Teaching the Canon in 21st Century Classrooms : Challenging Genres [1 ed.] 9789004389311, 9789004389304

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Teaching the Canon in 21st Century Classrooms

Critical Literacy Teaching Series: Challenging Authors and Genres Series Editor P. L. Thomas (Furman University, Greenville, USA)

Editorial Board Leila Christenbury (Virginia Commonwealth University, USA) Sean P. Connors (University of Arkansas, USA) Jeanne Gerlach (University of Texas-Arlington, USA) Renita Schmidt (Furman University, USA) Karen F. Stein (University of Rhode Island, USA) Shirley Steinberg (University of Calgary, Canada)

ඏඈඅඎආൾ 11

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/lite

Teaching the Canon in 21st Century Classrooms Challenging Genres Edited by

Michael Macaluso and Kati Macaluso

අൾංൽൾඇ_ൻඈඌඍඈඇ

All chapters in this book have undergone peer review. The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available online at http://catalog.loc.gov

ISBN 2542-8608 ISBN 978-90-04-38929-8 (paperback) ISBN 978-90-04-38930-4 (hardback) ISBN 978-90-04-38931-1 (e-book) Copyright 2019 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Hes & De Graaf, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Rodopi, Brill Sense, Hotei Publishing, mentis Verlag, Verlag Ferdinand Schöningh and Wilhelm Fink Verlag. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

CONTENTS

List of Figures and Tables

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Introduction: Challenging the Canonical Genre Kati Macaluso and Michael Macaluso

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Part 1: Decentering the Canon 1.

Curating against the Canon: Collaborative Curation for Critical Literacy Kate Lechtenberg

2.

What Do Olympians, Lowriders, and Shailene Woodley have to Do with Language Arts? Making Space for Critical, Multimodal Texts in Canonical Classrooms Ashley K. Dallacqua and Annmarie Sheahan

3.

Shattering Literary Windows and Mirrors: Creating Prismatic Canonical Experiences for (and with) British Literature Students Jeanne Dyches

3

19

35

Part 2: Making Contemporary Connections 4.

5.

Still Fighting for Migrant Workers’ Rights 75 Years Later: A Critical Approach to Teaching the Grapes of Wrath through Contemporary Youth Testimonios Michelle M. Falter and Nina R. Schoonover Examining Islands across Contexts: Reading Colonization Critically in Shakespeare Jeremiah C. Sataraka and Ashley S. Boyd

6.

Teaching The House on Mango Street in the #MeToo Era Amy Cummins

7.

Fostering Critical Social Consciousness through “Text-to-Software” Connections with Brave New World Mark A. Sulzer

53

67 81

93

Part 3: Applying Critical Lenses 8.

A Critical Race Approach to Teaching To Kill a Mockingbird Carlin Borsheim-Black

v

109

CONTENTS

9.

Using Counterstories to Critique Racism: Critical Race Theory, Beloved, and The Hate U Give Ashley Johnson and Mary L. Neville

123

10. Class Is in Session: Why Now Is the Time for a Marxist Approach to the Canon Elizabeth Currin, Stephanie Schroeder and Todd McCardle

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11. Interrupting Ideologies within the Canon: Applying Critical Lenses to Pride and Prejudice, Eleanor & Park, and Contemporary Life Mike P. Cook, Brandon L. Sams and Parker Wade

151

Part 4: Considering Whom We Teach 12. A Critical Emotional Approach to Canonical Literature: Lessons from Of Mice and Men Amanda Haertling Thein 13. Canonical Texts and Cultural Critique with English Learners Erin McNeill and Mary Beth Hines 14. “This Ain’t Got Nuttin to Do with My Life”: Art and Imitation in Romeo and Juliet Fawn Canady and Chyllis E. Scott 15. Teaching Critically for Freedom with 1984 Mary E. Styslinger, Nicole Walker, Angela Byrd and Kayla Hostetler

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167 181

195 211

FIGURES AND TABLES

FIGURES

2.1. 2.2. 7.1. 13.1. 13.2. 14.1. 15.1.

Reading across texts guided notes Final allegory assignment rubric First approach What counts as empathy? Comparing your home country to Indiana Romeo and Juliet scene rewrite assignment List of sample articles to facilitate text to world connections

30 31 100 184 186 204 222

TABLES

1.1. 1.2. 1.3. 1.4. 2.1. 2.2. 2.3. 3.1. 3.2. 4.1. 4.2. 6.1. 7.1. 9.1. 9.2. 11.1. 14.1.

Contemporary adolescent texts curated for Things Fall Apart Curation assignment description Resources for curation Four elements of curation Dystopian text set Characterization text set Allegory text set Teaching Macbeth through traditional and critical content knowledges Overview of Graham’s lesson Comparisons of migrant experiences across time and texts Topics addressed within testimonios Recommended reading: Young adult literature, rape, and resilience Text-to-software framework, approach #2 Tenets of CRT (adapted from Delgado & Stefancic, 2012) CRT in Beloved and The Hate U Give Sample gender and social class representations in unit texts Comparing lines

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8 9 10 11 23 24 29 41 46 60 62 88 102 125 133 163 206

KATI MACALUSO AND MICHAEL MACALUSO

INTRODUCTION: CHALLENGING THE CANONICAL GENRE

The impetus for this book project began over a decade ago at the annual meeting of the National Council of Teachers of English, in the dialogue surrounding a presentation Mike and colleagues had prepared for the conference. The presentation, “Critical Approaches to the Canon,” offered cases of teachers teaching canonical texts for critical literacy purposes, intending to undercut what Kirkland (2011) refers to as “status quo master narratives” sometimes supported by canonical texts, including whiteness, masculinity, heterosexuality, ability, notions of culture, literary merit, and even methods of reading, teaching, and learning. The discussion that unfolded in and around that presentation illuminated for us two distinct realities. First, it was clear that, while undefined, there is in fact a pervasive set of texts that populate the syllabi and bookshelves of classrooms across America. Audience members nodded in mutual understanding of one another as they shared experiences of teaching books, many of which they felt they had inherited more than they had chosen. One teacher voiced that she was required to teach Romeo and Juliet to her ninth graders because it was mandated by the district. Another gentleman claimed that Of Mice and Men remained a staple in his curriculum because it was one of the few titles on the shelves of his school’s book room with enough copies for every student in his class. A set of hands revealed that at least two-thirds of the high school literature teachers in the room taught The Great Gatsby. The full array of reasons for that text’s persistence remained unstated, but one teacher felt drawn to the richness of Fitzgerald’s language, remembering – with an air of nostalgia – his own experiences reading the party scenes that populate the opening pages of Chapter 3. For whatever reason – curricular mandates, budgetary restrictions, personal experiences of reading – history and texts repeat themselves in the English language arts classroom. It is as though, as one audience member so vividly stated in reference to these books, “they’ve canonized our minds.” While the extant scholarship on ELA curricula (e.g., Applebee, 1993; Stotsky, 2010) substantiates a not insignificant degree of textual persistence in the ELA classroom, our experience working with ELA teachers posits that the teaching of these texts need not remain consistent with the status quo. We have seen in many an English teacher an openness of mind and heart to teaching more traditional “canonical” texts in critical ways – ways that challenge “status quo master narratives.” One teacher in the audience of that seminal NCTE presentation mentioned the challenges she has

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faced in teaching Pride and Prejudice – a text of all White characters – to classes of non-White students. She wondered how she might make that text relevant and meaningful for a demographic quite unlike the characters of Austen’s Victorian setting. Another teacher worried he was normalizing violence through texts like Of Mice and Men and Romeo and Juliet. This teacher’s worries joined the chorus of other teachers, who wondered if their handling of To Kill a Mockingbird and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn re-inscribed, rather than challenged, racism. These teachers, and others with whom we have worked, seemed critically aware of what might best be described as the “canonical genre.” Genre, as Cope and Kalantzis (1993) elaborated in their seminal piece on a genre approach to literacy instruction, implies an attentiveness to the way language works to make meaning. In other words, genre attends to the social action that language is performing in the world. What we heard from the teachers in that NCTE audience was a commitment to asking the question, “What kind of work is and could these texts and their readers be doing in the world?” A key argument undergirding this edited volume as a whole is that how teachers teach canonical texts matters for the purposes of decentering and disrupting the implicit and explicit narratives – like Eurocentrism, conflict-resolution through violence, gender stereotypes, and racism – that canonical texts can foster in contemporary classrooms. Importantly, then, the chapters in this volume go beyond merely offering new or critical interpretations of canonical texts. Relying on methods of critical literacy (Borsheim-Black, Macaluso, & Petrone, 2014), critical inquiry (Beach, Thein, & Webb, 2016), critical English education (Morrell, 2005), and New English education (Kirkland, 2008), this book offers pedagogical applications and conceptualizations for educators and students to challenge and update a canonized English language arts curriculum. It asks such questions as: How might our teaching of canonical texts challenge and subvert the traditions, norms, expectations, and text titles in and beyond the secondary English classroom? How might we change our teaching of the canon to reflect an increasingly technologized, pluralized, globalized 21st century context in which our students live? In short, how might educators – despite traditions that have somehow “canonized our minds” – work to ensure that students’ engagement with canonical texts results in social action consistent with our hearts and conscience? WHAT IS THE CANON?

In addressing the “canonicity” of the texts they discuss, the authors in this volume reference national studies conducted over the past several decades that have investigated the most frequently assigned texts in secondary ELA classrooms (Applebee, 1993; Stallworth et al., 2006; Stotsky, 2010; Stallworth & Gibbons, 2012; Beers & Probst, 2013). These studies confirm the persistence of texts familiar to the average English language arts teacher or student: The Great Gatsby, The Odyssey, To Kill a Mockingbird, Shakespeare plays, Of Mice and Men (all of which x

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are taken up in this volume). While not entirely unchanging, the lists of text titles have remained remarkably stable since the early 1900s, causing Grossman (2001) to call the secondary ELA curriculum a “still life.” There are, it seems, what the authors of the Common Core State Standards describe as “classic or historically significant texts…[of] recognized value” (CCSS, 2010, p. 2). The practice of deeming certain texts “worthy” of a place in the ELA curriculum can be traced back to at least two events: the Harvard entrance requirements of 1873–1874 and the meeting of the Committee of Ten in 1892. The 1873–1874 Harvard admissions requirement stated, for the first time, that applicants would write a short composition on a literary text. Because specific titles – ranging from Shakespeare to Sir Walter Scott – were mentioned in the requirement and in subsequent requirements, secondary school teachers felt they had no choice but to teach those specific titles in their classrooms. Recognizing an opportunity for profit, publishers produced newer and annotated “study” editions of these texts, bringing annotated classics into widespread use by the mid-1880s (Applebee, 1974), and thus instantiating a “literary canon” in English classrooms throughout the country. In addition to and in light of this requirement, the Committee of Ten, a panel of White men commissioned by the National Association of Education and chaired by the president of Harvard at that time, met in 1892 to examine and evaluate the curricula of secondary school subjects. Their 1894 report essentially created the Western, and especially American and British, literature-based “English” class, as we know it today in secondary schools (Gere, 1992; Bauer & Clark, 2008), making literary study with a loosely codified set of texts from Western traditions a universally offered secondary school subject (Applebee, 1974; Graff, 1987). Importantly, then, the term “canon,” as used in reference to the literary canon, connotes legitimacy, authority, truth. Given its use in not only curricular, but also ecclesial contexts, the “canon” has assumed an arguably sacred connotation. Certain texts in the ELA curriculum have, like holy men and women, been “canonized” or elevated as the literary standard toward which to strive. But who determines their canonicity, or even why, how, and when certain texts become “canonized” remains ambiguous, and so, unlike the body of canon law or collection of canonized saints, there is no hard and fast list of what constitutes the literary canon. For that reason, we chose not to delineate a list of suggested canonical titles in the call for proposals that initiated this edited volume. The array of texts represented in this volume – from Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath, to Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, to Morrison’s Beloved, to Cisneros’s House on Mango Street – has, for us, and we hope for all of the readers who engage with this volume, shifted our perception of the “canon.” We conceive of canon as less of a list or fixed body of texts, and more of an ideology. The authors in this volume attend to the canonicity of texts in the ELA classroom not by merely invoking the title(s) of oft-taught texts. They attend to the canonicity of texts by helping to make visible what might otherwise remain the taken-for-granted traditions, discourses, and accompanying power dynamics in English language arts education. In addressing the canonicity of the texts for which they are proposing a xi

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critical approach, the authors in this volume question who or what has deemed a text “a classic.” They ask why, how, and when a text might be recognized as having value. They call attention to the raced, classed, gendered, and religion-infused origins of a body of texts rooted in the expectations of universities and publishing companies generally controlled by elite White men of the Anglo-Saxon, Protestant tradition. And, in response to not only the content, but also the teaching of canonical texts, the authors in this volume challenge a tradition of textual authority that has characterized English language arts instruction. CRITICAL APPROACHES TO CANONICAL TEXTS

One of the beauties of the chapters that follow is that they challenge what is often perceived as a dichotomy between literary content and the act of teaching that literary content. A popular myth in education is that teachers “do” pedagogy, while authors “do” content. Teachers, in other words, enact the content – literary, or otherwise. Texts are not taught until someone comes along to teach them. In the spirit of scholars doing work in critical theory (e.g., Segall, 2004), the authors in this volume trouble that perceived relationship between pedagogy and content. Their arguments begin from the assumption that all texts, by nature of being inherently ideological, are also fundamentally pedagogical. In short, all texts, even without teachers, teach. Several traditions within the history of English language arts education make the inherently pedagogical nature of literary texts all the more real. As a school subject, reading has, after all, participated in the moral formation of citizens, teaching students how to think, value, and behave (Applebee, 1993; Brass, 2010). Literature’s “musical and imaginative products,” wrote 19th century English educator Percival Chubb, “would lodge more memorably and fatally in the hearts and minds of children more than anything else” (qtd. in Brass, 2010, p. 708). In other words, literature’s aesthetic dimension afforded educators a subtle, but effective tool with which to shape the morality of students’ hearts, minds, and souls. The texts teachers selected as part of the formal curriculum could themselves condition students’ souls, thereby teaching them how to think, act, and believe. The rise of New Criticism, too, made manifest today by the emphasis on close reading, has authorized texts as conveyers of meaning. New Criticism achieved prominence in the mid-twentieth century as a reaction against “old criticisms” that privileged knowledge of those things surrounding a text, namely authorial intention, as determinants of textual meaning. In contrast to the “old critics,” the New Critics deemed the long-standing emphasis on authorial intention the “intentional fallacy.” Readers, after all, could never really know an author’s intention behind her literary composition. The New Critics also declared the reader’s personal and psychological response to text insufficient grounds upon which to determine textual meaning (Wimsatt & Beardley, 1954). All a reader had was the work itself – the text – which possessed a certain organic unity that gave the work its meaning. In other words, the text itself, if studied closely enough, could teach. xii

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The authors throughout this edited volume recognize that texts teach and that the traditions of English education have vested all texts, but some texts, in particular, with the authority to teach. In a way, we might imagine the individual chapters in this volume originating in the recognition of the inherently pedagogical nature of texts, as well as in the recognition of particular “status quo master narratives” (Kirkland, 2011) that canonical texts, as inherently ideological, might be teaching. Each of the authors in this edited volume also begins from the assumption that teaching itself is a powerful – indeed a political – act. Teachers can be transformative agents of change. With that idea in mind, each of the chapters in this volume begins not only with a recognition of texts-as-teachers, but also with an implicit question: How might teachers and students intervene in the often invisible pedagogical framework of the text under study? While the answers to that question vary from one chapter to the next, each of the contributors to this edited volume relies to some extent on a critical framework. Critical literacy, after all, acknowledges that texts and textual production are not neutral enterprises. Advocating for critical approaches to the teaching of canonical texts, the contributors to this volume seek to intervene on what one might argue is always and already a set of relationships, and therefore power dynamics, at play: relationships between and among teachers, students, and worlds – past, present, and future. Reading in and across the fifteen chapters in this volume, we have discovered at least four means by which to teach canonical texts in critical ways that challenge the canonical genre in potentially transformative ways: de-centering the canonical text, making connections between past and present realities, applying critical lenses, and considering more deeply not only what and how we teach, but also whom we teach. Each of these actions comprises a section of this book dedicated to the overarching act of challenging the canonical genre. Decentering the Canon Borrowing from a conceptual framework of “curation” (American Association of School Librarians), Kate Lechtenberg opens the conversation with a discussion on what it might mean to transform the “still life” (Grossman, 2001) of the literature curriculum into a “critically curated invitation to text-inspired conversations that explore multiple perspectives, challenge dominant ideologies, and include marginalized voices within and beyond the literary canon”. Focused on student work from an asynchronous online section of Reading and Teaching Adolescent Literature (RTAL), Lechtenberg offers both an example and a theorization of what it means to become a critical literacy educator no matter which books populate the shelves or syllabi teachers often inherit. By illustrating and analyzing one case of working with preservice teachers on a collaborative curation project with Achebe’s Things Fall Apart, Lechtenberg delineates a four-part process to de-centering the canon. By situating the otherwise focal text within a thick conceptual framework, pairing the text with counterstories, making connections between texts, and taking xiii

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an exploratory rather than an authoritative stance toward texts, Lechtenberg and her preservice teachers offer a methodology for de-centering otherwise dominant texts in the ELA curriculum. In a way, Lechtenberg’s chapter anticipates a provocative question that Ashley Dallacqua and Annmarie Sheahan pose in their opening anecdote about the teaching of Dante’s Inferno. Remembering her own experiences reading The Inferno as a student, Sheahan asks, looking out at her own students’ faces as she prepares to begin teaching The Inferno, “What’s changed?” “What could change?” Advocating for the integration of nontraditional, multimodal texts like comics and film with the teaching of more canonical, alphabetic print-based texts, Dallacqua and Sheahan show how this integration not only de-centers the canon, but also destabilizes more traditional classroom power dynamics that tend to authorize the text at the expense of student voice. One of the most powerful transformations noted in Dallacqua’s and Sheahan’s study of this classroom where the teacher pluralized the modes and media of texts read and produced alongside Fahrenheit 451, Antigone, and The Inferno was that students themselves became authors and artists, “going beyond responding to texts, taking ownership over them and rewriting and reimagining them.” In both Lechtenberg’s chapter, as well as Dallacqua’s and Sheahan’s, there is what Jeanne Dyches, in her chapter, describes as a “nod to” rather than “[a] pledge [of] allegiance to” the works of authors belonging to White, male, Anglo backgrounds. Taking readers inside a high school British literature classroom in a school where 94% of students identify as persons of Color, Dyches outlines what she classifies as a “prismatic approach” to the teaching of canonical texts – one that centers whiteness in order to re-see it. A prismatic approach, writes Dyches, “does not position students to see into (window) or see themselves reflected in (mirror) a curriculum that fundamentally excludes their existence”, as the mirror and windows approach is one that is often so text-centric that it loses sight of student-readers’ identities. Just as a prism separates white light and disperses it as different colors, teachers adopting a prismatic approach to the ELA curriculum create a space, along with students, in which to notice, question, and challenge systems of whiteness at play in canonical curricula. By centering whiteness in order to re-see it, a prismatic approach calls into the center the rich identities and lived experiences of students outside the mainstream. Making Contemporary Connections Michelle Falter and Nina Schoonover’s “Still Fighting for Migrant Workers’ Rights 75 Years Later: A Critical Approach to Teaching The Grapes of Wrath through Contemporary Youth Testimonios” opens what we perceive as a second transformational approach to teaching canonical texts: connecting past and present. For Falter and Schoonover, literature has the capacity to cultivate empathy. Recognizing in contemporary migrant children’s voices echoes of the Joad family’s xiv

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struggle articulated in Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath, Falter and Schoonover describe an opportunity for students to walk alongside contemporary migrant youth, and to accompany them as human beings. By pairing modern-day migrant farmworkers’ youth testimonio with The Grapes of Wrath, Falter and Schoonover creatively harness the status of canonical texts in ways that dignify otherwise marginalized voices. Their chapter seeks to create, for English language arts students, a more multicultural picture of society, showing that when the otherwise monolithic forces of canonical texts are taken up by teachers and students in ways that acknowledge the political nature of teaching, reading literature can become an act of justice and solidarity. What Falter’s and Schoonover’s chapter demonstrates is that canonical texts can allow space for the development of students’ critical literacies – a possibility that Jeremiah Sataraka and Ashley Boyd also make a reality in their chapter “Examining Islands Across Contexts: Reading Colonization Critically in Shakespeare.” Reading The Tempest through a postcolonial lens, a lens not necessarily new to the interpretative framework of this Shakespearean staple, Sataraka and Boyd layer on a contemporary connection that is new: the political, historical, and social conditions of the relationships between the United States and Hawai‘i. By comparing patterns of subjugation, language, and resistance in The Tempest with the relations between Hawai‘i and the United States, Sataraka and Boyd give voice to the histories and experiences of native Hawaiians, typically absent from curricula and classrooms. The juxtaposition of literary text alongside the history and politics of Hawai‘i contemporizes Caliban’s story, helping students to see not just how the domination and subjugation of a people has occurred in the past, but how imperialism continues into the present. The contemporary connections that the authors in this volume make between canonical texts and present-day reality make manifest the Freirean notion of reading both word and world. Amy Cummins’s “Teaching The House on Mango Street in the #MeToo Era” elaborates one instance of how reading the world might actually force a re-reading and a re-teaching of the word. Set against a backdrop of the #MeToo movement dedicated to disrupting the silence and ensuing tolerance toward sexual assault, Cummins’s chapter brings to the surface a critical problem for teachers making pedagogical decisions about how best to approach Cisneros’s deliberately ambiguous references to the assault on Esperanza and, more generally, the sexualization of women. As Cummins points out, though Mango Street can make radical points precisely because it is not explicit “about” the assault on Esperanza, such ambiguity risks re-creating a scenario that the MeToo movement actively resists: “minimizing the damage of violence against women because of the ambiguity”. Cummins’s chapter, as much an elaboration of solutions to the challenges of teaching Mango Street as it is an articulation of potential problems, serves as a powerful example of how intersections between canonical text and present-day world are rich sites for cultivating critical literacies and critical approaches to the teaching of literature. xv

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Sulzer’s chapter punctuates this section, connecting what may seem for some students an entirely unreal dystopian textual world with the highly technologized worlds that students currently occupy. In response to the rise of dystopian literature in classrooms throughout the country, Sulzer offers two approaches for making what he calls “text-to-software” connections with dystopian literature. Software, argues Sulzer, “has much in common with dystopian themes of absolute control, inescapable environments, and rampant injustice”. Thus, using Brave New World as the focal text through which he illustrates these potential text-to-software connections, Sulzer helps to keep Huxley’s novel culturally relevant in today’s changing demographics by simultaneously asking and answering the question: “How can canonical dystopias speak across time in ways that inform our contemporary conversations about living in a software-driven world?”. Applying Critical Lenses While each of the chapters in this volume engages with critical theory to animate its respective discussion on the canonical text in play, four of the chapters make critical theory an explicit dimension of the actual pedagogical approach they explore and promote. For Carlin Borsheim-Black in “A Critical Race Approach to Teaching To Kill a Mockingbird” and Ashley Johnson and Mary Neville in “Using Counterstories to Critique Racism: Critical Race Theory, Beloved, and The Hate U Give,” critical race theory plays an essential role in unpacking both Lee’s and Morrison’s novels. For Borsheim-Black, critical race theory seems the needed antidote for a novel that has long been celebrated as an anti-racist manifesto, but that may implicitly promote racist ideologies. Using some of the tenets of critical race theory, Borsheim-Black delineates what she describes as a “critical race approach” to the teaching of To Kill a Mockingbird, or any literature-based unit that chooses to foreground race and racism. By articulating racial literacy objectives, applying critical race concepts to literary analysis, foregrounding counterstories, and implicating readers’ racial identities, teachers can prioritize racial literacy as a desired outcome of the English language arts curricula. In a way, Borsheim-Black’s elaboration of an approach designed to promote racial literacy anticipates Johnson and Neville’s turn from the aesthetic appreciation of Morrison’s Beloved to an appreciation of Morrison’s work as inherently political. Working with three tenets of critical race theory – the ordinariness of racism in U.S. society, the importance of narrative and counterstorytelling; and the intersectionality of race, gender, and class – Johnson and Neville show how Beloved pairs in provocative and productive ways with Angie Thomas’s contemporary young adult novel The Hate U Give. By placing Beloved in conversation with The Hate U Give, critical race theory not only helps to decenter the canonical text, it also links the past (slavery) with the present to show the persistence of racism throughout U.S. history. Moving from critical race theory to Marxist theory, Elizabeth Currin, Stephanie Schroeder, and Todd McCardle argue that students, when equipped with Marxist xvi

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analytical tools, can “examine the nuances of social class through canonical American depictions of the White working class”. Through a Marxist analysis of both Pap in The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, and George Wilson in The Great Gatsby, Currin, Schroeder, and McCardle begin to trouble the depictions of these white working class characters as creations by those not of a White, working class background. Their Marxist analysis about the problems of representation in canonical texts proves relevant not only for the teaching of literature, but also for the teaching of critical media analysis. After all, and as Currin, Schroeder, and McCardle show throughout their chapter, the canonical representations of Pap and George – composed by non-working class, White authors – bear striking similarities to journalistic representations of White, working-class voters in the 2016 U.S. Presidential elections. Mike Cook, Brandon Sams, and Parker Wade’s chapter “Interrupting Ideologies within the Canon: Applying Critical Lenses to Pride and Prejudice, Eleanor & Park, and Contemporary Life” looks not only at class, but also at gender. Practically counter-canonical in the way it critiques gender and class norms, Pride and Prejudice can offer rich soil for the cultivation of critical literacy. Cook et al. propose teaching with what they call a “constellation” of texts that help to interrogate gender and social class ideologies, pushing back against a singular and static notion of the canon. Canonical texts, they argue, can actually offer “radical possibilities for helping students problematize norms that have been canonized.” Considering Whom We Teach The final section of the edited volume underscores an approach that is central to the book as a whole: considering the 21st century student who reads and learns from the canonical text. This approach makes explicit the specific lives and identities of English language arts students and curricularizes their stories, backgrounds, and voices as part of the canonical curriculum. For example, Thein reflects on her own teaching experiences with Of Mice and Men noting the inclination to look for and teach the novel in ways that mask – or altogether ignore – emotion. Thein admits her teaching of Of Mice and Men swept aside students’ emotional responses to the novel because those responses did not align with the canonized emotional expectations of that text. In light of that experience, she argues, “emotion is always already in our classrooms; it cannot be invited in or dismissed” and suggests that attention to students’ emotions and emotional responses can signal their engagement with the text as well as their critical interpretations of it. McNeill and Hines see potential in the canonical text for engaging English learners. Drawing upon cosmopolitan literacies and experiences in McNeill’s classes, they use canonical texts like Great Expectations and Romeo and Juliet to cultivate empathy and social action by positioning students as critical producers of knowledge, rather than mere consumers of a canonical curriculum. Tasked with xvii

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describing their own ENL experiences, students created graphic novels of their own life stories, “highlighting their lived experiences, transnational identities, and home cultures…making peers aware of oppression and inequities around the world. In so doing, those students sensitized their classmates to global perspectives and deepened students’ emerging cosmopolitan literacies”. As a result, students in the class fostered solidarity, as part of the mission of cosmopolitanism is to widen students’ understandings of the world and to nurture a deep and abiding responsiveness to others’ cultural norms and values, demonstrating a respect born of cultural sensitivity. Canady and Scott describe a pedagogical approach – art as imitation – that they used in a teacher’s classroom to assist students in making connections between their lives and the canonical text being studied, in this case, Romeo and Juliet. Rather than focus solely on the canonical text, though, Canady and Scott rely on the documentary Romeo Is Bleeding to teach alongside the play. The documentary investigates how students from California rewrite Shakespeare for their own language, context, and purposes. In working with a local teacher and inspired by the documentary, Canady and Scott observed how students, for an actual classroom assignment, rewrote Shakespeare’s words to reflect their own lived worlds, hence bridging art and life. They conclude that this assignment, inspired by the documentary, allowed for students to be “reconnected” with the canon and Shakespeare, specifically, “opening an avenue for the poetic voices of historically minoritized youth in a way that legitimizes, or ‘canonizes’ their own stories”. Lastly, in “Teaching Critically for Freedom with 1984,” Styslinger, Walker, Byrd, and Hostetler close this volume with a chapter that seeks to elevate students’ voices during the teaching of 1984, a text that deals largely with the limitations of free speech and the manipulation of language. Cleverly presented as a kind of critical pedagogy, Styslinger et al.’s workshop model encourages student response, choice, and voice through a plethora of reading and discussion opportunities, prompts, and strategies. In the process, students’ meaning-making becomes a democratic endeavor because “They come to understand their role as critical citizens and the power of their voices. They come to recognize and practice those skills necessary for living within a democracy”. Ultimately, the students themselves, in conversation with the canonical text, construct knowledge that is vital to their own citizenry and social identities, including the need to be free to question, to doubt, to voice, to imagine, and to create without fear of retribution. CONCLUSION

One benefit of these four approaches – decentering the canon, making contemporary connections, applying critical lenses, and considering whom we teach – is that they arose organically from teachers’ and students’ interests and questions and their desire to elicit culturally relevant and social justice-oriented themes. In other words, instead of following some canonical script, these authors imagined new possibilities for and xviii

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with the canon as a larger genre. Rather than reinscribing potentially irrelevant, staid texts and narratives of generations past, these authors found inventive ways to flip the canonical script, to humanize word and world, and to produce what bell hooks (1991) refers to as critical fictions, where the once “canonized mind” is liberated, and “the imagination is free to wander, explore, question, transgress” (p. 55). We believe in a new generation of the English curriculum and applaud the contributors of this book in challenging the canonical genre by imagining the work the canon can do in the world when the ideologies of the canon meet the minds and hearts of powerful teachers and students. REFERENCES Applebee, A. N. (1974). Tradition and reform in the teaching of English: A history. Urbana, IL: National Council of Teachers of English. Applebee, A. N. (1993). Literature in the secondary school: Studies of curriculum and instruction in the United States. Urbana, IL: National Council of Teachers of English. Beach, R., Thein, A. H., & Webb, A. (2016). Teaching to exceed the English language arts common core state standards: A critical inquiry approach for 6–12 classrooms. New York, NY: Routledge. Beers, K., & Probst, R. E. (2013). Notice & note: Strategies for close reading. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann. Borsheim-Black, C., Macaluso, M., & Petrone, R. (2014). Critical literature pedagogy. Journal of Adolescent & Adult Literacy, 58(2), 123–133. Brass, J. (2010). The sweet tyranny of creating one’s own life: Rethinking power and freedom in English teaching. Educational Theory, 60(6), 703–717. Brauer, L., & Clark, C. T. (2008). The trouble is English: Reframing English studies in secondary schools. English Education, 40(4), 293–313. Cope, W., & Kalantzis, M. (1993). The powers of literacy: A genre approach to teaching literacy. New York, NY: Routledge. Gere, A. R. (1992). Why teach English. In A. R. Gere (1992), Language and reflection: An integrated approach to teaching English (pp. 1–25). New York, NY: Macmillan. Graff, H. J. (1987). The labyrinths of literacy: Reflections on literacy past and present. New York, NY: Falmer Press. Grossman, P. L. (2001). Research on the teaching of literature: Finding a place. In V. Richardson (Ed.), Handbook of research on teaching (4th ed., pp. 416–432). Washington, DC: American Educational Research Association. hooks, b. (1991). Narratives of struggle. In P. Mariani (Ed.), Critical fictions: The politics of imaginative writing (pp. 53–61). Seattle, WA: Bay Press. Kirkland, D. E. (2008). “The rose that grew from concrete”: Postmodern blackness and new English education. The English Journal, 97(5), 69–75. Kirkland, D. K. (2011). Books like clothes: Engaging young Black men with reading. Journal of Adolescent & Adult Literacy, 55(3), 199–208. Morrell, E. (2005). Critical English education. English Education, 37(4), 312–321. National Governors Association Center for Best Practices, Council of Chief State School Officers. (2010). Common core state standards for English language arts. Retrieved August 15, 2012, from http://www.corestandards.org/the-standards Segall, A. (2004). Revisiting pedagogical content knowledge: The pedagogy of content/the content of pedagogy. Teaching and Teacher Education, 20(5), 489–504. Stallworth, B. J., & Gibbons, L. (2012). What’s on the list… now? A survey of book-length works taught in secondary schools. English Leadership Quarterly, 34(3), 2–3. Stallworth, B. J., Gibbons, L., & Fauber, L. (2006). It’s not on the list: An exploration of teachers’ perspectives on using multicultural literature. Journal of Adolescent & Adult Literacy, 49(6), 478–489.

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K. MACALUSO & M. MACALUSO Stotsky, S. (2010). Literary study in grades 9, 10, 11: A national survey. Boston, MA: Association of Literary Scholars, Critics, and Writers. Wimsatt, W. K., & Beardsley, M. C. (1954). The affective fallacy. In W. K. Wimsatt (Ed.), The verbal icon: Studies in the meaning of poetry (pp. 21–39). Lexington, KY: University of Kentucky Press.

Kati Macaluso University of Notre Dame Notre Dame, IN Michael Macaluso University of Notre Dame Notre Dame, IN

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PART 1 DECENTERING THE CANON

KATE LECHTENBERG

1. CURATING AGAINST THE CANON Collaborative Curation for Critical Literacy

THE CALL TO CURATE

Although the word “curate” might evoke images of a museum’s quest to preserve a distant past, today’s content-saturated information landscape empowers teachers and students to become critical curators of their own curriculum. With an internet connection and a well-stocked library, teachers can transform their dusty literature anthology or required book list into a critically curated invitation to text-inspired conversations that explore multiple perspectives, challenge dominant ideologies, and include marginalized voices within and beyond the literary canon. To meet this challenge, educators need to examine the elements that contribute to robust, layered curation. In a young adult literature course, I teach pre-service teachers how to analyze, select, connect, and share resources that invite readers to read with and against canonical texts (Borsheim-Black, Macaluso, & Petrone, 2014). Four aspects of rich curation have emerged from this shared inquiry: developing thick conceptual frameworks, including counterstories and subjecting them to critical questioning, making multifaceted connections between texts, and taking an exploratory stance toward those texts. Teaching curation prepares pre-service teachers to read against the canon and own their own critical, inquiry-focused curriculum. COLLABORATIVE CURATION FOR CRITICAL LITERACY

I frame this chapter around the concepts of curation, critical literacy, and conceptual learning. Together these frames facilitate the critical literacy necessary for teaching and learning in today’s content-rich, participatory culture. These theoretical frames spring from both theory and from my experience as a secondary English language arts teacher and school librarian. I remember countless evenings spent lost on the internet as an early career ELA teacher, hunting for the perfect news article, poem, or short story for the next day’s lesson. Later, my degree in library science and experience as a school librarian helped me hone my search skills, discover new resources, and conceptualize literacy and text selection as an interdisciplinary act of collaborative curation between teachers and students, both within individual disciplines like ELA and across disciplinary lines. Together, these

© KONINKLIJKE BRILL NV, LEIDEN, 2019 | DOI:10.1163/9789004389311_001

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theories position curation as an authentic learning experience for pre-service and inservice teachers, and, potentially, for K-12 students. Curation As digital resources have become ubiquitous in schools and society, conversations about selection and collection development in school libraries have given way to the more iterative, dynamic concept of curation. The National School Library Standards (American Association of School Librarians, 2018) include “Curate” as one of six Shared Foundations that guide school library practice. According to AASL, to curate is to “make meaning for oneself and others by collecting, organizing, and sharing resources of personal relevance” (p. 96). School library scholars and practitioners also emphasize that curation is about making diverse resources accessible for equitable learning (Valenza, 2016), adding value to resources that express multiple viewpoints by presenting them in new contexts (Valenza, 2012), and collaborating with educators and students to enrich curated collections (Loertscher & Koechlin, 2016). When pre-service teachers learn to curate in their roles as students, they emerge prepared to learn and teach within the participatory culture that defines contemporary society (Lankshear & Knobel, 2011). While current research establishes the need for curation, scholars and practitioners have yet to articulate clear definitions of quality curation or pathways toward teaching curation; this chapter begins to fill this gap. Critical Inquiry Curating resources that express multiple viewpoints is also a springboard to critical literacy approaches to reading literature. Beach, Haertling-Thein, and Webb (2016) describe various approaches to teaching English, including teaching for “privileged cultural knowledge,” in which the ELA classroom is seen as a site for acquiring knowledge about certain “classic” literary texts, the structuralist “knowledge of literary and rhetorical forms” approach, and approaches that focuses on “skill, processes, and procedures” (p. 29). The authors offer the “critical inquiry” approach as an integrated approach that views literacy as rooted in social practices and emphasizes critical analysis of texts and perspectives, with a goal of moving toward social change (pp. 34–36). A critical inquiry approach to reading and teaching canonical literature requires a framework that acknowledges and challenges the dominant ideologies and perspectives that animate canonical texts. Borsheim-Black, Macaluso, and Petrone (2014) provide a framework for moving beyond comprehension, connection, and historical context (what they call reading with a text) and toward reading against texts: “Reading against canonical literature challenges students to consider not only what is written in the text but also what is not written that still accounts for the way the story works, the characters function, and how readers come to know and understand the world” (p. 124). Reading against canonical texts is evident in this 4

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chapter as students curate resources from multiple perspectives, critically examining both canonical and contemporary texts. Conceptual Learning Conceptual learning fits naturally with a critical literacy approach and a move away from “privileged cultural knowledge” as the goal of instruction because it pushes students and teachers beyond literary topics and content (e.g. literary devices, the Harlem Renaissance, and unreliable narrators) and toward conceptual inquiry that transfers across disciplinary lines. Concept-based learning moves learners from twodimensional skills and knowledge curriculum to a three-dimensional curriculum that intentionally builds conceptual understandings (Erickson, 2006). For example, the topic of literary devices becomes a conceptual inquiry into the concept of representation, knowledge of Harlem Renaissance authors gives way to inquiry into tradition and modernity, and a narrow focus on the literary type of unreliable narrators becomes a broader inquiry into reputation or truth. Sarah Brown Wessling’s (2011) “text circles” framework offers a model for building conceptual learning frameworks through text selection. Wessling puts texts in conversation around a single “fulcrum” text that provides a challenging focus for shared inquiry. To this she adds “context” texts to provide accessible background or entry into the fulcrum text and its concepts, as well as “texture” texts to introduce layers of contrast, new angles, or reconsiderations of the conceptual focus (pp. 24–27). Wessling’s model provides just one possible framework for introducing curation; other practitioners and scholars suggest related approaches that potential curators might consult (i.e., Lupo, Strong, Lewis, Walpole, & McKenna, 2018; Möller, 2016; Pytash, Batchelor, Kist, & Srsen, 2014). Together, curation, critical literacy, and conceptual learning combine for inquirybased, culturally relevent learning experiences for pre-service teachers and their future students. A CONTEXT FOR CURATION

This chapter focuses on student work from an asynchronous online section of Reading and Teaching Adolescent Literature (RTAL). I frame the course as an opportunity to engage with critical literacy, an approach to teaching literature many have not experienced as students, and I encourage pre-service teachers to reflect on how the theories and approaches they encounter in this course may or may not find a place in their own educational compass. Students read ten to fifteen book-length adolescent literature texts and a wide variety of current scholarship in literacy education including segments of the theoretical texts I discuss above (Beach et al., 2016; Borsheim-Black et al., 2014; Wessling, 2011) and chapters from Appleman’s (2015) Critical Encounters in Secondary English and O’Donnell-Allen’s (2011) Tough Talk, Tough Texts. I also 5

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make room on the syllabus for a canonical text so that students might explore critical pairings of canonical and adolescent literature. Historically, books commonly taught in U.S. secondary schools have remained static (Applebee, 1993), and the advent of the Common Core State Standards (NGA & CCSSO, 2010b) has added new pressures for teachers to select from the list of largely canonical exemplar texts (NGA & CCSSO, 2010a), despite the fact that the CCSS clearly describes them as sample texts, not required reading (Möller, 2016; Schieble, 2014; Watkins & Ostenson, 2015). While new teachers may not have the choice or the means to purchase adolescent literature or contemporary novels for whole or small group instruction, they will always have control over how they approach texts with students. Therefore, while the primary goal of RTAL is to introduce students to the vast array of quality multicultural adolescent literature, I teach the concept of curation to provide preservice teachers the tools they will need to become critical literacy educators no matter which books fill their schools’ book rooms or library shelves. FRAMING THE CURATION TASK: TEXTS & TOOLS

Choosing a Canonical Counterstory Each semester, I ask students to read Chinua Achebe’s (1994) Things Fall Apart as a shared text in which we practiced applying critical literacy theory. Originally published in 1958, Things Fall Apart is set at the turn of the 20th century in present-day Nigeria as one Ibo tribe experiences its first interactions with Christian missionaries and British colonial powers. Okonkwo is the novel’s protagonist, and his unyielding, proud nature is tested as he tries to become a leader of his tribe amidst the chaos of cultural change. My reasons for selecting this novel are both literary and personal. First, Things Fall Apart exists in a complex literary space between canon and counterstory; it appears frequently in popular media “great books” lists (e.g., Hogeback, 2018; Lacayo, 2010), providing evidence of its place in the popularly imagined literary canon. It is also included in educational resources like the Advanced Placement English Literature and Composition Teacher’s Guide (Greenblatt, 2007) and the Annenberg Learner’s online “Invitation to World Literature” teacher professional development course (Annenberg Foundation, n.d.). The CCSS list of exemplar texts for 9th and 10th grades also features the novel, where it is the only non-U.S. or European text in any genre included in the 9th-10th grade list (NGA & CCSSO, 2010a). Moreover, no African text appears on the CCSS K-8 exemplar lists, and Wole Soyinka, also Nigerian, is the only African writer featured on the 11th-12th grade lists, along with four other non-U.S. or European authors (Argentina’s Borges, Chile’s Neruda, China’s Li Po, and India’s Tagore). The literary canon is vast and amorphous, but Things Fall Apart often represents African fiction in canonical lists and materials. 6

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Achebe’s novel is also unique because it is considered “a counterfiction of Africa in specific contradiction to the discourse of Western colonial domination” (Irele, 2001, p. 116). Achebe (1975) himself embraces the counterstory descriptor for his books, saying, “I would be quite satisfied if my novels (especially the ones set in the past) did no more than teach my readers that their past – with all its imperfections – was not one long night of savagery from which the first Europeans acting on God’s behalf delivered them” (p. 72). Yet Borman (2015) suggests that Achebe’s positioning is more complex than a simple exercise in “writing back” to Western history and the Western canon. This complex status of Things Fall Apart within the world literature canon invites complex questions about what it means to read with and against (Borsheim-Black et al., 2014) canonical counterstories. Analyzing the blend of insider and outsider approaches Achebe takes up, along with his avoidance of good vs. bad cultural binaries (Irele, 2001, p. 117), prepares readers to both recognize counterstory elements within texts while also critically questioning normative discourses and dominant ideologies. In this way, reading Things Fall Apart, involves both recognizing how Achebe’s depiction of Ibo culture counters common portrayals of Africans as savage or uncivilized (in this case, we read with Achebe’s counterstory) while also reading against Achebe’s depiction of marginalized voices within his own counterstory. For example, reading against the text invites readers to consider the role of female characters and oppressive masculinity in the world of the novel. Finally, in addition to the literary basis for my choice, my experiences both in and out of the classroom inform my choice of texts and my approach to those texts. As a teacher, Things Fall Apart was the required novel that I taught most frequently in my ten years as a secondary ELA teacher. In addition, I am a white American middleclass woman whose former husband is Senegalese, and raising Senegalese American children gives me a personal stake in breaking down monolithic images of Africa. I want students to understand that Africa is a continent, not a country, that the Ibo are one of thousands of tribes in Africa, and that Okonkwo does not represent all Ibo or African men. Curation invites students/teachers/readers on a concrete pathway toward these more nuanced readings as they consider complex questions about how the characters’ and tribe’s experiences are both unique and resonant across time, place, and identity. The Collaborative Curation Assignment After reading Things Fall Apart, students discuss the novel’s essential issues and concepts in multimodal whole class and small group discussion boards while also applying our course theoretical texts to their reading. Next, each student group chooses one contemporary adolescent book and discusses the novel in the context of the aforementioned theories and Things Fall Apart. In this round of multimodal discussion, students also begin suggesting potential context and texture texts that would relate to critical readings of both books. The five books I offer (see Table 1.1) represent various genres and include diverse characters and settings because I hope 7

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Table 1.1. Contemporary adolescent texts curated for Things Fall Apart Author and title

Genre

Setting and culture

Noah’s (2016) Born a Crime

Memoir

Late 20th century South Africa; Noah identifies as mixed race

Okorafor’s (2011) Akata Witch

Fantasy fiction

Set in contemporary Nigeria with Nigerian characters, including Sunny, the protagonist, who is also albino and spent her childhood in the U.S.

Pérez’s (2015) Out of Darkness

Historical fiction

Set around the 1937 New London (TX) School explosion; characters are Mexican American, African American and White

Reynolds’ and Kiely’s (2015) All American Boys

Realistic fiction

Set in the contemporary U.S. with two adolescent male narrators, one who is African American and one who is White

Satrapi’s (2007) The Complete Persepolis

Graphic memoir

Set primarily in Iran, beginning in the late 1970s and chronicling Satrapi’s childhood and adolescence

to model complex curation that expands the reach of Things Fall Apart and goes beyond obvious literary, demographic, and cultural connections, just as students will do in their own curation projects. Students form groups to work on the collaborative curation assignment together (see Table 1.2), and I support each group throughout their curation process. Resources for Curation When I introduced this assignment to my first group of students in the Fall 2016 semester, one student asked, “So…where do we find these ‘context’ and ‘texture’ texts?” I quickly realized that I had taken for granted curation skills, habits of mind, and resources I had amassed as a teacher and librarian. Reflecting on this simple question also led me to realize that many students assumed that all curriculum and reading materials would be handed down from on high when they became teachers. While this may be true in some schools, many teachers have autonomy over selecting texts, particularly shorter supplemental texts (Mesmer, 2006; Watkins & Ostenson, 2015). Now, I talk with students about how teachers draw on everyday sources (personal, public, and school libraries, websites, popular media) as well as institutional sources (award lists and reviews, school-sanctioned lists of approved or purchased materials, materials shared by mentors and colleagues, exemplar lists published in the Common Core State Standards or the College Board’s Advanced Placement resources) to build our literary reservoirs. In addition, Table 1.3 represents the list of my go-to online sources that I now share with students. 8

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Table 1.2. Curation assignment description COLLABORATIVE CURATION ASSIGNMENT Expectations With a group of two to four colleagues, you will engage in a common challenge for ELA teachers: curating texts for a unit of instruction. Imagine that you are teaching a course and you are tasked with creating a unit with a focus on a concept or theme of your choice. Your “department” must create a proposed list that includes: 1. A required canonical text: Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart 2. A contemporary adolescent literature text [See Table 1.1]. 3. Several related short texts (video, film, song, news article, reference source, short story, poem, excerpt from longer work, etc.). As a group you will: ‡ Choose a conceptual focus for your unit and text set. ‡ Collaboratively write a rationale for your group’s conceptual focus and essential questions (1–2 paragraphs), including a brief description of the grade level and course context you imagine curating for. ‡ Decide which text (canonical or contemporary adolescent novel) will serve as the “fulcrum” text (Wessling, 2011) for the unit and how to use the other novel. ‡ Collaboratively write annotations for your canonical and contemporary adolescent literature text. Individually, you will each: ‡ Select and annotate two supplemental texts: One “contrast” and one “texture” text (Wessling, 2011) to accompany your text set. Annotations should include a one-sentence summary of the text and several sentences to discuss how this text would fit into the unit as a whole, while referencing the theoretical readings from class (e.g. Appleman, 2011; Borsheim-Black et al., 2014; O’Donnell-Allen, 2011; Beach, Haertling-Thein, & Webb, 2016, etc.). → Compile your list as an annotated bibliography in APA format, and include names to clarify who wrote each annotation. NOVICE CURATORS IN ACTION: LAYERING, NOT FLATTENING

As I analyzed the student discussions, reflections, final products, and my teacher feedback and notes, a clear distinction between “flat” and “layered” curation moves emerged. When students engaged in a process of “flattening” a curated text, they tended toward superficial, monolithic, and didactic ways of conceptualizing, including, connecting, and framing texts and concepts for their prospective students. On the other hand, “layered” curation included multifaceted, exploratory, and critical explorations of texts and concepts, and my feedback was often focused on prompting students to consider these layers. Four essential qualities for rich curation emerged: developing thick conceptual frameworks, including counterstories and subjecting them to critical questioning, 9

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Table 1.3. Resources for curation Resource

Description

Poetry 180 www.loc.gov/poetry/180

Compiled by Billy Collins when he was U.S. Poet Laureate, this site includes one poem each day of the school year for high school students.

