbaric glass.
The shadow of the blackbird
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Traced in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.


7 Imagine: Fairy Tales and Fables: Aladdin, Mossycoat, Puss in Boots, I Was a Rat! The Scarecrow and His Servant, The Firework-Maker's Daughter, Clockwork, Tales from the Brothers Grimm

VII

O thin men of Haddam,
Why do you imagine golden birds?
Do you not see how the blackbird
Walks around the feet
Of the women about you?


8 Noble Accents: Pilfering Paradise Lost, the King James Bible, and the Book of Common Prayer

VIII

I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That the blackbird is involved
In what I know.


9 Circles: Art, Travel, and other Influences in Essays and Public Statements

IX

When the blackbird flew out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.


10 Light: Poetry and Education

X

At the sight of blackbirds
Flying in a green light,
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.


11 He Mistook: The Good Man Jesus and the Scoundrel Christ

XI

He rode over Connecticut
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his equipage
For blackbirds.

Misprisions of Tolkien and Lewis. Dickieson's work on cruciformity in Lewis, stemming from Lewis' conversion (partly inspired by the night talk with Dyson and Tolkien). Letters in which he speaks of the MacDonald idea of death, really St Paul's, and of reading Romans. Pilgrim's Regress, Problem of Pain, Mere Christianity, Miracles; Perelandra; Great Divorce, Four Loves, Till We Have Faces, Grief Observed. Northrop Frye U-shaped pattern. To avoid reductive reading of Lewis as "apologist". Tolkien's mote letter (p1 of Splintered Light; 'if there is a god') 


12 The River: The Book of Dust: La Belle Sauvage and The Secret Commonwealth (and the forthcoming book, Roses from the South?)

XII

The river is moving.
The blackbird must be flying.


13 Evening: Pullman's Legacy

XIII

It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs.

Adaptations, influences on other writers, etc. 

Reading Around: Recommended by Pullman

I wrote this a long time ago, so long ago I think I tried to have it printed in the college magazine. As I start to work again on study materials for more exhaustive work on my favorite author, I remembered it, and how I'd already begun, a long time ago, my quixotic apprenticeship.

Reading Around

The Golden Compass is my favorite book by anyone alive. It is fairly popular, there is a movie coming out, and for these and other superficial reasons you will sometimes see it mentioned beside Harry Potter. I read it for the first time when I was little, and then the next two books that complete the story, and then all three over again after a few years. Nowadays I listen to a passage here or there of The Golden Compass, which, as I say, is my favorite, read by the author and a full cast, on my ipod. I like to go to readings at the Lit House and play it on speakers.

Well, you can find out about the book best by reading it, you know how I feel about it. What I want to do here, rather than review it, is to go about trying to place the story within a map of ideas, to catch it in a web of them, to wrap it in a blanket of them. That is what I mean by reading around. If you like this kind of article, we could make it into a regular column. I would like it if people shared books and families of books that they know well and like—books and ideas make a community, just as we make a community of readers and writers.

In the case of The Golden Compass, some of these relations are fairly obvious—mentioned already are its siblings, The Subtle Knife and The Amber Spyglass, and Harry Potter as a kind of rival. (His avowed rival, however, is C.S. Lewis, whom he reads, somewhat bitingly, as a religious fundamentalist.) It has been remade into other media, film and audio, and there was also a theatre version some years back.

We can tie the discussion into the “Storytelling in the Digital Age” theme by taking a look at the author’s website. (There are any number of fan sites, which make up a topic to themselves.) Philip-pullman.com has pictures Pullman drew for the chapter headings, a very occasionally-updated blog, and his thoughts on writer’s block and woodcarving. You may discover, if you read around, that he is a fan of the Sonata Reminiscenza of Medtner, and has sworn off air travel out of concern about the environment. There are also a couple of excellent essays which I want to recommend. They are pretty long, but very worthwhile.

