The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly of School Assigned Texts

On October 14^th, 2011 I discovered that Sparknotes had videos. Actual novel summaries! Not only are they illustrated, but they are less than seven minutes long and the narrator has a very soothing voice- a good thing when it comes to hour three of your open essay revisions.

Now, I’m not advocating cheating. I truly did read the books, cover to cover. (Well, I read the first and last chapters.) But all jokes aside, I came to rely heavily on Sparknotes when it came to my grade. Once I began reading, I couldn’t help but become involved with the story. Before I knew it, hours would have passed and, while I was interested enough by the text itself, I had absolutely nothing to say regarding the motifs in Heart of Darkness. It isn’t that I wasn’t paying attention to the text, but I find it difficult to view the story from an academic standpoint. It is my experience that school- assigned texts are viewed less as books, and more as “educational tools” the more you read. Some of my favorites have showed up on the reading lists these past years, only to be torn to pieces by character analysis and the dreaded analytical essay. Part of the joy of reading is the freedom to interpret the story in whatever way you wish! In the classroom, once-vibrant stories become generic. Or, even worse, the assigned text is so dry and academic that it is completely un-relatable to begin with.

A more productive approach might be to allow students the freedom to choose their own novels…within reason, of course. Clearly there are books in circulation that do not uphold to academic standards. Yet there are plenty modern books worth reading, which hold messages just as provocative as those in Shakespeare’s writing. Furthermore, students will be far more likely to complete assignments and read the books if they hold their interest. Outside of school, reading is perhaps the most important way that we learn new things. It is of vital importance that a proclivity for literature is established early on, so that it becomes more of a hobby and less of a chore.  

            My intention is not to undermine the importance of reading the classics. They do hold value, and are often beautifully written. Because so many modern books and movies draw on the plots of older books, it is essential to give them the recognition that they deserve. 

I only feel that literature could be approached differently in the curriculum: as a personal experience, rather than a strictly academic one.  

My First Experience With Literature

My literacy had two beginnings: the pretend beginning, and the real beginning.


There's this picture of me in my old house, when I was maybe two years old. Our kitchen has one of those half-walls and on the other side was a bookshelf. My mom used to leave me sitting in my baby chair while she cooked dinner, right on the other side so she could keep an eye on me. In the picture I’m looking intently at the book in my lap. My face is ridiculously serious. It’s starting to get dark so I’m squinting in this exaggerated way that was the reason my mom took out the camera in the first place. I’m holding one corner of the page in my chubby hand, super delicately. I already know how important this is going to be. And if you look carefully, you can even see the title of this book I’m "reading": the Home Depot Home Improvement Guide: revised second edition.


I should clarify. I wasn’t actually reading at age two. But I so wanted to be! I had seen my older brother leafing through workbooks and I had seen my mother squinting at old recipes, written in big, loopy cursive. I began to watch intently as their pencils scratched across the pages, hoping that if I stared long enough I would magically understand. Much to my annoyance, this didn’t happen. When I got a little older I picked up a few simple words here and there, but it wouldn’t be until much later that I would read in earnest.


For a while I put reading out of my mind. Then, in second grade, my teacher pulled a dusty box out from behind her desk. She passed out red-dot easy readers, the first in a series of color-coded levels of books. I was positively jazzed. I ran home and slapped it down on the kitchen counter, giving my mother the most serious look I could muster in a ladybug hat. "Mom”, I remember asking urgently, tugging at her skirt. "Can you please teach me how to read now?"


The aforementioned photograph was not the first experience I had with reading. My parents read to me all the time when I was young. I know, because I still have crates upon crates of books, full of vibrant watercolor illustrations and personified animals. They practically overflow from my attic, and I’m constantly stepping around them. But this picture by the bookshelf shows one of my very earliest memories, maybe even my first. It also calls to mind a specific literary device. (Can you guess which one, Ms. Diana?) Foreshadowing.


Now that I’m older, I read and write constantly. A book or four can always be found on my bedside table. There is a beaten-up copy of Pride and Prejudice in the backseat of my car, my own poems scrawled in the margins. And no, the Home Depot Three-Step Home Improvement Guide probably has nothing to do with it But, then again, it has everything to do with it.