Poets.org www.poets.org

The Academy of American Poets’ website includes a wide variety of poems, including searchable thematic lists.

Project Voice www.projectvoice.co

Writers-performers-educators shared their poetry and spoken word performances.

TED Talks www.ted.com

TED’s “ideas worth spreading” are well known by now, but there are always more videos to explore.

New York Times “Room for Debate” www.nytimes.com/roomfordebate

The newspaper poses a question and then publishes several brief opinion essays that take different positions.

Rookie www.rookiemag.com

The Teachers’ page is a great place to start for entry into the curated collections of the LOC’s archival photos, maps, art, newspaper articles, and more.

Library of Congress Teachers’ page www.loc.gov/teachers

The Teachers’ page is a great place to start for entry into the curated collections of the LOC’s archival photos, maps, art, newspaper articles, and more.

CommonLit www.commonlit.org

Search for texts by genre, grade level, theme, literary device, or topic. Many texts are from the public domain, so they tend toward the canonical, but there are some inclusive options as well.

Loose Canon loosecanon.com

Created by a former teacher and an advocate of choice in the the reading classroom, this site offers a curated collection of books searchable by topic and grade level.

“Globalizing the Common Core Exemplar List” wowlit.org/links/globalizing-commoncore-reading-lis

Worlds of Words, hosted by the University of Arizona, offers this list to include more high-quality global literature in classrooms, either as pairs for texts on the CCSS exemplar list or as stand-alone reading.

making multifaceted connections between texts, and taking an exploratory stance toward texts. Table 1.4 provides examples of “layered” approaches to each of these qualities, and below, I examine selected student work that represents both “flat” and “layered” curation. Together, these four elements of curation work together to inspire critical readings of both Things Fall Apart and contemporary youth texts. 10

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Table 1.4. Four elements of curation Curation element

Student examples: Layering for complex curation

Thick concepts Developing complex conceptual frames with sub-concepts

In our unit, we’ll look to historical depictions of race and gender relations to gain perspective from different cultures, time periods, and points of view. We’ll ask two essential questions: how do cultural practices influence social hierarchies, and how do the texts we’re reading challenge or reinforce traditional hierarchies.”

Critical inclusion Selecting and critically examining counterstories

“Murambi: The Book of Bones by Boubacar Boris Diop deals with the 1994 Rwandan genocide, and this adds another African voice to the discussion to show the diversity in African perspectives. At first, these two books seem to have nothing to do with one another but Diop really explores the idea of post-colonial influence and its lasting effect on communities.”

Multifaceted connections Examining both similarities and differences

“In addition [to the common focus on familial and religious obligations], we would want to spend time discussing the different perspectives of the main characters. How do their perspectives change? Why did they change? Is there anything wrong with the change? Is the change for better or worse? We might be able to focus on the grey areas of the texts specifically Okonkwo’s participation in Ikemefuna’s death and Marjane falsely accusing a man of improper conduct.”

Exploratory stance Posing questions, not prescribing meanings

“We can use this article as a catalyst for discussion about the historical lack of diversity within the fantasy genre, posing such questions as, ‘How would the narrative and characterization of more prominent fantasy novels change if Harry Potter or Frodo Baggins had been a female person of color?’”

Thick Concepts Developing complex conceptual frames is essential for quality curation. During the first two semesters I taught the assignment after reading and critically analyzing Things Fall Apart, students chose a different canonical text as the focus for curation. Unfortunately, without guidance applying class theories to their chosen canonical texts, students often chose to focus concepts that privileged dominant ideologies: “The American Dream,” in Gatsby, young love in Romeo and Juliet, courage in To Kill a Mockingbird. These conceptual frames led students to select context and texture texts (Wessling, 2011) centered on reading with the canon (Borsheim-Black et al., 2014). These early challenges led me to provide students with more scaffolding to transfer their critical readings into curation; I now ask student groups to curate texts for Things Fall Apart so that they can build on their rich whole class and small group discussions of the novel and transition directly to a contemporary adolescent text. This approach allows me to offer formative to help students craft a complex 11

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conceptual frame that unites their thinking on the two books. For example, a group reading Satrapi’s (2007) The Complete Persepolis brainstormed several possible concepts; in response, I collected all their topics in a list (girlhood, mental health, belonging, freedom, public vs. private life) and then provided a model for how they might select one overarching concept and use others as sub-concepts. On the discussion board, I wrote, I’d love to see you choose one overarching concept to focus on, but that’s not to say that you can’t use texture or context texts that help develop other themes as well. For example, you could choose to focus on mental health, but as part of that, you might have some texts that examine masculine/feminine angles of mental health, as well as how a sense of belonging relates. The group took this suggestion and eventually settled on a focus on belonging: “How do we define “belonging’? How does one reconcile the need for individuality with the need to belong – often in a productive way – to a larger societal body?” They also developed layers of sub-concepts related to belonging: We feel that a concept like belonging will be familiar enough to sustain students as we also explore more focused sub-themes and topics such as: coming of age stories, surveillance, public vs. private life, freedom vs. confinement, family, isolation, and more. This demonstrates a rich layering of concepts that far extends the repetitive, traditional concepts like “love” and “courage” often associated with canonical texts. In addition, pairing Things Fall Apart with a contemporary adolescent text from a different culture helped avoid the trap of using Things Fall Apart to focus only on learning about African culture. Critical Inclusion A second element for complex curation is critically including texts that feature marginalized voices. From the beginning, students have been quite successful selecting texts that highlight marginalized voices as counterstories to dominant ideologies in the canon; in fact, every group in every semester has selected relevant counterstories. However, many early groups stopped at inclusion; they did not analyze how the counterstory adds perspective or challenges dominant ideologies. In short, they relied solely on the selection of inclusive texts to serve as the critique in itself. For example, in the group focused on belonging, Dahlia1 chose Boyhood, Linklater’s (2014) coming of age film spanning on twelve years in a White boy named Mason’s life in the U.S., because she thought it would be “relatable” to her future students. However, a richer curation analysis might pose questions about how Mason’s White middle-class background influences his sense of belonging or gives him access to dominant communities. 12

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On the other hand, for a layered approach to curation, Alice leveraged BorsheimBlack et al.’s (2014) critical questions to engage with a critique of gender norms in Things Fall Apart and the eventual inclusion of a counterstory. She chose Adichie’s (2008) short story, “The Headstrong Historian” and she also raised critical questions as she connected it to both Things Fall Apart and Out of Darkness. In her small group discussion about Things Fall Apart, Alice said, The critical literature pedagogy questions opened up some thinking for me that I might not have gotten to as easily on my own….I was thinking about “what version of the historical period” the story told. Specifically, what if this story were told from the point of view of a female character…. What if we were seeing events from priestess Chielo’s point of view? … What insights might we gain about the clan and its people (individually and collectively) if she were given narrative voice? Alice begins with questions directly from Borsheim-Black et al. (2014, p. 126), and her ability to apply those critical concepts to her own critical reading of specific characters and concepts within the novel shows a sophisticated transformation of theory into practice. In her final curation project, Alice builds on this analysis by when she discusses Adichie’s counterstory, adding texture to both canonical and contemporary texts: As we think about what we learn when we hear from marginalized voices, this text works especially well in relation to Naomi’s story in Out of Darkness. We’ll look at the ways in which Naomi has to navigate the gendered power dynamics of her home life in order to survive the threat of an abuser, just as Nwamgba [from “The Headstrong Historian”] tries to navigate the hostile forces within and outside her culture. We’ll make use of “Critical Literature Pedagogy” by asking students to examine their own place within the social hierarchies of their communities (Borsheim-Black et al., 2014, p. 126). Do they relate more to Nwamgba or Anikwenwa, to Grace/Afamefuna? How does what we’ve examined about our own perspectives in relation to these texts inform our conversations about struggles (or lack thereof) with contemporary social hierarchies?” The complex thinking Alice does involves three key moves inspired by curation. First, she reads against the masculine dominance in Things Fall Apart. Then, that critical reading leads her to select a counterstory voicing a marginalized female perspective. Finally, she applies critical questions to curated texts, both Out of Darkness and Adichie’s short story. Alice’s work is an exemplar of the kind of critical curation that this assignment invites, and her complex questions show that she is prepared to facilitate critical conversations in future classrooms. Multifaceted Text Connections Rich curation also involves multifaceted connections that consider both similarities and differences between texts. Often, students focused on identifying a common 13

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theme to such an extent that they disregarded or erased differences. For example, Sarah selected the scene from Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird when a group of women gather for a missionary circle to compare to Out of Darkness, focusing on the theme of oppressive gender roles. Her analysis, though, does not take up racial and cultural differences between women in the two novels. She simply concludes by saying, “Although Naomi is a different ethnic background than the females in To Kill a Mockingbird they come from the same time period and how society views their female roles are the same,” without exploring possible significance of these differences. Nelle, on the other hand, avoided a flat conflation of characters and texts from different cultural contexts by examining both similarities and differences. She chose Paul Laurence Dunbar’s poem, “We Wear the Mask,” saying, We will study the different masks in both Persepolis and Things Fall Apart. While Okonkwo intentionally creates a mask to protect his sense of manhood, Marjane is forced to wear a mask because of the Islamic government. Students will be asked to consider the difference between Okonkwo and Marjane’s masks. We will consider the impact of choosing to wear a mask and being forced to wear a mask by law while also studying how the characters enable or challenge the public mask they wear. Nelle’s interpretation of the difference between Okonkwo’s choice and the social hierarchies that influence masks for Marjane and the speaker in Dunbar’s poem yields a more complexly layered curation move than one that considers only similarities. The poem Nelle selected allowed her to juxtapose Okonkwo with a contemporary adolescent character through the conceptual lens of masks, leading to a more nuanced consideration of similarities and differences between canonical and contemporary characters that novice readers might otherwise reduce to stereotypes of their gender, culture, or time period. Exploratory Stances A final element of robust curation concerns how students frame the potential meanings available to readers of the texts they have selected. A layered approach to curation takes an exploratory stance, opening potential lines of inquiry for readers, rather than a flat, didactic approach the prescribes singular meanings. Common constructions like “This book teaches [insert moral here]” or “This book helps students understand that [insert message or factoid]” serve to close down thinking instead of opening new layers. For example, Ben selected a text related to white supremacy and President Trump, and said, “Students need to understand this is an issue today,” and Alice noted “The depictions of others/othering in Out of Darkness would be helpful for students, especially in our current political climate.” Ben’s desire for students to understand the current relevance of white supremacy and Alice’s desire to “help” students connect to contemporary marginalization may be 14

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admirable; however, their rhetorical choice to state the intended message represents a closed approach to analysis that discourages student inquiry. A more open, exploratory stance is evident as Nelle frames the connections between a documentary trailer and Things Fall Apart as a discussion of ideas rather than the transmission of messages. She says, “We will be able to discuss how the barriers we put between ourselves and others impact mental health and the communities we live in,” leaving the “how” and the “impact” open and undefined, ready for students to consider and debate. Similarly, Analise keeps lines of inquiry open by framing her connections as questions rather than stated messages: “How can we compare and contrast Noah’s mother to Okonkwo?” Such a question invites students to explore comparisons across geographical, temporal, cultural, and class-based differences. This subtle rhetorical shift from stating what students must understand to opening discussions and raising questions is an important aspect of layered, rather than flattened curation for canonical texts like Things Fall Apart. ONWARD: IMPLICATIONS FOR TEACHING AND LEARNING

Collaborative curation for critical literacy invites pre-service teachers to imagine themselves as teachers with the power to curate texts. This opportunity provides an important bridge as pre-service teachers transition from student identities to teacher identities. Moving forward, educators can build on the initial promise described here by focusing future instruction and formative feedback on these four elements of curation. In my classes, opportunities for in-process prompting, modeling, and, more recently, opportunities to practice curation skills before the curation project, have been influential for students as they move toward complexly layered discussions of curated texts. In order to further develop these complex analyses, educators can focus formative feedback on the four curation elements, asking students, ‡ How can your overarching concept can be broken down into related sub-concepts? Or, how can several concepts be united under one overarching question? (thick concepts) ‡ Which marginalized voices do your supporting texts bring to the discussion? How can you adapt the Critical Literature Pedagogy questions (Borsheim-Black et al., 2014, p. 126) to analyze specific characters, scenes, and elements of the texts you curate? (critical inclusion) ‡ How are texts both similar and different, both as a whole and in relation to specific scenes or characters? (multifaceted connections) ‡ What ideas do you want readers to explore? How can you encourage them to inquire rather than receive? (exploratory stances) Future research and pedagogy can extend curation skills beyond the library or ELA classrooms and into multiple content areas. Students deserve to read authentic 15

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texts in every subject area, and teacher educators prepare future educators to curate authentic texts for complex conceptual learning. Moreover, secondary and even elementary students can learn the skills and mindsets of curation as well; indeed, the National School Library Standards (American Association of School Librarians, 2018) describe curation as a foundational skill for teachers, librarians, and students. Empowering students to curate has the potential put students’ reading interests and research skills to work as they read with and against the canon. Practitioners and scholars can also create additional models for curation assignments, perhaps considering other models of text selection (e.g., Lupo et al., 2018; Möller, 2016; Pytash et al., 2014) or other theoretical models to guide curation (e.g. applying Luke & Freebody’s four resources). With each step forward, curating texts in conversation across ELA and disciplinary curriculum holds promise for reading against the canon in the 21st century. NOTE 1

All student names are pseudonyms.

REFERENCES Achebe, C. (1975). The novelist as teacher. In C. Achebe (Ed.), Morning yet on creation day: Essays (pp. 67–73). New York, NY: Anchor Press. Achebe, C. (1994). Things fall apart. New York, NY: Penguin Books. Adichie, C. N. (2008, June 23). The headstrong historian. The New Yorker. Retrieved from https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2008/06/23/the-headstrong-historian American Association of School Librarians. (2018). National school library standards. Chicago, IL: ALA Editions. Annenberg Foundation. (n.d.). Invitation to world literature. Retrieved April 30, 2018, from http://learner.org/courses/worldlit/ Applebee, A. (1993). Literature in the secondary school: Studies of curriculum and instruction in the United States. Urbana, IL: National Council of Teachers of English. Appleman, D. (2015). Critical encounters in secondary English: Teaching literary theory to adolescents. New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Beach, R., Thein, A. H., & Webb, A. (2016). Teaching to exceed the English language arts common core state standards: A literacy practices approach for 6–12 classrooms. New York, NY: Routledge. Borman, D. (2015). Playful ethnography: Chinua Achebe’s things fall apart and Nigerian education. Ariel: A Review of International English Literature, 46(3), 91–112. Retrieved from https://dx.doi.org/10.1353/ari.2015.0024 Borsheim-Black, C., Macaluso, M., & Petrone, R. (2014). Critical literature pedagogy: Teaching canonical literature for critical literacy. Journal of Adolescent & Adult Literacy, 58(2), 123–133. Retrieved from https://doi.org/10.1002/jaal.323 Erickson, H. L. (2006). Concept-based curriculum and instruction for the thinking classroom. Thousand Oaks, CA: Corwin. Greenblatt, E. (2007). AP English literature and composition: Teacher’s guide. Retrieved April 29, 2018, from https://secure-media.collegeboard.org/apc/ap07_englit_teachersguide.pdf Hogeback, J. (2018, April 11). 12 novels considered the “greatest book ever written.” Retrieved April 29, 2018, from https://www.britannica.com/list/12-novels-considered-the-greatest-book-ever-written

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CURATING AGAINST THE CANON Irele, F. A. (2001). The African imagination: Literature in Africa and the Black diaspora. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Lacayo, R. (2010, January 6). All-TIME 100 novels: Things fall apart. Time. Retrieved from http://entertainment.time.com/2005/10/16/all-time-100-novels/ Lankshear, C., & Knobel, M. (2011). New literacies: Everyday practices and social learning. Maidenhead: Open University Press. Linklater, R. (2014). Boyhood [Film]. New York, NY: IFC Films. Loertscher, D. V., & Koechlin, C. (2016). Collection development and collaborative connection development: Or, curation. Teacher Librarian, 43(4), 52–53. Lupo, S. M., Strong, J. Z., Lewis, W., Walpole, S., & McKenna, M. C. (2018). Building background knowledge through reading: Rethinking text sets. Journal of Adolescent & Adult Literacy, 61(4), 433–444. Retrieved from https://doi.org/10.1002/jaal.701 Mesmer, H. A. E. (2006). Beginning reading materials: A national survey of primary teachers’ reported uses and beliefs. Journal of Literacy Research, 38(4), 389–425. Retrieved from https://doi.org/10.1207/ s15548430jlr3804_2 Miles, M. B., Huberman, A. M., & Saldana, J. (2014). Qualitative data analysis: A method sourcebook (3rd ed.). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Möller, K. J. (2016). Creating diverse classroom literature collections using Rudine Sims Bishop’s conceptual metaphors and analytical frameworks as guides. Journal of Children’s Literature, 42(2), 64–74. NGA, & CCSSO. (2010a). Common core state standards for English language arts & literacy in history/ social studies, science, and technical subjects: Appendix B: Text exemplars and sample performance tasks. Retrieved from http://www.corestandards.org/assets/Appendix_B.pdf NGA, & CCSSO. (2010b). English language arts standards. Retrieved March 4, 2018, from http://www.corestandards.org/ELA-Literacy/ Noah, T. (2016). Born a crime: Stories from a South African childhood. New York, NY: Spiegel & Grau. O’Donnell-Allen, C. (2011). Tough talk, tough texts: Teaching English to change the world. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann. Okorafor, N. (2011). Akata witch. New York, NY: Penguin Books. Pérez, A. H. (2015). Out of darkness. Minneapolis, MN: Carolrhoda Lab. Pytash, K. E., Batchelor, K. E., Kist, W., & Srsen, K. (2014). Linked text sets in the English classroom. ALAN Review, 42(1), 52–62. Reynolds, J., & Kiely, B. (2015). All American boys. New York, NY: Simon & Schuster. Saldana, J. (2016). The coding manual for qualitative researchers. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Satrapi, M. (2007). The complete persepolis. New York, NY: Pantheon. Schieble, M. (2014). Reframing equity under common core: A commentary on the text exemplar list for grades 9–12. English Teaching: Practice and Critique, 13(1), 155–168. Valenza, J. (2016, February 28). OER and you: The curation mandate. Retrieved April 29, 2017, from http://blogs.slj.com/neverendingsearch/2016/02/28/oer-and-you-the-curation-mandate/ Valenza, J. K. (2012). Curation. School Library Monthly, 29(1), 20–23. Watkins, N., & Ostenson, J. (2015). Navigating the text selection gauntlet: Exploring factors that influence English teachers’ choices. English Education, 47(3), 245. Wessling, S. B. (2011). Supporting students in a time of common core standards: English language arts grades 9–12. Urbana, IL: National Council of Teachers of English. Whitehead, J., & McNiff, J. (2006). Action research: Living theory. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Retrieved from https://doi.org/10.4135/9781849208536

Kate Lechtenberg University of Iowa Iowa City, IA

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ASHLEY K. DALLACQUA AND ANNMARIE SHEAHAN

2. WHAT DO OLYMPIANS, LOWRIDERS, AND SHAILENE WOODLEY HAVE TO DO WITH LANGUAGE ARTS? Making Space for Critical, Multimodal Texts in Canonical Classrooms

On a cold November morning, I think about the faces of my students as I plan to teach Inferno. Some will register slight interest. Others, boredom. A few will simply look resigned. Will this just be another book to them? Will there be another set of response questions to answer? Another essay to write and never think about again? Dejavu sets in, as it always does for me as a teacher in the high school I graduated from. I close my eyes briefly, remembering a day more than a decade before this one. My tenth grade English teacher is at the front of the room, passing out copies of Inferno. The same flickers of slight interest, resignation, and boredom on our faces. Another book. Another set of response questions. Another essay. I open my eyes and glance at Inferno. “What’s changed?” I ask myself silently. “What could change?” Even with the increasing amount of nontraditional, young adult, and multimodal text selection available to English teachers, many continue to teach the western canon as the crux of their curriculum. The canon consists of a body of literary works that are considered to be time-tested models of literature (Allen, 2011), but this has been problematized by critical scholars (Duncan-Andrade, 2008; Morrell, 2008) who argue that historically, those who hold power over the dominant narrative within schools have chosen what particular texts become canonized. We conceptualize texts like Inferno, which was both read in high school and taught by Annmarie, and Antigone or Fahrenheit 451(also discussed in this chapter), as part of the canon because of their historic and repeated use, as well as their often required inclusion in ELA curriculum. Teaching what is familiar and comfortable upholds a dominant, singular notion of truth and knowledge (hooks, 1993). Because it is difficult to escape the “cookiecutter mold of traditional pedagogical methods” (Stallworth, Gibbons, & Fauber, 2006, p. 486) and texts, many secondary English teachers continue to teach the same canonical works they remember being taught. For Annmarie, this has been the case with both Antigone and Inferno. In addition, there is often a lack of availability of contemporary books sets and multimodal materials in many schools. Teachers who want to incorporate new texts have to purchase these themselves, or ask their

© KONINKLIJKE BRILL NV, LEIDEN, 2019 | DOI:10.1163/9789004389311_002

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students to purchase their own copies, which is often impossible to do in lower socio-economic schools (Stallworth, Gibbons, & Fauber, 2006), such as the school where our research is situated. Because of the canon’s historical and highly-emphasized place in literature instruction (Santoli & Wagner, 2004; Perry & Stallworth, 2013), many English teachers do not utilize nontraditional texts and many English departments have yet to consider them as viable and worthwhile curricular options (Santoli & Wagner, 2004). In this chapter we explore the integration of nontraditional, multimodal texts like comics and film in a tenth grade ELA curriculum. Annmarie – alongside other English teachers at our research site – has felt uncertain or unprepared when teaching works that go outside the traditional canon (Stallworth, Gibbons, & Fauber, 2006). The reluctance to view multimodal, young adult, or contemporary texts as valuable in secondary Language Arts study – though decreasing with the work of critical scholars – is still alive and well in many teacher education programs and in secondary Language Arts departments. We challenge such reluctance here, positioning nontraditional, multimodal texts alongside the canon. Doing so opens possibilities for multiple, rather than singular understandings, circularly and beyond. RESEARCH CONTEXT

I (Annmarie) come to this work as a practicing experienced classroom teacher and a doctoral candidate working with Ashley as a research assistant. I self-identify as a native New Mexican and Hispana/Irish practitioner researcher with close ties to the school where I teach. As both a high school graduate of this school and a current English Language Arts teacher, I identify strongly as an insider in this particular community. I (Ashley) come to this work as a previous experienced classroom teacher and current researcher in Annmarie’s school. As a white woman and outsider in this school, I position myself (and have been positioned by Annmarie and her students) as a volunteer and support system in this classroom. As such, I participate in coplanning and co-teaching and as a participant-observer. As a Language Arts teacher and researcher collaborating in a diverse, high poverty, urban secondary school, we are committed to innovative, critical acts of literacy with our students. Ninety percent of students in the classes described here are Hispanic; seventy-five percent of students did not speak English as their first language. One-hundred percent of students qualify for free or reduced lunch. Because teaching canonical literature is still regular practice in this school, we approach such texts from a critical and multimodal/media standpoint. We acknowledge that the realities of current school policies and expectations require certain canonical texts be part of curriculum. For this reason, we engage with canonical texts while creating space for students to read them with (and therein equal to) nontraditional narratives in nontraditional forms, promoting a variety of voices and perspectives. It was important for us as teachers and researchers to create 20

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opportunities for students to critically engage in reading that matters. Reading a variety of texts offers the potential for students to see and read themselves in their texts, which wouldn’t necessarily happen in a ‘canonical-only’ classroom. It also de-emphasizes the canonical text as the primary text and print as a primary form in this learning space. Ultimately, this varied reading positioned students as writers and creators themselves, as both holders and producers of knowledge (Delgado-Bernal, 2002). REVIEW OF THEORETICAL AND CRITICAL FRAMES

Across the work in this classroom, we maintain a critical, multimodal and multimedia frame. As both co-researchers and teachers, we speak back to historical pedagogy upholding dominant notions of what counts as literacy and text in classroom spaces, acknowledging our ever-shifting roles in an interconnected and ongoing historical narrative (Darder, 1995). Situating the teaching of texts within this larger educational narrative involves a reflective consideration of present day manifestations of oppressive and silencing trends in traditional Language Arts curriculum, and the commitment to speak back to this through situating curriculum as a means of empowerment and reclamation of voice (Freire, 1970). This is particularly true for educators working with communities of diverse, often marginalized youth (Duncan-Andrade & Morrell, 2008). We strive to create a classroom environment where students and educators come together to explore how texts shape worlds, but also use texts as a catalyst for reconstructing these worlds (Luke, 2000, p. 453). We support critical literacy acts that enable students to read both the world and the word (Freire, 1983) in relation to power, identity, and difference. Our work centers on creating spaces where students can understand and question the everyday world through text, investigate connections between language and power, and analyze popular culture and media (Lewison, Leland, & Harste, 2008). A critical approach to literary texts recognizes that language is never neutral, and that it positions individuals as particular kinds of human subjects (Janks, 2013). Acknowledging this, we strive to help our students develop critical consciousness through unpacking and challenging the reproductive roles dominant ideologies play in classroom literature. We view studying canonical texts as a critical strategy for understanding values of dominant groups at varying historical points. According to Freire (1997), studying dominant classic texts in this manner is important to the development of a revolutionary consciousness for both students and teachers. Critical literacy demands that students be exposed to the language of the dominant narrative in order to understand, challenge, and create counter-narratives that uphold minority voice and experience (Duncan-Andrade & Morrell, 2008). To only critically examine works of the dominant canon, however, is not enough, and a critical approach to teaching Language Arts demands that these traditional texts be paired with more contemporary or nontraditional texts of popular culture that mirror students’ ways 21

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of knowing. We believe texts should reflect students’ experiences rather than their teacher’s (Morrell, 2008). Exposing students to a variety of texts reflects an understanding of our students’ need to relate to situations and characters that mirror individual experience in the process of building critical awareness (Morrell, 2008; Sheahan, 2016). Recognizing our students’ need to experience multiple texts goes hand-in-hand with our commitment to the use of multiple modes. These offer multiple pathways to understanding and meaning-making, and different ways of learning and knowing (Kress, 2003). We not only include multimodal and multimedia texts within the curriculum, but we “take seriously and attend to the whole range of modes involved in representation and communication” (Jewitt & Kress, 2008, p. 1). In particular, we position multimodal texts like comics and film that are already part of many students lives as legitimate and academic texts that also are part of the regular curriculum (rather than supplemental or bonus reading and creating). Scholars have found such texts allow for literary, analytical, and thematic understandings (Golden, 2001; Dallacqua, 2012). Teaching canonical literature critically and alongside popular cultural texts from music, film, mass media, and sports can develop and invite both academic and critical literacies (Duncan-Andrade & Morrell, 2008, p. 51). Traditionally valued ways of knowing can be placed side-by-side with nontraditional, multimodal texts in order to open up spaces for new and multiple ways of knowing; it is our hope that this will destabilize single stories (Adiche, 2010). The critical work described in this chapter places multiple texts and versions of narratives and themes alongside each other, addressing curriculum through multimedia literacy practices. This multimedia work (such as the work across printed text, comic, and film we describe in this chapter) “provides students with preparation and practice to consume, comprehend, respond to, and produce communications in our contemporary culture” (Dallacqua, Kersten, & Rhoades, 2015, p. 214). Working across multiple media also opens up opportunities for students to expand understandings and realize that meaning is “found and made in multiple places and multiple modes” (Boche & Henning, 2015, p. 588). Reinforcing various ways of reading, composing, and making meaning counts as legitimate literacy practices and is powerful and empowering in classrooms (Dallacqua, 2018). Ultimately, integrating and layering new literacies, such as film and other media, into classroom spaces that are maintained by conventional pedagogical moves can challenge power dynamics that have been part of the histories in schools. PEDAGOGICAL PRACTICES

Teaching and learning critically across multiple media and modes began with the first major unit in this sophomore ELA curriculum. We (Annmarie and Ashley) worked to build text sets that included canonical texts like Fahrenheit 451 (Bradbury, 1953), Antigone (von Sophocles, Fagles, & Knox, 2008), and Inferno (Dante & Ciardi, 1996) because of school expectations and availability. It became essential to consider ways 22

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to read and appreciate such texts while also destabilizing them as central, single, and even the primary class narratives. This led us to locate other texts in other media and modal forms that address similar themes (globally, socially, and literarily). Students’ understandings of the canon were both reinforced and challenged while they were engaging with similar stories and themes through diverse voices and forms. Here we briefly describe two initial text sets used in Annmarie’s classroom. Then we will detail our allegory unit, as this unit best captures the critical and multimodal/media work we set out to cultivate in this classroom. The Dystopian Unit For our initial unit, Fahrenheit 451 (Bradbury, 1953) was paired with Steven Spielberg’s Minority Report and Tim Hamilton’s (2009) Fahrenheit 451 graphic novel adaptation in order to teach dystopian fiction and basic literary techniques. We taught all three texts simultaneously, minimizing Bradbury’s original work as the central narrative in this unit. The film was not shown as the reward for finishing the novel, but instead offered cross-textual connections and deeper insight into how current artists are fictionally representing real-world issues of technological, governmental, corporate, and philosophical control. We positioned Hamilton’s graphic novel Fahrenheit 451 as a way to introduce comics by using page analysis to introduce a common vocabulary (Connors, 2011) connected with the comics medium, including panel, frame, and gutter (McCloud, 1993; Groensteen, 2007). By starting with the visual vocabulary of this medium, we approached the graphic novel as a new text, not a replica of the novel. We worked with it as a comic first, acknowledging its literary merits independent of Bradbury’s original. Table 2.1. Dystopian text set Title

Medium

Fahrenheit 451 (Bradbury, 1953)

Novel in Print

Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451: The Authorized Adaptation (Hamilton, 2009)

Graphic Novel

Minority Report (Molen, Curtis, Parkes, de Bont, & Spielberg, 2002)

Film

Central themes. Utopia vs. dystopia, restriction of free information, governmental and philosophical control, society vs. the individual, the dystopian protagonist. Essential question. How do we identify and discuss characteristics of the dystopian genre across multiple texts? Classroom activities. Graphic organizer on dystopian characteristics and types of control, discussion circles on dystopian protagonists, create your own utopia collaborative activity, expository essay on dystopian characteristics.

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This comic work also translated nicely into film viewing and analysis. As we visually analyzed pages of Fahrenheit 451 we discussed color, angles, and framing, using filming techniques as a point of reference. As students watched Minority Report, then, they could identify literary themes as well as visual techniques used to achieve narrative effects. Throughout the unit exam, we incorporated questions about all three texts and included image analysis to demonstrate to students that we valued the work we had been doing across a variety of texts. Disrupting the canonical work as a single narrative was a starting point for engaging in critical, multimodal/media literacy practices. The Characterization Unit While teaching Antigone (von Sophocles, Fagles, & Knox, 2008), we focused on themes of loyalty and considered characterization. In particular, we examined a variety of dynamic female characters, challenging single notions of what it means to be both powerful and female. Reinforcing characterization and grounding the unit historically and culturally, we introduced the Greek Gods though the Olympians series by George O’Connor. We asked students to read collaboratively, especially when approaching visual, arts-based graphic novels that are open to interpretation. While the comics medium is often considered a solo reading experience (Sanders, 2013; Sanders & Hatfield, 2016), we were excited by the support and enjoyment students gained from reading and working in small groups. Here, we were not only disrupting single narratives, but single understandings of how they can be read. This unit also included a viewing of Divergent (Wick, Fisher, & Burger, 2014). To extend our discussions on characterization, Tris (played by Shailene Woodley), offered an example of a dynamic character who shifts visually and in personality. Further, she presented another strong, female character (along with Antigone, Table 2.2. Characterization text set Title

Medium

Antigone

Play in Print

Divergent Wick, Fisher, and Burger (2014)

Film

The Olympians boxed Set (O’Conner, 2014)

Graphic Novels

Central themes. Characterization, loyalty, character motivation, gender dynamics, familial and societal expectations Essential question. How do we understand, analyze, and speak back to the characterization of diverse characters across various texts? Classroom activities. SATDO (Says, Appearance, Thoughts, Does, Others’ Opinions) Character Analysis, Compare/Contrast Characterization Essay, Antigone Character Creative Projects

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Hera, Aphrodite, and Athena) who defies expectations set for her by superiors, family, friends, and society. The Allegory Unit Inferno was purposefully paired with the graphic novel Lowriders to the Center of the Earth (Camper & Gonzalez, 2016) and the film What Dreams May Come (Deutsch, Bain, & Ward, 1998). While the previous units made an effort to include a diverse set of media, this unit also invited a diverse range of voices and cultural references into the conversation. Because of this, we devote more space to this unit in this chapter, organizing descriptions of our work around the texts we explored and the resulting thinking, talking, and creating that occurred. Learning themes for this unit included allegory, the afterlife, and the concept of life’s journey. Because we were considering such complex topics around death and afterlife, it was important to introduce a range of cultural perspectives, and reading across a variety of authors and forms supported that work. Inferno, for instance, focused on a White European dominant perspective heavily influenced by religion. What Dreams May Come offered a more personal perspective of the afterlife without a specific religious belief system (but still had a predominantly White cast). Lowriders offered readers a perspective of the underworld that targeted a younger audience, but was also rich with Hispanic cultural references. In a classroom where approximately 90% of students identify as Hispanic, this was a text they saw themselves in. The three together offered multiple lenses in which to consider, but also subvert the canonical text. These texts also addressed larger thematic questions in diverse ways regarding death, the afterlife, and a self-conceptualization of ethics, justice, and morality. Reading Inferno. Inferno was taught through a variety of reading and instructional strategies. We wanted students to build contextual and historical background for the text by understanding who Dante was and how he was affected by the social, religious, and political climate of his day. We also wanted students to become familiar with literary terms that would shape their understanding of all texts in this unit, such as allegory and symbolism. The text was often read out loud as a class, which supported English language learners and allowed for discussion of meaningful passages. Students were prompted to explore Inferno’s layers of allegorical meanings, considering how personal moral and belief systems contribute to understandings of the afterlife. Students were invited to write creatively using their own historical, social, and personal context to create their own canto (or chapter) on a modern day or overlooked sin. Emulating Dante as a model text, students began the work of rewriting and reimagining his ideas through their own lenses. Watching What Dreams May Come. We hoped that students would see What Dreams May Come as an alternative and equally valid interpretation of the afterlife 25

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that was both similar and different from what students had analyzed in Inferno. As students watched What Dreams May Come, we asked them journal write on the following guiding prompt: Discuss the visual, structural, and moral/ethical differences between Dante’s version of the afterlife in Inferno and the afterlife portrayed in the film What Dreams May Come. Use specific evidence to support claims. This lead to a class discussion; many students used the less-structured conception of the afterlife in What Dreams May Come as a critical lens from which to problematize the rigid system of retribution and justice found in Inferno. Reading Lowriders. As students examined Lowriders for the first time they immediately recognized familiar comic structures (panel set up, color use, dialogue bubbles), but also noticed how Lowriders varied from other comics they had read. There were many familiar visual and cultural cues to Hispanic narratives many of these students had grown up with. As one student shared in her journal, “This is how I talk with my family and friends every day.” The characters’ Spanglish was maintained through the graphic novel and mirrored students’ own ways of communicating. With these things in mind, we asked students to read in pairs or groups of three (as they did reading Olympians). This collaborative reading experience was particularly helpful with this book, as it is visually dense. As students read together, they slowed down and shared what they noticed, asked questions, and made meaning together. Also, much of this imagery alluded to Hispanic culture. For example, students immediately connected a crying woman looking for her baby to the story of La Llorona, a story the majority of the students in the room had grown up hearing. One students reflected that the graphic novel made her, “remember my fear of La Llorona as a child, and how my mom would use it to scare me to behave.” There were also references to Mexican television shows students watched, a luchador wrestling match, and a Día de los Muertos celebration. Not everyone understood all of the cultural references, but reading collaboratively meant students could share connections with each other. We saw students helping with Spanish pronunciations to the few students who did not also speak Spanish, explaining and sharing references, and telling personal stories that mapped onto the comic stories. Twice we asked them to stop and reflect (once thirty minutes in, once after they completed reading Lowriders). In their class journals, students were asked to write about details they noticed, author and artistic choices they wondered about, and questions they had during and after reading. This close reading practice aligns with the school’s literacy goals for students to understand their own reading practices metacognitively. This set students up to consider higher order questions around the text. Overwhelmingly, students noticed, wondered about, and questioned the personal and cultural references they located. They also noted similarities and differences 26

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across the three texts. For example, one student pointed out that all three texts “provided the protagonist with a guide to lead them through their own understanding of the afterlife,” while another student mentioned that each author/director’s “personal beliefs and feelings affected how they understood life after death.” This work, then didn’t value one text more than another; students recognized how personal beliefs and values vary. All the texts supported meaning-making and encouraged a deeper level of learning because they were being read and used side by side. Thinking across all three texts. As students read and viewed these texts, they also worked through a graphic organizer (Figure 2.1) that targeted common themes. Students pointed to the life and death journeys taken in all three texts, themes of sacrifice, and the importance of guides and traveling companions throughout. Students acknowledged the many connections across very different texts and authors/artists. These three texts supported students’ broad understandings of how mortality, morality, and the afterlife have been taken up across media, at the hands of different artists across time and space. For instance, Inferno’s afterlife is dependent on how one lived on earth. Punishment is a major factor and it mirrors one’s life and choices on Earth. In What Dreams May Come, there are not such strong religious undertones; instead characters visit an afterlife of their own mental choosing. In Lowriders, the underworld draws from Aztec narratives and Hispanic legends. Culturally influenced, this afterlife is one that reflects personal histories, values, and knowings. Each of these texts were positioned as one artistic representation with moral advice about the afterlife, but not the only or prominent understanding. The final project. In this class, students are often invited to respond in multimodal ways to illustrate their knowledge in order to honor students’ individual ways of making meaning as well as the variety of texts read. The texts and students’ many ways of responding to them are validated, regardless of the form. For this unit, we asked students to step into the shoes of an artist (be it writer, painter, poet, sculptor). After seeing other author/artists’ representations of afterlife and embedded allegorical meanings, we wanted students to evaluate and critique those texts by creating their own. We began brainstorming artistic responses with a journal free-write: Imagine yourself as an author, artist, poet, or filmmaker. If you were creating a representation of the afterlife, what would it look like? Describe visuals, structure, morals that would dominate your created version. Would it share any similarities with Inferno, What Dreams May Come, or Lowriders? What differences would it have? By positioning students as artists, we were not asking them to explain what happens when we die (a problematic and polarizing assignment). Instead, they were considering how other media texts have done this, then stepping into the role of the 27

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artist, they explore another version: their own. Students as artists creates a dynamic where their voices are read and valued alongside the other authors and artists in the classrooms space. Students are producers, not just consumers of knowledge. This allows students to step back, consider and synthesize what they have read, and then critique their classrooms texts. The rubric (Figure 2.2) asked students to create their own version of an allegorical afterlife and to include an artist statement. For students, the statement was a space for them to explain their process, give credit to their influences, and address critical issues around allegory and their own personal experiences. This also invited students to explain and value a broad range of literacies. One student described her work this way, I chose to try my hand at painting. I did so because I felt that I could express my thoughts and imagination in a much better way through a work of art rather than a work of literature. With an illustration, I was able to add details that would have otherwise been hard for me to explain in a written work. The artist statement also provided structure for assessment of such an open-ended and creative final project. Overall, it allowed us to honor the process of students’ work and thinking, not just the final project they turn in. This classroom space was also consistently a collaborative space where students work together, to talk through things at their tables, and to respond to each other’s work. This final project was no different. Students were given the option to work together or separately on this project; while most students chose to work as individuals, they still discussed their ideas as they brainstormed and shaped them with their peers. The collaboration across each other and class texts valued multiple voices and disrupted single narratives, ideas, and voices. This is another way our work across multimodal/media was taking a critical stance in this classroom. Students as authors and artists. Throughout our allegory unit, we noticed that students became increasingly comfortable with critiquing and speaking back to each text and its author/artist. For example, students regularly would note that they didn’t agree with Dante’s conception of justice and punishment. This critique influenced the choices students made in their own work. Students borrowed the artistic freedom to create their own world from What Dreams May Come. They drew specifically from their own identities and conceptions of race and culture, as well as current pop culture references as they saw the authors of Lowriders doing. As one student poignantly summarized in her artist statement, These three texts were interesting to read and watch and I was intrigued by how so many people would like to learn the truth about the afterlife and their different perspectives…My afterlife may be completely different than what some people imagine. 28

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Table 2.3. Allegory text set Title

Medium

Inferno (Dante & Ciardi, 1996)

Epic Poem

Lowriders to the Center of the Earth (Camper & Gonzalez, 2016)

Graphic Novel

What Dreams May Come (Deutsch, Bain, & Ward, 1998)

Film

Central themes. allegory, morality, mortality, the afterlife, and the concept of life’s journey Essential questions. How do artistic representations of the afterlife stem from personal belief systems? How is the afterlife represented across multiple texts? Classroom activities. Graphic organizer; creative writing of a canto, multimodal response final project with artist statement

As authors and artists, students were going beyond responding to texts, taking ownership over them and rewriting and reimagining them. This student valued all of the texts she had read and viewed, and confidently place her own interpretation, while a “different perspective,” among them. This work, then, disrupted the canon as privileged; student voices became the crux of this unit. CONCLUSION

Despite social, cultural, technological, and epistemological changes taking place in public education today, change within text selection and availability in secondary Language Arts departments and classrooms continues to lag. The slow changes that occur within what is considered to be the literary canon cannot keep up with the increasing diversity of our classrooms and the ever-expanding definition of what counts as literacy today. Teachers are still required to teach the canon or may decide to do so, but this should not impact the potential to change how it is taught. While the canon was regularly taught in this classroom, it was not the only, primary text in any unit. All texts were positioned as counting in this space. Canonical texts were positioned as accessible, but not placed on a pedestal. Equitability of texts was reflected in assessment differentiation, which ensured the interruption of the dominant canonical narrative even within a standard test. In their work with both the traditional and nontraditional texts, students were invited in as authors, artists, experts, and collaborators. Students created poetry, short stories, paintings, and comics and were positioned by their teacher and each other as creative, critical artists understanding and responding back to multiple complex narratives. Their voices and creations shaped truths about their worlds and contributed to the plethora of narratives in this space. As we look forward to future work, we recognize the necessity for even more student ownership and choice over

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the texts they read. Pairing canonical texts with nontraditional texts and forms that invite students to engage, create, and speak back to single notions of understanding, canonical texts can be a critical and empowering act. Instead of reading just another book or writing another essay, as Annmarie had worried, students were ultimately producers of their own curriculum by authoring texts that were read and valued alongside other canonical and nontraditional classroom texts. Name______________________________________________________________ How do we come to perceive and understand morality, mortality, the afterlife, and the concept of life’s journey? Inferno

What Dreams May Come

Lowriders to the center of the Earth

How does this text visualize (through words, images, color, etc.) its version of the afterlife? Describe the most powerful moment for you in this narrative relating to life’s journey.

Page #___________

Page #____________

Page #___________

Page #____________

Describe a major symbol used in this narrative.

What is the allegorical message you find in (and across) these narratives?

Figure 2.1. Reading across texts guided notes

On the back, describe one major connection across these narratives:

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Cumulative Project: Inferno/What Dreams May Come/Lowriders Description: For this project, you will be creating an original text of your choice (graphic novel, short story, short film, poem, song, painting, sculpture, etc.) that deals with your conception of the afterlife. In order to create this, you will be drawing on both your own personal experiences, your imagination, and the texts we have read, watched, and discussed in class for this unit. Alongside your creative project, you must include an artistic statement that is typed, double-spaced, and 1.5–2 pages in length. The artistic statement must address the following questions: 1. Why did you choose the medium (painting, short story, graphic novel, short film, painting, etc.) to illustrate your conception of the afterlife? How did this medium help you to visualize your imagined afterworld? Explain. 2. How did your own personal experiences shape your conception of the afterworld for this project? 3. Describe how each of the three texts we interacted with during this unit influenced your version of the afterlife. What ideas did you take from each one? What did you not take? Explain. Use direct quotes, specific details, etc. to reinforce your claims here. 4. Describe the allegorical, deeper message that comes from your version of an imagined afterworld. Rubric: 1. Final product includes a typed artistic statement that is 1.5–2 pages in length, is clear, well-organized, and lacks grammatical errors, and answers all four questions/20 points total. 2. Final product includes a creative piece that is original, interesting, and/or addresses perspectives that extend beyond what was read in class/15 points total. 3. Final product includes a creative piece that is complete, clearly addresses the assignment, and demonstrates time and energy put into its completion/15 points total. Total: /50 points possible Figure 2.2. Final allegory assignment rubric REFERENCES Adichie, C. N. (2009, July). Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie: The danger of a single story [Video file]. Retrieved from https://www.ted.com/talks/chimamanda_adichie_the_danger_of_a_single_story?language=en Allen, R. (2011). Looking for the literary canon. Association for Supervision and Curriculum Education Update, 53(8), 1–8.