“Miss Goddard’s Grave” is the text of a lecture Pullman was invited to give somewhere over there in Britain. It would be amazing if we could bring him to speak here; I would personally row him up the river… The speech is a meditation on literature, morality and education—more than a meditation, because it makes a definite argument. Some of the key ideas have to do with the value of experience over theory, interpretation over absolutes, enjoyment over drudgery. Thoughtfully worked out, these assertions link literature to the rest of life in a way too often overlooked, when it is treated as a school subject and a chore. But there is a certain blindness in the argument. It might not necessarily be stories that are fascinating to everyone, and the basis of growing as human beings. Couldn’t it be almost anything else—play, conversation, walking around—so long as its value were recognized? I think Pullman is aware of his prejudices in this regard and others, but still I would like to ask him about it.

The other essential piece is the autobiographical sketch “I have a feeling this all belongs to me”. Again, it is a window onto the way art and life are connected, this time going the other way around, experience into writing. The “ghostly hum” of electricity from the shed in Africa, learning from a sailor how to sweep the floor, “waterfall climbing” in Wales—all this is familiar to a careful reader of the big trilogy, and all the rest must have had its bearing less directly. Interesting to contemplate is to what extent writing this sketch brought some of these ideas to the forefront of his mind as he was setting to work.

Some of the major literary influences are mentioned in it, too. Milton’s Paradise Lost and Blake’s Songs of Innocence and Experience are the material Pullman is proud to have stolen from—he calls himself in several interviews a “crow stealing shiny bits of story”. Also present is Keats’ “negative capability,” characterized this time as “butterfly soup”. Quotations, themes, style—all fall under the debt. Then there are more obscure references. I have tried without too much success to look up the traveling poet Nick Messenger. The comic books and fairy tales have their bearing, too, as besides His Dark Materials Pullman has written lots of smaller stories that resemble both genres. I forget just now where I found this out, but an essay by Heinrich von Kleist, “On the Marionette Theatre,” is another acknowledged source. It gave me chills to read it—the fencing with the bear comes whole-cloth, and the alternative theology of grace is shared in large part.

Emil and the Detectives, The Moomin stories, The Magic Pudding—these are some children’s books that Pullman cites here and there as favorites. I’m sorry I can’t describe them as I should, I’ve kept you long enough, and I’ve spent enough time writing this little appreciation-bibliography. I just keep getting distracted, reading all these things over again… Well, in the introduction to a new edition of The Magic Pudding, Pullman tells us about its author, Norman Lindsay, and the wowsers: “ ‘Wowser’ is the Australian word for a prim, narrow-minded, pompous, Puritanical, humorless, spoilsport sort of character…Lindsay loved to annoy the wowsers, and did it with great success all his long life. He fought them on principle, as the Puddin’-Owners fought the Puddin’-Thieves.” Pullman, of course, is a Puddin’-Owner himself. He’s clearly in the company of a Lindsay, a Dahl, and probably—why not?—can hope to go down one day with Rabelais, Montaigne, Shakespeare, those great eaters and generous feeders of the human heart.

--

What I meant by Reading Around is how it goes sometimes on wikipedia, clicking link after link, down the rabbit hole. But I don't know, this is more like going for a walk in the field, watching the rabbits and birds come and go. In no particular order, then, here is where I'll list books Pullman has cited approvingly one way or another, and some he cites disapprovingly, too, if they seem relevant. 

The Magic Pudding
The Moomins
BB
Milton
Blake
The King James Bible
The Book of Common Prayer
Emil and the Detectives
Emil and the Three Twins
The Lost Words
A Voyage to Arcturus
Medtner, Sonata Reminiscenza
Nicholas Messenger
Kleist
Derrida
Marx
Kierkegaard
Nietzsche
The Secret Commonwealth, by Robert Kirk
Russell
Kipling
The Outsider, by Colin Wilson
Frances Yates
Ginsberg
George Eliot
Alexandria Quartet
McGilchrist
Chips Channon’s diaries; Mick Herron’s Slow Horses series; Thomas Mann’s Dr Faustus; Dick Davis’s translation of the Shahnameh; Don Paterson’s new collection, The Arctic; Bob Dylan’s The Philosophy of Modern Song; Mary Midgley’s The Owl of Minerva, etc, etc. - These listed in The Guardian 

https://radicalreads.com/philip-pullman-favorite-books/ 

Light and Dark: Splintered Light by Verlyn Flieger and Playing in the Dark by Toni Morrison

We all know the ways of ideas. How sometimes a good idea will come to mind just after we needed it, ex post facto and extraneous. Sometimes even in the middle of things the opportunity for it passes us by, but the idea seems worth repackaging somewhere else, perhaps, so it sticks with us. Maybe it's as we're going down the stairs after the party that good ideas come too late. Or maybe that's just in French. Maybe it's while we're still up on the landing, that moment in The Dead, hesitating between alternatives, in suspension between past and present, speech and silence. 

O, I am thinking about that song, The Lass of Aughrim.

For me, it's years and years later that a possibly good idea will percolate up, good as black coffee, from some long-lost opening in time, or fall like a flake of snow. And then I still won't get around to making something of it for more years and years. 

In the case of individuals, the delays are striking enough; afterthoughts on the scale of peoples and of humanity as a whole, all the more so. Generations come, generations go, and the way history repeats is proverbial. Epimetheus (Afterthought) and his place in the myth is not so well known as Prometheus (Forethought), but he isn't the one having his innards pecked out, either. Sisyphus gets his retelling from the existentialist Camus. France hosts Baldwin and loses its colonies in Africa, where Dubois goes into exile, while the African American movement for rights and liberation in the US enacts its mid-to-late century successes and suffers its tragedies. A few summers ago, another movement for Black lives started bubbling up in mainstream consciousness. Some with hope, some with dismay heralded the racial reckoning upon us once more. Now the contest has moved to the arena of prestige fantasy and school board meetings, but the reckoning, in the root sense of counting up and recompense, is in no way accomplished. 

Toni Morrison's Playing in the Dark: Whiteness and the Literary Imagination, opens with the distant music of jazz in a French memoir; Verlyn Flieger's Splintered Light: Language and Logos in Tolkien's World, with the distant music of the medieval worldview taken on for the creation of new worlds. Published decades apart and a generation or two ago, nevertheless both supply readers and students with excellent models for reading and scholarship to recur to. The idea of putting the two in conversation with one another has been hovering on the staircase of my mind for some time. Let's see how it goes here. In the scheme of things, if I am to take on board all they have to say to one another, however long it takes the lading will always be timely enough, because the ideas here are perennial. 

How to compare the light and dark of Flieger and Morrison? First, we should note that each is a practitioner and a theorist, writer and teacher. There was an anecdote shared by Morrison's student, Mohsin Hamid, on the Ezra Klein show recently: "she used to say that you should keep your reader a half heartbeat ahead of the action of your novels, and that they shouldn’t know what’s coming next, but when it happens it should feel inevitable." Flieger's continued commitment to teaching and writing is likewise in evidence in her work with Signum University, just half a heartbeat away from anyone, anywhere, online. She kindly took the time to speak with me about my project investigating Philip Pullman's place in the wake of the Inklings, whose importance in literature she has done so much to explicate. 

This combination of openness and demandingness is what draws me to them most as role models. For all the difference of their focus, both Morrison and Flieger are engaged with a project of expanding the circle of legitimacy and modeling the depth of thought with which readers and writers are rewarded by taking seriously, respectively, the presence of Blackness and whiteness in literature, and of eternal themes in fantasy and myth. 

As I notice the themes of conversation, of teaching, of connection and valorization with an audience of fellow writers emerging here, I'm aware that many more writers--starting with Marilynne Robinson--would be appropriately included in this imaginary dialogue as well. For her part, Robinson instantiates in her fiction and criticism much of the overlapping of race and wonder that Flieger and Morrison study. She makes no secret of her aim to revendicate the soul in modern reality, and does so beautifully in Gilead, for instance, with a shared language of light and play. We have all the time in the world to widen the scholarly scope of the dialogue indefinitely, later. For now, let's hew to our two. 

Toni Morrison, in Playing in the Dark, sets out collecting notes 'like a game,' notes on the portrayal of Blackness in literature which prove to illuminate the whiteness latent in the writing and the world (viii). She invites the reader to 'play along,' (ix) even as she proceeds, in a blues-inflected mode of wry humor and earnestness, assembling at once a foundational work of theory, and just one among many items in her literary 'toolkit' (x). The language of play blends with that of music in her lone short story, 'Recitatif' (its themes echoed in her student Hamid's splashy novel) (xi). Appropriating 'the words to say it' of other writers through this preface, well worth a read on its own if no time in the syllabus allows for more, she moves into the essays proper. 