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A. K. DALLACQUA & A. SHEAHAN Boche, B., & Henning, M. (2015). Multimodal scaffolding in the secondary English classroom curriculum. Journal of Adolescent & Adult Literacy, 58(7), 579–590. Bradbury, R. (1953). Fahrenheit 451. New York, NY: Simon & Schuster. Camper, C., & Gonzalez, R. (2016). Lowriders to the center of the earth. San Francisco, CA: Chronicle Books. Connors, S. P. (2011). Toward a shared vocabulary for visual analysis: An analytic toolkit for deconstructing the visual design of graphic novels. Journal of Visual Literacy, 31(1), 71–92. Dallacqua, A. K. (2012). Exploring literary devices in graphic novels. Language Arts, 89(6), 367–380. Dallacqua, A. K. (2018). Wondering about Rapunzel: Reading and responding to feminist fairy tales with seventh graders. Children’s Literature in Education. Retrieved from https://doi.org/10.1007/ s10583-018-9352-z Dallacqua, A. K., Kersten, S., & Rhoades, M. (2015). Using Shaun Tan’s work to foster multiliteracies in twenty-first century classrooms. Reading Teacher, 69(2), 207–217. Dante, A., & Ciardi, J. (1996). The divine comedy: Inferno. New York, NY: Modern Library. Darder, A. (1995). Buscando América: The contribution of critical Latino educators to the academic development and empowerment of Latino students in the U.S. In C. E. Sleeter & P. L. McLaren (Eds.), Multicultural education, critical pedagogy, and the politics of difference (pp. 319–347). Albany, NY: State University of New York Press. Delgado-Bernal, D. (2002). Critical race theory, Latino critical theory, and critical raced-gendered epistemologies: Recognizing students of color as holders and creators of knowledge. Qualitative Inquiry, 8(1), 105–126. Deutsch, S., Bain, B. (Producers), & Ward, V. (Director). (1998). What dreams may come [Motion picture]. Universal City, CA: PolyGram Filmed Entertainment. Duncan-Andrade, J., & Morrell, E. (2008). The art of critical pedagogy: Possibilities for moving from theory to practice in urban schools. New York, NY: Peter Lang. Freire, P. (1970/2002). Pedagogy of the oppressed (M. B. Ramos, Trans.). New York, NY: Continuum. Freire, P. (1983). The importance of the act of reading. Journal of Education, 165(1), 5–11. Freire, P. (1997). Teachers as cultural workers: Letters to those who dare teach. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Golden, J. (2001). Reading in the dark: Using film as a tool in the English classroom. Urbana, IL: National Council of Teachers of English. Groensteen, T. (2007). The system of comics. Jackson, MS: University Press of Mississippi. Hamilton, T. (2009). Fahrenheit 451: The authorized adaptation. New York: NY: Hill & Wang. Janks, H. (2013). Critical literacy in teaching and research. Education Inquiry, 4(2), 225–242. Jewitt, C., & Kress, G. (2003). Multimodal literacy. London: Peter Lang. Kress, G. (2003). Literacy in the new media age. London: Routledge. Lewison, M., Leland, C., & Harste, J. (2007). Creating critical classrooms: K-8 reading with an edge. New York, NY: Routledge. Luke, A. (2000). Critical literacy in Australia: A matter of context and standpoint. Journal of Adolescent & Adult Literacy, 43(5), 448–461. McCloud, S. (1993). Understanding comics: The invisible art. New York, NY: Harper Perennial. Mills, K. A. (2010). Shrek meets Vygotsky: Rethinking adolescents’ multimodal literacy practices in schools. Journal of Adolescent and Adult Literacy, 54(1), 35–45. Molen, G., Curtis, B., Parkes, W. F., & de Bont, J. (Producers), & Spielberg, S. (Director). (2002). Minority report [Motion Picture]. Los Angeles, CA & Glendale, CA: 20th Century Fox/DreamWorks Pictures. Morrell, E. (2008). Critical literacy and urban youth: Pedagogies of access, dissent, and liberation. New York, NY: Routledge. O’Connor, G. (2014). The Olympians boxed set. New York, NY: First Second. Perry, T., & Stallworth, B. (2013). 21st-century students demand a balanced, more inclusive canon. Voices from the Middle, 21(1), 15–18. Sanders, J. S. (2013). Chaperoning words: Meaning-making in comics and picture books. Children’s Literature, 41(1), 57–90. Sanders, J. S., & Hatefield. (2016, June). Bonding time, or solo flight? Picture books, comics, and the independent reader. Keynote address The Children’s Literature Association National Convention.

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OLYMPIANS, LOWRIDERS, AND SHAILENE WOODLEY Santoli, S., & Wagner, M. (2004). Promoting young adult literature: The other “real” literature. American Secondary Education, 33(1), 65–75. Sheahan, A. (2016/2017). Reconstructing the “other”: Using YA fiction in secondary classrooms to build critical awareness. SIGNAL Journal, 40(1), 21–27. Stallworth, B., Gibbons, L., & Fauber, L. (2006). It’s not on the list: An exploration of teacher’s perspectives on using multicultural literature. Journal of Adolescent and Adult Literacy, 49(6), 478–492. The New London Group. (1996). A pedagogy of multiliteracies: Designing social futures. The Harvard Review, 66(1), 60–92. Vasudevan, L., & Hill, M. L. (2008). Media, learning, and sites of possibility. New York, NY: Peter Lang. von Sophocles, Fagles, R., & Knox, B. (2008). The three Theban plays: Antigone, Oedipus the king, Oedipus. Paradise, CA: Paw Prints. Wick, D., Fisher, L. (Producers), & Burger, N. (Director). (2014). Divergent [Motion Picture]. Santa Monica, CA: Lionsgate.

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3. SHATTERING LITERARY WINDOWS AND MIRRORS Creating Prismatic Canonical Experiences for (and with) British Literature Students

Rudine Sims-Bishop (1990) famously wrote that teachers of literature should provide their students with windows, mirrors, and sliding doors. In this metaphor, students are encouraged to read texts that center the lived experiences, biographies, and nuanced identities of people belonging to backgrounds different from their own (windows). Likewise, the paradigm holds that students should also see their own realities reflected in the curricula they engage (mirrors), and have the opportunity to vacillate between the two perspectives (sliding doors). Powerful and iteratively relevant, this literary analogy resounds as a reminder to teachers to consider perspective when selecting and teaching literature to their diverse secondary students. In this chapter, I build on Sims-Bishop’s work by shifting somewhat the windows, mirrors, and sliding doors paradigm. In what follows, I offer an account that displays a different way to unsettling canonical instruction: what I call a prismatic approach to literature instruction. Often made up of transparent glass, prisms separate white light that passes through it into different colors (Cambridge Dictionary). Prisms provide a mechanism through which viewers can differently understand a light that, at first glance, illuminates only whiteness. The geometric shape allows viewers to “re-see” what was once unnoticed and therefore unquestioned. Prisms right the distortions of perspective; they show vibrancy and nuance where once only whiteness was visible. But distortions of perspective are not exclusive to geometric creations. Literature canons have long promised to offer students essential cultural literacy that “every American needs to know” (Hirsch, 1988) in order to be embraced as a well-educated member of society (Applebee, 1974). Literature canons, however, along with the secondary curricula that requires the reading and teaching of them, tell a broader story than merely which titles are worth reading. In assigning canonical texts, teachers assign worth to voices, experiences, and identities. Indeed, the texts required in secondary literature courses tell as much about the bodies, experiences, and perspectives Americans value as they do about texts. The literature curricula of secondary English classrooms has long advanced the works of authors belonging to White, male, Anglo backgrounds (Applebee, 1974;

© KONINKLIJKE BRILL NV, LEIDEN, 2019 | DOI:10.1163/9789004389311_003

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Dyches, 2016/2017; Macaluso, 2016; Morrison, 2007; Purves, 1991). Starting with the subject’s inception in the 1870s (Applebee, 1974) and carrying over into today’s Common Core State Standards Text Exemplars (National Governors Association &HQWHUIRU%HVW3UDFWLFHV &RXQFLORI&KLHI6WDWH6FKRRO2I¿FHUV VWXGHQWV continue to read required curricula that often mutes the experiences of authors belonging to marginalized groups (Bissonnette & Glazier, 2016; Schieble, 2014). Research shows that disconnects between canonical materials leave students from non-mainstream groups feeling marginalized and silenced (Bissonnette & Glazier, 2016; Carter, 2006/2007). Canonical material also negatively impacs students from mainstream groups by affirming and reproducing their privileges (Dyches, 2017; Glazier & Seo, 2005). Thankfully, teachers have always been, and continue to be, powerful agents of change. Teachers wield the dispositions, knowledges, and skills needed to disrupt oppressive teaching practices, the least of which includes their ability to modify resistant-tochange curricula to meet the needs of their vibrantly diverse students. Indeed, teachers continue to find generative ways to teach their canonical curricula using approaches that are critical, careful, and social justice-oriented (Bissonnette, 2016; Dyches, 2017). These approaches mean that students from mainstream and non-mainstream groups alike are given opportunities to recognize and respond to systems of power, a skill set that then allows them to apply critical lenses to recognize and resist power structures when “reading” their own social milieu (Dyches, 2017). Teachers have recognized and responded to this disconnect between the canon and their students and responded by creating culturally responsive experiences for students. These responses include, among other approaches, creating counter-curricula (Dyches, 2017), delivering instruction that positions students to examine important current sociopolitical issues while reading canonical works (Morrell & Duncan-Andrade, 2002), and providing students with the opportunity to critically deconstruct and reconstruct required canonical curricula (Bissonnette, 2017b; Dyches, 2017). While literacy stakeholders have long espoused the merits of creating literary windows and mirrors (Sims Bishop, 1990), Graham, a high school teacher, moves his instruction in a different direction and in doing so, creates a new type of canonical experience for his students. These canonical experiences involve the reading and discussing of a particular canonical text while thematically connecting and extending the conversation to a particular current sociopolitical issue and/or the students’ lives. These approaches involve using the required curriculum as a point of interrogation – an entity deserving of scrutiny. Graham’s approach does not intentionally attempt to position students to see into (window) or see themselves reflected in (mirror) a curriculum that fundamentally excludes their existence. These approaches are more text-focused, and invite students to investigate their connections and disconnections with various readings. The windows and mirrors paradigm offers a binary of sorts: either a student does or does not see herself in a particular text. Instead, Graham both initiates a sequence that invites students to, alongside Graham, repurpose the required curriculum to make it 36

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more meaningful to their lives. Together, Graham and his students fashion a canonical curriculum that honors the students’ identities, voices, and realities in a way that nods to but does not pledge allegiance to the required British literature curriculum. In this way, Graham and his students – together – create a prismatic canonical experience. Just as a prism refracts white light and invites viewers to re-notice the colors the white light obscures, so too do Graham and his students call attention to the whiteness of the canonical curriculum, and work to reveal and honor new perspectives. Graham and his students don’t merely examine the windows and mirrors themselves, but seek to problematize why the windows and mirrors exist at all. That a prismatic approach to literature instruction at once centers and refracts whiteness may seem, at first consideration, somewhat contradictory. But the centering of whiteness – the naming, acknowledging, and describing of it – is essential because these conversations help call attention to the seemingly neutral ways in which whiteness behaves (Nayak, 2007). Having first noticed how whiteness operates, students, teachers, and other stakeholders can then move into the refraction phase of prismatic literature instruction: a space that allows them to agentively refashion canonical curricula in such a way that they see their own lived experiences and perceived realities against what was once a white-saturated experience. But the prismatic canonical literature instruction described in this chapter depends on more than just Graham alone. Indeed, Graham’s students, and the context in which they worked together – a high school with over 94% of its students identifying as persons of Color – also shaped the possibilities for prismatic instruction. Graham’s students were willing to problematize and discuss whiteness in Graham’s class, and Graham was willing to open up, nurture, and learn from these conversations. Prismatic literature instruction both depended on and benefitted from the teacher, the students, and the context: all of these pieces were necessary to effect the transformative pedagogy this chapter presents. In this chapter, I relate a pedagogical account that details Graham’s approach to teaching Shakespeare’s (2001) Macbeth in a way that both satisfies and defies traditional approaches to canonical literature instruction. In delivering his lessons, Graham relied on culturally relevant and responsive approaches (Gay, 2010; Ladson-Billings, 2006) that acknowledged and built on his students’ funds of knowledge (Moll, Amanti, Neff, & Gonzalez, 1992). Graham called upon canonical materials to help students consider issues of oppression and privilege while extending canonical themes to their own lives, utilizing such topical couplings to guide his work. Agency occurs when stakeholders feel efficacious in their ability to work to disrupt inequitable conditions (Sensoy & DiAngelo, 2010). Graham’s critical approach to teaching his required British literature curriculum gave students agency to find relevance in their otherwise polarizing, entirely White curriculum, thereby creating new literary lenses – ones influenced but not tethered loyally to their canonical curriculum – through which to engage with their literature curriculum. Importantly, Graham invited his students to play a key role in this work, a fluid relationship described in the pedagogical anecdote below. 37

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DEFINING “CANONICAL”

While American literature certainly advances its own canon of works, I focus here on the British canon because research shows that secondary literature classrooms in the United States reflect “an almost total subservience to British literature” (Stotsky, 1991, p. 53). This subservience merits unpacking because, in pledging allegiance to the British classics in American secondary literature classrooms, stakeholders simultaneously privilege a host of other social identities. This study understands “canonical” as works written by authors belonging to White, male, Anglo identifying groups because, in doing so, the relationship between secondary U.S. literature canons, whiteness, and maleness crystallizes. In working to understand Graham’s culturally responsive canonical instruction, we must first understand that the canonical works he must deliver are perhaps the most exclusionary of all. Indeed, while many literature canons have been critiqued for being mostly White and male, the required British literature curriculum is, for many teachers, entirely White and male (Bissonnette & Glazier, 2016; Dyches, 2017a; Dyches, 2018). This chapter focuses on Graham’s attention to Macbeth, one of Shakespeare’s most widely read plays. The most recent U.S. national study of the most frequently taught texts in secondary literature classrooms placed Macbeth as fourteenth on its list (Stotsky, 2010). But Macbeth’s popularity in U.S. schools is no recent development: nearly three decades ago, Applebee’s (1989) study found that the play was the second most widely taught text in public secondary literature classrooms and the first in independent schools. While the play enjoys a current prominence in secondary classrooms, its presence goes back even further: conducted over a century ago, Macbeth made an appearance in Tanner’s (1907) study of frequently assigned texts. Given its historic and current placement in secondary literature classrooms, it is important to examine ways in which teachers are delivering – and students are experiencing – Macbeth. CULTURALLY RELEVANT/RESPONSIVE CANONICAL INSTRUCTION

Graham prides himself on developing strong relationships with his students and is committed to their academic success, understanding that students must gain access to disciplinary cultures (Moje, 2015) in order to flourish both in school and beyond its walls. Because of these orientations, theories of culturally relevant and responsive pedagogies (Gay, 2010; Ladson-Billings, 2006) mark his work. Perhaps more than any other trait, Graham works tirelessly to develop his students’ sociopolitical consciousness – that is, students’ ability to identify, discuss, and talk back to the issues most intimately affecting their lives (Ladson-Billings, 1994). Sociopolitical consciousness involves the naming and dismantling of oppressive structures, such as racism, sexism, classism, and homophobia (though many other hegemonic systems exist). Students who demonstrate a sociopolitical consciousness and sense of agency know how to read “the world and the world” (Freire & Macedo, 1987) 38

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and do so both when reading school-assigned texts as well as the “texts” of their social milieu. Graham recognized his students’ funds of knowledge (Moll et al., 1992) and the valuable cultural capital (Yosso, 2005) they brought with them into the classroom. Because of this recognition, Graham was able to create a modified canonical experience designed to engage his students beyond the British curriculum. As a culturally responsive teacher, Graham’s allegiance was to his students, not to the canon. This allegiance to his students, the majority of whom identified as person of Color, allowed Graham to work in prismatic ways – that is, ways that recognized and disrupted the whiteness of the secondary literature curriculum. Representation drives the windows and mirrors paradigm. Following this concept, readers either see or don’t see themselves reflected in the materials they are reading. A prismatic approach moves away from this approach by inviting students to act with agency: to name systems of inequity and to work to address them, both as they relate to the materials they are reading as well as how the issues are reflected in the world around them. Sociopolitical consciousness, then, acts as a fulcrum of the prismatic approach to canonical literature instruction. While traditional canonical knowledges and expectations act as long-revered codes of power (Delpit, 1995), they remain necessary. Despite their feelings on the worth and place of canonical materials in the secondary literature classroom, teachers must be able to develop students’ traditional knowledges around topics such as canonical literature in order to help students meet mainstream markers of academic success. Indeed, insufficiently equipping students with traditional knowledges can have detrimental effects to students on the canon’s fringes (see, e.g., Carter, 2007). But traditional knowledges serve another important role: they open up possibilities for cultivating critical content knowledges (Dyches & Boyd, 2017). These approaches involve bringing in materials that position students to recognize, examine, and push back against systems of oppression. Critical content knowledge involves intentionality: teachers who apply critical content knowledges actively seek out opportunities to engage students more deeply in the social issues and systems of oppression that permeate the United States. For example, a teacher might have students apply strategies of close reading while analyzing excerpts from Romeo and Juliet; a teacher intent on building students’ critical content knowledges might use those same readings as an opportunity to challenge students to rethink notions of patriarchy, feminism, and violence, and the intersections therein. She might pull in an assortment of supplementary materials – for example, media pertinent to the #MeToo movement – to help students consider the role of patriarchy in the construction and presentation of sexuality and sexual misconduct. Such reading materials engage students in timely issues, but also help them develop a more nuanced sociopolitical consciousness while reading canonical texts. In applying this approach to literature instruction, teachers move away from merely focusing on representation – windows and mirrors – and instead begin to repurpose curriculum. In acknowledging, resisting, and responding to the whiteness both within and perpetuated by their curriculum, teachers and students begin to effect prismatic experiences with literature. 39

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MEET GRAHAM DALTON

In his late-twenties, Graham Dalton identified as White, male, gay, and middle class. Originally from a rural town in the southeastern United States, Graham had been a high school English teacher for four years when we first met. Graham identified strongly as a social justice-oriented educator, announcing to me confidently early on in the study that “you can’t teach ‘em if you don’t love ‘em.” The “ ‘em” to which he lovingly referred were his students at Anderson High School, a school in the southeastern United States serving 1700 students in grades 9–12. The majority (94%) of Anderson students identified as persons of Color; this number was more than double the state’s average of 49%. Seventy-three percent of students identified as African American; another 12% identified as Hispanic and five percent identified as two or more races. Fifty-five percent of Anderson’s students qualified for free or reduced lunch. During the time of this study, Graham taught three British literature courses. Across the classes, he had 67 students: 54 of whom identified as Black, four as White, and another four as Hispanic; two identified as Asian and two as two or more races. One student was an English Language Learner. A second student suffered from clinical depression; another student had been diagnosed behaviorally/emotionally disabled. CRITICAL CANON INSTRUCTION: A PEDAGOGICAL ANECDOTE OF MACBETH

Graham Dalton taught his seniors a British literature course because the state required it. Within this course, one hundred percent of the district-chosen authors Graham was required to teach were White, Anglo males. This requirement vexed Graham and compelled his desire to teach a curriculum that met his state and district’s requirements, while also inviting his students into the canonical conversation. Having taught other iterations of secondary English, including American literature and world literature courses, Graham believed that the challenges in his British literature classroom were far greater. He attributed this difficulty to the fact that all of the required authors in his British literature class were White, Anglo males and his students were not. Graham’s approach to canonical instruction attempted to re-center conventional notions of the “traditional” and instead offer his students a counter-canonical experience. In what follows, I detail a pedagogical anecdote in which I observed Graham relating canonical British literature in culturally responsive ways – ones that melded traditional and critical content knowledges in such a way that honored students’ cultural capital and deepened their sociopolitical consciousness. In this lesson, Graham positioned students to question the canonical text (Macbeth) while also examining sociopolitical issues. Table 3.1 provides an overview of the pedagogical anecdote and the ways Graham taught for and with traditional and critical content knowledges. 40

SHATTERING LITERARY WINDOWS AND MIRRORS

Table 3.1. Teaching Macbeth through traditional and critical content knowledges Canonical text

Traditional knowledges

Critical knowledges

-Macbeth

‡literary analysis of Macbeth ‡understanding themes in Macbeth ‡understanding historical context of Macbeth (connections to James I)

‡discussion of Blackness around Michael Vick/Bill Cosby public ‡perceptions of types of whiteness ‡questioning characters’ racialized experiences

Macbeth and Traditional Content Knowledges While Toni Morrison, Emily Dickinson, William Carlos Williams, Mark Twain and other esteemed writers stand poised at the United States’ literary helm, Shakespeare is still the most commonly assigned author in the United States (Stotsky, 2010). That U.S. schools continue to loyally require Shakespeare means that teachers must continue to help new generations of students make sense of, and connect to, the Bard’s works. In senior English, Graham’s district required him to teach Macbeth. To begin their study of the unit, Graham felt it was important to access students’ prior knowledge of corruption and greed, and how these forces made themselves apparent in the government. Students first began with a quick write of what they knew about greed and corruption in relation to governmental structures, an activity that then evolved into their class-wide discussion of political scandals such as Watergate, slavery, and the War on Terror. Wanting students to unpack the nature of the word ambition, but realizing students might see the word only as a positive, Graham discussed with students how ambition can also be a trait that drives a person towards greed and corruption. He linked this line of conversation back to students’ real world examples, and challenged students to notice how, and in what ways, ambition, greed, and corruption made themselves manifest in the story of Macbeth. Having taught Shakespearean works many times before, Graham was able to foresee how his current students might struggle with the language. Graham modeled several think alouds (Davey, 1983), which he believed would help students understand the intricacies involved in literary analysis. But Graham was savvy: he understood well the power selecting a particularly engaging passage can have to increase students’ interest in their reading of the text (Tovani, 2004). In an attempt to pique students’ interests, Graham read aloud Lady Macbeth’s soliloquy from act one scene four in which she shares Macbeth’s letter detailing the witches’ prophecy. As he read, Graham made prior connections to other works/events, asked questions, noted his confusion, and paraphrased: disciplinary-specific approaches good readers enact when reading. He noted where he saw evidence of ambition, greed, and corruption, making sure to point out the textual evidence that supported his analysis. After completing the think aloud, he distributed a copy of the soliloquy he has previously annotated. These annotations mirrored the comments he had shared 41

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with students during the think aloud. Finally, Graham and his students discussed his think aloud, processing together the various strategies Graham applied to make sense of the soliloquy. Modeling practices that intentionally distilled the disciplinary-specific practices of the literature classroom marked Graham’s instruction. Throughout the Macbeth unit, Graham worked to make explicit the disciplinary-specific ways in which students needed to analyze the text in order to meet the traditional content knowledges required of the literature classroom generally and Macbeth more specifically. However, while Graham understood well that he would need to expose his students to the cultures of power (Delpit, 1995) in the literature classroom, he located generative ways to help his students read the text in social justice-oriented ways. In many ways, Graham’s work to teach his students traditional knowledges served as an entry point that allowed his students to access the canonical material in more critical, participatory ways. Macbeth and Critical Content Knowledges: Examining Blackness, Noticing Whiteness Teaching about the dangers of excess ambition is, for many teachers of Macbeth, as traditional as the text itself. But Graham worried that having his students, the majority of whom identified as persons of Color, consider Macbeth’s acts and attendant consequences might not offer the relevance needed to engage them with the material. Instead, Graham decided to create a new canonical experience for his students: one that still involved reading and working through Macbeth in traditional, disciplinary-specific ways, but also incorporated thematically linked sociopolitical issues that challenged students to deconstruct taken-for-granted elements of the text as well as their own social milieu. As discussed above, Graham performed several think alouds intended to model literary analysis relevant to the theme of ambition, greed, and corruption. But Graham wanted students to consider how corruption was still a timely, relevant issue, and one that could take myriad forms. To open up this conversation, Graham printed copies of an article that explored Michael Vick’s dogfighting case (Naqi, 2008). The former quarterback was sentenced to almost two years in jail for his role in the interstate dogfighting ring. Graham picked the article knowing that his students spoke passionately about the case and what they perceived to be the “correct” way of handling the dog abuse. To begin the activity, Graham noted for students the importance of scanning the article for its text features: headlines, images, quotations, among other aspects. Graham read the first two paragraphs to his students. Here, he explained for students how he read the news article differently than he did the play, another disciplinary tactic intended to help students consider how analysis shape shifts based on the textual medium. Students read the remainder of the article, noting key features such as rhetorical devices, and completed a quick-write that offered their response to the treatment of Vick. 42

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Next, students participated in class discussion about crime, punishment, and how the themes played out in both Vick’s case and in Macbeth. One student wondered aloud if Vick’s sentence (which he believed was too long) was due to Vick’s Blackness. Graham picked up the comment, asking, “Do y’all think Vick received this treatment because he’s Black?” The students erupted in conversation. Eventually, students began to question whether the type of Blackness Vick represented had led to his extreme punishment. Graham and his students discussed Vick’s physicality – his dark skin, his muscular stature, his cornrows, and his athleticism – and how these physical attributes may, as research shows (Alexander, 2012), have played a role in influencing both the public’s perception of Vick and his eventual sentencing. In the eyes of the public, Vick’s Blackness, which aligned with harmful, stereotypical of young Black males, connoted a particular and more believable criminality, many of the students argued. Perhaps the most fascinating shift in the conversation occurred when students began to consider the treatment of other Black celebrities in comparison to Vick. One student offered that the conversation wasn’t as simple as suggesting that Blackness is universally punished more severely. To prove his point, the student pointed out Vick’s public and legal treatment in comparison to Bill Cosby’s. At the time of the lesson, dozens of women had accused Cosby of sexual assault. Students heatedly discussed how much more concerning the accusations against Cosby were, but how less severe his consequences, both publically and legally, were. Students discussed the “safe” Blackness of Cosby – one of America’s most beloved television dads – juxtaposed against the “scary” Blackness Vick represented. Graham kept pushing students: Whose crime is worse? Why? Why are the men treated so differently in the public eye and by the justice system? Propelled by students’ energy discussing Vick and Cosby’s Blackness, and how they experienced consequences for their actions differently because of these sociocultural affiliations, Graham redirected students to Macbeth. Graham asked students how they saw Vick’s and Cosby’s crimes as examples of corruption. Then, Graham asked students to consider the men’s violences in relation to Macbeth’s crimes – what similarities and differences they noted. One student loudly laughed that Macbeth’s criminality would have been questioned much sooner were he not White. Students’ hands shot up, and more than one impassioned students spoke without Graham’s calling on them. With each comment, students furthered a conversation relevant to how Macbeth’s whiteness, maleness, and social class might have insulated him from certain treatments and punishments. Students, almost all of whom were persons of Color, discussed incidents in which they experienced just the opposite: criminalized despite not doing anything egregious, points they made through sharing stories of being followed at stores, walking in neighborhoods, and driving cars. In these ways, students explored the tensions between whiteness, Blackness, and their thematic links to Macbeth. 43

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With no foreseeable end to the conversation in sight, Graham allowed students to make a handful of comments to conclude the conversation. Then Graham thanked students for their contributions, admitting that he hadn’t considered linking Cosby’s case to Vick’s or to their study of Macbeth. He recapped the fascinating points that students had made: that despite evidence that would logically incriminate Macbeth, such as King Duncan’s murder occurring at Inverness, Macbeth’s castle, Macbeth was not suspected as the culprit until much later in the play. Graham stated his appreciation that students reminded him that this assumed guiltlessness was perhaps a manifestation of Macbeth’s whiteness. The class-wide conversation, which included dozens of comments in which students discussed how they often felt pre-judged as criminals based on their skin color, shaped the conversation. Graham admitted to his students, “I probably didn’t think about this because I’m white, and I don’t have to. It’s a sign of my privilege.” Lastly, Graham encouraged students to continue to think deeply about the ways in which Macbeth’s sociocultural identities influenced his actions and how his society viewed – or ignored – his violences. SHATTERED WINDOWS AND MIRRORS: A PRISMATIC APPROACH TO MACBETH

How Graham and his students create this new canonical experience requires nuancing. Instead of windows and mirrors, they use prism through which to view “the word and the world.” Recall that prisms separate white light and disperse it as different colors. Borrowing this analogy, Graham’s prismatic approach to canonical instruction allowed for an explicit confrontation of the “white light” of the text: it allowed for a nuancing of the play, Macbeth’s experiences, and the students’ lived experiences. This centering of whiteness allowed for an explicit space in which to notice and discuss whiteness, a conversation a typical windows and mirrors approach could fall short of reaching. Graham melds traditional and critical content knowledges in ways that help his students meet mainstream academic success while also opening up and deepening their sociopolitical consciousness. But in doing so, Graham shatters the notion of literary windows and mirrors altogether. He does not ask students to view canonical material as a “window” – for Graham, the idea that his students need another “way in” to see White society is preposterous and even offensive. And Graham does not believe that locating literary “mirrors” for his students – in this context, the works of Black British authors that supplement the required British literature curriculum – is a fruitful enterprise either, because both of these approaches privilege the canon and the literature at its core. Graham and his students do not ask for the literature curriculum to finally mirror the lives, experiences, and biographies of U.S. students, the majority of whom now identify as non-White (Boser, 2014). Instead, they work together to notice, and respond to, how whiteness (and Blackness) shapes Macbeth’s, Vick’s, and Cosby’s experiences, representations, and consequences. 44

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In the windows and mirrors analogy, texts either provide students with a “way in” to another person’s lives (windows), or reflect a reader’s own experiences (mirrors). The paradigm invites students to see themselves or another person in a text. But this approach does not necessarily allow students a means through which to address the systems of oppression that make “seeing” themselves in their required curriculum a difficult enterprise (Glazier & Seo, 2005). A prismatic approach – one that centers and re-sees whiteness – relies on stakeholders’ ability and willingness to recognize whiteness regardless of the text. Prismatic approaches do not rely on texts; they resee whatever text is in question. Prismatic approaches explicitly confront whiteness, and work to recreate spaces for different perspectives to interact with the texts. Stakeholders don’t look for texts to meet a need, but rather repurpose a text to read and recognize whiteness that marks the piece. Another matter of distinction in this pedagogical anecdote involves understanding who is the prism – that is, the mechanism that opens up a critical conversation around identifying and talking back to whiteness. Culturally responsive teaching requires a fluidity between teachers and students in which each party values, teaches, and learns from the other. Perhaps the most important aspect of this anecdote was that Graham was willing to let the students display their own cultural capital – their knowledge of Blackness and its perceptions amongst mainstream White society. Graham continually probed students to consider more deeply their thoughts on issues of crime, punishment, and Blackness. His ability to let the students discuss and examine sociopolitical issues of their choosing provided his students with a way to more fully engage in material they might have otherwise found irrelevant to their lives. In these ways, Graham broke away from traditional approaches to teaching the canon, and, alongside his students, worked to create new, prismatic possibilities for teaching canonical material. Though Graham identified as White male, he also identified as gay. Graham believed that his experiences as a gay man helped him develop and demonstrate a form of empathy for his students. His sexual orientation impacted Graham profoundly: having been ridiculed, harassed, and silenced over the years made Graham more willing to listen and affirm his students’ experiences, even though they were different from his own. Thus, Graham’s own history of lived marginalization seemed to play a role in his willingness and ability to deliver prismatic canonical literature instruction. GRAHAM’S LESSON AND IDEAS FOR APPLICATION

The strength of Graham’s lesson lies in his ability to teach a canonical text in ways that are both traditional and critical in nature. For teachers interested in emulating Graham’s approach, Table 3.2 provides an overview of Graham’s lesson. While the table categorizes Graham’s “traditional” and “critical” instructional approaches, it is important to note that these bifurcations are messy and not absolute. Indeed, even when teaching to meet standards-based, “traditional” expectations of 45

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Table 3.2. Overview of Graham’s lesson Activity

Teacher directive

Instructional purpose

Quick write

Ask students to consider examples of corruption in governmental structures

Access students’ prior knowledge

Class-wide discussion

Challenge students to consider how an excess of ambition can lead to corruption (return to students’ quick write examples)

Build common background; develop oral language

Think Aloud

Read and make explicit strategies Model disciplinary literacies applied to understand Lady of fluency and comprehension Macbeth’s soliloquy (Act I scene when reading literature iv). Note textual evidence that suggests Lady Macbeth’s greed/ambition.

Annotated copies of Lady Macbeth’s soliloquy

Distribute copies of annotated think aloud

Model disciplinary annotations of a literary analysis

Article on Michael Vick’s involvement with dogfighting (Naqi, 2008)

Distribute article; model scanning of text features; make explicit differences when reading news article versus literature

Model comprehension strategies specific to reading news article

Class discussion

Ask students to consider how greed/ambition is experienced and presented differently across Vick and Macbeth’s stories; build on students’ contributions; invite them to forge new, personal connections to the conversation

Enactment of culturally relevant/responsive pedagogy; melding of traditional and critical content knowledges

his classroom, Graham still works to teach in culturally relevant and responsive ways. Moreover, while the instructional maneuvers that seem more clearly critical in their approach are also underscored by Graham’s desire to help students simultaneously master the disciplinary literacies of reading literature and news articles. Thusly, these knowledge labels are meant to show the knowledge foregrounded during the particular instructional moment rather than offer a pedagogical absolutism. Using Graham’s Lesson as a Prismatic Canonical Template While Graham’s lesson can be emulated, it can also serve as a starting point for teachers seeking to locate generative ways to teach Macbeth through a critical, culturally 46

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relevant/responsive lens. Graham’s students understood that as a Scottish thane, Macbeth was a rich, White male. In their exploration of Vick, Cosby, and Macbeth, the notion of how people differently experience consequences for greed/ambition based on their race charged students’ conversation. That Graham allowed students to center Whiteness and Blackness in their conversation of Macbeth was, in fact, a mark of Graham’s culturally relevant/responsive pedagogy. But there are certainly other sociocultural identities, experiences, and connections to explore. Another iteration of the lesson might see a teacher returning her students to certain passages in the play and asking students to locate language that suggests how Macbeth’s masculinity is both presented and negotiated throughout the text. For example, she might examine Lady Macbeth’s chiding of Macbeth’s hesitancy to kill King Duncan, analyzing her taunt that “When you durst do it, then you were a man” (I.vi.47–49). Having recently modeled the literary analysis and its connection to gender expectations, the teacher might then ask students, with a partner or individually, to discuss the implications of the “manly readiness” (II.iii.133) Macbeth believes he must exude in the hours following the discovery of Duncan’s dead body. These conversations allow students to practice the particulars of literary analysis, but continue to meld traditional and critical content knowleges as well. A PRISMATIC APPROACH TO DISRUPTING CANONICITY

Perhaps the most important aspect of Graham’s story lies in his willingness to challenge not only the canon, but also the ways in which literature instruction has long been delivered. Graham’s ability to name and problematize whiteness in his canonical British literature curriculum, and to thoughtfully supplement his curriculum which culturally relevant materials, made it possible for his students to confront whiteness alongside him. Moreover, that his students felt comfortable sharing their funds of knowledge during their lesson allowed for a rich and personal conversation of how whiteness made itself manifest in both Macbeth and the wider social milieu. While Graham and his students, to a certain degree, “saw” or “didn’t see” themselves in the play – a windows and mirrors approach to instruction – the conversation of curricular representation was far less important to them than challenging the systems of whiteness in the text and the world around them. In these ways, Graham and his students collaborated to craft a pristmatic canonical experience for themselves: one that repurposed whiteness so as to allow for a more culturally vibrant and authentic literary experience. REFERENCES Alexander, M. (2012). The new Jim Crow: Mass incarceration in the age of colorblindness. New York, NY: The New Press. Applebee, A. N. (1974). Tradition and reform in the teaching of English: A history. Urbana, IL: National Council of Teachers of English. Applebee, A. N. (1989). A study of book-length works taught in high school English courses. Albany, NY: Center for the Learning and Teaching of Literature.

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J. DYCHES Bishop, R. S. (1990). Mirrors, windows, and sliding glass doors. Perspectives, 6(3), ix–xi. Bissonnette, J. D. (2016). Privileged pages: Contextualizing the realities, challenges, and successes of teaching canonical British literature in culturally responsive ways. Paper submitted to The 101st Annual Meeting of the American Educational Research Association, San Antonio, TX. Bissonnette, J. D., & Glazier, J. (2016). A counterstory of one’s own: Using counterstorytelling to engage students with the British canon. Journal of Adolescent & Adult Literacy, 59(6), 685–694. Boser, U. (2014). Teacher diversity revisited. Washington, DC: Center for American Progress. Davey, B. (1983). Think aloud: Modeling the cognitive processes of reading comprehension. Journal of Reading, 27(1), 44–47. Delgado, R. (1989). Storytelling for oppositionists and others: A plea for narrative. Michigan Law Review, 87(8), 2411–2441. Delpit, L. (1995). Other people’s children: Cultural conflict in the classroom. New York, NY: The New Press. Dyches, J. (2017). Shaking off Shakespeare: A White teacher, urban students, and the mediating powers of a canonical counter-curriculum. Urban Review, 45(3), 1–26. Dyches, J. (2018). Particularizing the tensions between canonical and bodily discourses. Journal of Literacy Research, 59(2), 239–261. Dyches, J. (in press). Investigating curricular injustices to uncover the injustices of curricula: Curriculum evaluation as critical disciplinary literacy practice. High School Journal. Dyches, J., & Boyd, A. (2017). Foregrounding equity in teacher education: Toward a model of Social Justice Pedagogical And Content Knowledge (SJPACK). Journal of Teacher Education, 68(5), 476–490. Freire, P., & Macedo, D. (1987). Literacy: Reading the word and the world. South Hadley, MA: Bergin & Garvey. Garcia, A., & O’Donnell-Allen, C. (2015). Pose, wobble, flow: A culturally proactive approach to literary instruction. New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Gay, G. (2010). Culturally responsive teaching: Theory, research, and practice (2nd ed.). New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Glazier, J., & Seo, J. A. (2005). Multicultural literature and discussion as mirror and window? Journal of Adolescent & Adult Literacy, 48(8), 686–700. Hirsch, E. D. (1988). Cultural literacy: What every American needs to know. New York, NY: Vintage Books. Ladson-Billings, G. (1994). The dreamkeepers: Successful teaching for African-American students. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Ladson-Billings, G. (1995). Toward a theory of culturally relevant pedagogy. American Educational Research Journal, 32(3), 465–491. Ladson-Billings, G. (2006). ‘‘Yes, but how do we do it?’’ Practicing culturally relevant pedagogy. In J. Landsman & C. W. Lewis (Eds.), White teachers/diverse classrooms: A guide to building inclusive schools, promoting high expectations, and eliminating racism (pp. 29–42). Sterling, VA: Stylus Publishing, LLC. Macaluso, M. (2016). Reading pedagogy-as-text: Exploring gendered discourses as canonical in an English classroom. Linguistics and Education, 35, 15–25. Moje, E. B. (2015). Doing and teaching disciplinary literacy with adolescent learners: A social and cultural enterprise. Harvard Educational Review, 85(2), 254. Moll, L. C., Amanti, C., Neff, D., & Gonzalez, N. (1992). Funds of knowledge for teaching: Using a qualitative approach to connect homes and classrooms. Theory into Practice, 31(2), 132–141. Morrell, E., & Duncan-Andrade, J. M. R. (2002). Promoting academic literacy with urban youth through engaging hip-hop culture. English Journal, 91(6), 88–92. Morrison, T. (2007). Playing in the dark. New York, NY: Vintage Books. Naqi, K. (2008). In Virginia facing state dogfighting charges, Vick’s involvement revealed. Retrieved from http://www.espn.com/nfl/news/story?id=3718304 1DWLRQDO *RYHUQRUV$VVRFLDWLRQ &HQWHU IRU %HVW 3UDFWLFHV  &RXQFLO RI &KLHI 6WDWH 6FKRRO 2I¿FHUV (2010). Common core state standards for English language arts and literacy in history/social studies, science, and technical subjects: Appendix B: Text exemplars and sample performance tasks. Washington, DC: Authors. Nayak, A. (2007). Critical whiteness studies. Sociology Compass, 1(2), 737–755.

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SHATTERING LITERARY WINDOWS AND MIRRORS Prism. (2018). Dictionary. Retrieved from https://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/prism Purves, A. (1991). The ideology of canons and cultural concerns in the literature curriculum. In S. Miller & B. McCaskill (Eds.), Literacy and literature in a multicultural society. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press. Rosenblatt, L. (1938). Literature as exploration. New York, NY: Appleton-Century. Schieble, M. (2014). Reframing equity under common core: A commentary on the text exemplar list for grades 9–12. English Teaching, 13(1), 155–168. Scott, W. (1854). The lay of the last minstrel. Edinburgh: Adam and Charles Black. Sensoy, O., & DiAngelo, R. (2017). Is everyone really equal? An introduction to key concepts in social justice education. New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Shakespeare, W. (2001). The tragedy of Macbeth (Vol. 2). Philadelphia, PA: Classic Books Company. Sowell, T. (2016). Minimum wage laws. Student News Daily. Retrieved from https://www.studentnewsdaily.com/editorials-for-students/minimum-wage-laws/ Stotsky, S. (1991). Whose literature? America’s! Educational Leadership, 49(4), 53–56. Stotsky, S. (2010). Literary study in grades 9, 10, and 11: A national survey. Forum: A Publication of the ALSCW, 4, 1–75. Tanner, G. (1907). Report of the committee appointed by the English conference to inquire into the teaching of English in the high schools of the Middle West. School Review, 15(1), 37–45. Tovani, C. (2004). Do I really have to teach reading? Content comprehension, grades 6–12. Portland, ME: Stenhouse Publishers. Yosso, T. J. (2005). Whose culture has capital? A critical race theory discussion of community cultural wealth. Race Ethnicity and Education, 8(1), 69–91.

Jeanne Dyches Iowa State University Ames, IA

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PART 2 MAKING CONTEMPORARY CONNECTIONS

MICHELLE M. FALTER AND NINA R. SCHOONOVER

4. STILL FIGHTING FOR MIGRANT WORKERS’ RIGHTS 75 YEARS LATER A Critical Approach to Teaching the Grapes of Wrath through Contemporary Youth Testimonios

The fight is never about grapes or lettuce. It is always about people. – Cesar Chavez, American labor leader and civil rights activist INTRODUCTION

Cesar Chavez’s nonviolent activism in leading boycotts and protests stemmed from his lifetime and experience spent working in the fields. In helping to create the United Farm Workers of America, he sought to promote the voices of the workers in the fight because he felt that change started with the people (United Farm Workers, 2018). Similarly, John Steinbeck used his experience listening to the stories of migrants that he worked alongside as a ranch hand in California as inspiration for many of his novels, including The Grapes of Wrath. The plight of agricultural workers living in the United States that Chavez and Steinbeck both fought to change has hardly shifted since the Great Depression era, particularly when considering the substandard housing offered to workers, bank evictions and foreclosures of farms, and the lack of regulations on child labor. When faced with these difficult circumstances, how can these families dream for their futures? According to the National Center for Farmworker Health (2017), there are approximately 2.5–3 million citizens that migrate across the United States to work in the agricultural industry picking produce, slaughtering livestock, and spreading pesticides. Hundreds of thousands of these workers are children under the age of 18, with some estimates as high as 800,000 (Human Rights Watch, 2000, p. 1). These children face the dilemma of choosing work in the fields to support their families or finishing their education. Attending school only happens when families have financial stability or the agricultural season has ended. The majority of adolescent migrant workers live with their immediate family or relatives, and their living conditions are often substandard. Migrant workers face major health concerns because of their exposure to harmful pesticides and hazardous working conditions, and with 30% of agricultural workers’ incomes below the poverty level, it affirms their inability to provide and sustain a safe home life (National Center for Farmworker Health, 2017, p. 2).

© KONINKLIJKE BRILL NV, LEIDEN, 2019 | DOI:10.1163/9789004389311_004

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When given the chance, many migrant children share the same dreams and aspirations with their non-migrant peers. The 2001 documentary, The Harvest/La Cosecha, gives voice to three migrant adolescents as they relay their experiences and daily travails working in the fields instead of in the classroom. Perla, a fourteenyear old from Texas, drives with her family across the country looking for work, but her dream is to graduate from the 8th grade and attend her local high school. Zulema, a twelve-year old from Laredo, TX, spends her summers in Michigan where “the corn plants look like skyscrapers” (Longoria, Romano, & O’Connor, 2010). Victor battles oppressive heat in Florida as he picks tomatoes longing for the airconditioned classroom. These children’s voices echo the same struggles faced by the Joad family, migrant workers moving to California in the 1930s, in Steinbeck’s novel The Grapes of Wrath. This chapter seeks to connect the voices of migrant workers from The Grapes of Wrath to the migrant voices of today’s growing population of youth immigrants, migrants, and refugees. The collective experience shared between these stories illuminates the oppression they face and the pressures they feel to migrate between states searching for work. Through presenting a critical lens for reading the canonical text The Grapes of Wrath, this chapter provides teachers with a framework and approaches for both facilitating discussion and promoting civic action in classrooms and communities. As American society becomes more heterogeneous, education must encourage inclusivity of a broad range of youth voices, specifically by bridging the canon with diverse narratives. THE LINGERING APPEAL OF GRAPES OF WRATH

In 2014, The Grapes of Wrath celebrated its 75th year. John Steinbeck’s famous novel won him the Pulitzer Prize in 1940, followed by the Nobel Peace Prize for Literature in 1962. The novel has been on classroom shelves since its publication but not without controversy. Over the years it has frequently been challenged and banned for its provocative and political portrayal of migrant workers moving west during the Dust Bowl. Many Americans believed Steinbeck to be a communist, writing to promote the voices of the working class, which many interpreted as breaking from the tenets of American individualism: the heartstrings of capitalism. However, even through this criticism, the novel has persisted as a text that deserves a place among the American literary canon. The work is timeless as it serves as “a mirror to a country splintered by inequality, controlled by a minority, and facing climate ‘catastrophe’” (Yuhas, 2014, p. 10). The power of the work rests in its call to action. It asks readers to be critically conscious to the stories of the voiceless. “In Steinbeck’s world, wrath, when it protects the weak, can renew hope” (Yuhas, 2014, p. 11), and The Grapes of Wrath gives migrant workers hope to dream for a future. The novel opens with a description of a bleak and dusty landscape: “to the red country and part of the gray country of Oklahoma, the last rains came gently, and they do not cut the scarred earth” (Steinbeck, 2006, p. 1). Throughout the work, 54

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Steinbeck interweaves chapters that give background and outside perspective to the focal story. These sections provide historical and social context of the 1930s. Balancing the story, these chapters reveal that the Joad’s journey to California serves as an allegory for the many families who sought work out west over the course of the decade. The novel begins with the Joad family setting off on a migration from Oklahoma to California in search of greener farms and jobs. Full of trials, their expedition involves the family facing selfish discrimination by ranchers, the government, and fellow Americans who control and manipulate the “Okies” on their journey. The migrating families feel pressure from authorities who forcefully inspect their trucks and push them out of Hoovervilles. Some diner and gas station employees refuse to serve these travelers, and even when the Joads arrive in California, they struggle to find the work the fliers promised. This selfish individualism that divides the rich from the poor drives Steinbeck’s intentions in writing the novel. The climax of the work is Tom’s beating and murder of a man after he has killed his friend and migrant activist, Jim Casy. Within the dehumanizing circumstances of the substandard government housing and maltreatment from ranchers, the characters are driven to make dehumanizing decisions that reinforce the divide between the privileged and the poor. Even as the novel closes, Rose of Sharon animalistically presents her breast to sustain a man’s life. The work functions not only as a presentation of the hardships faced by those in poverty, but it is a call to action for readers to engage in praxis with the stories of migrant workers. In discussing this book, educators can foster a sense of empathy and understanding of the injustices faced by migrant workers in the United States spanning the 20th and 21st century. The Grapes of Wrath is a story of tragedy and perseverance, and although the characters endure countless trials, they continue on, driven by a naive hope for a better life. The story is a catalyst for changes in the unfair treatment and devastatingly low wages for migrant workers. The text engages readers in a critique and questions the conditions society has created for these workers and the government’s role in the creation and maintenance of those conditions. CRITICAL LITERACY THROUGH ACCOMPANIMENT AND TESTIMONY

We propose a way of teaching Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath that builds a critical consciousness and connection between the challenges, discrimination, and political issues that migrant workers in the 1930s faced with the current struggles and realities for migrant farmworkers in 2018, many of whom are immigrants, refugees, and undocumented individuals. Critical Literacy In keeping with critical scholar and educator Paolo Freire’s ideas, we argue that, in today’s classrooms, canonical texts can still be taught, but teachers need to do so 55

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through critical and humanizing pedagogies. Freire (1985) believed that teaching was a political practice and thus it is never neutral. Educators, he said, need to “recognize ourselves as politicians” (p. 17) and work towards transforming reality by critically challenging dominant ideologies that seek to oppress. In the English classroom, this can be done through critical literacy. For Freire (1983), critical literacy went beyond just “decoding the written word” to understanding how reading is “anticipated by and extended into knowledge of the world. Reading the world precedes reading the word, and the subsequent reading of the word cannot dispense with continually reading the world. Language and reality are dynamically intertwined” (p. 5). Here, understanding occurs through the relationship between context and text. But, critical literacy goes beyond just text analysis; reading becomes a “matter of studying reality that is alive, reality that we are living inside of, reality as history being made and also making us” (Freire, 1985, p. 18). As Lewison, Leland, and Harste (2014) suggest, critical literacy is the process by which students take up and adopt certain stances. These stances include: ‡ ‡ ‡ ‡

Consciously engaging Entertaining alternative ways of being Taking responsibility to inquire Engaging in reflexivity and praxis

Through a reading of the world in the word through these critical literacy stances, one is able to bring to light social injustices and inequities, such as the working conditions of migrant farmworkers, and the power of institutions and society to enforce practices that oppress. Importantly, this humanizing and emancipatory pedagogy, according to Freire (2005), “must be fought with, not for, the oppressed” (p. 48). Thus, rather than taking a stance from above, in which it may be easy for students to judge the causes and effects of migrant life, we need to invite our students to walk in solidarity with migrant youth in particular, and to see them not as “an abstract category” (Freire, 2005, p. 50), but as human beings and fellow citizens. This “radical posture” (Freire, 2005, p. 49) is made possible, by walking alongside those who are oppressed, in solidarity. Acompañamiento Freire’s notion of solidarity is very closely aligned with what Sepúlveda (2011) calls a pedagogy of acompañamiento. This pedagogy “includes not only ‘being’ with another, or ‘feeling’ with another, but also ‘doing’ with another” (Goizueta, 2001, p. 206) through practices such as reading poetry, writing, and testimonies (Sepúlveda, 2011). Inherent in walking alongside, or accompanying others, is the necessity of love and equality; equality in the sense that the voices of those that are poor or oppressed are equal participants in the dialogue and interaction within a classroom. Goizueta (2001) poetically noted that “to be abandoned is to be nobody; to 56

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be accompanied is to be honored, a person. The people’s accompaniment symbolizes a new honored status as a full human being” (p. 557). This work can be done through the process of empathetic fusion. To Goizueta (2001), relating to another’s whole personhood and experience is an act of fusing with another affectively “through empathetic love” (p. 92). Testimonios Within a pedagogy of acompañamiento, marginalized voices must be recentered and dominant voices decentered. One way to do that in the classroom is through foregrounding testimonios. Testimonios are typically 1st-person narratives of people who have been oppressed or are currently living in inhumane circumstances (Cruz, 2012; Oesterreich & Conway, 2009). They can be oral or written and their goal is to name their experiences of marginalization and oppression and provide a critical reflection of memories and experiences (Elenes, 2000; Reyes & Curry Rodríguez, 2012). The notion of “bearing witness” to lived experiences is central within the genre of testimonios (Latina Feminist Group, 2001). Although a testimonio is similar to autobiography, it is unique in that it calls for collective action and is situated within sociopolitical contexts. Testimonios are intentional and inherently political, in that they require readers and listeners to act (Delgado Bernal, Burciaga, & Flores Carmona, 2012; Latina Feminist Group, 2001; Reyes & Curry Rodríguez, 2012). Using testimonios in the classroom validates marginalized stories by placing them on the same pedestal as canonized stories that are often the only stories told in public schools (Cruz, 2012). This is an expansive approach to the English language arts and literacy classroom, as it seeks to create a more multicultural picture of our society, rather than a monolithic one. Both Beverley (1993) and Cruz (2012) note that teaching the literary canon upholds normative, dominant, and often hegemonic stories, whereas teaching through testimonio re-centers the conversation by recognizing non-European-American voices alongside the canon. Cruz (2012) noted that, “As an English teacher, [she] understood that the American canon of literature was demarcated in ways that subsumed the experiences of the young people in my classrooms. The canon, with its center and margins and peripheries, created a territoriality that dictated whose stories were to be validated in the classroom, in textbooks, and in the university, and whose stories would be ignored and overlooked” (p. 464). Thus, accentuating testimonios allows for an expansion of that territory, while at the same time problematizing the so-called universal experience often found within the American canon and ideology (Elenes, 2000). Because much of the literary canon is fiction, it asks for a suspension of beliefs; however, testimonio asks us, as readers or viewers, to position ourselves as listeners and witnesses alongside (i.e. acompañamiento) the marginalized voices, their stories, and beliefs. No suspension is necessary. It is important to note, though, that asking our students to be critical witnesses and listeners of testimonios does not mean they can or will fully grasp their fellow human beings’ experiences. This may 57

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be especially true of students from non-marginalized demographics. Dutro (2013) believes that some things we are asked to critically witness are “incomprehensible,” and that we will only ever partially understand, feel, and access what is illuminated through testimonio. However, as Moya (2006) argued, teachers can and need to “mobilize” youth identities and their experiences and to see them as “epistemic resources” that allows for “knowledge generating potential” (p. 96). When we engage in a humanizing pedagogy of accompaniment through testimony, Delgado Bernal et al. (2012) argue, that teachers are able to open doors into another’s world, and open hearts and minds to the human experiences of others. One of the important aspects of The Grapes of Wrath is the fact that Steinbeck brought to light the horrible conditions that migrant farmworkers faced during the Dust Bowl in the United States. Stories of substandard working and housing conditions were being silenced within the media of the time. The novel gave voice to the powerless, and his portrayal of the fictional Joads helped to change agricultural and worker rights laws in the 1930s and 1940s. What has changed since the publishing of this book, however, is that now, the majority of migrant farmworkers are not poor White Americans but are instead from poor minority populations or are immigrants, refugees, and undocumented. This insight provides an important new and current lens and an opportunity for English teachers to reframe the text for their students. In the high school English classroom, testimonio can be used as a social justice practice by bringing in marginalized youth stories and experiences of migrant workers as an act of parallel storytelling to Steinbeck’s canonical text. ACTUALIZING MIGRANT YOUTH VOICES IN THE CRITICAL ELA CLASSROOM

In this next section, we bring together critical consciousness, solidarity, accompaniment, and praxis through adolescent migrant workers’ testimonies. In particular we offer three approaches to think through teaching The Grapes of Wrath using a critical literacy approach that brings migrant stories into the 21st century. The strategies move from viewing and writing, to reading and analyzing, to creating and sharing. At the heart of all three approaches is helping students move from seeing migrant workers as an objectified other to humanizing migrant workers as agentive and valuable members of our shared society. Inquiring and Engaging in the Sociopolitical Conditions of Migrant Youth The first activity is viewing the documentary film, The Harvest (La Cosecha) which tells the stories of three youth migrant workers living in the United States. The film follows these three children as they seek work in the fields across the country, year after year. Clips of the children picking strawberries, carrying buckets of tomatoes, and riding long distances in truck beds highlight the strain of their daily lives. Interspersed with these images are their words describing their experience, expressing their love for their families, and offering their dreams for the future. 58

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The documentary portrays students who must put aside their education in order to provide for their families. The Harvest (2011) reveals some of the same stories Steinbeck told of the agricultural industry in his novels in the 1930s. In a review for the New York Times, Mike Hale (2011) writes “The Harvest, in its modest way, calls to mind The Grapes of Wrath but with no glimmer of a New Deal or a union, or even of better economic times ahead” (par. 3). The parallels between the migrating families and the Joads are appalling, and yet decades apart. The documentary represents these continuing struggles faced by migrant workers and compels its viewers to act upon the injustices presented. Zulema’s family drives from Laredo, Texas to Bear Lake, Michigan for the summer crop picking season spending the same effort loading up their truck with belongings and family members to make the twenty-four hour drive north, as the Joads did for their drive from Sallisaw, Oklahoma to Weedpatch, California. By comparing the novel and the documentary, students can see how the stories work together, they can connect with the past, and they can reflect on the migrant workers’ collective experiences. In this way, students are engaged in the reciprocal nature of history both being made and making us (Freire, 1985) through storytelling and critical witnessing. The following questions can guide discussions comparing and contrasting the novel and the film: ‡ How can we empathetically build connections between our lives and the lives of others? ‡ How can we use our voice to fight injustices and empower the voiceless? Teachers can incorporate the documentary during or after reading to compare and contrast these shared stories. Charts, diagrams, and graphic organizers can help students visually make connections between farmworkers in the 1930s, and farmworkers in the 2010s. Table 4.1 shows a few examples of how students can structure their parallel analysis of the themes. This list is not comprehensive. After reading The Grapes of Wrath and watching The Harvest, students can begin an inquiry into the current situations faced by youth migrant workers across the U.S. The two works represent how stories can transform lives and influence political change. Teachers can encourage their students to critically compare the two works to devise future action plans they see necessary for global change. One method of action is politically engaging in written discourse with local, state, and federal politicians. To start this assignment, students can conduct a web inquiry into past, current, and future legislation related to migrant workers to compile evidence that can drive their arguments. Students may choose specific foci such as child labor laws or health conditions to guide their inquiry. In The Harvest, Perla frustratedly discusses the continuing cycle of poverty and struggle she still sees even after former President Obama’s campaign promise for change. She tells her father “we should write a letter to Obama” (Longoria et al., 2011). Combining inquiry and writing gives students voice and power to appeal 59

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Table 4.1. Comparisons of migrant experiences across time and texts Migrant experience

The Grapes of Wrath

The Harvest/La Cosecha

Migration

Chapter 10: the Joad family loading their truck with people and belongings.

The scenes of families in trucks driving across the country.

Representations of Children

Chapter 20: Children begging for food.

Zulema starting work at 7 years old.

Health Safety

Chapter 26: Winfield’s illness from eating peaches.

Victor discusses his skin falling off because of working with chemicals lining the plastic field covers.

Housing Conditions

Chapter 22: Description of the Weedpatch government camp.

Zulema’s family’s tiny home without heating in Michigan.

Dreams

Chapter 28: Tom’s dream for the future.

Perla’s dream to be a lawyer and voice for migrant workers.

to Perla’s request of fighting for the changes they believe the country needs. Encouraging student creation of knowledge promotes an assembly of youth capable of fostering empathy and understanding for others (Moya, 2006) and leads them one step closer to praxis. Critical Witnessing through Migrant Youth Testimonios In addition to viewing The Harvest, another activity that would provide students an opportunity to, as Freire (1985) attests, critically read the word through reading the world (and vice versa), would be to bear witness to testimonies of youth migrant farmworkers. One of the struggles of teaching a canonical text such as The Grapes of Wrath is that the story is seemingly so far removed from the life experiences of the teenagers tasked with reading it. In order to help students see the relevancy of the text within this 21st century context, teachers can zoom in on youth voices and stories, particularly those of students who migrate throughout the growing season to work in farm fields. Many students may be unaware that many of the events and issues in The Grapes of Wrath not only are still occurring, but that they also deeply affect other adolescents. By incorporating youth migrant farmworker testimonios, teachers can provide “an opportunity to ‘travel,’ positioning a listener or an audience for reflection” (Cruz, 2012, p. 462) into a more relatable world of other teens. It is important to note that “testimonies are not monologues. They cannot take place in solitude” (Felman & Laub, 1992, p. 70). This suggests the importance of situating youth migrant testimonios within the larger and broader sociopolitical context and 60

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within the local contexts of the school and neighboring communities. Additionally, listening to (or reading) testimonios, in some sense, is akin to a jury member in a courtroom, asked to consider an individual’s lived experience, hearing evidence that cannot be ignored. As a witness to testimonies in the classroom, teachers and students have a responsibility towards deeply ethical, reciprocal, and open deliberation and consideration of the marginalized and oppressed speakers and their narratives. This work in the classroom requires a commitment towards solidarity and community building within the classroom space. Teachers and students should discuss together how one might walk alongside the youth they are bearing witness to by discussing, in other words, what an empathetic and responsive acompañamiento might look like. Two texts, beyond the documentary described already, provide an abundant resource for selecting testimonios to use in tandem with The Grapes of Wrath. The first text, Voices from the Fields: Children of Migrant Farmworkers Tell Their Stories, edited by S. Beth Atkin (1993), offers 19 poems, first-person narratives, and photographs of Hispanic migrant children farmworkers. The testimonios are told in the children’s own words, with a mix of both English and Spanish. The second text, DreamFields: A Peek into the World of Migrant Youth, edited by Janice Blackmore (2012), curates 80 testimonios of a migrant youth group in Mount Vernon, Washington. The testimonios take many forms including transcribed interviews, poems, drawings, narratives, letters, raps, speeches, and scripts, and range in topic from migration, to farm work, to struggles, to realizations. Teachers can have students read as many of the testimonios as they deem necessary for (a) understanding current youth migrant worker lived experiences; (b) making connections between youth migrant worker experiences and those of the Joad family in The Grapes of Wrath; and (c) systematically and critically engaging in conversations about personal, institutional, political, cultural, and societal forces and structures that shape and work to oppress migrant farmworkers. These discussions can take place in a variety of ways, whether through socratic seminars, small groups, rotating stations, or whole class reading and debriefing. In Table 4.2, we have created a sort of shorthand guide to a few of the possible topics that might be explored through various testimonios. Besides being the storied product of critical reflection upon one’s oppression, testimonios can also be the process through which one seeks to document, analyze, and inquire into the experiences of migrant youth farmworkers. As students become witnesses to migrant youth testimonios through reading various poems, interviews, etc in the two texts described above, teachers can facilitate conversations using the following questions, adapted from Huber (2008), as a guide: ‡ What are the lived and felt experiences described in this testimonio? ‡ How does this testimonio acknowledge the collective and communal memory and knowledge? ‡ What dominant ideologies and norms does this testimonio challenge? ‡ What elements of injustice are revealed within this testimonio? 61

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Table 4.2. Topics addressed within testimonios Topic

Voices from the field testimonios

DreamFields testimonios

Picking Crops

“La Fresa/The Strawberry” “Working in La Fresa” “Campesinos/Fieldworkers”

“My Hands are Colored” “Suffering in the Fields” “The Fields are Better Than School”

Home

“Hogar/Home” “My Home”

“In the Bathroom” “Where Do I Do My Homework?”

Migration

“Always Moving” “Away from Home”

“Crossing the Border” “Migration Interviews” “Going North”

Health

“Despues de un Dia de Campo/ After a Day in the Field”

“Leukemia”

Friends and Family

“Mi Amigos/My Friends” “Fitting In” “Mis Padres/My Parents” “Mi Familia” “Mi Madre/My Mother”

“The Culture of my Grandparents” “We Need Him Every Single Day” “My Family, My Challenges, My Life”

Crime

“Life in a Gang”

“Bad Girls” “Prison”

Pregnancy

“Teen Mother”

“Illegal Love”

Dreams

“Tú Puedes/You Can” “The Promised Land”

“The American Dream Rap” “The Promised Land” “Struggling to Survive” “Like a Caged Bird” “My Obstacles and Dreams” “Mi Futuro/My Future”

‡ What are some ways we could honor and validate the experiences within the testimonio so that we begin to dismantle racial and social inequities? Once students dive deep within several of the testimonios, students can then begin to look across testimonios for common themes, feelings, and systems of inequality and injustices migrant youth face. In addition, teachers can jigsaw or pull in excerpts from Steinbeck’s Harvest Gypsies, a collection of seven newspaper articles he was commissioned to write for the San Francisco News in 1936 to find commonalities between the non-fiction articles that inspired The Grapes of Wrath and the migrant farmworker youth testimonios presented in the two texts. Through reading and reflecting upon and with testimonios, students are adopting several critical literacy stances (Lewison et al., 2014) by consciously engaging in 62

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naming oppression and positions of power and through imagining themselves in the shoes of another. Additionally, when students think of ways to dismantle racial and social inequities, they move beyond their initial understandings towards an inquiry stance. The next activity pushes students toward a reflixive and action-oriented stance. Creating a Cultural Testimonio Throughout the American literary canon, characters are continuously searching for the elusive American dream. In The Grapes of Wrath, the Joad family fights to keep their family intact and find work in California. After discussing the parallels across time that connect migrant voices and analyzing testimonios of youth migrant workers, students will be well equipped to have conversations about how the American dream is not created equally for every citizen. The Cultural Testimonio is a project that requires a dialogue, analysis, evaluation, and presentation of the American dream and the social inequalities that function as obstacles impeding people from attaining this goal. Within this approach, teachers will guide students in: (1) defining their personal dreams through their own cultural lenses, (2) analyzing how these dreams are shaped and influenced by their social and political contexts, (3) evaluating the obstacles and institutions that hinder the pursuit of dreams, and (4) sharing their experience to build a collective awareness that empowers them to enact future change. In the first step of the project, students will individually define the American dream in relation to their lives. Because the aim of the project is to develop an understanding of different pursuits of happiness across peers, teachers, and communities, students should begin by reflecting upon the American dream across different contexts. In order to prompt these discussions, teachers may ask students the following questions: ‡ ‡ ‡ ‡ ‡ ‡ ‡ ‡

What is a dream? How do you define happiness? What is the American dream? Why is it called the “American” dream? What is your American dream? What are obstacles people face in reaching their dreams? How can we create equal access to the American dream? What are some of the costs of reaching the American dream?

In this discussion, students can begin to think about their own experiences and how they have been limited or afforded their dreams. Specifically, they may look at who or what has prevented their pursuits. By making this a collaborative dialogue, students may find similarities and differences between themselves and others. Reflecting on another person’s cultural, social, and political values and experiences encourages the empathetic fusion (Goizueta, 2001) that occurs through acompañamiento. 63

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The conversation can then move towards an understanding of dreams across different environments, including how these contexts shape and influence the ways in which people act, as well as how they can obstruct the fulfillment of a person’s dreams. The next step asks students to analyze how dreams fit within a social, cultural, and political context. Students can start by expounding on their own backgrounds. Teachers may use a strategy such as mind mapping to help students organize their ideas. The goal of this work is not only to define their culture, but to actively process and recognize how their societal positions may be controlled, limited, and/or aided by external forces, such as laws, institutions, value systems, religion, etc. By reflecting on this, students can further evaluate and critique the concept of the American dream. They can again notice how it is not equitably shared among citizens, as well as how societal institutions influence who can reach this dream. The third step of the process is visually constructing the testimonio. Students can collect images, photographs, videos, and other content to visually represent their cultural, political, and social contexts as well as their dreams. Students should also include the barriers that stand in the way of their dreams in their testimonios. Teachers may choose to set limits on the number of representations as a way for students to consciously select which aspects of their identities they find relevant in their pursuit of dreams. Additionally, each image and video should have a written microtext that describes the artifact. We define microtexts as short poems, hashtags, phrases, or other short creations, similar to the ways in which people write on many digital platforms. Using microtexts encourages students to be intentional with their writing and to thoughtfully synthesize what they want to communicate. The final step of the project is a presentation of their Cultural Testimonios to the class. The presentation gives students a chance to share their voice with their peers, but it also reinforces a call to action. In the oral tradition of testimonio, students’ presentations also help to challenge the privileged position of print literacy for communicating experiences, values, beliefs, and ideas (Beverley, 2000). The process of sharing, reflecting, and dialoguing is a way for students to think further on the sacrifices families and individuals take when fighting for their dreams. By critiquing social injustices and conditions, students are responding directly to Steinbeck’s call for readers to act against societies that suppress unheard voices and create inequitable lives for their citizens, and Freire’s (2005) concept of walking in solidarity with another to share the human experience, in an act of acompañamiento. As members of the class present their testimonios, the audience is a critical witness to the experiences of their peers, adopting several of the critical literacy stances (Lewison et al., 2014). CONCLUSION

In summary, this chapter argues for a pedagogical framework that demands a humanizing and empathetic lens for teaching canonical texts. Steinbeck’s novel, The Grapes of Wrath, tells the story of people whose difficult daily work prevents them 64

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from sharing their voice with others. Before writing the novel, Steinbeck worked on ranches alongside migrant workers and used the stories he heard as inspiration for his politically charged texts. He used his platform as a vehicle for change. This chapter provides activities that encourage students to accomplish this same goal by recentering marginalized voices through the study of migrant youth farmworker testimonios. Through a pedagogy of acompañamiento, students can become strong allies for today’s migrant youths. Additionally, we hope that through this work, students will see generations’ population of migrant workers as human beings, with value, rather than people to deport, treat as second-class citizens, or build a wall to keep out. REFERENCES Atkin, S. B. (1993). Voices from the fields: Children of migrant farmworkers tell their stories. Boston, MA: Little Brown & Company. Beverley, J. (1993). Against literature. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. Beverley, J. (2000). Testimonio, subalternity, and narrative authority. In N. K. Denzin & Y. S. Lincoln (Eds.), Handbook of qualitative research (2nd ed., pp. 555–565). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Blackmore, J. (2012). DreamFields: A peek into the world of migrant youth. Charleston, SC: CreateSpace. Cruz, C. (2012). Making curriculum from scratch: Testimonio in an urban classroom. Equity & Excellence in Education, 45(3), 460–471. Delgado Bernal, D., Burciaga, R., & Flores Carmona, J. (2012). Chicana/Latina testimonios: Mapping the methodological, pedagogical, and political. Equity & Excellence in Education, 45(3), 363–372. Dutro, E. (2013). Towards a pedagogy of the incomprehensible: Trauma and the imperative of critical witness in literacy classrooms. Pedagogies: An International Journal, 8(4), 301–315. Elenes, C. A. (2000). Chicana feminist narratives and the politics of the self. Frontiers, 21(3), 105–123. Felman, S., & Laub, D. (1992). Testimony: Crises of witnessing in literature, psychoanalysis, and history. London: Routledge. Freire, P. (1983). The importance of the act of reading. The Journal of Education, 165(1), 5–11. Freire, P. (1985). Reading the world and reading the word: An interview with Paulo Freire. Language Arts, 62(1), 15–21. Freire, P. (2005). Pedagogy of the oppressed. New York, NY: Continuum. Goizueta, R. S. (2001). Caminando con Jesus: Toward a Hispanic/Latino theology of accompaniment. New York, NY: Orbis Books. Hale, M. (2011, July 31). Children in the fields, but not at play: The harvest review. The New York Times. Retrieved from http://www.nytimes.com/2011/08/01/movies/the-harvestla-cosecha-review.html Huber, L. P. (2008). Building critical race methodologies in educational research: A research note on critical race testimonio. FIU Law Review, 4(1), 159–173. Human Rights Watch. (2000). Fingers to the bone: United States failure to protect child farmworkers. New York, NY: Lee Tucker. Latina Feminist Group. (2001). Telling to live: Latina feminist testimonios. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Lewison, M., Leland, C., & Harste, J. C. (2015). Creating critical classrooms: Reading and writing with an edge. New York, NY: Routledge. Longoria, E., Romano, R., & O’Connor, R. (Producers), & Romano, R. (Director). (2010). The harvest (La Cosecha) [Motion picture]. Novi, MI: Shine Global. Moya, P. M. L. (2006). What’s identity got to do with it? Mobilizing identities in the multicultural classroom. In L. M. Alcoff, M. Hames-Garcia, S. P. Mohanty, & P. M. L. Moya (Eds.), Identity politics reconsidered (pp. 96–117). New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan.

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M. M. FALTER & N. R. SCHOONOVER National Center for Farmworker Health. (2017). Facts about agricultural workers. Retrieved from http://www.ncfh.org/uploads/3/8/6/8/38685499/facts_about_ag_workers_2017.pdf Oesterreich, H. A., & Conway, A. (2009). Against the backdrop of Brown: Testimonios of coalitions to teach social change. History Teacher, 42(2), 143–158. Reyes, K. B., & Curry Rodríguez, J. E. (2012). Testimonio: Origins, terms, and resources. Equity & Excellence in Education, 45(3), 525–538. Sepúlveda, E. (2011). Toward a pedagogy of acompañamiento: Mexican migrant youth writing from the underside of modernity. Harvard Educational Review, 81(3), 550–573. Steinbeck, J. (2002). The harvest gypsies: On the road to the grapes of wrath. Berkeley, CA: Heyday Books. Steinbeck, J. (2006). The grapes of wrath. New York: NY: Penguin Group. United Farm Workers. (2018). United farm workers: Si, se puede. Retrieved from http://ufw.org/ Yuhas, A. (2014, April 14). The grapes of wrath is 75 years old and more relevant than ever. The Guardian. Retrieved from https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2014/apr/14/grapes-of-wrath-75-yearsold-more-relevant-than-ever

Michelle M. Falter North Carolina State University Raleigh, NC Nina R. Schoonover North Carolina State University Raleigh, NC

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5. EXAMINING ISLANDS ACROSS CONTEXTS Reading Colonization Critically in Shakespeare

When we ask our pre-service teachers for examples of what we mean when we refer to “the canon,” they almost always immediately and enthusiastically respond, “Shakespeare!” The Bard’s plays have become so solidified in our cultural lexicon that we no longer question their existence on required reading lists or in ruminations about cultural literacy (Hirsch, Kett, & Trefil, 1988). Dating as far back as Harvard English department’s required lists from 1874–1883 and to the work of the Committee of Ten in 1894, a group composed largely of elite university presidents commissioned by the National Education Association to establish standards and core subjects for secondary curriculum, literature from the Elizabethan era has been included in high school curriculum (Bohan, 2010; Tyack & Cuban, 1995). Over the years, Shakespeare’s works have persisted in studies of texts employed in English classrooms (e.g. Applebee, 1992; Stallworth, Gibbons, & Fauber, 2006; Stotsky, 2010; Boyd & Darragh, 2017). Now, present throughout the Common Core State Standards (Strauss, 2015) and on the accompanying list of Text Exemplars (“Appendix B,” 2010) it seems Shakespeare is here to stay. The question of whether or not Shakespeare’s work, or the canon for that matter, should exist is a controversial one. Some argue that the universality of Shakespeare accounts for his established presence. Themes such as love and loss are relevant across cultures and time and betrayal is not a stranger to any reader. Hiltzik (2015) for example, asks, “how well can one understand the human soul without knowing Shakespeare?” My own (Ashley) experiences teaching The Tempest to 10th grade students uphold these claims and assumptions. I witnessed students who were enraptured by the tale of Caliban and the majestic king who took over a remote island. They loved the drama between Antonio and Prospero, and with their youthful wisdom on relationships, they mocked the love story of Ferdinand and Miranda that manifested from ‘love at first sight.’ Through Shakespeare’s The Tempest, my secondary students were able to explore complex themes and characterization, to build connections to current events, and to debate the morality of governmental coups. These examples speak to the canonicity of The Tempest; for beyond merely because ‘someone said so’ in the 1800s, the text has proven to be one that timelessly engages students in classrooms. And yet, others question the continued presence of Shakespeare in English curriculum. Citing his lack of appeal to “ethnically diverse and wonderfully curious modern-day students” (Dusbiber, 2015, p. 2), one high school English teacher

© KONINKLIJKE BRILL NV, LEIDEN, 2019 | DOI:10.1163/9789004389311_005

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problematizes notions of cultural capital and literacy often wrapped up in arguments for using Shakespeare. Other perspectives “on the human condition” exist, she posits, and those also warrant attention. Powell (2014) argues that English teachers who dissect Shakespeare’s language underscore his original purpose and intent, as his words are meant to be seen on stage, and thus we should “take Shakespeare out of the classroom” (p. 1). What we hope to provide here is a bridge in this debate. In the spirit of this book, we recognize, as pedagogical realists (Boyd & Dyches, 2017), that Shakespeare’s works are frequently included in English curriculum; they are almost always in the textbooks that teachers use or in the books that teachers inherit when they assume their positions. English educators may also feel pressure from parents or department members to include Shakespeare’s plays because they perceive them as required reading. We feel, however, that Shakespeare’s works have the capacity to prompt valuable, critical teaching and learning opportunities when approached with that explicit pedagogical mindset. While Shakespeare was a White male writing in an era that privileged whiteness, we feel that his social commentary, especially in The Tempest, allows space both for the development of students’ critical literacies (Janks, 1993) and the inclusion of diverse students’ perspectives, especially those who are often marginalized. In this chapter, then, we posit one such approach for teaching The Tempest, Shakespeare’s final play, that pays close attention to cultivating youth’s critical dispositions toward society and culture. First, we describe our critical angle of teaching The Tempest from a postcolonial perspective. Unlike those who have utilized a postcolonial approach with the play in the past, however, we present an updated theoretical framing, one that illustrates contemporary examples of colonialism in our current era. We specifically draw on the status of Hawai‘i as a case study of sorts to illustrate modern-day implications of colonialism, noting how the text mirrors themes of subjugating a people, particularly by overtaking their land, policing language, and resisting domination. Within each of these themes, we offer pedagogic strategies for facilitating students’ understandings and developing their critical perspectives. We conclude with implications for practice and offer ways this approach could be adapted to additional canonical texts. CONTEMPORARY POSTCOLONIALISM AND HAWAI‘I

While many educators may not find the use of a postcolonial framework to examine Shakespeare’s The Tempest necessarily new, the way in which we employ postcolonialism to examine the current impact of US imperialism and colonialism on Hawai‘i is much needed in high school classrooms around the world. The label ‘postcolonial’ has been taken up by critical educators and theorists to discuss the cultural effects of colonization (Keown, 2007). Instead of relying on a historical or chronological meaning of the term, we use ‘postcolonial’ to refer to the ‘political, linguistic and cultural experience of societies that were former European colonies’ (Ashcroft, Griffiths, & Tiffin, 1998, p. 186). Our use of postcolonial is a conceptual 68

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one that seeks to understand the political, historical, and social conditions of the relationship between the United States and Hawai‘i. Albert Wendt (1995), referring to his definition of the postcolonial within a Pacific context, stated, “for me the post in post-colonial does not just mean after; it also means around, through, out of, alongside, and against” (p. 3). By employing the use of the postcolonial from an Indigenous Pacific writer and thinker to analyze US imperialism and colonialism, we offer teachers and students an opportunity to learn from a critical body of Pacific work that is widely missing from the mainstream US curriculum. When applying a postcolonial lens to the contemporary and historical struggles of Hawai‘i, we encourage educators to consider two important principles. First, when discussing US imperialism and colonialism of Indigenous peoples, we must consider Native Hawaiians as Indigenous peoples. Second, by leaving out the important histories and experiences of Native Hawaiians in our high school classrooms, we continue to legitimize and sustain a long legacy of US imperialism and colonialism on Indigenous peoples. We humbly propose that as critical educators navigating complex educational systems, we must include the often ignored experiences of Native Hawaiians or come to terms with our own passive acceptance of US colonialism. By turning the gaze back onto our own country, we aim to help students discern that colonialism is not just something that has happened outside of the US or in the past, but instead has implications for us all in our current contexts. EXPLORING SUBJUGATION AND BUILDING CONNECTIONS: THE TEMPTEST AND THE COLONIZATION OF HAWAI‘I

Approaching The Tempest from this critical perspective, one overarching theme we feel warrants attention with students is how the domination and subjugation of a people can occur. The play offers several perspectives on this topic, especially through the background and current status of Prospero. In the beginning of the drama, we learn that Prospero, who was the Duke of Milan, had his power usurped by his brother. Explaining the story to his daughter Miranda at the beginning of the play, Prospero shares: “So dry he was for sway – wi’th’ King of Naples/To give him annual tribute, do him homage,/Subject his coronet to his crown and bed/The dukedom yet unbowed – alas, poor Milan! – To most ignoble stooping” (Shakespeare, Trans., 2003, 1.2.112–116). Through these words, we learn that Prospero lost his position of power when his brother swore the loyalty of Milan to the King of Naples, his enemy. In this instance then, takeover happened by sheer undermining of power. In the aftermath his own domination, Prospero then found himself in a position to subjugate to others. He was sent away by boat in the night with his infant daughter. They happened upon an island in Bermuda, inhabited only by Caliban and a series of spirits, which Prospero immediately conquered. Imposing his misfortune onto others, Prospero first freed Ariel, his spirit-helper in the play, from a curse by which he was confined to a tree for 12 years, ensuring that he then owed Prospero for his well-being. Ariel, desperate to be free, reminds Prosper, “Remember I have done thee 69

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worthy service,/Told thee no lies, made thee no mistakings, served/Without grudge or grumblings” (1.2.247–249). The spirit’s service, he feels has been thorough as he has done Prospero’s biddings through the year. And yet, Prospero continues to dominate Ariel and to issue demands of him throughout the play. In addition to Ariel, perhaps even more outstanding is Prospero’s subjugation of Caliban, the character who becomes his servant upon his assumption of power on the island. Caliban recounts how when Prospero first arrived on the island, he “strok’st me and made much of me” (1.2.335), and Caliban showed Prospero “all the qualities o’ th’ isle,/The fresh springs, brine pits, barren place and fertile” (1.2.339–340). Yet, after Caliban’s supposed attempt to take advantage of Miranda, Prospero nonetheless took the island from him, enslaving Caliban to do his bidding. In his subjugation then, Prospero took the land Caliban so beautifully described. Furthermore, as part of his domination, Prospero replaced Caliban’s language with his own. Labelling Caliban as someone who would, ‘gabble like/a thing most brutish’ (1.2.358–359), Miranda rejects Caliban’s way of speaking and instead helps to teach him hers. Caliban, however, avows, “You taught me language, and my profit on ‘t/Is I know how to curse. The red plague rid you/For learning me your language” (1.2.365–367). His words illustrate that he does not feel positively about his new discursive knowledge but rather wishes ill upon the individuals who overcame him in more ways than one, with language being a rather significant area of his domination. Prospero’s portrayal of Caliban from this point forward is saturated with negative references, illustrating how Prospero views him as less than human and therefore worthy of being defeated. This, therefore, is the ultimate achievement of takeover; not only has his land and language been conquered, but Caliban’s humanity as well, making the colonizer’s actions ‘justifiable.’ The irony, of course, is that while Prospero was forced from his own position of power by his brother, he has committed the same offense against Caliban, the inhabitant of the island prior to him. Colonialism and the Appropriation of Land While the events in The Tempest, may strike student readers as imaginary and foreign, the case of the subjugation of Hawai‘i is strikingly similar. Teachers can help students make these connections by focusing specifically on the history of Hawai‘i and the current consequences of colonialism. In Appendix A at the conclusion of this chapter, we offer a framework for teaching three themes related to contemporary colonialism that we describe in what remains, and we include inquiry questions and resources as a sort of guide for teachers aspiring to adapt this work to their own. When most students and even educators think about Hawai‘i, they usually think of a tropical paradise, honeymoon destination, beautiful beaches, and an example of the multicultural society that the United States claims to be. However, these stereotypes do more to sustain a legacy of US colonialism that hides an inconvenient truth: Hawai‘i is under occupation by the US military and has been since its illegal 70

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occupation in 1893. Guiding students through these understandings is key to building their critical literacies. On January 17, 1893, the US government overthrew the monarchy of Queen Liliuokalani. The US Minister to Hawai‘i ordered the US Marines to assist a group of 13 White businessmen and sugar plantation owners who sought political power (Trask, 2000). To avoid a potentially bloody war, Queen Liliuokalani ceded her authority to the US (Blount, 1893). Although over 21,000 Native Hawaiians signed anti-annexation petitions to Washington DC in 1897, the Hawaiian Queen was never able to recover her throne. Soon after, during McKinley’s administration in 1898, Hawai‘i was annexed in the name of Manifest Destiny, resulting in the loss of 1,800,000 acres of Native Hawai‘ian lands (Davis, 2015). During this time, Hawai‘i was a territory of the US – that is until 1959, when Hawai‘i became the 50th state of the USA. In addition to this often overlooked part of US history and discussions around US colonial conquests, Hawai‘i has continued to suffer under US military rule. Every branch of the US military has facilities in Hawai‘i – from the Hickam Air Force Base and the Marine Corps Air Station at Kaneohe to the well-known naval complex at Pearl Harbor. The Hawaiian Islands have also been used for military training and weapons testing. For example, the entire island of Kaho‘olawe, a sacred place to Native Hawaiians, was bombed for decades until Hawaiian activists were able to stop its use by the military. However, Kaho‘olawe has not been adequately cleaned or decontaminated, which provides an overlooked example of the exploitation and destruction of Indigenous lands by the US military. Continuing to illustrate issues over land, the Thirty Meter Telescope (TMT), a billion-dollar observatory with an extremely large telescope (ELT) that astronomers hope to build near the summit of Mauna Kea, is another area of current controversy. The land for its intended construction is considered to be one of many sacred spaces for Native Hawaiians. For example, an ancient Hawaiian chant tells the origin story of Hawai‘i and its people (called the Kumulipo), and Mauna Kea is considered the physical form of the gods- the son of Wakea (sky father) and Papahanaumoku (Earth mother); thus, there are over 100 sacred shrines that exist on its slopes. While the first construction permit to build the TMT was initially approved in 2011 by Hawai‘i’s Board of Land and Natural Resources, continued Native Hawaiian resistance through protests and marches on Mauna Kea has stalled the construction and this case continues to be fought. At its core, the issue with TMT is connected to a centuries long resistance of US colonial rule and the fate of Native Hawaiians whose land was stolen and cultural identities nearly destroyed. Teaching Strategies: Developing Critical Literacies Surrounding Subjugation In order to facilitate students’ critical applications of The Tempest and investigate how the domination of a people occurs as well as the contemporary effects of colonialism, we posit that students should engage heavily with primary sources 71

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(see Appendix A). To begin, students can be tasked with examining the rhetoric used throughout the play to characterize Caliban. They could read closely an excerpt, such as Act I, Scene 2, lines 309–377, and track the various adjectives that Prospero and Miranda use to describe or refer to Caliban. Then, students can use these to draw or digitally create their own renderings of Caliban, using the language from the play as their basis. Next, they could examine portrayals from various iterations of the play on screen, such as Taymor’s (2010) and or Jarman’s (1979), noting how Caliban has been depicted by directors and producers and determining whether or not these match the language utilized in the play. Teachers can pose critical questions, asking students to consider how language serves to dehumanize Caliban and how the visual interpretations support such actions. After a brief introduction to the colonization of Hawai‘i, students could then conduct a similar analysis of language and images from related primary sources. The Hawai‘i Digital Newspaper Project contains a library of political cartoons from the 1800s that could be used for this analysis. These were used to establish Native +DZDLLDQV.ƗQDND0DROLDVSULPLWLYH0XFKOLNH3URVSHUR¶VWUHDWPHQWRI&DOLEDQ as less than human, the US constructed key figures in Hawai‘i as well as its people as generally primitive and in need of governance. Students might then conduct their own research of either other examples of colonization in the world, and/or they might explore instances where propaganda has been used to ‘other’ a group and provide a case for subjugation, such as with the Dakota Pipeline. Students could also read news articles from competing sources on the TMT controversy, such as Nagaoka (2017)’s from Hawai‘i News Now and Knapp’s (2015) from Forbes Magazine, and analyze rhetorical strategies, points of view, and biases in primary sources. They might also investigate differing opinions on the telescope, learning why Indigenous peoples of Hawai‘i feel so strongly about the construction. By engaging students in such inquiries and critical dialogue, teachers can support students budding critical literacies related to the world around them. Colonialism and Language Language often reflects a particular group’s values and histories. For instance, there is a world of a difference in the way history is understood through oral traditions versus written traditions. Before European and American contact with Native Hawaiian peoples, the main form of communication in Hawai‘i was the ‘ólelo, or spoken Hawaiian. With a rich and extensive vocabulary, the Hawaiian language reflects its profound relationship with the people’s environment. For instance, there are more than 64 words for rain and 133 words for house (Schütz, 1995). Hawaiians’ oral traditions embody their mana, or life forces, that hold important physical and spiritual power unknown in Western traditions (Lucas, 2000). This would all change with the arrival of Christian missionaries from the US. In 1820, the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions sent Christian missionaries to Hawai‘i to educate Native Hawaiians about their religion 72

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in their native language. Their goal was to convert the Hawaiians oral traditions and language into US Americans’ written traditions. Two years later, US Christian missionaries printed the first sixteen-page text in Hawaiian and soon after, Native Hawaiians mastered the written version of their native language. By 1853, almost three-fourths of Native Hawaiians over the age of 16 had achieved this written form of Hawaiian (Lucas, 2000). Importantly, Hawai‘i had no “Hawaiian-only” laws and English was not the only language used to communicate. Yet, Richard Armstrong, a former missionary who became the second minister of public instruction for the kingdom of Hawai‘i, was adamant in ensuring the use of English in Hawai‘i’s schools. With his position and the power to enact change, Armstrong established the first government sanctioned school in English in 1851. A few years later, government-run English schools were now in direct competition to Hawaiian-medium schools and the consequences of these decision were quickly felt. While Hawaiian schools were the most effective in educating Hawaiians in their native language and English, the US governmentsponsored schools were given more institutional benefits. Teachers were paid much higher salaries in English-medium schools than Hawaiian schools. Teacher professional development opportunities were conducted for English-speaking only schools. Textbooks and other school related materials brought from the US were not translated into Hawaiian. In addition, as immigrants arrived in Hawai‘i to work on plantations, their children were forced to learn in English, not Hawaiian, by the government (Lucas, 2000). Essentially the US government promoted an Englishonly agenda, forcing many Native Hawaiian families to enter English-medium schools who recognized that in order to remain competitive their children had to learn English over Hawaiian. As more Native Hawaiians began to attend Englishmedium schools because they saw the importance of conversing in this new language of power, Hawaiian-medium school teachers lost their jobs. The English-mainly movement led by US Americans shifted into an Englishonly movement after the overthrow of the Hawaiian kingdom in 1893. In 1896 the US government decided to enact a law that required English to be the medium of instruction in all public and private schools. While schools had the option to not participate, these schools would not be recognized and therefore would no longer receive government funds. Speaking to the motive underlying this law, Rev. McArthur stated in 1896, “The present generation will generally know English; the next generation will know little else …With this knowledge of English will go into the young American republican and Christian ideas; and as this knowledge goes in, kahunaism, fetishism and heathenism generally will largely go out” (as cited in Lucas, 2000, p. 8). Thus, the number of Hawaiian-medium schools dropped from 150 in 1880 to none in 1902, while the number of English-medium schools rose from 60 in 1880 to 203 in 1902. Hawaiian was formally abolished in its schools. If children were caught speaking Hawaiian anywhere within school property, they were punished. Teachers were also threatened with dismissal for speaking or even singing Hawaiian. 73

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Teaching Strategies: Developing Critical Literacies Surrounding Language When cultivating our students’ critical literacies through reading The Tempest in the postcolonial manner we propose, we must help students acknowledge the US state sanctioned genocide of Hawaiian culture. The US educational system played a large role in Hawaiian cultural genocide through specific language policies aimed at stripping away Hawaiian Indigenous language. A teacher might introduce this topic with questions about how language and culture are intertwined (see Appendix A). Depending on students’ responses, it will likely be necessary to facilitate youth’s understanding of language and colonialism; teachers must illustrate how language is an essential part of culture. First then, teachers can ask students to journal about specific expressions, phrases, or words that are commonly used in their families and hold meaning. An example might help prompt students. Ashley, for instance, identifies as a Southerner, raised in North Carolina in the US. Part of her culture is the word “surcie,” which denotes a gift, treat, or small token given unexpectedly to convey thoughtfulness to the receiver. The phrases that students brainstorm for this activity do not have to be this specific; thinking of expressions they use with peers would be sufficient, as those are reflective of their culture as well. Once students have created their lists of cultural language, teachers could then ask them to create a list of substitutes for each. Then, students can analyze what meaning might be lost in some their translations. Exchanging the word “gift” for “surcie,” for example, excludes the elements of care and surprise inherent in the latter; it detracts from the practice of giving a token to communicate love, respect, or affection. In essence, it reduces and even changes a cultural norm. Students may struggle to find alternatives to common idioms, as the significance may not be delivered through different word choices or the context impossible to reproduce through another configuration. This illustrates the importance of the discourses we hold dear for carrying our ideas and communicating with others. Furthermore, it shows how we use language to establish ourselves as part of a collective. Youth are able to converse with one another using a shared language, and their positions are established through those devices. Without these, part of their identities are lost. Students might then be challenged to consider the issues surrounding language on a broader scale, exploring, for example, what might be lost if the English language were terminated or what other languages might have that English does not. Students can then engage with the case of language in Hawai‘i. They might first view the section of the PBS documentary Language Matters (Grubin, 2015) that focuses on Hawai‘i and gives an overview of the history of language in Hawai‘i, the US government’s ban, and current efforts at language revitalization. To further develop and apply their critical understandings of language dissolution as a colonizing practice, students can also analyze informational texts such as Act 57, sec. 30 of the 1896 Laws of the Republic of Hawai‘i wherein the English-only instruction was decreed. Connecting the example of Hawai‘i back to The Tempest, students might then create their own drafts of Prospero’s language policy on the island. Given what they 74

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have learned, they could speculate as to why Miranda and Prospero would teach Caliban their language and how that might have affected his culture, similar to that of Native Hawaiians. As an extension of these activities, students could research and produce digital presentations on current language controversies in the United States, such as English-only movements and perspectives on language that stem from the diversity of individuals in our country. They could explore the ramifications of such policies in relation to the cultures of those affected. The issue of not having an official language is contentious and one which students and teachers can delve into through this area of inquiry that stems from the play. Teaching Resistance: Extending Contemporary Postcolonialism Too often, colonized peoples are presented as weak, savage, and lacking in any power. Indeed, it is usually the group with the stronger military, the more pervasive propaganda, the capacity to write history, and the greater financial means that succeed in subjugating a people. However, this does not mean that Indigenous peoples do not fight, that they give up or submit easily, as is frequently assumed. Narratives of resistance are largely ignored in the privileged version of history because it is told by the winners. We feel, therefore, it would be remiss to avoid including in our strategies for teaching The Tempest and the colonization of Hawai‘i representation of the ways that native individuals do indeed challenge their oppression. In The Tempest, Caliban resorts to what is described as mischief throughout the play, which can be read as his subversion of Prospero’s rule. He also plots with Stephano and Trinculo to overthrow Prospero, providing them details about his daily schedule so that they can strike at the right moment. He tells them to “burn but his books” (3.2.87) and suggests that they “batter his skull; or paunch him with a stake” (3.2.82). Students could be encouraged to read these scenes as evidence of potential resistance and then highlight how Hawaiians have not only battled oppressive forces but have, for example, created new political systems. Contemporary examples of resistance are rampant in the case of Hawai‘i. One can be found in the 1970s when Hawai‘i began to attract permanent residents, instead of temporary tourists. For example, the Kalama Valley evictions on O’ahu caught the attention of Native Hawaiians across the archipelago. Rural Hawaiians who were living on month-to-month leases for decades on land owned by one of the largest private trusts in Hawai‘i, the Bishop Estate, were given one month to leave their homes (Trask, 2000). Although Native Hawaiians were ultimately unable to stop these evictions, their protests did not stop. Another important site of cultural resistance was in the assertion of the hula in its original intent, and not as an extension of US capitalism. While the traditional Hawaiian hula was suppressed as a result of Christian missionaries, it became a tourist attraction in the 1970s because of Hawai‘i’s reliance on a tourist economy, and then in the 1990s as part of a political movement aimed at asserting Native Hawaiian sovereignty and resisting US colonialism. For example, in 1998 the Hawaiian legislature tried to pass legislation 75

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that would have prevented the gathering of vines and flowers used in hulas, but more than 1,000 Hawaiians demonstrated against the bill and were able to use hula not just as a tourist attraction, but as a tool for political and cultural resistance against the US. It is clear to see that the recent examples of Native Hawaiian resistance reflect decades of traditions of protests by Native Hawaiians. Like Caliban, Indigenous peoples are not conquered without attempts to fight back. Teaching Strategies: Developing Critical Literacies toward Resistance In order to help students acknowledge and value the resistance of colonized individuals, they might begin by viewing the documentary, American Aloha: Hula Beyond Hawai‘i (Flanary & Siebens, 2003), which highlights the stories of three Native Hawaiian kumu hula (master instructors of hula) in California trying to preserve Indigenous Native Hawaiian cultural traditions and practices outside of the US. One reason this documentary would be helpful and easily incorporated into a classroom is because it takes place outside of Hawai‘i and speaks to the Hawaiian diaspora. It also provides a more informed and accurate portrayal of the hula as an Indigenous Native Hawaiian way of life, one telling the living histories, stories, and spiritualties of Native Hawaiians. This particular form of Hawaiian culture becomes important for students to interrogate as it is one of the most recognizable forms of Hawaiian culture and also the most misunderstood. Teachers can then ask students how Caliban resisted and why he may have been unable to resist perhaps as much as in the examples from Hawaii, facilitating students’ understandings of the power of the collective in promoting change. They can also challenge students to extend their knowledge of opposition and explore other examples – local, national, and global – that illustrate similar sentiments. Students can engage with primary source narratives of resistance and analyze current movements such as #Black Lives Matter and the Women’s March. Framing resistance as response, rather than ‘mischief,’ as in the case of Caliban, will be key to cultivating students’ critical and sensitive understandings. CONCLUSIONS AND IMPLICATIONS FOR PRACTICE

We have here posited a number of ways to illustrate for students how subjugation occurs not only in Shakespeare’s The Tempest, but of how it appears in a US-related context, that of Hawai‘i. We have explored how students might deeply investigate matters of land, language, and culture and how they might begin to develop critical literacies through an analysis of historic documents and policies as well as current crises plaguing our country. We have cautioned against presenting a depiction of colonization without attention to resistance, and we feel that ours is an approach that is adaptable to a host of texts utilized in English curriculum that depict colonization. Often, for example, we read novels such as Heart of Darkness (Conrad, 1899) or even Lord of the Flies (1954) and consider effects of colonization, but rarely do we connect those to contemporary times or to our own country. If we truly wish to foster students 76

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who can analyze their worlds critically and participate in our democracy by making decisions about foreign affairs, then the sort of study we propose here is necessary. Including Shakespeare, then, and canonical texts in general in English curriculum, can serve to accomplish the broader goals of exposing and deconstructing the United States’ exploitive and colonial histories and practices. When approached in the ways we describe in this chapter, through examining contemporary case studies such as Hawai‘i, students can begin to unpack dominant myths and to critically analyze the specific ways in which the US government has contributed to contemporary issues abroad. While we are therefore not encouraging a study of the canon from a traditional perspective – in ways that uphold and perpetuate White dominance or a single story – we do feel the canon can be a valuable tool in relating to modern-day events and social topics and developing students as critically-minded individuals. REFERENCES Appendix B: Text Exemplars and Sample Performance Tasks. (2010). Common core state standards for English language arts & literacy in history/social studies, science and technical subjects. Retrieved from http://www.corestandards.org/assets/Appendix_B.pdf Applebee, A. N. (1992). Stability and change in the high-school canon. English Journal, 81(5), 27–32. Ashcroft, B., Griffiths, G., & Tiffin, H. (1998). Key concepts in post-colonial studies. London: Routledge. Blount, J. (1893). Report to US Congress: Hawaiian islands. Washington, DC: Executive Document No. 46, 53rd Congress. Bohan, C. H. (2010). Committee of ten of the national education association. In C. Kridel (Ed.), Encyclopedia of curriculum studies (pp. 125–126). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Boyd, A., & Darragh, J. (2017). Rigor, young adult literature, and socioeconomics: An analysis of high school literacy teachers’ text choices from national survey data. Wisconsin English Journal, 59(1–2). Retrieved from https://wisconsinenglishjournal.org/2017/10/28/boyd-and-darragh/ Boyd, A., & Dyches, J. (2017). Taking down walls: Countering dominant narratives of the immigrant experience through the teaching of Enrique’s journey. The ALAN Review, 42(2), 31–42. Common Core State Standards Initiative. (2010). English language arts standards, writing, grade 9–10. Retrieved from http://www.corestandards.org/ELA-Literacy/W/9-10/#CCSS.ELA-Literacy.W.910.4 Conrad, J. (1899). Heart of darkness. New York, NY: Global Classics. Davis, S. (2015). The empire’s edge: Militarization, resistance, and transcending hegemony in the Pacific. Athens: University of Georgia Press. Dusbiber, D. (2015, June 13). Teacher: Why I don’t want to assign Shakespeare anymore (even though he’s in the common core). The Washington Post. Retrieved from https://www.washingtonpost.com/ news/answer-sheet/wp/2015/06/13/teacher-why-i-dont-want-to-assign-shakespeare-anymore-eventhough-hes-in-the-common-core/?utm_term=.d0c0558a5893 Flanary, L. M., & Siebens, E. (2003). American aloha: Hula beyond Hawai‘i. New York, NY: American Documentary Inc. & National Educational Telecommunications Association. Golding, W. (1954). Lord of the flies. New York, NY: The Berkeley Publishing Group. Grubin, D. (2015). Language matters [Documentary]. Retrieved from http://www.pbs.org/program/ language-matters Hawai‘i Digital Newspaper Project. Historical political cartoons about Hawai‘i. Retrieved from https://sites.google.com/a/hawaii.edu/ndnp-hawaii/Home/historical-feature-articles/politicalcartoons Hiltzik, M. (2015, April 23). Why, and how, we should read Shakespeare today. Los Angeles Times. Retrieved from http://www.latimes.com/business/hiltzik/la-fi-mh-happy-shakespeare-day-20150419column.html

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J. C. SATARAKA & A. S. BOYD Hirsch, E. D., Kett, J. F., & Trefil, J. S. (1988). Cultural literacy: What every American needs to know. New York, NY: Random House. Janks, H. (1993). Language, identity and power. Johannesburg: Witswatersrand University Press. Jarman, D. (Director), Ford, G., & Schrieber, M. (Producers). (1979). The tempest [Motion picture]. London: Kino International. Keown, M. (2007). Pacific islands writing: The postcolonial literatures of Aotearoa/New Zealand and Oceania. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Knapp, A. (2015, June 12). Understanding the thirty meter telescope controversy. Forbes Magazine. Retrieved from https://www.forbes.com/sites/alexknapp/2015/06/12/understanding-the-thirty-metertelescope-controversy/#2eb4657b62af /XFDV3)1 (RODPDXNƗNRXLNDµǀOHORPDNXDKLQH+DZDLLDQODQJXDJHSROLF\DQGWKHFRXUWV The Hawaiian Journal of History, 34, 1–28. Nagaoka, A. (2017, September 28). Hawai‘i land board allows TMT construction to move forward. Hawai‘i News Now. Retrieved from http://www.hawaiinewsnow.com/story/36478049/hawai‘ilandboard-approves-permit-to-build-tmt Powell, M. (2014, March 17). Kill bill: Why we must take Shakespeare out of the classroom. The Guardian. Retrieved from https://www.theguardian.com/culture-professionals-network/culture-professionalsblog/2014/mar/17/kill-bill-shakespeare-classroom-theatre Schütz, A. J. (1995). The voices of Eden: A history of Hawaiian language studies. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press. Shakespeare, W. (2003). The tempest. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Retrieved from http://www.bartleby.com/70/index11.html. (Original work published in 1623) Stallworth, B., Gibbons, L., & Fauber, L. (2006). It’s not on the list: An exploration of teachers’ perspectives on using multicultural literature. Journal of Adolescent & Adult Literacy, 49(6), 478–489. Retrieved from https://doi.org/10.1598/JAAL.49.6.3 Stotsky, S. (2010). Literary study grades 9, 10, 11. Retrieved from http://www.alscw.org/publications/ forum/forum_4.pdf Strauss, V. (2015, June 13). Teacher: Why I don’t want to assign Shakespeare anymore (even though he’s in the common core). The Washington Post. Retrieved from https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/ answer-sheet/wp/2015/06/13/teacher-why-i-dont-want-to-assign-shakespeare-anymore-even-thoughhes-in-the-common-core/?utm_term=.d0c0558a5893 Taymor, J., Chartoff, R., Hendee, L., Taylor-Stanley, J. T., & Lau, J. K. (Producers), & Taymor, J. (Director). (2010). The tempest [Motion picture]. Burbank, CA: Touchstone Pictures. Trask, H. K. (2000). Settlers of color and “immigrant” hegemony: “Locals” in Hawai‘i. In C. Fujikane & J. Y. Okamura (Eds.), Asian settler colonialism: From local governance to habits of everyday life in Hawai‘i (pp. 45–66). Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press. Tyack, D., & Cuban, L. (1995). Tinkering toward Utopia: A century of public school reform. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Wendt, A. (Ed.). (1995). Nuanua: Pacific writing in English since 1980. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press.