First they were lectures; published with their full standalone force, complete with epigraphs, the three essays repay reading on their own and as a trio. Her 'map' immediately alludes to that other Other, the Native people of this 'New World,' to which we might append Donald Klein and Hisham Amin's review of the book, noting that Hemingway's 'Fathers and Sons' can be read as hinting at homosexuality as another dark other as well. But Morrison has to start somewhere, and so she sets out on the path to understanding Blackness, beginning in 'delight, not disappointment,' blazing the trail for us as she goes (4). The 'dark, abiding, signing presence' stands forth at every turn (5, cf 46). 'To read as a writer,' she acknowledges, means not only interpreting this presence signs, but seeing how this can mean telling a story out of the encounter (15). Seeing the 'fishbowl' that traps us all in societal pretension--but, we have to add, which also holds the water we swim in--Morrison limns a metaphor more playful than that of the Bell Jar of Sylvia Plath, and testifies to the experience of seeing through it with no less resolution and poetry (17 cf also DFW's graduation address). 

'Black Matters' then turns to the case study of Willa Cather's last novel (18). Without having read the book, I can only marvel at the susceptibility of the author of My Antonia to fall into the weak plotting and sentimentality Morrison unfolds in her reading of Sapphira and the Slave Girl. Nancy, unnamed in the title, serves and finally escapes from the elderly Sapphira, who nevertheless retains Nancy's mother, Till, apparently unmoved. This culminates in the reunion between mother and daughter stage-managed, for a young Cather's benefit, by the mature writer, but which only confirms her failure to realize the humanity of her characters (27). 

The second essay, 'Romancing the Shadow,' concerns the genre of Romance as practiced in American literature and its characteristic 'closed white images' over against 'the shadow' that haunts the dream (33). 'Romantic... prophylaxis' against reality: such is Morrison's assessment of the function of this mode of writing in Poe, among others (36). She wonders at such a 'playground for imagination' (38) turning, in a less naive register, to 'Rhetorical acid' effacing so effectively a complex dialectic of master and slave (46 cf 'serving and served' 90). Once more, her 'shadow' proves ineradicable, for it is cast by its unwitting observer (48). Lest we forget or give in to fatalism, though, she reminds us how 'knowledge... plays' even in our fumbling towards a free nation (49). 

The case study here, from Poe, turns briefly to engage with Mark Twain. Morrison, like many readers, notes the jarring, then, like few if any, points out the ironic fitness of Huckleberry Finn's ending (55). Once more she recurs to the language of 'play... with life'; yet this 'play and deferment' ultimately proves Jim's maturity and well-earned freedom (57). 'Snow' becomes the referent of contemporary and near-contemporary white canonical authors for their meaninglessness in the absence of a deeper understanding of their black roots (58 cf The Dead and indeed The Lord of the Rings). 

At last, in 'Disturbing Nurses and the Kindness of Sharks,' Morrison turns definitively to come to grips with Hemingway.  Across a minefield of metaphor (63) and escape (66) littering the iconic author's work, which she deftly traverses on the strength of her reading it whole, not least across the previous two essays, in the light of the Blackness underlying our literature, Morrison comes to regard in a single circumlocution, where the white character usurps his black companion's agency in the phrase 'saw he had seen,' the whole willful blindness and ugliness of narrative racism (72). In the 'accusation of inhumanity' from Wesley, she perceives the 'lapse' of the author and his stand-in, admitting its truth (76). Morrison eventually even draws together those links we started out by noticing in her initial map of the territory: in Hemingway's unfinished late work, 'sexual play' (85) and racial othering, recurring to imagery of the 'Indian' (86), are bound up with the last gasp of yearning for a lost paradise. A 'mythologized' and 'racist literature' ours may be, but Morrison shows how it endures and how much it illuminates the culture we live in for all that (90). 

On that note of myth, we pick up with Flieger's Splintered Light. Of the two authors, she is of course the less celebrated; of the two books, hers is the less influential. Yet, as the preface and introduction show, she is just as dedicated to the project of uncovering truth in unexpected readings of literature. She brings a spirit of seriousness and play to her approach to the question, 'Why read Tolkien?' (viii) and her account of his 'myth for England' (xiv). As she argues, the key to understanding his accomplishment lies in the overlooked Silmarillion.


The predominating image of the book, and Flieger's metaphor for reading it, is light, that 'glittering white' which is the unity and origin of colors (1, 46). Together with this, she naturally associates an energetic, life-giving heat or warmth, which connects with the struggles of Tolkien's family in South Africa, particularly his mother (2). These unities contain the essential dualities of Tolkien's nature, his hope and despair, visualized in the play of light and dark (4). The fascinating early work of Tolkien on the word for black people and their land in Old English comes in for brief discussion (8, recalled in the story of the lamps and trees later 63). Like her subject, Flieger is careful, exact and exacting (8). She takes Tolkien's student Simonne d'Ardenne at her word when she suggests that through his study and fiction alike, he 'broke the veil' and saw realms lost to others' sight (9). 

From this introduction to the 'Man of Antitheses,' Flieger embarks on arranging foundational material from Tolkien's two great essays, on Beowulf and fairytales. The former is 'dark '(11), in her reading redolent of the 'shadow of despair' underlying all Tolkien's efforts (17). And yet, through this dark shines the 'cosmic' (17), much like the opening sequence of Final Fantasy VII in a later medium. The centrality of monsters, such as Grendel, because of the clarity of their reflections on humanity--this becomes Tolkien's great insight into the story of Beowulf and into story writ large, so far overlooked by the critics (18, but certainly well recognized by Morrison). 

From the equally seminal 'On Fairy-stories,' Flieger singles out the importance of such 'recovery' in Tolkien's scholarship as well as his fiction (25). 'Technology' and 'the speech of beasts' come to reinforce our dependence on story, the one a push, the other a pull (26), and to the end of stories of this sort, 'eucatastrophe' or the good turn (27). For instance, when Snow White opens her eyes (28, though perhaps we can only fully recover the wonder of this moment in the light of reading whiteness back into it, with the aid of Morrison and scholar-practitioners since). Out of this 'reversal,' Tolkien and Flieger bear witness, we experience not only the promise but the actuality of future, eternal 'joy' (29)

For the central chapters which follow, Flieger endeavors to show how the eternal light, the human dark, and their myriad gradations collaborate in the unfurling of Tolkien's vision. We might single out the imagery of the color green (41) from among the movement from white to 'many hues' (43, 158), given the pressing importance now for an environmental-stewardship reading of fiction and the world through it. We can infer this through Tolkien's reimagining of the diminutive fairies as 'elves,' and their fascinating migrations and descent along the lines of 'race,' echoing a colonial empire crumbling in the course of Tolkien's life (51). Once more, we encounter that 'Green sun' unifying the language and literature, the scholarly and imaginative, for Tolkien as for Flieger (60) in the midst of many shades of linguistic change and visual shades of grey and black (70). Theories of 'Indo-European peoples' come in for comparison with the family trees of languages and peoples in Tolkien's legendarium (77). As the 'dark' grows and prevails, (82) still it is in service of the essential contraries of human nature (86, 83, or as on 87 correlates).

In the beauty of the silmarils, 'jewels' recalling the etymology of Tolkien's early work on Africans as seen or imagined by Europeans, there lies the inevitable 'fall' of the overweening sub-creators (108-9). Flieger highlights the motif of 'appropriation' in the most literal sense, the 'desire to possess,' as a theme Tolkien took to be the heart of his plotting and narrative causation (110). In the horrible figure of Ungoliant, consuming and perverting light itself, she indicates a monstrous fear at the back of all the hopeful happy endings and theoretical tendencies of her subject (112). Yet another overlooked instance of the same process is the spoiling of the original 'white ships' whose role in the main story of the Lord of the Rings is one of saving and healing (115). 

The movement from east to west proves fundamental in Tolkien's work, setting up the contrary movement towards the east in Frodo's quest (121, 124). The figure of the 'white lady,' likewise, has many iterations in his stories (122). Flieger's accumulation of evidence, with her patient application of the core prevalence of light and language across the examples, recovers from cliche such formulations as the movement from 'dark to light' (125) and the 'fall' (128). Her work, too, becomes a 'tapestry' (129) woven 'in the dark' (130). From an 'aristocracy of light' (131), drawn as they are by love and enchantment (133, 140), the elves proceed athwart the universal imperative toward darkness (145). 