Jeremiah C. Sataraka Washington State University Pullman, Washington, DC Ashley S. Boyd Washington State University Pullman, Washington, DC

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APPENDIX A: FRAMEWORK FOR TEACHING CONTEMPORARY POSTCOLONIALISM Concept related to colonization

Subjugation

Language

Resistance

Relevant Scenes from The Tempest

Prospero explains how Prospero and Miranda teach Caliban their his government was overthrown (1.2.112–116) language and reject Prospero dominates his (1.2.358–359) Caliban uses the Ariel (1.2.247–249) language of the Caliban describes his domination oppressor to curse them (1.2.365–367) (1.2.339–340)

Connections to the history of Hawai‘i

1893: US government overthrew the monarchy of Queen Liliuokalani 1898: Hawai‘i was annexed in the name of Manifest Destiny Thirty Meter Telescope controversy plagues Hawai‘i

1851: Former missionary Richard Armstrong established the first government sanctioned school in English 1896: The US government enacted law requiring English as medium of instruction in all public and private schools 1902: The number of Hawaiian-medium schools dropped from 150 in 1880 to zero in 1902

1970s: Native Hawaiians protested evictions from rural lands 1976: Hawaiians led resistance against US military bombing practices on the island of Kaho‘olawe by traveling to the island 1998: Hawaiians demonstrate against bill prohibiting gathering of vines and flowers used in hula

Suggested Inquiries

How does the language surrounding Caliban serve to dehumanize him? How does the subjugation of a people occur in colonization? What sorts of rhetorical strategies effectively produce propaganda that dehumanizes a group of people? Who should have rights over native lands?

To what extent is language a part of culture? What might other languages have that English does not? What might be lost if we terminated the English language? Why would schools be the space for enforcing a language policy? How are schools effective spaces for colonization to occur?

What forms can resistance take? How is resistance treated and represented by those in power? What is required for resistance to result in change? How is resistance thwarted by governments?

Caliban engages in ‘mischief’ throughout the play Caliban plots with Stephano and Trinculo to overthrow Prospero (3.2.87)

(Continued )

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Concept related to colonization

Subjugation

Language

Resistance

Potential Pedagogical Resources

The Tempest Film (Taymor, Chartoff, Hendee, Taylor-Stanley, and Lau (2010) Hawai‘i Digital Newspaper Project Nagaoka (2017) Hawai‘i News Now Knapp (2015) Forbes Magazine

PBS documentary Language Matters (Grubin, 2015) Act 57, sec. 30 of the 1896 Laws of the Republic of Hawai‘i Policy 105-7 Amendments made in 1978 to Hawai‘i’s state constitution

Documentary American Aloha: Hula Beyond Hawai‘i (Flanary & Siebens, 2003)

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6. TEACHING THE HOUSE ON MANGO STREET IN THE #METOO ERA

THE #METOO ERA: MORE THAN A MOMENT

“For giving voice to open secrets, for moving whisper networks onto social networks, for pushing us all to stop accepting the unacceptable, the Silence Breakers are the 2017 Person of the Year” (Felsenthal, 2017, p. 33). These are the words of the editor-in-chief of Time when announcing the magazine’s collective recognition of the people around the world who shared their experiences with sexual assault and harassment. What turned into a movement “began, as great social change nearly always does, with individual acts of courage” (Felsenthal, p. 32). These Silence Breakers are part of the #MeToo movement which aims to help survivors of sexual violence. Tarana Burke founded this movement in 2006, but the #MeToo hashtag became widespread in 2017 after actress Alyssa Milano tweeted about it, marking a change in public awareness as “millions of people in at least 85 countries” used the hashtag when speaking out about rape and harassment experiences (Felsenthal, p. 32). Heightened attention emboldened people to break the silence. Related to #MeToo, the #TimesUp hashtag refers to advocacy in 2018 to fight systemic sexual harassment in the entertainment industries and in blue-collar workplaces. The #TimesUp organization includes a legal defense fund, legislation proposals, and actions raising awareness. Consequences for the perpetrators of sexual victimization have been seen in avenues of work such as politics, athletics, entertainment, academia, and industry. Victimizers face repercussions such as criminal convictions and removal from power. The #MeToo movement should also bring awareness and intervention in the victimization of adolescents. Research shows that “adolescents and young adults experience the highest rates of rape and other sexual assault of all age groups, with approximately one-third of all lifetime forcible rapes occurring between the ages of 11 and 17 years” (McCauley, Zajac, & Begle, 2013, p. 178). By the age of seventeen, “one in four girls has been the victim of sexual assault or sexual abuse” (Prout, 2018, p. 393). The rate of adolescent sexual assault prevalence is hard to quantify because so many assaults are not reported; “only about one-half to one-third of adolescent victims tell anyone about their assault, and even fewer—one out of sixteen (6%)—report the incident to authorities” (McCauley et al., 2013, p. 177). Consequences of rape include short and long term physical and mental health dangers such as sexually transmitted infections and “increased risk of post-traumatic stress

© KONINKLIJKE BRILL NV, LEIDEN, 2019 | DOI:10.1163/9789004389311_006

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disorder (PTSD) and other anxiety symptoms, depression, suicide attempts, and delinquency” (McCauley et al., 2013, p. 182). This social crisis requires intervention. APPROACHES TO TEACHING THE HOUSE ON MANGO STREET

A Classic in the Classroom The study of classics along with new YA works can lead to authentic conversations about serious social problems and troubling issues in canonical texts and the world today. The #MeToo movement seeks to undo the silenced narratives of rape, and the ambiguity surrounding the female victimization and sexual assault in The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros provides points to analyze with adolescent readers. For although The House on Mango Street, originally published in 1984, helps to make visible and audible the voices of historically under-represented women, it also runs the risk of effacing the rapist and shifting the blame to women, thereby perpetuating problems that the #MeToo movement aims to combat. The ways in which we speak and write about The House on Mango Street affect whether or not this book helps people deal with sexual violence. Demonstrating the canonical status of Cisneros, a study of English Language Arts textbooks for ninth, tenth, and eleventh grades showed that Cisneros was “the most anthologized” Latina/o author (Rojas, 2010, p. 267). A survey of books assigned in the 2010–2011 school year in Southeastern states found that The House on Mango Street was required reading in various secondary grade levels (Stallworth & Gibbons, 2012, p. 3). In Sandra Cisneros in the Classroom, part of the NCTE High School Literature series, Jago (2002) notes that “The House on Mango Street is a core text in the ninth-grade curriculum” for her high school (p. 52). Its style, accessibility, and concise length contribute to making The House on Mango Street the most frequently assigned book by a Mexican American author in high schools. For classification by genre, it has been identified variously as a novel, a prose poem cycle, and a collection of 44 linked short stories or vignettes. Cisneros also influenced the development of “a Chicana feminist bildungsroman for young adults,” represented by The Tequila Worm (Canales, 2005) and Under the Mesquite (Garcia McCall, 2011; Cummins & Infante-Sheridan, 2018, p. 18). The House on Mango Street resonates for its evocation of youth and its inclusion of stories about people whom society neglects or mistreats. The House on Mango Street was favorably received when I used this book in an undergraduate literature pedagogy course with pre-service English teachers in South Texas on the national border. The teacher candidates indicated they wanted to use the book with their own future students due to its quality, style, topics, and contemporary resonance. The presence in our pedagogy textbook of a sample unit on The House of Mango Street reinforced its canonicity. The second edition of Teaching Literature to Adolescents (Beach, Appleman, Hynds, & Wilhelm, 2011) contained an extended example about a unit of instruction on The House on Mango Street for a 9th grade Advanced Placement English class. 82

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Our pedagogical methods course included consideration of how activities enable teachers and learners to follow state standards for English Language Arts and Reading in various grade levels. Class members gathered in small groups to explore how language and literary elements enhance meaning. For instance, protagonist Esperanza Cordero memorably vows, “I have decided not to grow up tame like the others who lay their necks on the threshold waiting for the ball and chain” (p. 88). Consideration of figurative language and themes led into the writing of vignettes about our lives. Topics were based on chapters in the novel. We also created visual responses to illustrate chapters by drawing, sketching, coloring, or cutting and pasting, along with selecting a key quotation. Artistic responses, inspired by the picture book Pelitos/Hairs (Cisneros & Ybáñez, 1994), helped readers to focus on a particular scene, notice sensory details, and visualize what happens. The House on Mango Street inspires writing in many genres such as creative nonfiction essays, personal narratives, fiction, poetry, and literary analysis. Representations of Sexualization and Abuse Limitations on women’s lives appear constantly throughout Esperanza’s years of growing up in the novel. Cisneros exposes how women get treated as bodies, not minds, defined by gender roles due to early and compulsory sexualization. Through chapters about Esperanza and other women of various ages in her community, the risks from male responses to women’s physical development and sexuality are seen in “Hips,” “Sire,” “Marin,” “Sally,” “What Sally Said,” and “The Monkey Garden,” among other chapters. In “Minerva Writes Poems,” Minerva cannot leave her husband despite his abuse because she has no other support for her two children. Esperanza’s mother laments in the chapter “A Smart Cookie” that she stopped going to school too soon, as she sighs and says, “I could’ve been somebody, you know? Esperanza, you go to school. Study hard” (p. 91). This is valuable advice for Esperanza and readers of the book. Over the course of the book, Esperanza changes from being impressed by women’s sexual power to resisting the objectification and subjugation of women. The vignette “The Family of Little Feet,” which begins with the girls having fun in wearing cast-off high heels, leads to harassment and threats by men, and Esperanza realizes, “We are tired of being beautiful” (p. 42). In “The First Job,” Esperanza gets a job at a photograph finishing store, but on her first day, a co-worker “grabs my face with both hands and kisses me hard on the mouth and doesn’t let go” (p. 55). The chapter’s ending with his not letting go creates an ominous warning about a future subject to male violence and does not say whether Esperanza has to continue working there and enduring abuse. Further, to get the job, Esperanza had lied about her age as her Aunt Lala instructed her to do, which implicates fellow women in a way parallel to Esperanza’s anger at Sally in “Red Clowns.” The vignette “The Monkey Garden,” positioned before “Red Clowns,” shows Esperanza’s attempt to protect Sally from an indifferent world. Sally gets manipulated 83

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into exchanging sexual favors for the return of her stolen keys. Esperanza runs up three flights of stairs to tell Tito’s mother that he and other neighborhood boys are making Sally kiss them. Tito’s mother is sarcastic and does not look up from her ironing: “What do you want me to do, she said, call the cops? And kept on ironing” (p. 97). Esperanza runs back alone “to the garden where Sally needed to be saved,” and for weapons, she picks up “three big sticks and a brick” (p. 97). But Sally and the boys tell Esperanza to go home and leave them alone. Esperanza lies down in a corner of the garden and weeps, thinking, “I wanted to be dead, to turn into the rain” (p. 97). Esperanza’s powerful response could be interpreted either as foreshadowing the assault in the next vignette, “Red Clowns,” or as suggesting that “Red Clowns” is a flashback to an incident in which Esperanza was violated with no one nearby to save her. Representation of Sexual Assault in “Red Clowns” In the vignette “Red Clowns,” Esperanza is remembering an incident at the carnival which appears to be a sexual assault, but the writing style deliberately obscures what happened. Esperanza says that the man “grabbed me by the arm, he wouldn’t let me go” (p. 100). Past and present blend as Esperanza recalls, “Sally, make him stop. I couldn’t make them go away. I couldn’t do anything but cry. I don’t remember. It was dark” (p. 100). Wanting to erase what happened, she expresses, “I don’t remember. Please don’t make me tell it all” (p. 100). Esperanza is angry at Sally and all women: “Sally Sally a hundred times. Why didn’t you hear me when I called? What didn’t you tell them to leave me alone?” (p. 100). But no one woman can protect another from the systemic pattern of which this violation is a part. Esperanza also remembers that her attacker refers to her as “Spanish girl” (p. 100), a textual detail suggesting he is not Latino, and she is being victimized partly because of her Mexican American identity. Esperanza’s violent victimization is a pivotal moment. After “Red Clowns,” Esperanza’s storytelling changes the subject to other women’s lives, and she does not directly deal with what happened to her. The vignette format, unlike a conventional novel, is one reason the impact of the event is not presented in a linear way. The book does not express how much this assault contributes to Esperanza’s decision to leave Mango Street. Herrera-Sobek (1988) interprets Esperanza’s “diatribe” in this chapter as anger not just at Sally “but at the community of women who keep the truth from the younger generation of women in a conspiracy of silence” (p. 252). Esperanza feels betrayed by women’s “complicity in embroidering a fairy-tale-like mist around sex, and romanticizing and idealizing unrealistic sexual relations” (Herrera-Sobek, p. 252). Because the chapter is narrated through Esperanza’s perspective, the object of Esperanza’s criticism is Sally, not a society that perpetuates violence against women. The nameless rapist himself moves out of the story and suffers no consequences, leaving the burden on the victim. Feminists criticize how rape prevention efforts focus on the vulnerability of women’s bodies rather than on responsibility to stop rape. “Effacing the rapist” in rape prevention efforts means that “we address the problem through the bodies of 84

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women, always already victims, instead of addressing potential victimizers” (Hall, 2004, p. 8). In fictional representations, when a text does not have a rapist on whom blame gets placed, this absence perpetuates the image of women themselves as waiting for victimization. Society thus should “shift the site of social interventions against rape from women to men” (Hall, 2004, p. 11). Rather than having women live in fear, people should understand the ethical responsibility not to attack or harass others. Ambiguity and Pedagogical Concerns Cisneros discusses her style in a letter sent in 2009 to a reader who wanted books by Cisneros removed from a school library. Included in Cisneros’s nonfiction collection A House of My Own: Stories from My Life (2015), this letter expresses the author’s view that she does not worry about young people’s access to The House on Mango Street because “the parts they shouldn’t read were intentionally written in a poetic way that should sail over their heads if they’re not mature” (p. 308). Cisneros articulates her intentions: “Though I used a middle school narrator to write this book, I wrote about serious topics in a roundabout way only adults would understand” (p. 308). The phrase “a roundabout way” suggests planning to achieve deliberate effects. Cisneros did not aim to be straightforward, but rather to be indirect or ambiguous so readers would determine their own meanings. The author chose to leave a degree of doubt about whether the incident was rape, and while most critics do interpret it as such, not all readers do. This characteristic of ambiguity is an attribute of the book’s literary quality, as the subtly complex writing style of Cisneros is one reason for the book’s success. That ambiguity, however, creates a critical problem for teachers making decisions on how to approach the book. Furthermore, the book would not be taught as often or in as many grade levels if it were even more explicit about the attacks on women, including the assault on Esperanza. Embedded within curricula and lauded for its literary qualities, The House on Mango Street can make radical points precisely because it is not explicitly “about” the assault on Esperanza or the other attacks on women whose lives are restricted like Rafaela literally “locked indoors” (Cisneros, 2009, p. 79). Teaching methods with The House on Mango Street run the risk of minimizing the damage of violence against women because of that ambiguity. Torres (2015) describes a teaching approach that does not include sexual victimization. Although his method with freewrites and having students “revisit and write about vivid memories of childhood” has advantages (p. 262), avoiding the issue of the assaults on women is not a recommended strategy when teaching this book. With a more productive tactic, Olivares (1996) outlines a way he teaches about the sexualization and exploitation of women of color in The House on Mango Street and then, upon reaching “The Monkey Garden” and “Red Clowns,” asks students to discuss what happens to Esperanza and how it is written. This approach helps students realize that the assault on Esperanza is a culmination of the victimization many women in the novel have faced. 85

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Avoiding discussion of the sexual assault in the book might imply that rape is something of which the victim could be ashamed. Glossing over or skipping the assault in The House on Mango Street could inadvertently instill a message that people do not have the right be free from sexual victimization, although in fact, people of all ages have the right to protect themselves and the duty not to violate others. Victims of sexual assault and harassment should speak of what happened to them. Adolescent readership needs to know that assault is unacceptable. Being raped is not ambiguous. Victims should not think they need to accept or hide what occurred and just keep on going in their lives. Perpetrators should not assume they will get away with violence because a victim will not come forward. The readers with whom I studied this book in years prior to the #MeToo movement did not avoid the subject of the assault on Esperanza. The real-world ramifications were too important. Some students wrote papers on what they thought happened to Esperanza and how they felt about that. Their writings provided a springboard for in-class conversation. The victimization of women that permeates the novel is an important issue for readers of this book in any era. Teachers will need to be aware of campus policies as well as resources for reporting and for counseling that could be needed. Responding to the reading of the novel or other books with incidents of sexual violence, students could write about what they know about harassment and rape and could ask questions anonymously that get discussed and answered as a plenary group. Raising awareness of the impact of sexual harassment and the expectation not to rape or violate other people could save lives. A course covering standards involving arguments, debate, or persuasion could also consider various angles on the #MeToo movement, including people who question it and who wonder if it has gone too far because allegations are accepted as fact. YOUNG ADULT LITERATURE AND REPRESENTATIONS OF RAPE

The Importance of YAL in Classrooms To accompany The House on Mango Street, reading a recent YA book can help high school students to extend into the current era this urgent conversation about sexual assault and speaking out against injustice. This reading can be done as a full class, in literature circles, or as an extension in which students choose a book from a list of relevant texts. Among scholarship exploring how educators can work with YAL portraying rape, Cleveland and Durand (2014) urge educators to use well-chosen YAL as critical texts to foster discussions about sexual assault and to supplement fiction with research or projects to challenge rape myths. Franzak and Noll (2006), in teaching about violence at the levels of the individual, culture, and institution, include Speak and suggest that “students can experiment with different artistic media to create works that represent an aspect of silencing in their own lives” (p. 668). In a groundbreaking study, Malo-Juvera (2014) conducted “the first published research to use a young adult novel as part of English language arts classes in 86

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order to affect adolescents’ attitudes toward rape” (p. 420). In his study with eighth graders, a five-week, literary instructional unit about Speak resulted in “significantly lower levels of rape myth acceptance in both boys and girls” (p. 420). Rape myths include falsehoods such as “If a girl is willing to go parking in a boy’s car at night with him, she wants to have sex” and “A lot of times, girls say they were raped in order to get back at a boy they are mad at” (p. 419). Malo-Juvera documented how the unit demonstrably changed students’ thinking on specific myths. The unit was even “more effective in reducing adherence to myths related to girls desiring and manipulating situations” than “in refuting the myth that rape survivors who report are fabricating their accusations” (p. 421). Malo-Juvera further found that the unit avoided a “backlash” in reported views (p. 418). Malo-Juvera argues that secondary high schools need “sexual assault prevention education” and that reduction of rape myth acceptance could be a way to reduce rape itself (p. 411). Recommended Young Adult Literature Multiple young adult books, both fiction and nonfiction, address sexual assault from diverse angles, portray teens dealing with and persevering after a rape experience, and demonstrate the negative impact of rape without oversimplifying outcomes. These books provide avenues for discussing and evaluating contemporary responses to sexual violence. They do not perpetuate the notion that women are “always already victims” (Hall, 2004, p. 8) but show rape as something that can happen to a person. The list in Table 6.1 primarily includes young adult novels that portray recovery and resilience after rape. An exception is Lynch’s (2005) Inexcusable, from the unreliable perspective of a teen male who committed rape but does not want to accept he did. These books are recommended purchases for libraries. The table has a column about critical recognition because this information supports teachers and librarians seeking to purchase and assign contemporary young adult texts. Two novels that demonstrate responses to sexual assault of classmates are The Nowhere Girls (Reed, 2017) and Gabi, A Girl in Pieces (Quintero, 2014). In The Nowhere Girls, three juniors become activists to focus anger about the unpunished gang rape of a student who used to attend their school. The perpetrators ultimately get charged for another rape. Alternating narration focuses on the three main characters and a chorus of “Us” voicing multiple people, representing the anonymous school group of young women who vow, “We will not be silent any longer” (p. 115). Gabi, A Girl in Pieces, written in diary format, encompasses multiple social problems, including the rape and subsequent pregnancy of senior Cindy, a supporting character who does not report the crime because she doubts people would believe her boyfriend raped her. Cindy chooses to bear and raise her child. Overcoming skepticism about the truth of rape survivors’ reports is a frequent concern in YAL that portrays the aftermath of sexual assault. YA novels representing resilience after rape often name the rapists and show repercussions for the crime. In Safe (Shaw, 2007), the rapist Burgess Newman is 87

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Table 6.1. Recommended reading: Young adult literature, rape, and resilience Book

Narrative situation

Selected critical recognitions

Speak (1999) by Laurie Halse Anderson

Melinda has not told anyone that she was raped at a party at the end of summer before ninth grade. (The graphic narrative adaptation was released in 2018.)

Finalist, National Book Award, 1999; Golden Kite Award, 2000; Honor Book for Printz Award, 2000; Heartland Award for Excellence in YAL, 2001; Winner, Sequoyoh Book Award, 2002.

Inexcusable (2005) by Chris Lynch

Keir, a senior athlete accused of date rape by Gigi, is an unreliable narrator who tries unsuccessfully to convince people of his innocence.

Finalist, National Book Award, 2005; Booklist Top 10 Sports Books for Youth, 2005; YALSA Best Books for Young Adults, 2006.

Safe (2007) by Susan Shaw

Thirteen-year-old Tracy deals with psychological trauma after being raped and beaten when walking home after the last day of seventh grade.

School Library Journal Book Review Stars, 2007; Booklist Quick Picks for Reluctant Young Adult Readers, 2008.

Bait (2009) by Alex Sanchez

Bait portrays the recovery from self-harm behaviors of Diego, a sixteen-year-old who begins cutting himself after the suicide of the stepfather who raped him.

Winner of the Tomás Rivera Mexican American Children’s Book Award, category of older readers, 2011; Rainbow List, 2010; Florida Book Award, 2009.

Gabi, A Girl in Pieces (2014) by Isabel Quintero

In her senior year, Gabi deals with her friend Cindy’s rape and pregnancy, her father’s drug addiction, and college goals.

Winner, Paterson Prize, 2015; Winner, William C. Morris Award, 2015; Commended title, Américas Award, 2015; Finalist, Walden Award, 2015.

All the Rage (2015) by Courtney Summers

Classmates shamed and shunned 17-year-old Romy after she reported being raped by the sheriff’s son a year ago. Now she gets attacked again on the night her former best friend disappears.

Amelia Bloomer List, 2016; YALSA Best Fiction for Young Adults, 2016; Finalist for Cybils Book Award, Young Adult Fiction, 2015; Finalist, White Pine Award, Ontario Library Association, 2016.

Exit, Pursued by a Bear (2016) by E. K. Johnston

At cheerleading camp before senior year, team captain Hermione is drugged and raped, leading to a pregnancy that she terminates.

Booklist Top Ten Sports Books for Youth, 2016; Amelia Bloomer List, 2017; Finalist, White Pine Award, Ontario Library Association, 2017. (Continued )

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Table 6.1. (Continued) Book

Narrative situation

Selected critical recognitions

The Nowhere Girls (2017) by Amy Reed

Three juniors start a school movement when they seek to challenge misogyny and avenge the gang rape of a classmate.

NECBA Windows and Mirrors Selection, 2017; Amelia Bloomer List, 2018; Bank Street Books Best Books List, 2018; Walden Award Finalist, 2018.

Sexual Assault: The Ultimate Teen Guide (2017) by Olivia Ghafoerkhan

Weaving together factual information with survivors’ narratives, this nonfiction work is based on interviews and academic research by the author.

This book in the respected nonfiction series It Happened to Me, targeted to teen readers, earned a starred review from Booklist.

The Fall of Innocence (2018) by Jenny Torres Sanchez

Emilia was traumatized by assault eight years ago. Learning that the person convicted was not the true attacker leads to tragedy.

This new release, the author’s fourth YA novel, received a starred review from Kirkus.

I Have the Right To: A High School Survivor’s Story of Sexual Assault, Justice, & Hope (2018) by Chessy Prout

In this memoir, Chessy Prout tells about her experiences after being raped as a freshman in 2014 at a prestigious high school. Prout explains her subsequent activism.

Prout launched the #IHaveTheRightTo initiative, a non-profit organization, with the organization PAVE 3URPRWLQJ$ZDUHQHVV_9LFWLP Empowerment) in order to encourage survivors and others to assert their rights.

identified by the survivor, convicted, and sentenced to prison. The exposure of the rapist Andy Evans in Speak (Anderson, 1999) is important to Melinda’s recovering her ability to speak, but the book ends before legal actions. In the suspense novel All the Rage (Summers, 2015), the sheriff’s son, Kellan Turner, avoided punishment for a year because people disbelieved Romy Grey, the rape survivor, but Romy tracks down his history of assault and at the end gathers evidence for his future conviction. Finding the perpetrator is also important in Exit, Pursued by a Bear (Johnston, 2016), when the unnamed rapist avoids detection at summer camp by not giving his DNA, but at the conclusion, the protagonist Hermione identifies him at a cheer competition, and a police officer gets his DNA so it can be tested and his guilt proven. The Fall of Innocence (Torres Sanchez, 2018) shows the survivor’s trauma worsening when an abuse victim learns that the man convicted was not the actual attacker. Silence is a recurrent element in YA novels about rape survivors. It can be difficult for characters to speak of what happened. Melinda in Speak stops talking. The graphic novel adaptation of Speak renders Melinda’s retreat and self-erasure through Emily Carroll’s illustration of lines such as: “I wash my face until there is nothing left of it. No eyes, no nose … no mouth” (Anderson & Carroll, 2018, p. 68). 89

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Silence links with the inarticulate way that Esperanza responds to her assault. While the attackers in The House on Mango Street get away with their acts of violence and exploitation, this aspect of the classic novel must be critiqued. Speaking out to break the silence is one reason that the #MeToo movement has gained such power through the individuals who became able through collective empowerment to voice publicly what happened, often after years of being powerless. Memoirs as well as fiction give voice to survivors, providing books for teachers and librarians to make available to young adults. Chessy Prout’s (2018) memoir is targeted to teens: I Have the Right To: A High School Survivor’s Story of Sexual Assault, Justice, and Hope. After being raped at a prestigious high school and having her character challenged when she reported it, Prout became an activist, launching the ,+DYH7KH5LJKW7RLQLWLDWLYHZLWKWKHRUJDQL]DWLRQ3URPRWLQJ$ZDUHQHVV_9LFWLP Empowerment (PAVE) in order to encourage survivors and others to assert their rights. Many people tell their stories publicly online. Some narratives are told in books such as #MeToo: Essays about How and Why This Happened, What It Means and How to Make Sure It Never Happens Again (Perkins, 2017) and Sexual Assault: The Ultimate Teen Guide (Ghafoerkhan, 2017). Gender Role Stereotypes and Teaching The House on Mango Street While I discourage avoidance of the topic of sexual victimization when teaching this novel, I suggest showing positive aspects of male characters as well. For although Cisneros thoughtfully portrays the intersectionality of oppressions due to gender, economics, culture, and setting, many male characters in The House on Mango Street are portrayed negatively. One study records how some Midwestern ninth-graders felt The House on Mango Street was a “pointless, male-bashing” book (Gopalakrishnan, Johnson, Zumhagen, & Sweet, 2004, p. 36). Concern about the negative depictions of men can be mitigated both by drawing attention to specific characters such as Esperanza’s father and also by discussing how gender role stereotypes limit males as well as females. Esperanza’s father, her Uncle Nacho, and Geraldo are three significant male characters. In “Papa Who Wakes Up Tired in the Dark,” Esperanza respects and understands her hard-working father in his grief when his father dies (p. 56). Esperanza in “Bums in the Attic” may not fully grasp her father’s motivational intentions when he drives the family on Sundays to see the fancy houses where he works as a gardener, but she learns lessons of striving for more and sharing with others. High school readers can be prompted to write about their own early memories of their parents and to consider how perceptions of parents broaden as time passes into adulthood. Esperanza’s Uncle Nacho appears in “Chanclas” as teaching Esperanza how to dance and helping her feel pride despite her “ordinary shoes” that do not match her dress at a baptismal party (p. 47). Another notable adult male character is in “Geraldo No Last Name.” Cisneros honors Geraldo, who has died in a hit-and-run accident. This vignette shows that Geraldo, who has been sending money home every week to his 90

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family south of the border, can be an admirable person regardless of his documentation status in the United States (p. 66). Cisneros commemorates and shows respect to him. Cisneros implicitly critiques the proscribed gender roles that demarcate Esperanza’s world. The book displays stereotypes positioning women as passive and victimized, and men as predatory and dangerous. The vignette, “Boys and Girls,” offers a lamentation that boys and girls are expected to “live in separate worlds,” with “the boys in their universe and we in ours” (p. 8). Studying The House on Mango Street in conjunction with recent literature for young adults can amplify the idea that respect and equitable treatment of women will be liberating for both women and men. CLOSING REMINDERS

Rape is not only an individual act of violence but also functions as a mechanism of patriarchal society through which women are intimidated and kept in a state of fear. While all sexual misdeeds should not be collapsed together, and inappropriate comments and come-ons are not the same as physical violence and abuse, such actions are part of the pattern contributing to an unsafe environment demeaning to women. The incident at “The First Job” where Esperanza is kissed against her will and the verbal harassment in multiple vignettes are not the same as the incident in “Red Clowns” when she is assaulted. But constant sexualization and devaluation of women lead to rape culture. Gender-based abuse and mistreatment affect the women at which the actions are aimed and also impede women’s progress as a whole. Movements including #MeToo and #TimesUp and #IHavetheRightTo have created a new climate. Survivors replace silence with exposure and show resistance and strength through collective action. Rather than allowing attackers to get away with their crimes, people must speak up to expose violence done to themselves or others and to seek justice. Survivors of rape and harassment created a moment of awareness and, in hopes, #MeToo will produce lasting change. The moment should mark a turning point toward no longer allowing the perpetuation of sexual assault and violence against women. To impact the future requires changing attitudes of people of all ages. The #MeToo era not only provides an opportunity to show how a canonical text connects with current cultural issues; it also reminds us that teachers and students can use study of classics and new works as a way to have authentic conversations about serious social problems and troubling issues in canonical texts and in the world today. Whether reading The House on Mango Street or one of the YA novels portraying resilience after rape, discussions and learning opportunities with young adults could reduce acceptance of rape myths and intervene in the systemic problem of sexual assault. REFERENCES Anderson, L. H. (1999). Speak. New York, NY: Penguin Books. Anderson, L. H., & Carroll, E. (2018). Speak: The graphic novel. New York, NY: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux. Beach, R., Appleman, D., Hynds, S., & Wilhelm, J. (2011). Teaching literature to adolescents (2nd ed.). New York, NY: Routledge.

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A. CUMMINS Canales, V. (2005). The tequila worm. New York, NY: Wendy Lamb Books. Cisneros, S. (2009). The house on mango street. New York, NY: Vintage Books. Cisneros, S. (2015). A house of my own: Stories from my life. New York, NY: Knopf. Cisneros, S., & Ybáñez, T. (1994). Hairs/pelitos. New York, NY: Knopf. Cleveland, E., & Durand, S. (2014). Critical representations of sexual assault in young adult literature. Looking Glass: New Perspectives on Children’s Literature, 17(3), n.p. Cummins, A., & Infante-Sheridan, M. (2018). Establishing a Chicana feminist bildungsroman for young adults. New Review of Children’s Literature and Librarianship, 24(1), 18–39. Felsenthal, E. (2017, December 18). The choice. Time, 190, 32–33. Franzak, J., & Noll, E. (2006). Monstrous acts: Problematizing violence in young adult literature. Journal of Adolescent & Adult Literacy, 49(8), 662–672. Garcia McCall, G. (2011). Under the mesquite. New York, NY: Lee and Low Books. Ghafoerkhan, O. (2017). Sexual assault: The ultimate teen guide. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Gopalakrishnan, A., Johnson, A., Zumhagen, P., & Sweet, E. (2004). Pathways into gender: Encountering the house on mango street through educational drama. SIGNAL Journal, 26(2), 33–39. Hall, R. (2004). “It can happen to you”: Rape prevention in the age of risk management. Hypatia, 19(3), 1–19. Herrera-Sobek, M. (1988). The politics of rape: Sexual transgression in Chicana fiction. In M. Herrera-Sobek & H. M. Viramontes (Eds.), Chicana creativity and criticism: Charting new frontiers in American literature (Rev. ed., pp. 245–256). Houston, TX: Arte Público Press. Jago, C. (2002). Sandra Cisneros in the classroom: Do not forget to reach (NCTE High School Literature Series). Urbana, IL: National Council of Teachers of English. Johnston, E. K. (2016). Exit, pursued by a bear. New York, NY: Dutton. Lynch, C. (2005). Inexcusable. New York, NY: Simon & Schuster. Malo-Juvera, V. (2014). Speak: The effect of literary instruction on adolescents’ rape myth acceptance. Research in the Teaching of English, 48(4), 407–427. McCauley, J. L., Zajac, K., & Begle, A. M. (2013). Adolescent sexual assault: Prevalence, risk associates, outcomes, and intervention. In W. T. O’Donohue, L. T. Benuto, & L. W. Tolle (Eds.), Handbook of adolescent health psychology (pp. 175–190). New York, NY: Springer. Olivares, J. (1996). Entering the house on mango street. In J. R. Maitino & D. R. Peck (Eds.), Teaching American ethnic literatures: Nineteen essays (pp. 209–235). Albuquerque, NM: University of New Mexico Press. Perkins, L. (Ed.). (2017). #MeToo: Essays about how and why this happened, what it means and how to make sure it never happens again. Riverdale, NY: Riverdale Avenue Books. Prout, C. (2018). I have the right to: A high school survivor’s story of sexual assault, justice, and hope. New York, NY: Margaret McElderberry Books. Quintero, I. (2014). Gabi, a girl in pieces. El Paso, TX: Cinco Puntos Press. Reed, A. L. (2017). The nowhere girls. New York, NY: Simon Pulse. Rojas, M. A. (2010). Re(visioning) U.S. Latino literatures in high school English classrooms. English Education, 42(3), 263–277. Sanchez, A. (2009). Bait. New York, NY: Simon & Schuster. Shaw, S. (2007). Safe. New York, NY: Dutton. Stallworth, B. J., & Gibbons, L. C. (2012). What’s on the list … now? A survey of book-length works taught in secondary schools. English Leadership Quarterly, 34(3), 2–3. Summers, C. (2015). All the rage. New York, NY: St. Martin’s Griffin. Torres, B. (2015). Teaching Sandra Cisneros’s house on mango street. In F. L. Aldama (Ed.), Latino/a literature in the classroom: Twenty-first-century approaches to teaching (pp. 260–263). New York, NY: Routledge. Torres Sanchez, J. (2018). The fall of innocence. New York, NY: Philomel Books.