Only towards the end of the book does Flieger assign a place within this framework to the humble hobbits whom Tolkien found the 'accidental' heroes of his better-known stories. In their humility we have transmitted the 'unsullied light' of a reworked early poem on the morning star, Earendil (148), and clinging to their earthiness we have the 'dust' or 'mote' that Tolkien likened himself to back in the opening chapter's epigraph (150, 156, 7). With reference to the psychology of Jung, Flieger restates once more the urgency of confronting and accounting for our 'shadow' (151), and recognizing the meaning behind what we take to be 'invisible' (157). Finally, she identifies a counterpart to the ring in the 'phial' lighting the hobbits' way, drawing our attention to that fascinating way in which Galadriel abjures her love as perilous if it is not freely given and received (159). Over against the early poems of Earendil and 'Mythopoeia,' we have Frodo's Dreme and the dream of the veil rolling back (165). 

Flieger concludes her work there, having bridged the then-inaccessible backdrop of The Silmarillion, Tolkien's poetry and scholarship on myth and language, with his perennially popular fantasies. She remarks, with Tennyson's Arthur, that 'The old order changeth' (171)--and this is well. 

With such admirable scholarship to draw upon, where do we go from here? The work of Marilynne Robinson, her fiction and essays and her dialogues with President Obama; contemporary speculative fiction from NK Jemison or Colson Whitehead; or perhaps a talk by Marlon James, the seventh annual Tolkien lecture at Pembroke College, on why he turned from Booker-prize winning literature to fantasy, and is now engaged in creating a collective African mythology in response to Tolkien. Or, knowing me, most likely, inexorably, incorrigibly, back to Philip Pullman. 

Sunday, October 30, 2022

The Teacher Trap

 That is, if we take the Parent in Nate Hilger's title to be a noun rather than a verb; otherwise, it's the teach (v) trap we're talking about about, the same one that Ranciere points out to such effect in his tricky little book.

I still have to read Hilger's. Yet in the course of marketing it through podcasts and articles--see our last couple of Thoughtful Dad episodes--he's proven so competent a thought partner and such a handy nemesis to have around I'll keep acting on the assumption that it's worth the attention. 

What I mean, then, I want to say in the sense of the trap he talks about: both the difficulty of teaching and the turgidity of the discourse around teaching, and thus the immobility of attempts at reform. And still in line with the argument as I understand it, this implies that just as parents cannot be left to do an impossible job alone, so teachers will need help. Not the nosebleed of funding we saw with pandemic response, or not only that, Stanch it, pump it towards daycare, public service tutors and aides, therapists and coaches. Train teachers in the schools, paying the mentor teachers rather than professors. Or rather, bring the professors of ed back into the classroom to show us how it's done. Subbing, at the very least, since many of them are retirement age anyway, and that pool of retired teachers seemed like it used to be a reliable source of substitutes. 

Along with the image of the trap, I can't help but think of the experiments with food on one side of a little door, and the subjects trying to grab it and pull it through. When they grab a big handful, they can no longer bring their hands back out the doorway. That's the sort of experiment we've been engaged in for the past generation or two of state-mandated curricula and testing regimes: grabbing huge handfuls of a bunch of resources that no one can use, paying their providers for the privilege and serving the students poorly. To get out of the trap, it might suffice to give more student-centered funding a try. 

Free up teachers to make their own decisions and quit paying for tests and curricula; turn that money and micromanagement toward the availability and retention of experienced early childcare workers and afterschool programs for kids in need. And again, knit together the work of childcare and teaching more closely at all levels, from pre-K to post-grad, focusing on the evident desire on the part of all parties to do better, and alleviating the strain on the system as a whole by giving everyone involved a better idea of what their colleagues are up to. Such that programs of early identification and support of prospective future teachers in high school, or even middle and elementary peer tutoring and mentorship programs, should be the norm rather than an exception or charitable intervention worthy of applauding. Students learn best and most willingly teaching one another. Let's foster those interactions, provide the necessary guidance to students, and otherwise get out of their way--and out of the trap.