Amy Cummins University of Texas Rio Grande Valley Edinburg, TX

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7. FOSTERING CRITICAL SOCIAL CONSCIOUSNESS THROUGH “TEXT-TO-SOFTWARE” CONNECTIONS WITH BRAVE NEW WORLD

INTRODUCTION

Dystopian literature has special resonance with life in the 21st century. Rapid technological advancement, global warming, nuclear proliferation, nationalist movements, corporate influence on the news, increasingly sophisticated surveillance, the militarization of the police – all of these topics have been addressed in some shape or form within the dystopian imagination. The question of WHAT IF underpins this literary genre, as writers imagine scenarios in which social, economic, and/or environmental conditions prompt the emergence of a new world order. English language arts (ELA) teachers working with dystopian literature in their classes, however, may have found that while some students find deep meaning in dystopias, others do not. In my experience as an ELA teacher, for example, I have found that, for many, dystopian literature seems like movie stuff, just-for-fun stuff, special effects stuff – in other words, a piece of entertainment rather than a rigorous meditation on power, control, and humanity. And for many students, a dystopian novel is simply another dust-covered, assigned text that has little to nothing to do with their lived experiences. And this point is perhaps even more salient for canonical dystopias – such as We, 1984, The Handmaid’s Tale, Fahrenheit 451, and Brave New World – because the language, characters, and plot lines may seem increasingly far removed from the diverse backgrounds and experiences of the students reading them. And further, these dystopias betray markers of the time in which they were written and, in the worst case scenario, uncritically recirculate old images of the savage, the mystical, the Other in ELA classrooms. In my work with ELA preservice teachers at a predominately white institution located within a far more diverse school district, this canon-to-student disconnect is often voiced as a concern that many students will simply shut down and shut off if they cannot see their own lived experiences at some level within the words they are reading. Naturally, preservice teachers wonder how they can make canonical literature relevant for their students, particularly for minoritized students who rarely, if ever, enjoy the privilege of seeing themselves in the canon. In this chapter, I argue that while these challenges remain formidable, the current moment provides a unique entry point into dystopian literature, one that allows for © KONINKLIJKE BRILL NV, LEIDEN, 2018 | DOI:10.1163/9789004389311_007

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the fostering of critical social consciousness about present-day systems of control and the interaction of those systems with longstanding power hierarchies. This entry point involves something that has such visibility in daily lived experience that it is virtually invisible: software. Kitchen and Dodge (2011) offer a helpful preliminary definition of software, the implications of which are useful for the purpose of this chapter in drawing a connection from dystopian literature to everyday, technologically-mediated experience. […] software consists of lines of code – instructions and algorithms that, when combined and supplied with appropriate input, produce routine and programs capable of complex digital functions. Put simply, software instructs computer hardware – physical, digital circuitry – about what to do (which in turn can engender action in other machinery, such as switching on electrical power, starting a motor, or closing a connection). Although code in general is hidden, invisible inside the machine, it produces visible and tangible effects in the world. (pp. 3–4) Thus, software can be envisioned as the living thing that animates the technologies that have become part of the scenery of life in the 21st century: smartphones, tablets, step-counters, and so on, all powered, updated, and refined through this constantly evolving presence within that we call software. Any given piece of software-based technology, therefore, is an organism living in our world, the full capabilities of which are relatively unknown – but are constantly being explored and exploited by corporations, political entities, and other interested parties. In this chapter, I argue that software has much in common with dystopian themes of absolute control, inescapable environments, and rampant injustice. To draw out that commonality, I offer two approaches for making what I call “text-to-software” connections with dystopian literature, using Brave New World as a focal text. The guiding pedagogical questions of these approaches are the following: ‡ How can canonical dystopias speak across time in ways that inform our contemporary conversations about living in a software-driven world? ‡ What literary interpretive frames might be helpful in connecting the themes to student experiences and backgrounds? ‡ How might students be positioned in ways that allow them to take the lead on interpreting canonical dystopias?1 THE CANONICITY OF DYSTOPIAN LITERATURE

The term “dystopia” might immediately bring to mind words and phrases from canonical dystopias that have entered into the public imagination, such as Big Brother and doublethink (from 1984), gender traitor and praise be (from Handmaid’s Tale), or soma and Fordism (from Brave New World). The very titles of canonical 94

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dystopias might even call forth knowledges or frames for interpreting the world. For example, for many people, Fahrenheit 451 signals a fact about the temperature at which books burn; and it’s not unusual for someone, upon seeing what is perceived as an unsettling piece of technology with seemingly wide-ranging implications for how life will be lived in the future (e.g., at the time of this writing, self-driving cars, pet clones, or cryptocurrencies) to claim that we’re entering into a “brave new world.” More modern dystopias, particularly in the young adult literature genre (e.g., Feed, Divergent, Shipbreaker, The Giver, and The Hunger Games), have rejuvenated these themes and layered on contemporary worries about, for example, the transformation of consumerism into a type of hyper-consumerism that makes everyone numb to each other and suggestible to corporate messaging, the bridging of entertainment and violence through reality TV, and the battle for resources that ensues as a result of the devastation of the environment, taking greed, exploitation, and weaponry way up to the nth degree (even more so than today’s world). While these themes are extremely timely, it is the canonized dystopias that tend to maintain a special status in ELA classrooms – for a range of reasons: for some teachers, the reason might be that these novels still feel remarkably relevant in the current moment, and for other teachers, the reason might simply be about having access to class sets of the books. And, of course, books from the canon tend to have an aura of prestige around them by virtue of being commonly read in schools over a number of years and therefore commonly known within the broader culture, which tends to produce assumptions about what should be read or what constitutes quality in literature, the looping logic of which is beyond the purposes of this chapter. Nonetheless, the intractability of canonized dystopias creates a classroom environment in which teachers must be creative in bridging the (old) words on the page to the (current) lives of the students. To explore possibilities for ELA pedagogy in this vein, I turn to Brave New World by Aldous Huxley. This book is taught throughout the Cincinnati area and has presented special challenges to the population of preservice teachers I work with in terms of how to make the book feel important, relevant, and urgent across a range of settings and student populations. Brave New World also shares a common dynamic with many preservice teachers’ relationship to canonical literature generally. That is, they either (a) had read it in high school and loved it and want to give their students the opportunity to read it and love it, (b) had read it in high school and didn’t love it but want to give students a better experience, or (c) hadn’t read it but had heard about it and want to give their students a good experience but aren’t sure how because the first few pages seem pretty dry. These reading experiences add texture to the question of relevance because much of the time, when we ask middle or high school students to read differently or creatively or with a sense of cultural relevance and critical social consciousness, we must push ourselves as teachers to do so as well. 95

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TEXT-TO-SOFTWARE INTERPRETIVE FRAME

The approach I outline here might be called a text-to-software interpretive frame. This frame draws on software studies (Berry, 2011; Kitchen & Dodge, 2011; Manovich, 2013), critical software studies (Lynch, 2015a, 2015b), and critical digital literacies (Ávila & Pandya, 2013). These areas of scholarship emphasize the “softwarization” (Manovich, 2001, 2013) of daily life and provide guidance for interrogating the ever-present digital landscape and its role in maintaining – and less often, disrupting – societal power hierarchies. The term text-to-software is a play on the three-part heuristic that one often encounters in preservice teacher education courses focused on reading, i.e., text-to-text, text-to-self, and text-to-world. The connection to software, as will be implied below, permeates the other types of connection, as it encourages readers to consider the text, self, and world in relation to software. The Inescapability of Software At the heart of this interpretive framework is the idea that software is inescapable. Software applications mediate daily experiences, such as reading the news, stopping and going at traffic lights, receiving healthcare, checking the time, and communicating with friends and colleagues. Even for those who do not have daily access to software-based technologies, the “use” of software is full of complexities and gradations. Tate and Warchauer (2017) contend that the traditional term for describing disparities in access to these technologies, that is, “the digital divide,” can no longer be understood as a simple binary construction and should be replaced by a more nuanced view acknowledging that “digital technology and the Internet have environmental, social, and human consequences far beyond their immediate purposes” (p. 3). For the purposes of making text-to-software connections, the takeaway is that software touches everything. It is not just a matter of individual users signing in or logging out at will – on or off, like a light switch. It is the idea that individual users do not get to choose. Facial recognition software, for example, is ever vigilant of faces, digitally swallowing them up to produce ever-larger data sets. Whether or not the person with the face has this app or that app is of no consequence. The Unpredictability of Software Also important to this interpretive framework is the notion that software is unpredictable. The dynamic and ever-changing nature of software makes it hard to anticipate what new possibilities or what new dangers will emerge within the digital environment. For example, most Facebook users, before 2016, would never have anticipated that their data would be processed by Cambridge Analytica for political purposes during the Presidential election (at least, not to the extent that it was). After all, “liking” something or posting a picture or writing on someone’s wall seems, 96

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on the surface, like relatively mundane and innocuous activities. But under the eye of software, all of these activities resolve into patterns, profiles, and permutations that can be exploited in a variety of ways. Frabetti (2015) underscores this idea by emphasizing the need to go beyond straightforward understandings of softwarebased technology: …whenever one makes decisions about technology, one has to remember that technology can always generate consequences that escape predictability. Thus, to think of technology in a political sense we must first and foremost remember that technology cannot be thought from within the conceptual framework of calculability and instrumentality. (p. 169) For the purposes of this chapter, “calculability” or “instrumentality” signal a straightforward, this-button-does-this, and that-button-does-that mentality that should be avoided when making (dystopian) text-to-software connections. Instead, text-to-software connections should be pursued with the underlying idea that software is like a raging bull, bucking and twisting and dangerous. A Dystopian Description of Software Below, I offer a stream-of-thought, dystopian description of software. The purpose of this description is to provide an entry point into the text-to-software interpretive frame that might be used in class (read aloud or drawn from) in order to invite students into initial explorations of software, dystopia, and the connections between the two. The description is written in third-person plural in an attempt to capture the feeling of collective helplessness so often evoked in dystopian literature: We are coming to the realization that software is all around us. It structures our lives, the things we see and the things that see us, moment to moment: it structures our social interactions; our access to what’s happening in our towns, in our countries, and across the globe; it provides the means by which our health is diagnosed, our DNA mapped, our criminal offenses cross-checked, our genealogical records kept, our grocery bills documented; it is out of these flows of information that we have come to know the weather, the traffic, the location of the Uber driver, the directions from GPS-identified location all the way to GPS-identified wherever, the phone number of our favorite restaurants and our mothers; it is the means by which we are surveilled online and on the street. Within software are the processes by which we are identified, sorted, and micro-targeted; corporations, institutions, and political entities know us now, as a data point, on a spreadsheet, that can be retrieved at will. Through software, we have bound ourselves within a series of pacts: our personal privacy traded for the convenience of buying stuff with a click on Amazon, the quick fix of social affirmation on Facebook, the efficiency of Google Maps; our disposition of wonder traded for hyperlinks and search boxes; our presentness 97

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with friends traded for the seductive glow of the touch screen, the mind-control scroll of tweets and posts and pictures. We made a deal with the devil that we didn’t know was the devil until it was too late. We traded everything for what we thought was knowledge, but the knowledge turned out to be fragmented and erratic, confusing, a blending of truths and untruths, delivered day and night through memes and gifs and 280-character pronouncements. Through these means, the powerful invited themselves into our homes, our habits, our minds. And it wasn’t just us who made the deal but our friends and family, placing our electronic signatures en masse on what was assumed to be a better future but turned out to be an inescapable prison, perhaps the ultimate prison, The Panopticon. And the deal made it so that even for those without ready access to linked-in technologies, linked-in technologies were given ready access to us all. Pay for something, sign up for a government program, go to school, wear a step-counter, take the bus, show your face in public: We are now data, algorithmic expressions, unwitting participants of interlocking systems of control too numerous to count. We realize, now, too late, that software mediates the ways in, by, and through which we navigate the world and make meaning in the world. We realize software has restructured – and is constantly restructuring – the reality in which we live. Those in power knew all this, way back when, when all of this began, but we did not. And even if we did, it wouldn’t matter. While this dystopian understanding of software is perhaps conspiratorial in tone, my aim is to frame everyday experience as softwarized – as inescapable, unpredictable, and potentially dangerous. I argue that this way of thinking about software provides a generative resource for students to connect to dystopian literature and to see dystopian themes in the text, in their lives, and in the world. And by seeing the ways in which dystopia is in the here and now, all around us, a new critical consciousness may emerge to effect change for the future. Fostering such critical consciousness through literature is perhaps the most important task of contemporary ELA teaching, especially in the current moment when the digital world has prompted the emergence of new meaning-making ecologies occupied by not only friends and family but also governments and other well-resourced groups seeking to increase and wield influence (Sulzer, 2018). TWO APPROACHES FOR MAKING TEXT-TO-SOFTWARE CONNECTIONS WITH BRAVE NEW WORLD

These following two approaches for making text-to-software connections are not meant to be exhaustive. Rather, they are meant to offer two of many possibilities for thinking about how a given text might relate to contemporary life. Both approaches include suggestions for making text-to-software connections and culminate in the 98

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same italicized question: What could go wrong? In bridging dystopias to student experiences, I have found that asking the what-could-go-wrong question gives students imaginative license to explore the more dystopian implications of the technologies they interact with. This exploration is done through what I call “a stance of healthy paranoia,” meaning that students are allowed to assume the worst – no matter how paranoid it might sound – in order to connect the dystopia on the page to the surrounding (softwarized) world around them. The focal text for the two approaches below is Brave New World, although these ideas can, of course, be taken up with a variety of texts in a variety of contexts. I use the word “approaches” to describe these ideas in order to differentiate them from “lesson plans” or “activities.” Classrooms are social spaces that are far too complex, dynamic, and idiosyncratic for anyone removed from a given classroom to dictate what will work or what won’t. Thus, I ask the reader to take these approaches in the spirit intended: as imaginative ideas, heuristics, or starting places that might be useful for your own creative process in engaging 21st century students in dystopian literature from the canon. Many readers of this chapter will likely already be familiar with Brave New World, but as a courtesy to readers who wouldn’t mind a refresher, here is a brief summary: Brave New World portrays a world of total governmental control. The population is separated into five castes: Alphas, Betas, Gammas, Deltas, and Epsilons. Each caste is conditioned from birth to behave a certain way through sleepteaching, or hypnophædia. The Alphas (top caste) are conditioned to become leaders while the Epsilons (bottom caste) are conditioned to shut their minds off and perform menial labor. All the castes in between occupy a range of roles based on their respective standing within the social hierarchy. All people in the world are presented as relatively happy and compliant, regardless of caste, in part due to the constant exposure and internalization of hypnophædic messages. Other elements that make people happy and compliant are soma, a drug used to ward off feelings; feelies, a form of entertainment similar to movies but with carefully managed feelings delivered to all senses; and sexual relationships, a common way of interacting socially because, as the hypnophædic message teaches, “everyone belongs to everyone else.” Bernard Marx is the main character in the first part of the story. He pursues his love interest, Lenina. After their discovery of a mysterious man named John Savage (or “the Savage”) on a trip to a reservation among “the uncivilized,” however, John becomes the main character. John has not received the same conditioning as Bernard and Lenina and therefore experiences the brave new world as strange and incomprehensible. John’s mother, Linda, had told him about the world and tried to teach him its ways (Linda grew up there but was lost within the reservation long before), but his life experiences do not allow him to fully understand. John falls in love with Lenina, but attempts to enter into a relationship with her are repeatedly thwarted 99

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due to their irreconcilable understandings of sex (John expects monogamy; Lenina expects everyone’s body to belong to everyone else). John eventually meets one of the main controllers of the world, Mustapha Mond, and learns about how and why the world operates as it does. John attempts to make sense of it all – and to integrate himself into the world – but ultimately is unable to do so and succumbs to a tragic end. This brief summary, of course, doesn’t do justice to the story, but my hope is that it will help in calibrating the reader to the examples that follow. First Approach The first approach to making text-to-software connections is minimalistic in nature. A thematic element or multiple thematic elements are considered in relation to software generally (see Figure 7.1). For the purpose of interpreting dystopian literature, software is primarily imagined as applications and/or devices to which the students are most likely familiar – even if they might not have direct experience. Applications, then, might include Facebook, Snapchat, and Twitter; and devices might include smartphones, tablets, and any other piece of smart technology, i.e., software-based technologies that modify and adapt according to the updates and/or user preferences. With this first approach, one of the thematic elements that comes to mind relates to John Savage’s character. What does it mean to be “savage” in Brave New World? It means to not fit in to the conditioning program of the World State – to be a human being out of control, unregulated, wild. “Savage” is a clear form of othering, a code word for dismissing someone as stupid, unrefined, or uncivilized. And it’s a way to

Figure 7.1. First approach

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claim dominion over entire populations, as the civilized take it upon themselves to assimilate the uncivilized. From my observations, this dynamic of othering emerges through software anytime a platform allows anonymous interfacing. For example, othering proliferates in threads on Reddit, chat boxes in video games, or comments on YouTube. These communications are often done anonymously, which perhaps emboldens otherwise quietly horrible people to spew racist, sexist, xenophobic, homophobic, and ableist thoughts out loud and out in the open for everyone to see. What could go wrong is that individuals with lamentable beliefs find each other much more readily than what would be possible without software. Othering attitudes become increasingly naturalized for these individuals until they see themselves as righteous, correct, and civilized in contrast to what they see as savage hordes. Indeed, this possibility seems more and more systematically exploited by groups seeking to radicalize individuals and/or groups looking to increase their ranks (e.g., the alt-right or ISIS). For example, one may wonder about the role of software in the protest and counter-protest in Charlottesville, VA in August of 2017 in terms of how members of white supremacist groups found each other, organized, and rallied around racist slogans. According to one alt-right protester, it was important to get their “memes out there” and use Internet chat rooms to establish connections between people from locations near and far (as reported in the VICE documentary Charlottesville: Race and Terror). Software enables targeted public relations campaigns, which exposes greater numbers of people to groups with violent intentions, both in the digital world and, as evidenced in Charlottesville, in the physical world. Through this text-to-software connection, I also wonder about the pace of software in enabling fringe groups to radicalize individuals, propagandize digital spaces, and ultimately cultivate (and expose) mainstream sympathetic attitudes toward hate. Could it be that this software-enabled pace will prompt a complete realignment of social attitudes, values, and beliefs? Or have these attitudes, values, and beliefs always been there in some form – and perhaps they are simply more visible through software-based technologies? A little bit of both? These are the types of questions that might generate dialogue about a book like Brave New World and the software of the digital world. In other words, this way of making text-to-software connections might bolster interpretive possibilities for Brave New World. For example, in a straightforward interpretation of “the Savage,” John Savage’s character might come to symbolize the outsider, or primitive, or the Other, as those populations who lie outside the cultural attitudes of the dominant culture and are therefore seen as less-than and subjugated by those holding power. With a text-to-software connection, we might come to see the various ways in which contemporary technologies enable forms of othering that may resonate with historical examples but also push them to qualitatively new places. Software, then, may come to be imagined as a place in which the cultural attitudes of the dominant culture are a site of struggle in ways unlike before. 101

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Second Approach The second approach to making text-to-software connections takes up three observations from Berry (2011), a software theorist, about what software allows human beings to do (see Table 7.1). Berry develops a philosophical stance by exploring new “ways of being” in the world that have emerged through software. This stance is helpful for text-to-software connections because it allows for broad Table 7.1. Text-to-software framework, approach #2 Berry’s (2011, p. 2) observations

Text-to-software questions for dystopian literature

[In] a way that is completely How are the characters’ mental processes controlled new, software allows the delegation of mental processes in the story? What of high sophistication into technologies are employed computational systems. This to enable methods of control? instils a greater degree of agency into the technical devices than could have been possible with mechanical systems.

Extending text-to-software questions in class discussion What role does software play in our mental processes today? To what extent are our lives structured around applications (e.g., social media)? What is possible now through technology that would have been impossible ten years ago? What could go wrong?

[Networked] software, in particular, encourages a communicative environment of rapidly changing feedback mechanisms that tie humans and non-humans together into new aggregates. These then perform tasks, undertake incredible calculative feats, and mobilize and develop areas at a much higher intensity than in a nonnetworked environment.

How is information shared in the story? Given how information is shared, what is possible and what is impossible? (Or likely or unlikely?)

How is information shared through software today? What are the implications for the news, social life, and living life generally? What are positive aspects of this information sharing? What could go wrong?

[There] is a greater use of embedded and quasi-visible technologies, leading to a rapid growth in the amount of quantification that is taking place in society. Indeed, algorithms are increasingly quantifying and measuring our social and everyday lives.

What is quantified or measured in the story world? Why? How does quantification and measurement allow some characters to control others?

In what ways are thought processes subject to quantification and measurement? What are the implications in, for example, search engines using highly sophisticated algorithms to display results? Or tests that quantify ability? What could go wrong?

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thinking about how daily experiences with software might relate to thematic content of Brave New World. The three columns in Table 7.1 contain Berry’s observations (left), text-to-software questions for dystopian literature (middle), and a column of questions that extend the interpretation to everyday life. The table is not necessarily meant to be coupled with a systematic approach, e.g., answering all questions in each row one by one. Instead, the table might be interpreted as an offering of various possibilities that one can pursue or not pursue, or even a place to start in creating new possibilities to explore for a particular class or book. Table 7.1, first column. The first column offers observations about how technologies “[delegate] mental processes,” how they “tie humans and non-humans together,” and how they are “increasingly quantifying and measuring our social and everyday lives.” As a start, these observations might bring to mind seemingly simple technologies such as the calculator, which has greatly expanded the capacities of humans to solve problems via the delegation of cumbersome number crunching to a machine. But increasingly, more and more mental processes are being delegated, such as parking, braking, or even steering a car. And with the advent of social media, social life has become a mixture of human and non-human interaction, as one has options of clicking the thumbs-up for “like” or a heart for “love” or a series of other social responses that have been shorthanded by a platform to perhaps make social interaction more quick, convenient, or comfortable on the one hand, but also to quantify and measure such interaction and “customize” the user’s online experience on the other. Table 7.1, second column. The second column offers questions, inspired by Berry’s observations, that might prompt the identification of thematic elements of Brave New World as being similar to software-based technologies. Looking across these questions, for example, students might observe that mental processes of the characters are regulated by hypnophædia. Hypnophædia emerges at key points in the story to demonstrate that the sleep-taught characters have had their thoughts, through years upon years of conditioning, delegated to the World State. Hypnophædic slogans learned at night surface through the characters’ voices in the daytime to demonstrate the totality of the World State’s influence. “Everyone belongs to everyone else,” “Ending is better than mending,” and “History is bunk” are among the messages that shape, for example, attitudes toward sex, drugs, and State-sponsored narratives of the past. The State, in other words, thinks on behalf of its subjects through the advancement of “moral education” through hypnophaedia. This is one example of many: Students might observe that the idea of a digital footprint resonates with Bernard’s paranoia of being watched because what once may have been considered private is under the gaze of the World State and may be used to incriminate individuals. Modes of distraction and escapism in Brave New World, such as the feelies, sports, and soma might emerge in a discussion of how software-based technologies have shaped daily experiences and knowledge of the world, leading to new questions. For example, how might those in power use the quickening of the news cycle, the 103

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addictiveness of mobile games, and the relentlessness of push notifications to create a software-driven context of manipulation and control? Table 7.1, third column. The third column offers prompts that extend text-to-software connections to everyday, contemporary life. The question of What could go wrong? appears in each box to remind students that finding dystopian connections to everyday life requires an imaginative cynicism that can be productive for (re)considering the manipulative potential of software-based technologies. Looking across this column, I immediately think about all the ways that hypnophædic-like slogans, messages, and interpretations have proliferated throughout local and global spaces through the use of software, particularly social media platforms, which have allowed for the quick and steady flow of such information. I wonder about the extent to which hashtags, memes, and viral videos might naturalize certain values, attitudes, and beliefs across various populations. Taking this thought to the furthest extreme with the question of what could go wrong, I wonder how governments, corporations, and other interested groups might organize meme campaigns or occupy certain hashtags or micro-target people using vast data sets to produce social attitudes aligning with their own interests. In other words, what could go wrong is that, through software, interested parties could manipulate the meaning-making context for various populations and even micro-target individual users to wage a sort of psychological warfare. (To explore that idea further with my students, we might refer to a site called Hamilton 38, https:// dashboard.securingdemocracy.org/, which tracks “Russian Influence Operations on Twitter.”) Through this text-to-software connection, I wonder about how much of my thought is my own and how much is received through the massive amounts of digital texts I consume. The volume seems far too much to critically consume, as the mindless routines of logging in and scrolling through the feeds of news, posts, and tweets might, if thinking toward dystopia, operate as a sort of hypnophaedia. CONCLUSION

In this chapter, I have offered a text-to-software framework for connecting dystopian literature to living in the 21st century. It is my hope that the approaches outlined above prove useful for giving students a space to connect their lived experiences in the softwarized world to the world as presented on the page in dystopian literature. Dystopian literature will likely always be part of the ELA curriculum. To take full interpretive advantage of the what ifs in this genre involves finding connections that might help students (as well as their teachers and us all) interpret and re-interpret the culture in which we currently live with a sense of criticality. Canonized dystopian literature, in particular, has enormous staying power that will almost certainly continue far into the 21st century and beyond, so it is especially important to think of novels like Brave New World through new literary interpretive frames. The text-to-software framework I’ve described in this chapter is one way to do this work, although there are certainly other ways to connect the canon to the present 104

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day. And there is much interest and creative energy being devoted to that endeavor. Margaret Atwood’s Handmaid’s Tale, for example, has been updated through a Hulu Original series; a new movie version of Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 starring Michael B. Jordan came out in summer 2018; and many commentators have found numerous parallels between HBO’s Westworld and Brave New World, from character names to settings to thematic content. All of these projects have been able to revitalize dystopian themes of the past to address current concerns. That is to say, canonical dystopias tend to speak across time, and with a certain type of listening, we might hear them in ever newer ways. The aim of the text-to-software framework is to promote this type of listening and thereby to foster critical social consciousness about the role of software in the 21st century: how it shapes our thoughts, actions, and relationships in this brave new world. NOTE 1

These questions are inspired by the tenets of culturally relevant (Ladson-Billings, 1995), responsive (Gay, 2002), and sustaining (Paris, 2012) pedagogies. The interrelated tenets of high expectations, cultural competence, and critical social consciousness emphasize the need for teachers to position students as classroom intellectuals whose knowledges, experiences, and cultural backgrounds are viewed for making meaning of course content. Thus, it is my intent in this chapter that student experiences with software-based technologies and what they have to say about their experiences be viewed as the primary engine for building understanding about the cultural meaning of software and fostering critical social consciousness about the presence of software in the current moment.

REFERENCES Avila, J., & Pandya, J. Z. (2013). Traveling, textual authority, and transformation: An introduction to critical digital literacies. In J. Avila & J. Z. Pandya (Eds.), Critical digital literacies as social praxis: Intersections and challenges (pp. 1–14). New York, NY: Peter Lang. Berry, D. (2011). The philosophy of software: Code and mediation in the digital age. New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan. Gay, G. (2002). Preparing for culturally responsive teaching. Journal of Teacher Education, 53(2), 106–116. Kitchin, R., & Dodge, M. (2011). Code/space: Software and everyday life. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Ladson-Billings, G. (1995). Toward a theory of culturally relevant pedagogy. American Educational Research Journal, 32(3), 465–491. Lynch, T. L. (2015a). The hidden role of software in educational research: Policy to practice. New York, NY: Routledge. Lynch, T. L. (2015b). Software’s smile: A critical software analysis of educational technology certification in New York state. Contemporary Issues in Technology and Teacher Education, 15(4), 600–616. Manovich, L. (2013). Software takes command. New York, NY: Bloomsbury Academic. Paris, D. (2012). Culturally sustaining pedagogy: A needed change in stance, terminology, and practice. Educational Researcher, 41(3), 93–97. Sulzer, M. A. (2018). (Re)conceptualizing digital literacies before and after the election of Trump. English Teaching: Practice & Critique, 17(2), 58–71. Retrieved from https://doi.org/10.1108/ ETPC-06-2017-0098 Tate, T., & Warschauer, M. (2017). The digital divide in language and literacy education. In S. Thorne & S. May (Eds.), Language, education and technology (pp. 45–56). New York, NY: Springer.

Mark A. Sulzer University of Cincinnati Cincinnati, OH 105

PART 3 APPLYING CRITICAL LENSES

CARLIN BORSHEIM-BLACK

8. A CRITICAL RACE APPROACH TO TEACHING TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD

Ms. Allen taught ninth-grade English in a predominantly white and affluent community in rural Michigan. As is often the case during the study of To Kill a Mockingbird (TKAM), she and her students discussed the main symbol of the book: Sam:

It’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.

Ms. Allen: Why? Sam:

They don’t do anything bad.

Ms. Allen: And if you’re killing a mockingbird, something that hasn’t done anything wrong, that can’t defend itself, it’s worse than killing something that has its own defense. How does this add to Atticus’s moral character? Student:

(Inaudible)

Ms. Allen: Yes, he’s an advocate for those… and who is he in this case being an advocate for? Students:

Tom Robinson.

Ms. Allen: Tom Robinson could be a mockingbird, but what is it a symbol for? Rachel:

The black race.

Ms. Allen: So our mockingbird is someone who can’t defend himself, who is innocent. At this point we don’t know if Tom Robinson is a mockingbird or not, but we know that Atticus is an advocate because [Tom] can’t defend himself. Following this discussion, Ms. Allen expressed concern that this traditional analysis of the symbol of the mockingbird characterized Tom Robinson, a symbol of the “black race,” as defenseless, thereby reinforcing stereotypes about white heroes and black victims. Her concern reflects Toni Morrison’s (1992) argument in Playing in the Dark, that much of American literature has defined what it means to be “American, or, more precisely, what it means to be white, in terms of what it is not: black. Many novels by white authors and featuring white characters, Morrison observes, construct whiteness in contrast to an underlying “Africanist presence”

© KONINKLIJKE BRILL NV, LEIDEN, 2019 | DOI:10.1163/9789004389311_008

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recognizable in many secondary characters. While she applies her observations to analyses of works by Twain, Poe, and Hemingway, Morrison’s argument illuminates problematic racial ideologies in TKAM as well. Of course, the central plot of TKAM revolves around the court case against Tom Robinson, an African American man accused of raping Mayella Ewell, a poor, white woman. With this focus, Harper Lee’s story comments on myriad real-life examples of lynchings of African American men in the name of protecting white women. Everyone knows that Tom will be convicted, despite his certain innocence, due to the overt racism of white jurors in the Jim Crow South. But Atticus Finch takes the case anyway, because it is the right thing to do. As the plot unfolds, Scout, the narrator, learns lessons about what it means to be a young white girl in Alabama – in part through parallel lessons about what it means to be a black man in Alabama. While typical readings of TKAM focus on antiracist themes – of working against lynch mobs and racist jurors – it is less typical to uncover some of the more covert, implicit racist ideologies of the text. Toward a critical race analysis, Morrison invites readers to ask: how are characters of color portrayed? Which characters have agency and which characters do not? From this perspective, readers notice that although the plot hinges on Tom and his innocence, it is Atticus Finch’s story that is emphasized and celebrated. Atticus Finch becomes a literary hero and cultural icon, while Tom Robinson, a much less developed character, has little agency to act on his own behalf. Tom Robinson’s character exists as a tool for Atticus’s characterization. In fact, as Macaluso (2017) argues in his thoughtful analysis, the African American characters in the novel do not exist outside of the storyline, plot development, or characterization of the white characters. Like other white savior narratives, such as The Help or Dangerous Minds, the story has more to do with the morality of good white people than the lives and experiences of the main characters of color. In fact, told from white perspectives of both the author and the narrator, the novel does little to disrupt white ways of thinking about racism. For example, when Scout accidentally persuades the angry lynch mob to disperse from the scene outside the jail, Atticus explains to Scout, “Mr. Cunningham’s basically a good man … He just has his blind spots along with the rest of us” (Lee, 1960/2002, p. 157). On the surface, this scene seems to comment on ugliness of a racist lynch mob; upon closer examination, however, the scene also excuses individuals’ overt racism in problematic ways. First, by explaining Mr. Cunningham’s racism as a blind spot, Lee downplays the reality of what he and the mob were there to do: murder a black man. Second, this scene focuses not on Tom’s experience inside the jail cell but on white characters’ responses to overt racism outside the jail cell, in ways that ultimately benefit the white characters. Scout disrupts a lynching with innocent humor, Atticus cements his status as a hero by putting himself in harm’s way to defend Tom, and Mr. Cunningham has a change of heart and encourages the other men to go home. So, while Mr. Cunningham showed up prepared to participate in racial violence, he left the scene with his humanity intact, still a good white person with a blind spot. Given this satisfying ending for white characters (an ending that differs from 110

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many, many historical examples of lynchings), the novel may actually allow white readers to distance themselves from racism, to celebrate themselves as good white people, knowing that they, like Atticus, would also do the right thing under those circumstances (e.g., Macaluso, 2017). Although this brief analysis only scratches the surface of what is possible, it highlights the fact that this contradiction – of TKAM’s long celebrated history as an antiracist novel and its underlying racist ideologies (e.g., Churchwell, 2015; Freedman, 1992, 1997; Gladwell, 2009; Saney, 2003) – makes it a very challenging novel to teach. In fact, research suggests that traditional approaches to teaching TKAM and other novels like it reinforce rather than interrupt racism (e.g., Boyd, 2002; Dressel, 2005; Thein, 2011). At the same time, TKAM continues to be one of the most frequently-taught texts in American schools. So, how can English teachers engage students in analyses of TKAM that interrupt racism? In this chapter, I offer a critical race approach to literature instruction that emphasizes goals of racial literacy for students. A critical race approach is, essentially, a set of pedagogical resources that teachers can use to design literature-based units that address race and racism explicitly. These pedagogical resources include: articulating racial literacy objectives, applying critical race concepts to literary analysis, foregrounding counterstories, and formatively and summatively assessing students’ racial literacy growth. In the following sections, I use examples from Ms. Allen’s classroom to illustrate a critical race approach to the teaching of TKAM in her predominantly white teaching context. UNDERSTANDING RACE, RACISM, AND GOALS OF RACIAL LITERACY

Critical Race Theory Many English teachers find teaching about racism to be particularly difficult, perhaps especially in predominantly white contexts like Ms. Allen’s, with students for whom race and racism has seemed removed or irrelevant due to racial privilege. Critical race theory (CRT) offers some foundational concepts that may help English teachers clarify their own understanding of systemic racism and guide their treatment of it in literature study. CRT is based on a few foundational tenets (Delgado & Stefancic, 2001; Ladson-Billings & Tate, 1995): CRT assumes that racism is endemic to American society. CRT emphasizes the ordinariness of racism in society. Incidents of racism are neither individual nor coincidental nor isolated, but endemic. Given the legacy of slavery in United States history, racism has been woven into the fabric of laws, policies, systems, and institutions from the constitution to the legal system to educational system to real estate to the accumulation of generational wealth. As a result, racism continues to operate systemically and materially to privilege some and marginalize others. In our own field, racism is woven into literature and literature curriculum in the same way. 111

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Literature curriculum has privileged white perspectives, even on the topic of racism. A critical race approach assumes that there is no way to be neutral on the topic in the classroom; racism operates in literature curriculum whether we intend to address it explicitly or not. CRT challenges abstract liberalism and colorblindness. The term abstract liberalism describes a worldview shaped by cultural assumptions, norms, concepts, habits, and expectations based on notions of “equal opportunity,” “meritocracy,” and “individual effort.” These ways of thinking work to obfuscate the ways racism works. For example, Bonilla-Silva (2003) illustrates abstract liberalism with an example from a white, female college student: I don’t think they should be provided with unique opportunities. I think that they should have the same opportunities as everyone else … I don’t think that just because they’re a minority that they should, you know, not meet the requirements, you know. (p. 31) On the surface, individuals who express views based in abstract liberalism can seem to be arguing for equality – this young woman is, after all, arguing that everyone should have the same opportunities. At the same time, however, her rationale ignores the effects of past and contemporary racism on the social, economic, and educational status of people of color. By saying “they should have the same opportunities as everyone else,” this student is, essentially, defending racial inequality. Similarly, colorblindness refers to a desire, often on the part of white individuals, to deny the existence of racial difference. A colorblind perspective suggests that talking about racism makes the problem worse. Colorblindness is a racist ideology that protects the invisibility of racism and the ways it works. Antiracism involves naming racism in various forms in order to interrupt it. A critical race approach assumes that English teachers must address race and racism explicitly. Not teaching about racism is not neutral. CRT values the voices and experiences of people of color. CRT argues that by virtue of their experiences with racism, people of color are in a position to speak with authority about the nature of race and racism in a way that white people are not. CRT places value on the personal experiences and stories of people of color as a means of building solidarity, inspiring change, and challenging dominant ideology. CRT emphasizes the need for counterstories, which “aim to cast doubt on the validity of accepted premises or myths, especially ones held by the majority” (Delgado & Stefancic, 2001, p. 144). Counterstories challenge dominant narratives about things like the American Dream or meritocracy. A critical race approach prioritizes literature by and about people of color. CRT prioritizes social justice. With roots in the civil rights movement, CRT is intended to be more than a theoretical framework; it is a call for social activism. CRT scholars urge academicians, educators, policy makers, community activists, and 112

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others to move past theoretical discussions to make a difference in their communities and fields. A critical race approach looks for ways to integrate social action together with goals of literature study. Racial Literacy Goals The ultimate goal of a critical race approach is racial literacy (Bolgatz, 2005; Guinier, 2004; Rogers & Mosley, 2006; Twine, 2010). Within English, literature that foregrounds the topic of race or racism can be a powerful tool for racial literacy instruction (e.g., Boston & Baxley, 2007; Sutherland, 2008; Thomas, 2015). Racial literacy goals in literature study look like: ‡ recognizing the role literature plays in reinforcing or interrupting constructions of race and racial stereotypes; ‡ identifying examples of racism in literature and the world as operating on individual, institutional, sociological, and/or epistemological levels; ‡ understanding race concepts, such as colorblindness, institutional racism, white privilege, racial identity, etc. and using those concepts to deconstruct racism in literary analysis; ‡ understanding intersectionality, which describes the dynamic and fluid relationship among race, class, gender, sexuality, and other markers of difference, and its relationship to characterization; ‡ considering one’s own racial identities and how those racial identities influence readers’ interpretations of a novel; ‡ using literature as a platform from which to engage in talk about race/ism even when it is difficult, awkward, or uncomfortable; ‡ leveraging understandings of race and racism in literature into an ability to name and challenge forms of everyday racism in the world. Through critical readings of literature, a critical race approach helps students to identify and name dominant racial ideologies and encourages them to question ways those ideologies have contributed to their own and others’ assumptions. Equipping students to analyze racial ideologies in texts prepares them to apply those skills not only to the analysis of literature, but also to media, popular culture, and examples of racism they encounter in their daily lives. A CRITICAL RACE APPROACH TO TEACHING TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD

A critical race approach offers resources for designing literature-based units that foreground race and racism with the goal of racial literacy. In this section, I identify resources, which include: articulating racial literacy objectives; applying critical race concepts to literary analysis; foregrounding counterstories; implicating readers’ racial identities; and formatively and summatively assessing growth and understanding. I use examples from Ms. Allen’s revised TKAM unit to illustrate. 113

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Articulate Racial Literacy Objectives A critical race approach begins with articulating concrete racial literacy objectives. What do you want students to know and be able to do as a result of reading about and discussion racism in this unit? When Ms. Allen revised her TKAM unit, she decided to focus on institutional racism: “Students will learn the definition of institutional racism and apply it to their analysis of TKAM.” Near the middle of the unit, as students were reading about the trial of Tom Robinson, she defined institutional racism on the whiteboard: “the unequal distribution of rights or opportunities to individual or groups that results from the normal operations of society. Usually unintentional. Also the belief that race accounts for differences in human character or ability and that a particular race is superior to others based on arbitrary things.” Drawing on goals of racial literacy defined in the previous section, English teachers might identify racial literacy objectives by naming particular race concepts that are integral to a sophisticated understanding of race/ism in a particular novel of study. For example, Ms. Allen identified institutional racism as a concept that she knew would both push her students’ current understanding of racism and also connect directly with their analysis of TKAM. Based on these concepts, other sample racial literacy objectives for TKAM might include: ‡ connecting TKAM to a larger sociohistorical context of the criminalization of African American men from the Reconstruction Era to today (e.g., Alexander, 2012); ‡ exploring examples of white savior narratives (e.g., Freedom Writers, 2007; Dangerous Minds, 1996; The Blind Side, 2009; or The Help, 2011), considering whether TKAM falls in that category and what difference that makes. Articulating racial literacy objectives early on in the process can inform the design of the remainder of the literature-based unit, from supplementary text selection to the design of formative and summative assignments. Racial literacy objectives also accomplish a few key things: Naming racial literacy objectives frames race concepts about which teachers can teach and students can learn. Learning about race/ism is often framed in terms of addressing students’ opinions or beliefs or exposing students to multiple perspectives. From that standpoint, English teachers can sometimes feel uncertain about what the goals are – to change students’ opinions or beliefs? English teachers sometimes wonder, is this still English? (e.g., Leer, 2010). By articulating racial literacy objectives, Ms. Allen expressed a clear goal, one that she could hold students accountable for understanding, one that related directly to their reading of TKAM, and one that gave her a clearer vision of what she hoped to accomplish through the unit. Naming racial literacy objectives prioritizes racial literacy in literature instruction. Race-related goals often take a back seat to more traditional goals of 114

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literature study, like identifying a theme or making personal connections. English teachers sometimes think about race-related subject matter as something to talk about or something to which students can be exposed, but not necessarily something they should be accountable for teaching or students should be accountable for learning. By articulating the objective, Ms. Allen elevates racial literacy to an official part of the literature curriculum. Naming racial literacy objectives narrows a specific race-related topic tied directly to the literature. The topic of racism can seem broad and overwhelming, especially when the novel takes students back to slavery or the Jim Crow era. For example, TKAM might entail teaching about the historical context of the Jim Crow South in which the novel is set, including events of the Scotsboro Trials, to the historical context during which the novel was written during the early years of the civil rights movement. Moreover, connecting TKAM with the world today could take an English class anywhere from racialized language to daily microaggressions to injustice of the legal system to the #Blacklivesmatter movement to segregation. Each of these concepts is complex, requiring depth of knowledge on the part of the teacher, as well as sustained and deliberate instruction for students. By focusing on institutional racism specifically, Ms. Allen narrowed racism writ large into something manageable for a single literature unit. Similarly, the narrowed objective helped her make decisions about selecting supplementary texts and designing formative assessments for the rest of the unit. Apply Critical Race Concepts to Literary Analysis A critical race approach teaches students to name race concepts and to use those concepts to analyze racial ideologies within texts. Ms. Allen encouraged students to apply what they were learning about institutional racism to their analysis of the novel. In the following excerpt, students were considering the relationship between racialized language used by characters in the book, including “colored,” “negro” and “n*****” and characterization: Krista:

I think colored is showing the most respect you can think of during that time.

Ms. Allen: Okay, so it is just referencing a difference of a group of people in order to be specific. Okay, and we know that Atticus uses this word. Does he seem racist? James:

No.

Troy:

A little.

Rachel:

Yeah.

Ms. Allen: How so? 115

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Rachel:

He sees them as different classes of people. Like you would see a poor person.

Troy:

Yeah, I understand it. It doesn’t say it in the book directly, but like it seems like he would be.

Brian:

He didn’t ever say anything against them.

Rachel:

But if you were rich, looking down at a poor person, that would be like Atticus.

Ms. Allen: So by using this term he has some feeling of superiority. Rachel:

Um, because he has a lot of education, he seems to be a little bit more mild about a lot of things, so it seems like he isn’t so racist.

Ms. Allen: So it isn’t his intent. Ms. Allen opened up critique by asking if Atticus could be considered racist. Drawing on their new understanding of racism as more than covert individual acts, Troy and Rachel seemed to grapple with the idea that Atticus might be implicated in racism even though he is often understood to be a symbol of antiracism in the novel. Rachel explored the idea of privilege by comparing Atticus’s racism with being rich, knowing that he did not have to act overtly prejudiced or even intend to be prejudiced to be privileged by systemic racism. Similarly, Troy read between the lines to acknowledge that it would seem unlikely that a white man living in the Jim Crow south could escape being implicated in racism. Applying critical race concepts to the characterization of Atticus not only contributed to racial literacy but also supported deeper analysis of literature. The exchange above took place in the context of a lesson about characterization. Ms. Allen taught students about direct and indirect characterization, as well as dynamic, static, round, and flat characters. Rachel and Troy’s growing understanding of racism as systemic led to a more complex analysis of Atticus Finch. Other questions English teachers might ask to connect race concepts and literary analysis include: ‡ Character: How are characters of color portrayed? Are characters of color represented in stereotypical ways? Are characters of color round or flat? Static or dynamic? How does race intersect with other categories of difference? ‡ Plot and Theme: What are central conflicts in the novel, and who has agency to respond or resolve those problems? Do characters of color have agency to resolve conflicts? Who are heroes? Who are victims? Do the plot and themes support or challenge stereotypical ways of thinking about topics being portrayed (e.g., justice, racism)? ‡ Point of View: From whose perspective is the story told? How might the story be different if it were told from a different racial perspective? What might be consequences of a story about racism narrated from a young white girl’s 116

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perspective? How does the novel reflect the author’s life experiences? What is the racial identity of the author? What might consequences be of a story about racism told from a white woman’s perspective? ‡ Race: Is race framed as interpersonal or institutional? How would you characterize the racial ideology of the text? Does the text reflect abstract liberalism or colorblindness? Would you classify the novel as a white savior narrative, and if so, what difference does that make? Questions like these can provide the basis upon which literature can be used to interrogate broader racial ideologies and practices. Foreground Counterstories One of the central tenets of CRT, of valuing the voices and experiences of people of color, encourages English teachers to think about how they might provide counterstories within a unit that privileges white perspectives. Ms. Allen acknowledged the limitations of a story about racism told from a white perspective. One counterstory in particular seemed particularly powerful. About half way through the unit, as students were reading about the trial of Tom Robinson, students listened to an oral story called “From Flint, Michigan to Your Front Door: Tracing the Roots of Racism in America,” told by La’Ron Williams, an African American storyteller from Flint, Michigan. Williams’ brand of storytelling weaves narrative with instruction about complex issues. This particular story illustrated how red lining resulted in predominantly black neighbourhoods, and how factory owners hired a surplus of workers so they could pay lower-than-average wages. As a counterstory, it challenges stereotypes about black communities. La’Ron is not a minority; he is part of the majority in his community. It is not written in response to or from the dominant racial perspective her students were so used to. As English teachers select counterstories for their own units, some questions to consider include: ‡ What version of the historical period does this book tell? What are other versions? ‡ What books, poems, stories, movies, or other texts represent divergent perspectives? ‡ What other texts written within the same historical context are not included in the curriculum? These questions can make visible consequences of text selection in terms of whose voices typically get heard and what difference those voices make for individuals’ understanding of history. Some possible counterstories to read in concert with TKAM – or potentially in lieu of TKAM – might include: ‡ Death of Innocence: The Story of the Hate Crime that Changed America, a memoir by Mamie Till-Mobley, Emmett Till’s mother, describing the murder of 117

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her young African American son and her subsequent contributions to the civil rights movement. ‡ March: Book One by John Lewis and Andrew Aydin, a graphic novel rooted in the life experiences of John Lewis, from his childhood in Alabama during the Jim Crow Era to his participation in the civil rights movement. ‡ Excerpts from The New Jim Crow by Michelle Alexander, a non-fiction book written by a civil rights attorney who argues that the mass incarceration of African American males amounts to a new Jim Crow. ‡ Monster by Walter Dean Myers, a young adult novel written in screenplay and diary format, which chronicles the experiences of a 16-year-old African American boy as he awaits trial for murder. English teachers might also explore fiction and poetry written by African American writers set or written in the same era as TKAM. Implicate Readers’ Racial Identities A critical race approach encourages students to consider how aspects of their own racial identities factor into their interpretations of a novel. Implicating students’ racial identities encourages students to question how and why their own racial beliefs, values, and assumptions are formed. For example, in her predominantly white teaching context, Ms. Allen felt that for her students to really understand institutional racism, they would also need to understand white privilege, and in order to teach them about white privilege, she would also need to raise their awareness of their own whiteness. She speculated that these lessons might constitute their first ventures into the territory of their own racial identities, so she was deliberate about designing scaffolding lessons that she integrated over time. Initially, they read an article about a quarterback who was one of the only white students on a mostly black campus at Jackson State in Mississippi. She used this example to make the point that this football player’s whiteness seemed invisible to him until he found himself in the minority. During their discussion of that article, Ms. Allen shared personal stories about times when she realized her own whiteness. One time I went to get a haircut. I called a couple of places and they were full, but I was feeling impulsive so I called a few different places. I finally made an appointment with a salon. She gave me directions and I took the bus. It took me 45 minutes to get there and it was an all Black salon. And they kind of laughed at me and asked, “Are you the girl who called here an hour ago.” I’m like “Yeah, that was me,” and they’re like, “Oh, we thought you were white.” I’m like, “Okay … well, can you cut my hair?” And they were like, “Well, we can …” Through this narrative Ms. Allen modelled her thinking about her own developing racial identity. Her narrative made it safe for students to share similar experiences. Sharing their experiences was productive to the extent that it made whiteness visible, 118

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encouraging them to get past the tendency for white people to only think about race when talking about others. Ms. Allen related their narratives back to the novel by highlighting the scene where Scout and Jem attended the trial and sat in the balcony of the courtroom with their Black maid, Calpurnia, and the other Black citizens of Maycomb. Ms. Allen could have taken their consideration of racial identities a step further by inviting students to reflect on the ways their own racial identities factored into their interpretation of TKAM. Here, English teachers might return to Morrison (1992) who reminds readers that, “Until very recently, and regardless of the race of the author the readers of virtually all of American fiction have been positioned as white. I am interested to know what that assumption has meant to the literary imagination” (p. xii). Questions to implicate readers’ racial identities might include: ‡ Who do you think Harper Lee imagined as the reader of TKAM? What can you infer about the racial identity of the reader? How do you know? What difference does that make to the story? ‡ Do you think you are racially similar to or different from the imagined reader of TKAM? How does similarity or difference shape your reading of the novel? ‡ Does TKAM assume a white reader? What are consequences of assuming white readers in literature? What effect does it have on the way TKAM was written or is read? These questions have the potential to make visible the privilege associated with assuming whiteness as a default in literature. In this teaching context, implicating students’ racial identities meant raising students’ awareness of their own whiteness, a step toward raising their awareness of white privilege. Of course, implicating students’ racial identities might look different when working with students of color. Formatively and Summatively Assess Racial Literacy Objectives Finally, a critical race approach encourages English teachers to use formative and summative assessments to gauge students’ racial literacy growth. Ms. Allen formatively and summatively assessed students’ understanding of the concept of institutional racism on several occasions throughout the unit. Understanding how difficult a concept it can be to grasp, Ms. Allen offered students several opportunities for practice. For example, Ms. Allen showed the students a documentary called Prom Night in Mississippi. As they watched the video, students were asked to use a worksheet to categorize the examples of racism they witnessed in the film as interpersonal overt, interpersonal covert, or institutional. Ms. Allen used that worksheet to assess whether students could identify institutional racism. Finally, at the end of the unit, Ms. Allen summatively assessed students’ understanding of the concept in an essay question on the test. She asked them to define institutional racism and to offer an example of it from the novel. Although students’ reflected a 119

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range of levels of understanding, Ms. Allen’s students knew that there is more than one kind of racism, and they identified examples of it in various scenarios. Ms. Allen might have taken the assessment one step further to reflect CRT’s emphasis on social action. A critical race approach encourages English teachers and students to apply their skills of textual analysis to interrupting racism outside of the study of literature or even the classroom. English teachers and their students reading the novel in the current racial context of the United States will likely find many opportunities to make text-to-world connections. For example, recent events surrounding the writing of this chapter include several shootings of unarmed African American men by police officers. The #Blacklivesmatter movement has rallied many Americans around a commitment to racial justice in America. Additionally, the election of Donald Trump, who has spoken disparagingly about Muslims, Mexicans, and Mexican Americans, has led to an increase in reported incidents of racial violence across the nation. Ms. Allen and other English teachers might imagine ways for students to use their developing racial literacies to process current events, speak out against examples of racism, or contribute to social justice movements. Examples might include organizing a presentation to inform an uniformed audience about local examples of racism, writing a letter in support of a local movement or effort, or organizing an event to communicate solidarity in their local school. CONCLUSION

Principles of a critical race approach are meant to support English teachers in their efforts to prioritize racial literacy in their design of literature-based units. To be clear, a critical race approach to TKAM would not preclude familiar objectives of literature instruction, such as comprehending storylines, analysing literary devices, making personal connections, understanding historical contexts, and developing thematic interpretations. Rather, I see a critical race approach as working together with these familiar strategies. Although Ms. Allen employed a critical approach, she also balanced it with obligations of her mandated curriculum and expectations related to the way her school addressed Common Core State Standards. She found opportunities to weave critical race goals together with her traditional literature instruction in ways that ultimately led to deeper understanding of both literary analysis and racial literacy on the part of her students. Some English teachers may feel reluctant to engage with the topic of race/ism, fearing that it is too political or controversial (Leer, 2010). English teachers who take a critical race approach, however, understand that no pedagogical choice is politically neutral; deciding not to engage students in an examination of racial ideology in a text like TKAM is also a political choice – albeit one that likely reinforces racism through silence and evasion. Therefore, a critical race approach provides a pedagogical framework that supports English teachers in designing literature-based units that explicitly engage the topic of race/ism toward the goal of students’ racial literacy. 120

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Of course, a critical race approach assumes a certain level of racial literacy on the part of the teacher. English teachers know that one of the best ways to learn about a subject is to prepare to teach it! I would argue that engaging with the various dimensions of this critical race approach are likely to support English teachers in feeling more informed and better equipped to address race and racism with their students. At the same time, the stakes are high. If we truly believe that racial literacy is important, then it is essential for English teachers hold themselves accountable for developing their own racial literacy and challenging the canonical texts that work against it. REFERENCES Alexander, M. (2012). The new Jim Crow: Mass incarceration in the age of colorblindness. New York, NY: The New Press. Appleman, D. (2014). Critical encounters in secondary English: Teaching literacy theory to adolescents. New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Beach, R., Thein, A. H., & Parks, D. L. (2007). High school students’ competing social worlds: Negotiating identities and allegiances in response to multicultural literature. New York, NY: Routledge. Behrman, E. H. (2006). Teaching about language, power, and text: A review of classroom practices that support critical literacy. Journal of Adolescent & Adult Literacy, 49(6), 490–498. Berchini, C. (2016). Structuring contexts: Pathways toward un-obstructing race-consciousness. International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 29(8), 1030–1044. Bolgatz, J. (2005). Talking race in the classroom. New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Bonilla-Silva, E. (2003). Racisms without racists: Color-blind racism and the persistence of racial inequality in the United States. Lanham, MD: Rowan & Littlefield Publisher. Borsheim-Black, C. (2015). “It’s pretty much White”: Challenges and opportunities of an antiracist approach to literature instruction in a multilayered White context. Research in the Teaching of English, 49(4), 407. Borsheim-Black, C., Macaluso, M., & Petrone, R. (2014). Critical literature pedagogy. Journal of Adolescent & Adult Literacy, 58(2), 123–133. Boston, G. H., & Baxley, T. (2007). Living the literature race, gender construction, and Black female adolescents. Urban Education, 42(6), 560–581. Boyd, F. B. (2002). Conditions, concessions, and the many tender mercies of learning through multicultural literature. Reading Research and Instruction, 42(1), 58–92. Churchwell, S. (2015, August 27). How nostalgic literature became an agent in American racism: From To Kill a Mockingbird to Gone with the Wind, literary mythmaking has long veiled the ugly truth of the American south. New Statesman. Retrieved from: https://www.newstatesman.com/world/north -america/2015/08/how-nostalgic-literature-became-agent-american-racism Delgado, R., & Stefancic, J. (2001). Critical race theory: An introduction. New York, NY: New York University Press. Dressel, J. H. (2005). Personal response and social responsibility: Responses of middle school students to multicultural literature. The Reading Teacher, 58(8), 750–764. Freedman, M. (1992). Atticus Finch, esq., RIP. Legal Times, 24, 20. Gladwell, M. (2009). The courthouse ring. The New Yorker, 10, 26–32. Guinier, L. (2004). From racial liberalism to racial literacy: Brown v. board of education and the interestdivergence dilemma. The Journal of American History, 91(1), 92–118. Ladson-Billings, G., & Tate, W. (1995). Toward a critical race theory of education. Teachers College Record, 97(1), 47–67. Lee, H. (2002). To kill a mockingbird. New York, NY: Harper Perennial Modern Classics. (Original work published in 1960). Leer, E. B. (2010). Multicultural literature in monocultural classrooms: White teachers explore diverse texts with White students. Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen Press. Lewis, J. R., Aydin, A., & Powell, N. (2013). March: Book one (Vol. 1). Marietta, GA: Top Shelf Productions.

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C. BORSHEIM-BLACK Macaluso, M. (2017). Teaching to kill a mockingbird today: Coming to terms with race, racism, and America’s novel. Journal of Adolescent & Adult Literacy, 61(3), 279–287. Meyers, W. D. (2001). Monster. New York, NY: Amistad. Morrison, T. (1992). Playing in the dark: Whiteness and the literary imagination. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Rogers, R., & Mosley, M. (2006). Racial literacy in a second-grade classroom: Critical race theory, whiteness studies, and literacy research. Reading Research Quarterly, 41(4), 462–495. Saney, I. (2003). The case against to kill a mockingbird. Race and Class, 45(1), 99–104. Sutherland, L. M. (2005). Black adolescent girls’ use of literacy practices to negotiate boundaries of ascribed identity. Journal of Literacy Research, 37(3), 365–406. Thein, A. H. (2011). Avoiding the pitfalls of political correctness, politeness, and persuasion: An authentic approach to perspective-taking in discussions of multicultural literature. Chicago, IL: National Council of the Teachers of English Annual Convention. Thomas, E. E. (2015). “We always talk about race”: Navigating race talk dilemmas in the teaching of literature. Research in the Teaching of English, 50(2), 154. Twine, F. W. (2004). A White side of Black Britain: The concept of racial literacy. Ethnic and Racial Studies, 27(6), 878–907.

Carlin Borsheim-Black Central Michigan University Mount Pleasant, MI

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9. USING COUNTERSTORIES TO CRITIQUE RACISM Critical Race Theory, Beloved, and The Hate U Give

INTRODUCTION

I (Ashley) first read Toni Morrison’s Beloved 20 years ago for summer reading as a high school senior in an AP literature course in Mobile, AL. I have vivid memories of two moments in that reading. First, when my teacher gave us a quiz, one student knew that Beloved had a red ribbon around her neck. My teacher told all of us that it was clear she was the one to have really read the novel. Second, I thought the novel must be a “good book” because it was so difficult to read – something my teacher said repeatedly. If I close my eyes, I can still see her drawing a picture of what looked like a hurricane on the board to describe its structure and I can hear her repeatedly discussing the concept of stream of consciousness. I am sure that my teacher had a number of goals beyond these for having her seniors read Beloved, but that is what I remember. Fast forward and I can appreciate that my teacher included Beloved in her 1997 syllabus. Given the mostly White, male canon that continues to comprise high school reading lists (Borsheim-Black, 2012), the inclusion of Beloved, a still fairly new novel about slavery written by a Black woman, was surely controversial. Indeed, it continues to face censorship for its allegedly inappropriate discussions of such topics as racism, violence, sexual content, and bestiality (i.e. ALAN Office for Intellectual Freedom, 2017). Still, Beloved has taken its place in the canon of books sanctioned for inclusion in high school English. First, it has been cited on the AP Literature exam 13 times since 1990, the same number of times as The Great Gatsby and only three fewer times than The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn have been included on the exam since 1970 (Advanced Placement List of Novels Tested Since 1971). Moreover, when The New York Times asked authors to name the best fiction of the last 25 years, Beloved topped the list (Scott, 2006). It was also awarded the Pulitzer Prize for fiction in 1988. Beloved, then, has been recognized repeatedly for its outstanding literary merit. Even how it is taught in schools emphasizes its canonicity. Much like my experience, a Google search for lesson plans to guide the teaching of Beloved emphasizes supporting students in making sense of the challenging structure and in identifying and analyzing symbols. A few lessons or units reference how the novel might help students make sense of the Civil War and its aftermath.

© KONINKLIJKE BRILL NV, LEIDEN, 2019 | DOI:10.1163/9789004389311_009

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But Beloved is not just a work of art; it is, as Morrison says of herself in her forward to Sula, “highly political and passionately aesthetic” (p. xiii). In this article, then, we turn toward the political in Beloved. We consider Morrison’s work as a statement about “what ‘free’ could possibly mean to women…to the different history of Black women” (Morrison, 1973, p. xvi). Thus, we offer to secondary English teachers and students a critical race theory framework for analyzing Beloved. Given the current socio-political environment, an environment in which people question whether Black people have the right to say their lives matter, where there is documented evidence of a school-to-prison pipeline for Black and Brown children, where schools continue to fail children of Color, we believe critical race theory can help us think deeply about historical and present-day racism and injustice. Moreover, it provides a language for grappling with these issues in our classrooms even when they can be difficult to discuss. While Beloved on its own can help us think through past and present racism, we believe pairing it with Angie Thomas’ The Hate U Give, a contemporary young adult novel, allows teachers and students to think together about how racism persists in our society. Both novels explore how racism and White supremacy act on its victims and perpetrators, and taken together, they tell an American story that challenges dominant narratives of equality and racial progress. OUR PERSPECTIVES

How does a reader of any race situate herself or himself in order to approach the world of a Black writer? Won’t there always be apprehension about what may be revealed, exposed about the reader? (from Sula, p. xii) As two White, former secondary English teachers, we draw on this quote from Morrison’s forward to her novel Sula to recognize that conversations about race and racism can be difficult and complicated. There was apprehension for us as we set out to write this chapter, even as we felt drawn to it. We know there are likely better words to choose than we did here; yet we firmly believe that all of us must confront issues of racism in literature, ourselves, and our communities. Using critical race theory as a framework for thinking about what Beloved and The Hate U Give offer to us as readers is our effort to provide a tool for those teachers and students who want to enter the conversation. CRITICAL RACE THEORY

With its foundation in legal studies in the 1970s, critical race theory (CRT) places race at the center of analysis (Bell, 1992). Education scholars including LadsonBillings have used critical race theory to study how race, racism, and power influence the daily experiences of people of Color in educational systems (Taylor, Gillborn, & Ladson-Billings, 2016). Scholars have also applied critical race theory to both canonical and contemporary fiction (i.e. Martin, 2014; Brooks, 2009; 124

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McNair, 2008). As both a way of viewing the world and a method for inquiry, CRT guides what and how teachers and students might read and analyze literature. CRT, then, provides teachers and students with multiple ways to foreground their analyses of race, racism, and power in literature. Tenets of Critical Race Theory As a framework, critical race theory includes multiple overarching tenets for teachers and students to bring to their analysis of literature. Table 9.1, adapted from Delgado and Stefancic (2012), summarizes five primary tenets of critical race theory. To introduce CRT to our students, we begin with these definitions and the following questions for each of our focal tenets: ‡ ‡ ‡ ‡

What does the tenet mean? What about the tenet do you agree with? What about the tenet makes you uncomfortable? What about the tenet would you challenge?

Beginning with these questions has been important for us as teachers because it allows students an opportunity to make sense of ideas that often challenge their Table 9.1. Tenets of CRT (adapted from Delgado & Stefancic, 2012) Tenet of CRT

Definition

Racism is ordinary

Racism is part of the everyday experiences of most people of Color in this country. It is not an exception limited to alt-right groups but is built into the foundations of society.

Race is a social construction

Races are ways of grouping people that society invents and alters based on convenience. Race is not objective, biological, or fixed. Society invents, manipulates, or retires racial constructions when convenient.

Intersectionality

People’s identities are multiple, overlapping, and potentially conflicting. No person has one fixed identity.

Counterstorytellinga

Counterstorytelling privileges the unique voices of Color. People of Color are competent to speak about race and racism. Counterstories aim to cast doubt on prevailing myths, especially ones held by those with power.

Interest Convergence

White people gain material benefits from racism. Because of this, there is little reason for those who benefit from racism to work to eliminate it. Any progress is made because it benefits those already in power.

a

Delgado and Stefancic include counterstorytelling within the tenet “unique voices of Color.” Here we include counterstorytelling as a primary tenet because of its relevance to English classrooms and literature analysis/discussions (Brooks, 2009).

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beliefs about the United States. Giving students time to write and talk through the tenets and their personal responses to the ideas helps them make meaning of critical race theory in their lives and their society. ANALYZING BELOVED AND THE HATE U GIVE WITH CRITICAL RACE THEORY

To analyze the literature of Morrison and Thomas, we find the three tenets bolded in Table 9.1 particularly useful: (1) The ordinariness of racism in U.S. society; (2) the importance of narrative and counterstorytelling; and (3) the intersectionality of race, gender, and class. These three CRT tenets offer teachers and students opportunities to raise questions about race and racism in literature and society. In this section, we first provide more background on these three tenets and then apply them to Beloved and The Hate U Give. In Table 9.2, we summarize examples of each these tenets in Beloved and The Hate U Give. Racism is Ordinary The first CRT tenet we consider is that racism is ordinary and endemic to U.S. society. In recognizing racism as everyday or as a “permanent fixture of American life” (Ladson-Billings, 2016, p. 18), CRT explicitly rejects claims of neutrality, colorblindness, and objectivity. Delgado and Stefancic (2012) state that “racism is ordinary, not aberrational - ‘normal science,’ the usual way society does business, the common, everyday experience of most people of Color in this country” (p. 7). This means that racism is woven into the historic and contemporary foundations of American life and that we must all question the systems within which we operate daily. Racism is part of everyday life for people of Color in the United States, and in our society, we perpetuate it through seemingly objective policies aimed at “equality”, which serve to reinforce racist power structures. Brooks (2009) suggests that literature offers possibilities for understanding how racism became embedded in American society. In our work with students to analyze texts through the lens of racism is ordinary, we often begin with three questions: ‡ How does the text situate anti-Black racism in its historical context? ‡ How does the text show that racism is built into systems (rather than into individuals) and maintained through power structures? ‡ How does the text offer a representation and/or critique of White supremacy? These three questions offer us as teachers and our students a way to begin to analyze complex texts like Beloved from this perspective. Racism is ordinary in Beloved and The Hate U Give. Taken together, Beloved and The Hate U Give help teachers and students consider the foundations of racism in American society and its reverberations through history. To read Beloved and The Hate U Give from the perspective that racism is ordinary, teachers and students 126

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should first understand the ideology of White supremacy, or the belief that White, European ways of being are superior to all other races, especially Blackness, and should, therefore, dominate society. When teaching about White supremacy, it will be helpful for teachers to consider students’ emotional reactions to the images the term often evokes of KKK members burning crosses or neo-Nazis shouting racist epithets. It is important to work with students to understand that White supremacy often goes unnoticed and unexamined because it is a product of ordinary assumptions that we all bring with us into society. Beloved and The Hate U Give offer multiple opportunities to consider both overt and ordinary racism in historical and contemporary contexts. To begin to understand how Morrison represents and critiques White supremacy and the systematic oppression of Black Americans during slavery, it would be helpful for teachers and students to begin with Schoolteacher, whom Mrs. Garner brought to the plantation where Sethe worked as a slave. Schoolteacher’s dehumanization of the slaves on the plantation includes the physical beatings and burning of Black bodies, the taking of Sethe’s milk, and having his pupils categorize Sethe’s human and animal characteristics. Beginning with Schoolteacher allows teachers and students to examine the overt atrocities of slavery committed by one person who had those rights because of a system that permitted owning human beings. Morrison is clear, however, that racism did not just reside in the cruelty of Schoolteacher and his pupils. When readers first meet Mr. and Mrs. Garner, they are characterized as “good” slave owners who do not yell at or beat their slaves. Beneath the surface, Halle, Sethe’s husband, recognizes that “It don’t matter, Sethe. What they say is the same. Loud or soft” (p. 231). In other words, Halle says that owning slaves, treating human beings as less than they are, is the same whether it is the vicious cruelty of Schoolteacher or the subtle superiority and ownership of Mr. Garner. For example, Garner called his slaves men, said he raised them that way; yet, in giving himself the right to name them “men”, he established his superiority to them. He still owned them, told them what they could and could not do, and chose not to grant them their freedom. He had Halle buy his mother’s freedom, but kept Halle, Sethe, and their children as slaves. His Whiteness gave him the right to own other people. Through her exploration of the atrocities of slavery and the ownership of other humans, Morrison situates racism within its historical context. Teachers and students can further examine the ordinariness of racism through an analysis of the White characters who did not own slaves. In Morrison’s account, those characters uphold White supremacy even while recognizing that slavery is wrong. The Bodwins, abolitionists who helped Sethe and her family, were motivated because they “hated slavery worse than they hated slaves” (p. 162). They still saw themselves as superior to the Black people they helped. When they tell Baby Suggs they have a house for her, they let her know it is available as long as she is clean since the “last parcel of Coloreds weren’t” (p. 171). Through the use of the word parcel, Morrison demonstrates that the Bodwins still saw the Black 127

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people they were helping as objects. Moreover, they kept a statue of a kneeling Black boy with his mouth open and full of money. The sign on the statue read “At yo service” (p. 300). Morrison draws on these multiple, complex accounts of White supremacy to illustrate the overt and ordinary racism at the foundations of American society. Yet, Beloved is a historical novel, and students might be able to read the novel without addressing how White supremacy exists today. Examining Thomas’ The Hate U Give through the same lens that racism is ordinary allows students to raise questions about institutional and everyday racism in their communities and lives. First, The Hate U Give explores police brutality, highlighting how society constructs victims like Khalil as criminals. At the end of the novel, Starr, the main character reflects on this: “Once upon a time there was a hazel-eyed boy with dimples. I called him Khalil. The world called him a thug” (p. 442). In the same way that Morrison forces readers to face the dehumanization of Africans brought to the United States as slaves, Thomas asks a contemporary audience to recognize how portraits of young Black males as criminals dehumanize them. Like in Beloved, The Hate U Give goes beyond the overt act of the White police officer killing an unarmed Black boy to examine how racism is ordinary in American society. Analyzing The Hate U Give through this lens means we attend to the microaggressions, or everyday verbal and nonverbal insults that communicate to Starr that she must be one person when she is at Williamson, her mostly White, wealthy private school, and another person at home in her Black community: Williamson Starr doesn’t use slang – if a rapper would say it, she doesn’t say it, even if her White friends do. Slang makes them cool. Slang makes her ‘hood’. Williamson Starr holds her tongue when people piss her off so nobody will think she’s the ‘angry Black girl’…Williamson Starr is not confrontational. Basically, Williamson Starr doesn’t give anyone a reason to call her ghetto. I can’t stand myself for doing it, but I do it anyway. (p. 71) When we read this passage, we can begin to look at how Starr’s experiences are racialized. Because she is Black, the White people in her school label her as “ghetto” for the same actions they might do to be “cool.” She is aware of the stereotypes and so changes her behavior to avoid being associated with negative stereotypes, even as she recoils against her own self-regulation. Other passages further demonstrate the racist daily experiences of Black people in Starr’s community. She calls out the “White standard” for names, questioning her White boyfriend Chris on why he thinks Black names like DeVante seem less normal than his (p. 401). This brief exchange provides an opportunity for us to question assumptions about naming and what might be “normal” and for whom. She also draws attention to stereotypical descriptions of people of Color as food when she calls her boyfriend “marshmallow” in retaliation for being labeled “caramel.” Throughout the novel, Thomas examines how racism is built into our everyday interactions and thinking. 128

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Counterstorytelling CRT also prioritizes the narrative accounts and lived experiences of African Americans and other people of Color. These narratives resist the historical silencing of the voices of Color in addressing their own experiences with race, racism, and power. CRT works to accomplish this through the tenet of counterstorytelling. Delgado and Stefancic (2012) name counterstorytelling as the prioritization of the “unique voice of Color” in understandings of race, racism, and power. They write, “Because of their different histories and experiences with oppression, Black, American Indian, Asian, and Latino/a writers and thinkers may be able to communicate to their White counterparts matters that Whites are unlikely to know” (p. 10). Teachers and students using a counterstorytelling lens could critique the void in the literary canon often used in secondary ELA contexts. Morrison (1992) writes that there is a literary and historical “silence of four hundred years” (p. 22) regarding texts that discuss race, racism, and the experiential narratives of people of Color by people of Color. This silence results in an “unbearable violence” (p. 23) toward people of Color who therefore do not see themselves represented in the ELA curriculum. We argue that this “violence through silence” is also disadvantageous for White students, as the overwhelming presence of White authors and characters provides a siloed worldview and a sense of superiority for White children (Larrick, 1965). The counterstorytelling tenet provides space for readers to analyze literature that breaks this silence. We offer two ways of looking at counterstories in an ELA class: First, through the chronology of storytelling and, second, through its angle of vision, or who is telling the story. Counterstorytelling in Beloved and The Hate U Give Sixty Million and more (dedication to Beloved by Toni Morrison) In both Beloved and The Hate U Give, counterstorytelling is evident in the chronology, or frame, of the narratives. One way to understand this concept is through Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s notion of “Secondly.” Citing the poet Mourid Bourghouti, Adichie (2009), states: If you want to dispossess a people, the simplest way to do it is to tell their story and start with ‘secondly.’ Start with the arrows of the Native Americans, and not with the arrival of the British, and you have an entirely different story. In other words, the frame an author chooses for a story determines the narrative. Too often, stories are told from the perspective of the people in power. When that frame shifts, the reader’s understanding of the narrative shifts. In Beloved, then, teachers and students can analyze the counterstory Morrison provides when she “refuses to start with secondly” in Sethe’s narrative of slavery. Following Adichie, we might state: Start with the image of Sethe killing Beloved in the woodshed, and not with the horrific stories of enslavement at Sweet Home, and the reader has an entirely different 129

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story than the one of motherly love and trauma that Morrison tells. First, Morrison dedicates Beloved to the more than sixty million men, women, and children who were killed during the transatlantic slave trade, the middle passage, and the institution of chattel slavery (Mandel, 2002). Before even beginning Beloved’s story, Morrison makes the atrocities of slavery clear through the number of human beings and their descendants brutally killed. This serves as a counterstory to common discussions of slavery in schools, which often gloss over the violence and dehumanization at the foundation of the United States. To add to students’ understanding, they can compare Morrison’s framing with that in their history textbooks or in popular movies. Then, we can consider Morrison’s characterization of Sethe. After the dedication, Morrison shows what is later called Sethe’s “motherlove” (p. 155). When discussing the ghost of the child in their home, 124, Denver states, “For a baby she throws a powerful spell.” Sethe then replies, “No more powerful than the way I loved her” (p. 5). The reader’s understanding of Sethe begins with her love for her children rather than the attempt to save Beloved by killing her. The concept of “secondly” and counterstorytelling through chronology can also be applied to Thomas’ The Hate U Give. The media and police start with secondly when they insinuate that Khalil deserves his death because of his apparent roles as a drugdealer and gang member. Alternatively, Thomas allows Khalil’s narrative to unfold as a counterstory to the grand narrative that vilifies young Black teenagers killed at the hands of police officers. Instead of starting with the image of Khalil bending into the car to reach for a gun, Thomas almost immediately offers the reader the image of Khalil bending into the car to ensure his friend Starr’s safety. Thomas then allows Khalil’s story to unfold, noting the ways that he refused gang membership and the economic motivations for his selling drugs. Again, comparing Thomas’ framing with that of local and national media would give students the chance to understand why counterstories matter and how they can challenge the narratives we as a society often believe to be true. Teachers and students can also examine counterstorytelling in literature through the angle of vision, or the lens and perspective of the author. These novels are written by and center the experiences of Black women, first with Sethe in Beloved and then with Starr in The Hate U Give. Shifting the angle of vision as a form of counterstorytelling, Morrison refuses the “myth of the good slaveholder” in Beloved. Sehr (1976) writes that the myth of the good slaveholder stems from the abolitionist movement; the “good slaveholder” was seen as “the only means available to combat slavery” (p. 198). This idea that liberation was only possible in the hands of the oppressors can be rejected using the lens of counterstorytelling. We argue that Morrison provides this countering of the myth of the good slaveholder by shifting the angle of vision about stories of Whiteness and White people from the perspective of a White person to the perspective of a person of Color. One example of this is seen in the character of Mrs. Garner, the White slaveholder from Sweet Home plantation. Mrs. Garner offers Sethe jewelry to wear on Sethe’s wedding day but laughs off Sethe’s silly notion of having a formal wedding for a slave. Without 130

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Sethe’s perspective, this act of kindness from Mrs. Garner might be seen as evidence of her status as a “good” White person; from Sethe’s perspective, the reader can see how this laughter dehumanizes Sethe. Similarly, Thomas counters the common trope of the good White person by complicating Starr’s relationship with Hailey, her close friend who is White. When the girls are playing basketball in the school gymnasium, Hailey makes a comment about Starr’s desire for fried chicken, a common racial stereotype. While Hailey assumes that this comment was innocuous and repeatedly states that she “is not racist” (pp. 112–113), the reader experiences the situation from the perspective of Starr, who receives this utterance as the only Black person in the gymnasium at the time. By shifting the perspective from the “White gaze” (Morrison, 1998) of Hailey’s account of this situation, the reader experiences a counterstory to the trope of the well-meaning White person who does not intend to enact racism. Returning our analysis back to Beloved, the reader also witnesses a counterstory to the common emancipation narrative of those who have been enslaved. In narratives of slavery, people of Color are often positioned along a binary of either enslaved or freed; there is little discussion of what happens after freedom. What does it mean to be freed once you have escaped the plantation? Beloved offers a counterstory to this binary of “enslaved” or “free” by exploring what it means for Sethe and Paul D to have escaped Sweet Home and now live with the memory of slavery. Moreover, Morrison provides insights into how even the children (and the children of the children) of those who have escaped slavery must grapple with trauma. Morrison situates Denver, Sethe’s daughter born during her flight from Sweet Home, as a person who suffers profound trauma, isolation, and loss despite not ever having been herself enslaved. This positioning of Denver as inheriting the trauma of slavery allows for a consideration of how slavery, while abolished in the United States for over one and a half centuries, still has deep, contemporary resonance. By analyzing Beloved and The Hate U Give through the lens of counterstorytelling, the reader witnesses the multiple ways that authors reject and challenge common narratives of enslavement and racism often told from a White, Eurocentric perspective. An analysis of the authorial choices of the texts through the lens of counterstorytelling allows teachers and students to complicate what it means for a person of Color to live in and resist a society built upon racism and White supremacy. Intersectionality Kimberlé Crenshaw (1991) offers intersectionality to address the tendency of feminist and anti-racist platforms to flatten or “conflate and ignore intragroup differences” (p. 1242). Crenshaw focuses specifically on the intersections of race and gender when discussing how the “experiences of women of Color are frequently the product of intersecting patterns of racism and sexism” (p. 1243). These intersections of identity can have profound and deadly effects on the lives of Black women. Crenshaw’s (2016) TED talk entitled “The urgency of intersectionality” demonstrates the 131

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impacts of ignoring the intersectional nature of women’s lives. When Crenshaw asked her TED talk audience whether they knew the names of Michelle Cusseaux, Aura Rosser, Tanisha Anderson, Mya Hall, and Natasha McKenna, a stark majority had no knowledge of these women who were victims of police violence. While the audience knew many names of the young Black men killed by police officers, the lack of knowledge of Black women highlights what Crenshaw calls “a framing problem.” She goes on to state that “Without frames that are capacious enough to address all the ways that disadvantages and burdens play out for all members of a particular group, the efforts to mobilize resources to address a social problem will be partial and exclusionary” (Crenshaw, 2016). Considering intersectionality allows teachers and students to consider the multiple, overlapping identities through which people experience privilege and oppression. Analyzing characters through the lens of intersectionality helps students appreciate the complexity of issues of race and racism. Intersectionality in Beloved and The Hate U Give. In both The Hate U Give and Beloved, the authors work to direct what Crenshaw called “the frame” toward intersections of race, gender, and other identities. This focus on intersectionality is evident in two ways: These novels are written by Black women and the narrative is itself told from or centers the perspectives of Black women, first with Sethe in Beloved and then with Starr in The Hate U Give. It is helpful and important for teachers to consider the implications of these intersections of identities, particularly in relation to counterstorytelling. What does it mean as a counterstory for a Black woman writer to write a story centering the experiences of a Black woman character? In addition to understanding how identities are intersectional across race and gender, critical race theorists also address the intersecting patterns of dominance across class, sexuality, ability, religion, language, citizenship status, and other markers of difference. Delgado and Stefancic (2012) assert that “No person has a single, easily stated, unitary identity. A White feminist may also be Jewish or working class or a single mother. An African American activist may be male or female, gay or straight” (p. 10). This notion of intersectionality is particularly important for our discussion of the works of Toni Morrison as well as Angie Thomas’ The Hate U Give. For both of these authors, their texts address not only one system of dominance but also the intersections of race, class, and gender in their characters’ lives. To begin, it would be helpful to ask students to focus on Starr’s intersecting identities in The Hate U Give. What are these identities? The reader can see that Starr is Black, a young woman, and is from a neighborhood that would be considered low-income. While she has grown up in a predominantly Black community, she attends a predominantly White and upper-class school far from her home. In both her community at home and her community at school, race and class play important roles. For example, at her school, Williamson Prep, Starr analyzes class within the 132

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Table 9.2. CRT in Beloved and The Hate U Give Tenet of CRT

Example in Beloved

Example in The Hate U Give

Racism is ordinary Explores the brutality of slavery, provides context for how racism and anti-Blackness were built into the foundations of American society. Through the range of White characters in Beloved, Morrison exposes the racism of the “good” White slave owners and abolitionists alongside that of the outwardly cruel Schoolteacher.

Contemporary young adult novel that humanizes a Black community impacted by the police killing of one of their teenage boys. The novel explores how the media constructs young Black men as thugs and how everyday verbal and nonverbal insults communicate to Starr that she must be one person when she is at her mostly White, wealthy private school and another person at home in her Black community.

Counterstorytelling Written by a Black woman writer examining the horrors of slavery. It is evident in the choices of narrative chronology made by Morrison to show Sethe first as a human being fighting through the evils of slavery. Morrison chooses to tell Sethe’s story before revealing that she had killed her child, Beloved, in order to save her from Schoolteacher. Morrison also shifts the angle of vision toward the Black experience of slavery.

Story of police brutality told from the perspective of a young, Black woman and written by a Black, female author. The Hate U Give offers a counter-story of Khalil, the young Black youth murdered at the hands of police officers. Khalil’s characterization counters the oftentimes deficit frame imposed upon young Black men by media and society.

Intersectionality

Story about the killing of a young Black boy told from the perspective of a young Black girl and written by a Black woman. Starr has multiple intersecting identities: Starr is Black and grows up in a Black community. She attends a wealthy, predominantly White school far from her home and she has a White romantic partner. It highlights the intersectional identities that she and others around her experience across race, class, gender, and space.

In Beloved, these intersections are offered through the perspectives of the everyday lived experiences of complex Black characters, both within slavery and having escaped from enslavement. Some of these intersecting identities include the mothers, sisters, daughters, and preachers, as well as through Denver’s intelligence and Stamp Paid’s status as caretaker of the community.

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physical space of the school building. For her, the way that class is “written” on the physical building connotes either an invitation in or a barring from the school. Starr thinks: To me, it’s so weird to have a gate around a neighborhood. Seriously, are they trying to keep people out or keep people in? If somebody puts a gate around Garden Heights, it’ll be a little bit of both. Our school is gated too, and the campus has new, modern buildings with lots of windows and marigolds blooming along the walkways. (p. 69) This discussion of the inscription of class on the physical building of the school shows how Starr’s class identity influences her visions of the spaces in which she inhabits. Race also plays a role in her understanding of the physical space, given her comment that a gate around Garden Heights, her predominantly Black neighborhood, would be both about “keeping people out and keeping people in.” In this way, Starr is seeing that both class and race influence the freedoms of people within her community. When using the tenet of intersectionality to discuss The Hate U Give and Beloved, it is helpful that students understand not only how a person’s identity is multifaceted and intersectional in nature, but how these multiplicitous identities influence a person’s relationships with others. For example, in The Hate U Give, Starr’s boyfriend, Chris, is both White and from an upper-class background. Both of these identities profoundly influence the relationships between Starr and Chris, between Starr and her father, and between Chris and her father. Starr shows how those outside of their relationship question it when she states, “I can’t lie, we get the ‘why is he dating her’ stare that usually comes from rich White girls. Sometimes I wonder the same thing” (p. 83). Starr experiences dissonance as she struggles with the fact that “a cop as White as Chris [had pointed] a gun” at her (p. 83). While Chris offers support to Starr, she experiences guilt considering her choice of Chris as a romantic partner, finding that this choice feels like a rejection of Black men in her life such as Khalil and her father. Race places pressure on the relationship between Starr and Chris, and so does class. Similar to her descriptions of Williamson Prep and Garden Heights, Starr sees class inscribed upon the physical space of Chris’s home: Less than ten minutes later, [Chris] picks me up in his dad’s Benz. The Bryants live in the only house on their street that has a separate house attached to it for a butler. Mr. Bryant owns eight cars, mostly antiques, and a garage to store them all … Most of Chris’s house looks too fancy to live in. (p. 374) Later, Starr “realizes the truth,” claiming that her relationship with Chris cannot work because of these differences between both class and race. While their relationship ultimately remains intact at the end of the novel, this conflict points to the ways that the intersections of identities should be considered when analyzing characters and their relationships with one another across the novels. 134

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CONCLUSION

Toni Morrison’s Beloved is a work of art, and much of the existing pedagogy surrounding the analysis of the novel in high school English classrooms has reflected the aesthetics of this canonical work. However, as Morrison herself states, this work is not only aesthetically pleasing, it is also purposefully political. In this chapter, then, we provide a way to analyze Beloved that allows for both aesthetic and political considerations of the text. First, we ask teachers and students to read Beloved alongside The Hate U Give in order to analyze the historical implications and horrors of slavery that are introduced in Morrison’s work and that have resonances in contemporary understandings of racism. Second, we apply a critical race theoretical framework to both texts, as this offers a language for teachers and students to use when attempting the oftentimes daunting task of critiquing race and racism within the self, schools, and society. Reading both historical and contemporary novels through the lens of CRT provides a frame for challenging dominant narratives of American racial progress that often mask continued systemic inequities. While critical race theory offers multiple tenets for readers, we chose three for the purposes of analyzing these novels alongside one another: Racism is ordinary, counter-storytelling, and intersectionality. The first tenet confronts the common assumption that racism is a phenomenon of the past or something that only occurs in present society in extreme forms, such as through beliefs espoused by virulent hate groups. Instead, critical race theory sees racism as “the usual way society does business” (Delgado & Stefancic, 2012, p. 7). Secondly, critical race theorists prioritize the “unique voice of color” (p. 10) as a way to provide a counter-story to White supremacist ideologies commonly found in media and literature. Third, we focus on CRT’s tenet of intersectionality to highlight the ways that human beings are complex individuals that hold multiple identities across race, class, gender, sexuality, ability, language, and other markers of difference. Using these three tenets, we offer language for teachers and students to analyze Beloved and The Hate U Give alongside one another. While we focus on these novels in this chapter, we also believe that a critical race theoretical framework could help provide space for readers to analyze race and racism through other pieces of canonical and contemporary literature. For teachers who wish to analyze race and racism within canonical texts, a CRT framework is particularly beneficial. We offer the three tenets of this framework as a way to, for example, analyze racism within language in The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn or the intersections of race and class in The Great Gatsby. Ultimately, we hope that teachers and students might also find this framework useful in reading Morrison’s other politically astute and aesthetically beautiful texts (e.g. The Bluest Eye, Sula, Paradise, or Song of Solomon). One might also use a critical race theoretical framework to analyze contemporary young adult novels such as All American Boys by Jason Reynolds and Brendan Kiely and This Side of Home by Renée Watson. 135

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Finally, we would like to leave readers with the idea that critical race theory emphasizes praxis, or learning for social change. First, we hope CRT allows teachers and students to consider how to read about and discuss race and racism within literature. Ultimately, we hope teachers and students will use these understandings to take action against racism within their own communities. What projects might teachers and students develop to move from talk to action? What kinds of actions might youth bring into their communities? Our ideas include artistic works (i.e. paintings, videos, songs) that share their learning with the broader community, student-led community discussions, presentations at local government meetings, or school campaigns for change. These connections to praxis, rooted in critical race theory and implemented in secondary English classrooms, may also be a way for teachers and students engage more deeply with canonical texts, particularly those that explore race. In pairing canonical texts with social action, teachers and students may find a stronger engagement with texts as they relate to contemporary readers, schools, and society. REFERENCES Adichie, C. (2009, June). The danger of a single story [Video File]. Retrieved from https://www.ted.com/ talks/chimamanda_adichie_the_danger_of_a_single_story Advanced Placement List of Novels Since 1970. Retrieved from http://www.crowleyisdtx.org/cms/ lib5/TX01917780/Centricity/Domain/882/AP%20lit-%201971-2017-Titles%20from%20Open%20 Response%20Questions.pdf ALAN Office of Intellectual Freedom. (2017). Banned and challenged classics. Retrieved from http://www.ala.org/advocacy/bbooks/frequentlychallengedbooks/classics Bell, D. (1992). Faces at the bottom of the well: The permanence of racism. New York, NY: Basic Books. Borsheim-Black, C. (2012). “Not as multicultural as I’d like”: White English teachers’ uses of literature for multicultural education in predominantly White contexts (Unpublished doctoral dissertation). Michigan State University, East Lansing, MI. Brooks, W. (2009). An author as a counter-storyteller: Applying critical race theory to a Coretta Scott king award book. Children’s Literature in Education, 40(1), 33–45. Crenshaw, K. (1991). Mapping the margins: Intersectionality, identity politics, and violence against women of color. Stanford Law Review, 43, 1241–1299. Crenshaw, K. (2016, October). The urgency of intersectionality [Video File]. Retrieved from https://www.ted.com/talks/kimberle_crenshaw_the_urgency_of_intersectionality Delgado, R., & Stefancic, J. (2012). Critical race theory: An introduction (2nd ed.). New York, NY: New York University Press. Ladson-Billings, G. (2016). Just what is critical race theory and what’s it doing in a nice field like education? In E. Taylor, D. Gillborn, & G. Ladson-Billings (Eds.), Foundations of critical race theory in education (2nd ed.). New York, NY: Routledge. Larrick, N. (1965). The all-White world of children’s books. Journal of African Children’s and Youth Literature, 3, 1–10. Mandel, N. (2002). “I made the ink”: Identity, complicity, 60 million, and more. MFS: Modern Fiction Studies, 48(3), 581–613. Martin, M. (2014). Exploring the works of Mildred Taylor: An approach to teaching the Logan family novels. Teaching and Learning Literature, 7(3), 5–13. McNair, J. (2008). A comparative analysis of the brownies’ book and contemporary African American children’s literature written by Patricia C. McKissack. In W. Brooks & J. McNair (Eds.), Embracing, evaluating and examining African American children’s and young adult literature (pp. 3–29). Lanham, MD: The Scarecrow Press.

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USING COUNTERSTORIES TO CRITIQUE RACISM Morrison, T. (1973). Sula. New York, NY: Alfred A. Knopf. Morrison, T. (1987). Beloved. New York, NY: Alfred A. Knopf. Morrison, T. (1992). Playing in the dark: Whiteness and the literary imagination. New York, NY: Vintage Books. Scott, A. O. (2006, May 21). In search of the best. New York Times. Retrieved from http://www.nytimes.com/2006/05/21/books/review/scott-essay.html Sehr, T. J. (1976). Leonard Bacon and the myth of the good slaveholder. New England Quarterly, 49(2), 194–213. Taylor, E., Gillborn, D., & Ladson-Billings, G. (2016). Foundations of critical race theory in education. (2nd ed.). New York, NY: Routledge. Thomas, A. (2017). The hate u give. New York, NY: Balzer + Bray.

Ashley Johnson Michigan State University East Lansing, MI Mary L. Neville Michigan State University East Lansing, MI

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ELIZABETH CURRIN, STEPHANIE SCHROEDER AND TODD MCCARDLE

10. CLASS IS IN SESSION Why Now Is the Time for a Marxist Approach to the Canon

In the post-mortem of America’s 2016 presidential election, analysts cast Trump as a champion of the white working class (Flegenheimer & Barbaro, 2016), and the New York Times recommended “6 Books to Help Understand Trump’s Win,” among them J. D. Vance’s (2016) Hillbilly Elegy and Nancy Isenberg’s (2016) White Trash. Indeed, coal country and the Rust Belt loomed large in the journalistic narrative chronicling Trump’s surprising defeat of Hillary Clinton, and the stereotypical Trump voter thus became the target of intense scrutiny and, at times, vilification. While polling data suggest Trump voters were actually wealthier than most Americans (Carnes & Lupu, 2017; Silver, 2016), the perception that Trump won because of a disgruntled white working class remains, dangerously coupled with the presumption that the white working class is monolithically racist and uneducated (Nolan, 2018). Trump himself perpetuates this narrative, boasting that his campaign “won smart, smart, smart people that didn’t have the big education” (Johnson & DelReal, 2016, p. 32). The veracity of these statements is less important than the perception of their truth, as Justin Gest contends, “Politics is all about perceptions” (as cited in Illing, 2016, p. 14). Therefore, the pundit commentary and partisan social media posts that inundated the American public during the 2016 campaign should give English educators pause to consider the power of public perception and how they and their students can explore those perceptions in depth. In this chapter, we illustrate how students, equipped with Marxist analytical tools, can examine the nuances of social class through canonical American depictions of the white working class as well as media depictions of white, working-class voters. Through Marxist analysis, “especially useful in revitalizing texts that seem tired or anachronistic” (Appleman, 2009, p. 57), students can weigh current events against the American canon, critiquing the abhorrent Pap in Mark Twain’s (1885/1994) Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, grappling with George Wilson’s working-class desperation in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s (1925/1991) The Great Gatsby, and analyzing how, in the present, the white, working-class voters credited with electing a selfproclaimed billionaire are objects of both scorn and sympathy. This chapter thus focuses on canonical and journalistic representations of “the stagnant, expendable

© KONINKLIJKE BRILL NV, LEIDEN, 2019 | DOI:10.1163/9789004389311_010 .

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bottom layers of society” (Isenberg, 2016, p. xv) while also troubling these depictions as written about rather than by the working class. While teachers may hesitate to bring theory – let alone politics – into their classrooms, we argue current events and Marxist theory breathe new life into canonical texts. Marxism, combined with the media’s focus on the contemporary political power of the white working class, offers new analytical approaches to the classics. We urge English teachers to put the present and the past in dialogue with one another, as current events can illuminate depictions of working-class characters from canonical texts and vice versa. We also encourage teachers to trouble these depictions by teaching students to question their basis in reality and, thus, their ability to truly provide windows and mirrors into the lives of working-class whites. MARXIST THEORY AND THE NARRATIVE IMAGINATION

By uncovering how social class inherently informs “our beliefs, values, [and] perceptions” (Beach, Appleman, Fecho, & Simon, 2016, p. 140), Marxist theory yields insightful parallels between the working class as it appears in literature and in the current media spotlight, highlighting life’s nuances across and within social classes by underscoring the limitations of these portrayals. For example, author Elizabeth Catte questions the media attention to the white working class in the Trump era, noting how these “narratives by omission” conveniently overlook other Appalachian denizens, including “people of color, people with progressive politics, [and] people who are plugged into environmental issues” (as cited in Keane, 2018, p. 9). Marxist theory urges us to be aware of such monolithic master-narratives. Indeed, many members of the group that was in some sense blamed by the Left for a Trump presidency also supported Bernie Sanders, the Independent-turnedDemocrat who ran on a similarly populist platform. After the primary season, around 12 percent of Bernie supporters ended up voting for Trump in the general election, crossing party lines and ensuring a Trump victory in three key states (Stein, 2017). This Bernie/Trump phenomenon complicates characterizations of the supposedly nativist, racist working class (Devega, 2018). Sanders never attracted accusations of bigotry, suggesting that Bernie-turned-Trump voters, when left with a choice between Trump, who radiated populist beliefs, and Clinton, who represented status quo politics as usual, seemingly turned a blind eye to Trump’s nativism because of a greater frustration with corporate influence in Washington. How, then, might the American public make sense of the 2016 election cycle and the media coverage surrounding it? Marxist analysis in the secondary English classroom offers one way to understand the white working class, a group perceived to have played a powerful role in that momentous electoral upset. Marxism posits that life is primarily characterized by battles between oppressive capitalists and subjugated laborers (Roberts & Stotler, 2018). Consequently, a Marxist analysis focuses on literary representations of the exploitation and alienation that characterize these battles, as well as the middle-class 140

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or bourgeois values that reinforce ethnic and racial distinctions (DiYanni, 2007). These conditions, from a Marxist view, suggest, “human beings cannot be free if they are subject to forces that determine their thoughts, their ideas, [and] their very nature as human beings” (Singer, 1980, p. 46). Literature catalyzes this process by reflecting dominant or hegemonic values (Richter, 1998), repackaging power differentials between the ruling and working classes (Driscoll, 2009). Like literature, the journalism that surrounded the 2016 election is written from a hegemonic perspective, often by those considered “elite.” It is not the workingclass representing itself in the texts we read, but sketches of the working-class provided from another class perspective. Our increasingly diverse society, Nussbaum (1997) avers, requires communication and understanding across difference, such that narrative imagination fostered by reading a wide array of literature has become a moral imperative. In a particularly mean-spirited political environment after an unprecedented presidential election, transpartisan compassion is arguably more necessary than ever, yet we wonder, is it possible to imagine across difference if our narratives are written by such a limited slice of the population? Can we imagine the lives, experiences, and thoughts of the white working class if the literary texts we read are not written by the white working class? CLASS IN THE CANON

If, as Bruner (1996) argues, “human beings make sense of the world by telling stories about it” (p. 130), English educators play a powerful role simply by choosing which stories are worth students’ time. Although we are by no means the first to point out the canon’s limitations (Beach et al., 2016; Kon-yu, 2015; Nazaryan, 2014), we agree that despite the ubiquity and endurance of canonical texts, social class is often overlooked in literary discussions (Lauter, 2016). How, then, might we teach the canon to students who are not members of the white working class, and how do we teach to students who are? Marxist analysis, by suggesting literature may serve the ideological purposes of the dominant class, can illuminate how literary depictions of a group of people – and our understandings thereof – are flawed. When combined with a similar analysis of current events, this approach reveals the enduring nature of these depictions, while also following Nussbaum’s (1997) advice to read widely. In this chapter, we focus on Mark Twain’s (1885/1994) unflattering portrayal of Pap in Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and the working-class desperation of George Wilson in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s (1925/1991) The Great Gatsby. Adhering to the definition of canonical in that they “have stood the test of time, represent high quality, and contain universal truths” (Moss, 2013, p. 49), these novels nevertheless invite us “to read and resist the ideology of traditional texts” (Beach et al., 2016, p. 135). With that advice in mind, and drawing on the framework above, we turn to the texts. 141

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Adventures of Huckleberry Finn As likely to turn up on a list of banned books as to appear among the so-called great American novels (Brown, 1984; Fishkin, 1999; Mailer, 1984; Phillips, 2018), Mark Twain’s (1885/1994) Adventures of Huckleberry Finn needs no introduction. The story of Huck and Jim’s epic journey down the Mississippi is a frequent flier in secondary classrooms, in part because of Twain’s use of vernacular, which marked it as one of the first novels to feature working-class Americans front and center. Kazin (1981) explains how: Mark Twain the ultra-success in Hartford had returned to […] the Mississippi Valley world at its human bottom, the world of the totally powerless and unsettled. […] Huckleberry Finn is above all a novel of low company – of people who are so far down in the social scale that they can get along only by their wits. (p. 296) While these descriptors undoubtedly apply to the eponymous hero and his minoritized sidekick, we see value in shifting the gaze to Pap, especially because Huck’s father does not receive the authorial sympathy that other characters, however “low,” enjoy. Isenberg (2016) cautions against the tendency “to dismiss or demonize […] those white rural outcasts seemingly incapable of becoming part of the mainstream society” (p. xiv), so Pap deserves a closer look. Today’s tacit codes of political correctness might prompt us to categorize Pap as “working-class,” whereas “poor” would be a more accurate description. Twain makes it clear this is a poverty of Pap’s own making: though Huck credits his father with the skills of hunting, fishing, and trading, he is just as likely to devote his time to roguish pursuits like drinking, kidnapping, and child abuse. Indeed, the first of the novel’s many villains, Pap would much rather appropriate Huck’s money than earn any of his own. He is consistently critical of his penurious state but likewise loath to do very much about it. The action of the early chapters arguably hinges on an archetypal nature versus nurture conflict, and Kazin (1981) even interprets the end of the novel as Huck’s choosing “to stay low company, as his father does” (p. 297). This generational struggle is underscored in Chapter IV when Jim’s magic hairball reveals both father and son are at the mercy of dueling angels, a prediction that rings true in later descriptions of the two characters’ cycles of mischief and reform. The first mention of Pap, in Chapter II, comes as Huck’s peers attempt to determine whether or not Huck has a family; they decide Pap does not really count. Soon thereafter, Huck declares he is “comfortable” without a father figure (Twain, 1885/1994, p. 9), yet when Pap abducts him, Huck acquiesces, admitting, “It warn’t long after that till I was used to being where I was, and liked it,” because “it was kind of lazy and jolly, laying off comfortable all day, smoking and fishing, and no books nor study” (p. 18). Huck considers whether he might “tramp right across the country […] and hunt and fish to keep alive” (p. 19). Like father, like son. 142

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The nurture side of the equation – the Widow’s attempts to civilize Huck – parallels the judge’s botched efforts to rehabilitate Pap, “to make a man of him” (Twain, 1885/1994, p. 16). Pap not only finds the judge’s campaign intolerable, but he also rebuffs Huck’s education, throwing his son’s book across the room and shunning elitism. Pap’s tirade in Chapter VI echoes this moment, as his antipathy extends to encompass the entire “‘govment,’” whom he credits as the source of his “‘anxiety’” and poverty, claiming, “‘A man can’t get his rights in a govment like this. Sometimes I’ve a mighty notion to just leave the country for good […] one of the wealthiest men in this town, if I could git my rights’” (p. 20). Pap’s delusions of grandeur are infused with a heavy dose of racism, noticeable in his indignation that “‘a mulatter, most as white as a white man’” is employed as “‘a p’fessor in a college’” and permitted to vote (p. 20). Expanded access to education and the voting booth are so distasteful to Pap that he wonders, “‘what is the country a-coming to?’” (p. 20). He likely longs for someone to make America great again. What are we, as readers, to make of this man? Our first view of Pap in Chapter V leaves an unsettlingly indelible impression: He was most fifty, and he looked it. His hair was long and tangled and greasy, and hung down, and you could see his eyes shining through like he was behind vines. It was all black, no gray; so was his long, mixed-up whiskers. There warn’t no color in his face, where his face showed; it was white; not like another man’s white, but a white to make a body sick, a white to make a body’s flesh crawl – a tree-toad white, a fish-belly white. As for his clothes – just rags, that was all. He had one ankle resting on t’other knee; the boot on that foot was busted, and two of his toes stuck through, and he worked them now and then. (p. 14) Twain, through Huck as narrator, reiterates the off-putting nature of Pap’s workingclass whiteness. Indeed, this description of the elder Finn all but begs us to scorn him as white trash, an epithet that distinguishes Pap from higher echelons. His pallor is, according to his own son, “not like another man’s white.” Here, then, we get a glimpse of the social alienation Marx identifies as a byproduct of a capitalist system. Pap, given the failed attempts to fix him, thus illustrates one of America’s “uncomfortable truths,” that despite our persistent optimism regarding social mobility, “class barriers almost invariably make that dream unobtainable” (Isenberg, 2016, pp. xv–xvi). In other words, per the logic of Marxism, a capitalist society requires a permanent proletariat underclass. Thus, Marxist analysis asks us to step back from Pap’s individual – and numerous – flaws in order to take a broader view of his social standing because according to Marx, “It is not the consciousness of men that determines their being, but, on the contrary, their social being that determines their consciousness” (as cited in Richter, 1998, p. 385). Despite repeated efforts to civilize him, and despite his explicit aim to be “one of the wealthiest men,” Pap, like Huck, proves incompatible with societal institutions, preferring, while at the same time plagued by, social alienation. Unlike Huck, however, Pap dies without 143

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redemption (Takeuchi, 2013), a minor, malicious character who seems to have gotten what he deserved or, at the very least, an adult who should perhaps know better. Given the author’s own elite social position, we urge readers to grapple with this portrayal in the same way that one-sided excoriations of Trump voters deserve a closer look. What, in other words, contributes to Pap’s perception that society is inherently unjust, and what prompts us as readers to see father and son so differently? Using a Marxist lens to discuss these and other questions thus enriches our understanding of this great American novel while at the same time providing an opportunity to explore the current political climate. The Great Gatsby Published four decades after Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, F. Scott Fitzgerald’s (1925/1991) The Great Gatsby is far removed from the rural banks of the Mississippi. The title practically insists upon its inclusion in the canon, and many have attested to its masterpiece status (e.g. Bruccoli as cited in Fitzgerald, 1925/1991; Ward, 2018). Ward (2018) explains how easily students can relate to the eponymous character, because “poverty made Gatsby ravenously desperate for difference, for possibility.” Nick Carraway, as narrator, seemingly falls under this spell, ascribing greatness to Gatsby because of his remarkable ambition. Indeed, Gatsby is the American Dream incarnate, and he is also a tragic homicide victim. The perpetrator of that crime, George Wilson, might also be described as “ravenously desperate,” yet George has no one to call him great or absolve him in any way. If young people are prone to identify with Gatsby, they are just as likely to overlook George. Thus, as with Twain’s novel, we recommend a fresh take on this classic by recentering the analytical focus on George. If Pap Finn is a canonical stand-in for present-day lampoons of white trash, George evokes the softer side of contemporary portrayals of working-class whites, hopelessly plagued by poverty despite a palpable work ethic. Juxtaposing these novels through a Marxist perspective exposes these key differences, prompting readers to articulate and critique their own reactions. Whereas Pap Finn is unemployed, George Wilson is working-class, through-andthrough, especially as compared to the novel’s other male characters. Jay Gatsby’s mysterious work is the subject of many rumors. Unlike his nouveau riche rival, Tom Buchanan does not know a thing about work. Nick Carraway is a number cruncher of sorts, but George really works, and is thus the ideal focus for a Marxist analysis of the book. Indeed, it is incumbent upon teachers and students to discuss both the novel’s haves and have-nots. Nick’s opening lines prime us for this conversation, sharing his dad’s advice to “‘remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had’” (Fitzgerald, 1925/1991, p. 5). We might pity Nick Carraway in his “cardboard bungalow” next to Gatsby’s palatial estate (p. 8), but, mindful of the impact Nick’s point of view has on the novel, we should also pay close attention to his description of the “valley of ashes” and the men who inhabit it, George Wilson among them 144

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(p. 27). His “shadow of a garage” is located “on the edge of the waste land,” at the end of “a trail of ashes” (pp. 28–29). These qualities cause Nick to doubt it is a genuine business, a skepticism that extends to the man himself, whom Nick likens to a ghost. Tom insists, “‘He’s so dumb he doesn’t know he’s alive’” (p. 30). In contrast, Nick explains how Gatsby “came alive” for him once the narrator learns of his history with Daisy and ardent desire to win her back (p. 83). As a peripheral character, George does not have the luxury of ambition or a rich interior life, despite the fact that as a working-class character, he has the greatest room to grow in terms of social standing. George also experiences tremendous personal trauma while Nick focuses readers’ attention on the high drama of the upper class. Having discovered Myrtle’s infidelity, he resurfaces in Chapter VII, now “hollow-eyed” and “breathing hard,” and admitting, “‘I’m all run-down’” (Fitzgerald, 1925/1991, p. 129). For the first time, we catch a glimpse of George Wilson’s American dream, a pathetic westward wish delivered with a “strained,” faint smile (p. 130). After Myrtle dies, presumed to have been run over by Gatsby, Nick’s retelling of the neighbor’s police testimony further contributes to our distorted picture of George Wilson. Though Michaelis acts neighborly in the wake of Myrtle’s death, “he was almost sure that Wilson had no friend” (p. 167) and believes the man to be “worn-out […] in an agreeable, colorless way” (p. 144). Symbolic colors abound in The Great Gatsby, but what of Wilson’s whiteness? Wilson’s lackluster complexion recalls the “fish-belly” quality of Pap Finn (Twain, 1885/1994, p. 14). Indeed, as like Pap, George Wilson may not have a friend, advocate, or admiring narrator, but we can regard him with twenty-first century eyes and attempt to see his full, nuanced humanity. A Marxist perspective encourages us to take a step back from the individual character and recognize the impact of his place within a larger social system. George mistakes Gatsby as Myrtle’s lover, but even if he had correctly suspected Tom, we must acknowledge the significance of Myrtle’s having forsaken him for a wealthier, more powerful man. Violent retribution and self-annihilation present themselves as his only viable options in a world that does not value his hard labor and repeatedly stifles his dreams. There are no eyewitness accounts of this horrific event, only Nick’s speculation that Gatsby may have finally acknowledged living in a world “where poor ghosts, breathing dreams like air, drifted fortuitously about…like that ashen, fantastic figure gliding toward him” (Fitzgerald, 1925/1991, p. 169). With George at the center of our analysis, this line takes on added weight: he, hauntingly white and with ghostly dreams, becomes “fantastic” at the same moment as Gatsby, a dreamer even in death, becomes “great.” Both tragic figures are ultimately subject to the whims of fate, particularly in a society so governed by social class. Indeed, the economic disparity between Gatsby and George plays out in the media coverage of their deaths. To his credit, Nick recognizes the tragedy of the mistreatment of the alleged “‘mad man’” (p. 171). Citing the “gross, circumstantial, eager, and untrue” news items, Nick laments, “Wilson was reduced to a man ‘deranged by grief’ in order that the case might remain in its simplest form” (pp. 171–172). Spurning nuance, these journalistic accounts, like the novel itself, keep the rich and famous Gatsby at the center, while 145

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the likewise powerful Tom and Daisy Buchanan go on with their lives, their secrets safe. Through a Marxist reading of the text, teachers can nudge students towards a deeper understanding of George Wilson, including the fact that Nick Carraway never really knew the man. Like Nick, and also because of Nick, we must attempt to infer what George was thinking and feeling, and a Marxist lens attributes those thoughts and feelings to George’s social standing. We turn now to various ways to bring a Marxist perspective to bear on these and other canonical works. CLASS IN THE CLASSROOM

Teachers may be uneasy about approaching topics like politics and Marxist theory in their classrooms. However, broaching these subjects equips students to read the world according to class and other power differentials. A primary goal in literature classrooms should be to use literary works as a means to help students become better citizens. Here, we offer three lessons that examine sketches of white workingclass citizens from multiple perspectives. These activities seek to broaden students’ narrative imagination while fostering transpartisan compassion. Lesson One: Media Depictions of the Working Class While scholars have advocated pairing canonical texts with more contemporary young adult literature to encourage diverse perspectives (Beach et al., 2016), we suggest pairing canonical texts – in this case Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and The Great Gatsby – with media literacy units (Lacasse, 2017), providing students an opportunity to read across multiple sources, examining and evaluating the content of each piece. Students can pull articles or video clips from various news outlets. They can even select opinion pieces or segments from comedy news programs, such as Samantha Bee’s satirical exposé of the non-white working class (Martinelli, 2018). It is important that students understand these depictions might knowingly or unwittingly promote stereotypes. The goal of this lesson is to complicate the “white trash snapshots” that wide audiences consume and search for a “deeper appreciation of class” (Isenberg, 2016, p. xiv). The News Literacy Project and The Newseum are two excellent resources teachers can use to scaffold students’ explorations. After selecting a source, students should closely examine how the author depicts the working class, noting diction and tone, among other features. Questions to consider include the following: What are some of the adjectives the author uses to describe the people and their habits and customs? Do you notice any pattern in the types of adjectives used? How do you think the author feels about the workingclass subjects in the piece? Why? In the case of visual media, similar questions can prompt students to analyze the impact of artistic choices. These questions prime students to consider how Twain and Fitzgerald portray working-class characters. Students could take either Pap Finn or George Wilson and use a Venn diagram to illustrate how the news source they selected both overlaps and 146

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contrasts with the literary representation. To go another step, students could create a visual presentation that examines excerpts from their chosen source and from either novel. These activities might culminate in an essay comparing and contrasting contemporary and canonical depictions of the working class. Lesson Two: Film Depictions of Working Class Literary Characters Following Bulman’s (2015) advice to look for social class on the silver screen, students could continue to explore depictions of the working class by analyzing clips from various film versions of The Great Gatsby (e.g. Berman & Luhrmann, 2013; Merrick & Clayton, 1974; Thayer & Markowitz, 2000). The team creating each movie necessarily made decisions regarding how the characters would look and speak, so this activity offers students a different interpretive layer, encouraging them to decide, using specific examples from the film and the novel, how faithful the Hollywood depictions are to Fitzgerald’s version, while at the same time recognizing the directors’ biases and assumptions. For example, consider how in the Berman and Luhrmann (2013) version, there is more dialogue between Tom Buchanan and George Wilson regarding Myrtle’s death. This illustrates how George is Tom’s gullible tool to carry out Gatsby’s murder. This film, which was released in 3D, also depicts life in Manhattan much more extravagantly than the earlier versions, incorporating loud contemporary music, bright colors, and characters living dangerously to contrast the gray, dull, quiet life of the Valley of Ashes. An extension of this lesson could challenge students to script a new scene that provides a different take on the working class. They could also specify how they would alter any of the film depictions or even create scenes featuring Pap Finn based on a close reading of Twain’s portrayal. Lesson Stems: Critical Examinations of the Working Class In addition to the lessons described above, we also share a few essential questions teachers can use to create lessons and units of their own with these or other canonical works. ‡ Select a different text you have read that includes working-class characters. What are some similarities/differences between this depiction and Twain’s and Fitzgerald’s depictions? ‡ Using the portrayal of Pap from Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, consider how character labels and “politically correct” discourse evolves. It is important to note how Pap does not technically fit the mold of “working” class. ‡ Examine authors’ obituaries to get a sense of their social standing. What are the implications of writing about someone who is not from the same social class as you? What about race, gender, and/or ethnicity? 147

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Conversations with high school students concerning critical social and political issues can be difficult to manage, but they are important in the development of socially conscious citizens, regardless of the novels on your reading list. CONCLUSION

Suspicious of political commentary on “the now-famous ‘white working class,’” Williams (2017) nevertheless believes “Americans curry a convenient deafness when it comes to class” (p. 1). Isenberg (2016) places at least some of the blame on teachers, suggesting our perpetuation of middle-class norms and values “functions as a mighty balm, a smoke screen. We cling to the comfort of the middle class, forgetting that there can’t be a middle class without a lower” (p. 3). Marxist theory compels us to confront and converse about our nation’s economic hierarchies, piercing through that smoke screen and shedding critical light upon our literary heritage. Though English educators are encouraged to infuse their reading lists with contemporary fictional offerings, we strongly recommend revisiting the canon from a Marxist perspective, particularly with an eye on the sociopolitical context and abundant media coverage of the 2016 presidential election, so that students might come to understand how and why class is always in session. FURTHER READING To learn more about social class in America, we recommend the following titles: Deery, J., & Press, A. (Eds.). (2018). Media and class: TV, film, and digital culture. New York, NY: Routledge. Frank, T. (2016). Listen, liberal: Or, what ever happened to the party of the people. New York, NY: Metropolitan Books. Hochschild, A. R. (2016). Strangers in their own land: Anger and mourning on the American right. New York, NY: The New Press. Isenberg, N. (2016). White trash: The 400-year untold history of class in America. New York, NY: Viking. Judis, J. B. (2016). The populist explosion: How the great recession transformed American and European politics. New York, NY: Columbia Global Reports. Lamont, M., Park, B. Y., & Ayala-Hurtado, E. (2017, November 8). What Trump’s campaign speeches show about his lasting appeal to the White working class. Harvard Business Review. Retrieved from https://hbr.org/2017/11/what-trumps-campaign-speeches-show-about-his-lasting-appeal-to-thewhite-working-class McKenna, T. (2018, January 17). Here be monsters: Trump’s ‘White working class.’ Aljazeera. Retrieved from https://www.aljazeera.com/indepth/opinion/monsters-trump-white-working-class180117104213439.html Packer, G. (2014). The unwinding: An inner history of the new America. New York, NY: Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Richardson, D. (2017, November 20). Navigating Marx in the age of Trump: An interview with David Harvey. Observer. Retrieved from http://observer.com/2017/11/navigating-marx-in-the-ageof-trump-an-interview-with-david-harvey/ Vance, J. D. (2016). Hillbilly Elegy: A memoir of a family and culture in crisis. New York, NY: Harper.

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REFERENCES Appleman, D. (2009). Critical encounters in high school English: Teaching literary theory to adolescents. New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Beach, R., Appleman, D., Fecho, B., & Simon, R. (2016). Teaching literature to adolescents. New York, NY: Routledge. Berman, B. (Producer), & Luhrmann, B. (Director). (2013). The great Gatsby [Motion picture]. Burbank, CA: Warner Bros. Pictures. Brown, R. (1984). One hundred years of Huck Finn. American Heritage, 35(4). Retrieved from http://www.americanheritage.com/content/one-hundred-years-huck-finn Bruner, J. (1996). The culture of education. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Bulman, R. (2015). Hollywood goes to high school: Cinema, schools, and American culture (2nd ed.). New York, NY: Worth Publishers. Carnes, N., & Lupu, N. (2017, June 5). It’s time to bust the myth: Most Trump voters were not working class. The Washington Post. Retrieved from http://www.washingtonpost.com/news/monkey-cage/ wp/2017/06/05/its-time-to-bust-the-myth-most-trump-voters-were-not-working-class/?utm_term=. aa1ba1e8dfe2 Devega, C. (2018, January 11). ‘Executive time’ and White privilege: Our laziest president and an ugly stereotype. Salon. Retrieved from http://www.salon.com/2018/01/11/executive-time-and-whiteprivilege-our-laziest-president-and-an-ugly-stereotype/ DiYanni, R. (2007). Literature: Reading fiction, poetry, and drama. Boston, MA: McGraw Hill. Driscoll, L. (2009). Evading class in contemporary British literature. New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan. Fishkin, S. (1999). Teaching Mark Twain’s adventures of Huckleberry Finn: Huck Finn in context: A teaching guide. PBS. Retrieved from http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/cultureshock/teachers/huck/essay.html Fitzgerald, F. S. (1991). The great Gatsby. New York, NY: Scribner. (Original work published 1925) Flegenheimer, M., & Barbaro, M. (2016, November 9). Donald Trump is elected president in stunning repudiation of the establishment. The New York Times. Retrieved from http://www.nytimes.com/ 2016/11/09/us/politics/hillary-clinton-donald-trump-president.html Illing, S. (2016, December 21). Why the White working class feels like they’ve lost it all, according to a political scientist. Vox. Retrieved from htttp://www.vox.com/conversations/2016/12/21/14023688/ donald-trump-white-working-class-republican-democrats-justin-gest Isenberg, N. (2016). White trash: The 400-year untold history of class in America. New York, NY: Viking. Johnson, J., & DelReal, J. (2016, March 3). Here’s who supports Trump – and why. The Washington Post. Retrieved from http://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/heres-who-supports-donald-trump--andwhy/2016/03/03/7674b578-e088-11e5-846c-10191d1fc4ec_story.html?utm_term=.ae9755c2e6d0 Kazin, A. (1981). Afterword. In M. Twain (Ed.), The adventures of Huckleberry Finn (pp. 294–305). New York, NY: Bantam Classics. Keane, E. (2018, February 5). Put down ‘Hillbilly Elegy’ and read this book instead. Salon. Retrieved from http://www.salon.com/2018/02/05/put-down-hillbilly-elegy-and-read-this-book-instead/ Kon-yu, N. (2015, January 12). Genius – still a country for White, middle-class, heterosexual men. The Conversation. Retrieved from http://www.theconversation.com/genius-still-a-country-for-whitemiddle-class-heterosexual-men-35257 Lacasse, A. (2017). Be radical: Reimagining the 8th grade literary canon. Association for Middle Level Education, 5(4), 16–18. Lauter, P. (2016). Transforming a literary canon. Transformations: The Journal of Inclusive Scholarship and Pedagogy, 26(1), 31–32. Mailer, N. (1984, December 9). Huckleberry Finn, alive at 100. The New York Times. Retrieved from http://www.nytimes.com/1984/12/09/books/mailer-huck.html?pagewanted=all Martinelli, M. (2018, January 18). Samantha Bee heads to Pennsylvania to meet the working-class voters Trump doesn’t care about. Slate. Retrieved from http://www.slate.com/culture/2018/01/samanthabee-talks-to-the-real-forgotten-working-class-video.html Merrick, D. (Producer), & Clayton, J. (Director). (1974). The great Gatsby [Motion picture]. Los Angeles, CA: Paramount Pictures.

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E. CURRIN ET AL. Moss, B. (2013). The common core text exemplars: A worthy new canon or not? Voices from the Middle, 21(1), 48–52. Nazaryan, A. (2014, August 12). Is racism, disguised as compassion, at the heart of cultural relevance? Newsweek. Retrieved from http://www.newsweek.com/2014/09/19/lulled-relatability-264137.html Nolan, H. (2018, April 17). The racist fixation on the ‘White working class.’ Splinter News. Retrieved from http://www.splinternews.com/the-racist-fixation-on-the-white-working-class-1825296124 Nussbaum, M. (1997). Cultivating humanity: A classical defense of reform in liberal education. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Phillips, K. (2018, February 7). A school district drops ‘to kill a mockingbird’ and ‘Huckleberry Finn’ over use of the n-word. The Washington Post. Retrieved from http://www.washingtonpost.com/news/ education/wp/2018/02/07/a-school-district-drops-to-kill-a-mockingbird-and-huckleberry-finn-overuse-of-the-n-word/ Richter, D. (Ed.). (1998). The critical tradition: Classic texts and contemporary trends (2nd ed.). Boston, MA: Bedford/St. Martins. Roberts, E., & Stotler, D. (2008). Literature: An introduction to reading and writing. London: Pearson. Silver, N. (2016, May 3). The mythology of Trump’s ‘working class’ support: His voters are better off economically compared with most Americans. Five Thirty-Eight. Retrieved from http://www.fivethirtyeight.com/features/the-mythology-of-trumps-working-class-support/ Singer, P. (1980). Marx: A very short introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Stein, J. (2017, August 24). The Bernie voters who defected to Trump, explained by a political scientist. Vox. Retrieved from http://www.vox.com/policy-and-politics/2017/8/24/16194086/bernie-trumpvoters-study Takeuchi, Y. (2013). Twain’s trauma and the unresolved murder of Huckleberry Finn’s father. Literary Imagination, 15(3), 259–274. Thayer, T. (Producer), & Markowitz, R. (Director). (2000). The great Gatsby [Television motion picture]. New York, NY: A&E Television Networks. The Newseum. (2018). Ed tools. The Newseum. Retrieved from http://www.newseumed.org/ed-tools/ The News Literacy Project. (2018). Retrieved from http://www.thenewsliteracyproject.org/ The New York Times. (2016, November 9). 6 books to help understand Trump’s win. The New York Times. Retrieved from http://www.nytimes.com/2016/11/10/books/6-books-to-help-understand-trumps-win.html Twain, M. (1994). Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. New York, NY: Dover. (Original work published 1885) Vance, J. D. (2016). Hillbilly elegy: A memoir of a family and culture in crisis. New York, NY: Harper. Ward, J. (2018, April 12). Jay Gatsby: A dreamer doomed to be excluded: The novelist Jesmyn Ward explains. The New York Times. Retrieved from http://www.nytimes.com/2018/04/12/books/review/ jesmyn-ward-great-gatsby.html Williams, J. (2017, August 14). We need to redefine what ‘working class’ means. TIME. Retrieved from http://www.time.com/4899906/donald-trump-white-working-class/

Elizabeth Currin University of Florida Gainesville, FL Stephanie Schroeder Pennsylvania State University State College, PA Todd McCardle Eastern Kentucky University Richmond, KY 150

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11. INTERRUPTING IDEOLOGIES WITHIN THE CANON Applying Critical Lenses to Pride and Prejudice, Eleanor & Park, and Contemporary Life

INTRODUCTION: READING AGAINST IDEOLOGIES, READING ACROSS TEXTS

In ELA classrooms, teachers and students can be inundated with both canonical texts and canonical ideas. Many canonical texts, written by and featuring middle-class white males, offer a limited and limiting view of the world, of gender and power, and of possibility. In contrast, Jane Austen’s work takes many traditional, middle-class institutions to task, including marriage. Pride and Prejudice, though canonical, features one of the most memorable characters in British Literature – Elizabeth Bennett – and can be considered counter-canonical for its representation and critique of gender and social class norms. Parker was surprised when she witnessed students’ lack of general engagement with this text during her student teaching experience. That students were not privy to Austen’s critique is a lost opportunity for critical literacy development. As an attempt to intervene in boredom and foster critical engagement, this chapter provides a framework for an instructional unit that includes Pride and Prejudice. Rather than viewing Austen as the instructional centerpiece, however, we include a constellation of texts that interrogate gender and social class ideologies – including young adult literature, informational texts, and literary theory. Our instructional unit, described herein, asks students to apply Appleman’s (2009) gender and social class lenses to Pride and Prejudice, Eleanor & Park, and informational texts about education, social class, and gender. We borrow from scholars, such as Alsup (2010), who note the importance of young adult literature (YAL) in literature classrooms by positioning YAL and the canon as equally valid and as complex representations of the societies in which they were written. Additionally, YAL can serve as a relevant, critical mirror through which students can position themselves, view the world, and reflect on contemporary life. The unit is designed to engage students in meaningful 21st century cross-textual analysis of the themes common to and important differences between these texts. We argue that our unit offers students opportunities to read the word and the world around them, to question and critique the gender and social class ideologies that organize our collective past and present to help make a different future possible. Because our unit features YAL and canonical literature, in addition to informational text, we include a brief overview

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of how we conceptualize the current state of the canon and YAL in ELA instruction and, in addition, how teaching informational text aligns with our unit goals. Current State of Affairs with the Canon Literature curricula has remained remarkably (and stubbornly) centered on canonical materials across the 20th and 21st centuries (Stotsky, 2012). During their secondary school experience, most of our students read literature that can be classed as canonical, those texts written by mostly white males that time and tradition have deemed authoritative and “the best which has been thought and said” (Arnold, 1869). One only has to look at appendix B – a list of exemplar texts – of the Common Core State Standards to see that canonical texts are privileged and “other” texts, such as YAL and texts written by women and people of color are, indeed, othered. This situation presents a variety of challenges to teachers and raises important questions. What books are we requiring students to read? What texts are we sanctioning as classroom-worthy and as containing important knowledge and ideas? What books, stories, experiences, and perspectives are valued in the ‘official’ curriculum? Who are we including and excluding with our curricular decisions? What ideologies and norms reproduce themselves as a result? To answer these questions requires us to examine the ways we pit the notions of national and cultural (and even individual) identities against one another. The existing (and often unspoken) expectation is that all students, regardless of their diverse backgrounds and experiences, should receive the same curriculum, including the same canon, in the same ways (Coles, 2013). This singular and static notion of the canon reinforces existing power dynamics, encourages implicit value judgments about people’s intellectual work (including women and authors of color), and limits the possibilities of literature for fostering critical thinking and inquiry (Emig, 2015). Teachers need to help students problematize canonical texts and critique the very idea of a canon or any body of knowledge that seems sacrosanct. Given that canonical literature will still be taught in the foreseeable future – because of curricular mandates, for instance – we need to recognize those canonical texts which offer radical possibilities for helping our students problematize the norms (e.g., gender and social class identities) that have been ‘canonized.’ Views of YAL As noted previously, one problem with the canon, at least as it has been historically taught, is that many students may find canonical texts alienating and disconnected from realities of everyday life. One oft-discussed solution is to bring YAL into the classroom. This, too, presents difficulties as far too often, YAL is viewed as deficit or less than ‘sophisticated’ (or what the CCSS calls ‘complex’) literature. The long-held stigma attached to YAL is that it is ‘light’ and, therefore, does not offer the same critical thinking and cognitive benefits as canonical texts. Scholars 152

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(e.g., Gibbons, Dail, & Stallworth, 2006) have suggested that teachers may believe YAL is inherently deficient, lacking the complex qualities of the canon, and should only serve as a curricular supplement when time allows (Santoli & Wagner, 2004). If YAL is positioned as deficient, then our students receive a message that their interests are of less value and, by default, their lived experiences are less important. Many educators, however, recognize and argue for the importance of YAL, not just in the lives of adolescents but as school-sanctioned literacy experiences. Research has found YAL can support (rather than hinder) student achievement and that pairing YAL with more traditionally taught texts can lead to myriad classroom benefits (Gallo, 2001; Rybakova & Roccanti, 2016; Santoli & Wagner, 2004). Informational Texts The CCSS assigned new instructional importance to informational texts. Historically, and prior to this shift in standards, informational texts were infrequently used in literary instruction; now, however, teachers recognize the connected benefits. Informational texts, for example, can be woven into the study of literature to provide context and help students make connections to their lives and the real world. Additionally, using informational texts allows teachers to differentiate instruction and to deepen and broaden the theme or content being studied. We argue below for pairing contemporary informational texts that address social class and gender with two novels – one canonical and the other YAL – to help students question the ideologies and canonized norms they encounter in their reading. Given that the bulk of the texts we read as adults are informational in nature, developing this skill is vital. Before describing our instructional unit, we offer readers a brief overview of Appleman’s lenses, contextualized within the larger conversation of critical approaches to English education. Theoretical Framework In 2005, Morrell urged the field of English education to continue to recognize schooling and knowledge production as political practices, and our classrooms as sites where literacy can empower students to transform their lives and communities. Building on Morrell’s call for a critical English education, Yagelski (2006) argues that English education should promote a “progressive, activist vision” where literacy education is in service of “a larger social vision” (p. 277). Schools and literacy classrooms, paramount in the creation of selves and communities, need to aim, according to Morrell and Yagelski, for justice and equity. Appleman’s approach to teaching literature is a critical part of this larger conversation in English education to help students become critically engaged with texts and the world around them, to empower students to think for themselves about a range of issues that face 21st century citizens. In the context of literature curricula, Appleman asks English teacher educators and English teachers to acknowledge 153

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some uncomfortable truths about our classrooms: first, that literature pedagogy remains teacher-centered and our classrooms overwhelmingly monologic (Nystrand & Gamoran, 1991); and, second, that pedagogical approaches to literature continue to center new critical, formalist orientations, treating literary text as politically and ideologically neutral. Because ideology – or the frame of values informing composition – exists within all narratives and texts, it impacts the ways readers interact with, understand, and analyze those texts. Contemporary literary theory provides readers with tools to understand literature as participating in and informed by cultural ideology, reflecting and reproducing relations of power that organize societies. “Art is political,” Appleman claims, and contemporary literary theory is “the best way to uncover and explore ideology” in our classrooms (p. 53). Appleman organizes contemporary literary theory into lenses, manageable orientations that secondary teachers and students can use to critically interrogate texts. The “social class lens” (formerly the “Marxist lens”) provides readers tools for asking questions about (1) the historical, political context of text production, (2) how texts construct readers, and (3) how texts participate in ideology. Using a social class lens, a reader might ask these general questions of a piece of literature: What groups of people have power and influence and why? How are groups of people represented in this text and what effect does this representation have on interpretation and action in the world of the novel? Who does this text assume that I am? Additionally, the social class lens, as with most of the lenses, asks readers to make connections between themselves and their world and the literary worlds they are reading about. So, for example, readers might begin to ask questions about their own class and economic privilege and how this influences their engagement with literature. Appleman’s “gender lens” (formerly the “feminist lens”) invites readers to interrogate gendered representations in texts and how literature participates in reproducing or interrupting ideologies related to gender, sexuality, and identity. The gender lens enables a kind of cultural criticism, as Appleman envisions it, by supporting readers’ examination of how and why gender stereotypes are maintained and reproduced in texts and society. Applying the gender lens, readers may pose a variety of questions: How are genders and gender expectations represented in the text? How does the text reproduce or reposition traditional or stereotypical gender roles? Similar to the social class lens, the gender lens requires readers to critically consider their own connections to the texts they read (e.g., How does the text position me as a reader?). We believe Appleman’s approach offers teachers and students useful tools to analyze text and life. Below, we briefly review the value of Pride and Prejudice as a canonical text and the real-life problem that Parker encountered that provided the exigence for the present chapter. Pride and Prejudice and the Canon We believe that Pride and Prejudice, as a canonical text, can continue to hold utility in classrooms by creating diversity within the homogeneously white, male 154

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canon. Austen allows teachers to explore the time period through a female voice, offering an interesting and satirical perspective on money, marriage, and love – a stance contributing to the work being taught for decades and for its inclusion in the ELA canon (see appendix B of the CCSS, for example). These themes provide opportunities to compare the normative social and gender expectations of the time period with the canonized norms of the present day. However, many contemporary students may struggle with the language and with grasping the greater message that is being presented in the novel, a truth that was further confirmed after one of the authors (Parker) observed an instructional unit on the text in a senior-level AP course. Secondary students may be intimidated when interacting with canonical texts, especially one with Austen’s dense language. In Parker’s experience, the students seemed to enjoy the storyline overall, but it was evident that many were not completing the readings for homework, felt alienated by the drastically different time periods and representations, and found the plot development slow. Many students often appeared disinterested during discussions of and classroom work around the novel’s themes and focus. Some students, for example, gave up entirely on reading the text and hoped they could get by with watching the movie. Others used what they had heard from previous students (“That book is boring,” “It’s too hard to understand”) as excuses to give up before they even began. As the unit progressed, it was increasingly clear that the teacher could do nothing to ignite students’ interest. It is the responsibility of ELA teachers, however, to find relevant and impactful ways to incorporate these texts into their classrooms. If the canon and canonized norms and identities are to continue playing a role in classrooms, teachers must question and problematize their own classroom contexts and the texts they teach to challenge the status quo and foster critical thinking in all students. In our instructional unit, we use Appleman’s social class and gender lenses to foster critical conversation about gender and social class ideologies in Pride and Prejudice, Eleanor & Park, and students’ lived worlds. INSTRUCTIONAL UNIT

To frame our unit, we pose several essential questions to students which guide their day-to-day readings of individual texts and support their critical thinking across texts. ‡ ‡ ‡ ‡

Should money or social class be considered in a relationship? To what extent does someone’s family/social status define them? To what extent should someone’s family/social status define them? How important is it to fit in with the norms (e.g., social interaction, expectations for education and “success,” etc.) of society? And what are those norms (who decides them)? What are the consequences of being “different”? 155

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‡ How important and influential are first impressions (and what impacts them)? ‡ How do our own prejudices influence our perceptions of the world? What about how others perceive us? Overview of Our Texts As part of this unit, we ask students to read a variety of texts from three distinct time periods to help them think across texts, time, and historical context. We begin with contemporary news stories before transitioning to Eleanor & Park and Pride and Prejudice. While we note that there is no one best order for introducing texts, we make this intentional decision to begin with texts more immediate to students’ experiences and lives (the contemporary news stories) before expanding to the YA novel set in the mid-1980s and ultimately to Austin’s more historically distant text. Beginning with news stories allows students to explore themes and concepts in contexts that are relevant to their own lives. Through the use of multimodal news stories, we invite students to explore a variety of topics related to gender and social class: achievement gaps, graduation rates, social pressures at school, representation in textbooks and the canon, and so forth. Transitioning to Eleanor & Park then shifts their analysis and conversations from current events to a piece of literature. Students then read P&P, applying Appleman’s critical lenses to the text and to society. In addition to critically reading a canonical text, students critically read the world, including canonized norms and ideologies related to gender and social class. Eleanor & Park is set in the mid-1980s and is focused on the relationship between two unique characters. Eleanor is a girl known for her fiery red hair and odd clothing, while Park is a half-Korean boy who loves music and comics. The relationship between the two begins as no relationship at all; Park offers Eleanor a seat next to him on the bus in order to spare her from the bullying of their classmates. Space plays an interesting role in the love story of Eleanor and Park, as the two spend each day next to one another but remain silent strangers for weeks. Their infatuation for one another grows slowly, beginning by reading comics on the bus, to then sharing music, and eventually holding hands. Afraid of her stepdad, Richie, Eleanor must keep her relationship with Park a secret. While the novel includes themes such as family, status, love, money, and separation, it closely examines the ways high school students handle and respond to difference. Our final text, Pride and Prejudice, follows the Bennett family as they live and interact with the societal expectations of 19th century England. As the novel opens, the family, made up of Mr. and Mrs. Bennett and their five unmarried daughters, hears about the wealthy Mr. Bingley who is visiting nearby. Mrs. Bennett is especially excited about the news because she worries about the wellbeing of her daughters. The plot follows the family’s interactions with members of higher social classes, particularly Mr. Bingley and his friend, Mr. Darcy, demonstrating the various pressures and tensions that exist. Mr. Bingley instantly develops 156

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feelings for Jane, the Bennett’s oldest daughter, and, though initially uninterested in Elizabeth, the second oldest daughter, Mr. Darcy’s affections for her grow and develop throughout the novel. The novel embodies themes of social class, family, love, and reputation, exploring the various tensions that existed during society at the time. Instructional Tenets and Analytical Lenses The purpose of this instructional unit is to offer a classroom-ready method for engaging students in critical analyses of and between texts using Appleman’s gender and social class lenses. Using Appleman’s gender lens, we want students to question how genders are represented, how texts interrupt or exacerbate gender-related ideologies, and how these ideological positions impact us as readers. Through the social class lens, we encourage students to investigate the power dynamics within and between various groups as represented within a given text. Before delving into the nuts and bolts of the unit, it is important to frame our work with three tenets that guide our instructional design and teaching. First, we recognize that guided practice is vital for students’ skill development. Taking the time to work together to practice and build analytical skills creates space for students to learn from and with one another. It also provides teachers with the opportunity to model relevant thinking, skills, and language for students. Second, we make use of mentor texts; that is, we utilize texts as vicarious spaces for learning which serve as a kind of apprenticeship experience for students. Third, because critical analysis is cognitively complex and requires complicating one’s thinking – both of which require time and space to develop – we firmly believe in the need to create safe spaces for our students to experiment with language and with thinking and to fail in positive ways and to value that failure as necessary to growth. Before asking students to use the lenses independently, we help them develop the vocabulary and skills needed to participate in contemporary literary criticism. Prior to utilizing alphabetic-based texts, we use images in an effort to help students see both gender and social class representations within compositions. Using photographic advertisements from companies such as Chanel and Hugo Boss, Sports Illustrated and ESPN The Magazine, we collaboratively analyze and discuss representations of gender, modeling for students how we interact with photographs. Similarly, to provide opportunities for students to practice using a social class lens, we bring in a variety of images from the media coverage of Hurricane Katrina. Because Hurricane Katrina was a major disaster from our students’ lifetimes, and because there has been much discussion over the media portrayals of those impacted, images of the aftermath serve as fertile ground for critical discussions. To facilitate this work, teachers can introduce students to a variety of resources, including National Geographic’s Portraits of Katrina (https://goo.gl/rUZCqM ) and anniversary images from CBS (https://goo.gl/KBbLE8), among others. As part of these discussions and as a major component of those that follow, we also ask students to work together to 157

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operationally define gender and social class. This allows them to (1) demonstrate a working understanding of the analytical lenses and (2) take ownership of the experience by creating the criteria they will use throughout the unit. News Articles and the Lenses The news articles and informational texts we’ve chosen raise issues of gender, class, and intersectionality in both school and society. Students can begin guided reading with critical lenses on the articles themselves before applying those same lenses to the ideologies and representations of social class and gender within the novels. However, we do want to note that the texts we’ve selected, while not above critique, often take the kind of critical perspective we want our students to take. The informational texts turn critical lenses to contemporary manifestations and representations of gender and social class. Similarly, in Eleanor & Park, Rowell creates a narrative that requires readers to consider the characters against (or alongside) social and gender ‘norms’ of the 1980s. In Pride and Prejudice, Austin (through her characters and through her own experience writing the novel) questions social expectations in the 19th century. The texts themselves serve as a partial model of critical reading, even as students critically engage with them. “Class Mobility: Is the American Dream a Myth” is an example of a thoughtprovoking informational text that can help students develop gender and social class lenses for critical reading and thinking. The NPR interview assembles a panel of academics, professors of sociology, psychology, and women’s studies, who are responding to a then (2005) recent poll in the New York Times that found 80% of respondents believe in the American Dream. Before reading or listening to such a text in class, a teacher might ask students to find an image that, for them, represents the American dream, in addition to briefly journaling about the following questions: ‡ ‡ ‡ ‡

What is the American Dream from your perspective? Is the American Dream possible to achieve? Do you need help achieving the American Dream? From whom? Who or what is stopping you from achieving the American Dream?

The discussion possibilities that might ensue are endless, of course, and depend on numerous student variables, such as family income, wealth, prior reading and learning, in addition to demographic factors like gender and race. At this point in the unit, students may not be raising questions about or thinking critically about issues of opportunity and access – and that’s okay. To begin that work is the point of this reading exercise and the unit as a whole. The interview panelists conclude, in brief, that the 80% number ignores how different groups of American citizens view the American Dream. They point out that many Black Americans, immigrants, and women view the American Dream in different terms, still aware of the invisible but present ceilings that exist in American life.

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In addition to journaling about and discussing these prompting questions, it can be useful to engage students in other instructional activities to help them wrestle with the lenses and content. One such activity could be a version of “four corners,” where teachers provide students a statement about the representation of gender or social class in a specific article (e.g., The American Dream is possible to achieve regardless of social standing), and students would be asked to move to the corner (labeled strongly agree, slightly agree, slightly disagree, and strongly disagree) that best represents their response. Once in small groups (in corners), their goal is to work together to develop a position statement supporting their choice. This would include pulling in relevant textual evidence and using the language they have been developing around the gender and social class analytical lenses. Finally, each group would present their position statements to the other groups in an attempt to persuade them to rethink the corner they chose. While working together to craft these statements helps students apply what they are learning in an authentic way, it also becomes helpful as they begin their critical blog assignment while reading the two novels. Critical Blog Assignment To create the time and space students need to think critically about the texts they read, we include a critical blog assignment where students take their experiences from whole-class analysis and apply the lenses themselves to the remainder of our readings. The blogging assignment also allows students to make 21st century connections and to engage in meaningful, redundancy cross-textual analysis of the relationships between and among themes that cut across texts. The assignment prompts students to ask critical questions about gender and social class, to regularly post their thoughts and reflections on (1) the texts they read, (2) their own lives, and (3) the connections between the texts they read and their school and community. This allows them to (as we noted above) read the word and the world together and to better understand the intersections between texts and between texts and their lives. Below, we include specific reflection prompts that we ask students to respond to after reading Eleanor & Park and Pride and Prejudice. These prompts give students an opportunity to apply the social class and gender lenses independently, after multiple opportunities to practice thinking with the lenses in class with colleagues. To guide students writing in their critical blogs (and in beginning to write and think across multiple texts), we provide the following prompts as possible starting points. While we encourage students to use this space to write in their own ways and to make their own connections, we want to support their efforts and provide scaffolding where needed. Students, for example, may choose to answer any or all of the following questions: ‡ Since your last entry, what examples of gender and social class (stereotypes and ideologies) are you seeing in Eleanor & Park? What roles do they play in the novel? 159

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‡ Since your last entry, what connections are you seeing between Eleanor & Park and the news stories we read in class? ‡ In what ways have Eleanor & Park and the news stories we’ve been studying been impacted by the time and culture that surrounds them? ‡ Since your last entry, how have your understandings of societal expectations/ norms grown and developed? Have your opinions changed at all? ‡ Since your last entry, which character do you find yourself connecting with most from the novel? Why? Eleanor & Park As part of introducing Eleanor & Park, we want to help students transition from our whole class discussions of news stories to their own reading and analysis of the YAL novel. Moreover, we want students to begin engaging in cross-textual analysis by making important connections between the informational texts they read together and the novel they are beginning. This involves helping students go beyond singletext connections to making threaded connections between multiple texts. Because they have used the contemporary news stories to develop these analytical skills and language collaboratively, the transition to a YA text, and to applying those lenses to that text, is fairly smooth. That said, we build in scaffolds to guide students between texts and to help and to help them be mindful of the other texts included in the unit. An early way we model this is by sharing with students examples of connections we have made between the articles and the other literature we have read in class (prior to this unit). To serve as a visual scaffold, we ask students to begin an analysis journal where they compile examples of gender and social class while they are reading – to bring up during class discussions or to write about in their critical blogs. For organizational purposes, we suggest students create columns for gender and social class and use those columns to ask questions, make textual connections, share important points, passages, or page numbers, and to create threaded connections between texts. Before asking students to begin reading and making inter-textual connections, we take time in class to provide a few examples of how they might apply the lenses in Eleanor & Park. As an example of using the gender lens, students might interrogate the interruption of gender expectations through the use of “I love you.” In the novel, Park says this to Eleanor, but she does not reciprocate. Teachers might ask students how Eleanor’s lack of response makes them feel as readers and whether or not she is interrupting gendered expectations about love and attachment and why this matters. A second example takes up how the characters dress and how other characters react. Eleanor, for instance, wears a shirt and tie in one scene (as part of a phone date). This takes place within the seclusion of her own home. Park, on the other hand, sometimes wears eye make-up in public. We would ask students to question why Eleanor feels she can dress as she does only in private while Park is rarely made fun of and often told that make-up makes him look cool. 160

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To help students begin thinking about applying the social class lens to the novel, we recommend pointing out the family structures in place. Park’s home is whole (that is, both his mother and father are present) and more financially safe. Eleanor’s family lives in a much more impoverished home, one absent a father figure and replaced by a hateful and neglectful stepfather. Second, and in conjunction with one of the gender lens examples above, students can discuss Eleanor’s decision to wear clothing often associated with males. To do this, they must go beyond the gender discussion to consider the impact of her family’s socio-economic situation and the fact that she often gets her clothes second hand. Similar to our suggestion above, we believe providing students multiple ways to interact with and consider class material is vital to their learning. Because of this, students should be provided time and space in class to extend their thinking. One activity teachers might find helpful when teaching Eleanor & Park involves visual representation. In this activity, students work in pairs to create their own visual representation of a day in Eleanor’s life using collage. Using collage instead of drawing can be helpful as it allows students to focus more on their own thinking and representation than on the perceptions they hold of their own artistic skills. Because we want students analyzing their own decisions and using the critical language they have been practicing, we ask students to include a rationale of their choices – why they made the decisions they did regarding gender and social class representation. Pride and Prejudice Pride and Prejudice raises important questions about relationships, love, and money, questions which echo in Eleanor & Park and our informational texts. To connect Pride and Prejudice to Eleanor & Park, we recommend students reflect on the unit essential questions before starting the novel, focusing on their own lives and contemporary norms, including the fairness of those norms and alternative ways of being and living. Reflection on these larger questions might take the form of individual journaling, posting on their critical blog, four-corners activities that provide visual information about classmate perspectives, and short-form debates. Providing time to wrestle with these questions helps students continue the work of developing a language to talk about class and gender as these influence how they read curricula and understand themselves and their world. To motivate students as they begin Pride and Prejudice, a teacher might start by comparing Elizabeth Bennett to Eleanor. Besides their obvious intelligence and quick-wit, both characters are ill-fitting to the feminine and classed norms that structure their lives. Elizabeth violates the feminine norms expected of her when she walks by herself after a storm, muddying her clothes and, thus, creating a chain of gossip and criticism. This seemingly small act of whim and agency highlights the importance of proper decorum for upper-class women. Teachers can use this instance to draw students’ attention to moments in their lives where they engage in 161

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behavior that crosses a boundary, what reactions they receive, and what values and orders these reactions uphold. Students need time to work individually to begin considering the meaning they make from this unit. One way to foster meaning-making is to ask students to complete a character profile assignment. To complete the character profile, students must conduct a character analysis (through Appleman’s two lenses), using this work to position the character in a new time period and setting. After completing an analysis of a chosen character from Pride and Prejudice (e.g., Mrs. Bennet or Mr. Darcy), students then create a casting profile for a contemporary film. In other words, they use the initial character analysis they conduct to rethink and rewrite that character in a 21st century context. To support students as they apply critical lenses to Pride and Prejudice and make connections across texts, we provide example prompts they can use in their critical blog entries. ‡ Throughout the unit, how has your understanding of society’s impact on gender changed or grown? How have our readings influenced your thoughts? ‡ What connections are you seeing between our two novels and the news stories we discussed? ‡ Building on your entry form Eleanor & Park, how does time (historically, when a text was written) impact the ways in which it represents gender and social class? ‡ How does reading Pride and Prejudice add to your understanding of gender as historically contextualized? What about social class? ‡ After reading all our texts, what are your big take-aways? That is, how have you as a human being changed with regard to how you perceive and enact representations of gender and social class? Concluding the Unit We want students to effectively apply the two analytical lenses to (1) individual texts, (2) their larger experience across reading multiple texts, and (3) their lives and contemporary world. While much of this would play out in students’ analysis journals and their critical blogs, teachers could also compile a list of examples that students can draw inspiration from. This helps students see analysis as an authentic, real-world activity and not simply one that must be completed in English class. An example we might provide to students is offered in Table 11.1. At the conclusion of the unit, we suggest returning students’ attention to the essential questions as a way to debrief and reflect. This culminating activity requires students to pull textual evidence from myriad unit texts, in-class conversations, and their critical blog entries. Students, for example, responding to the essential question, “In what ways should money or social class be considered in a relationship?,” can pull from their readings of the wedding in Pride and Prejudice and Eleanor and Park’s first encounter with one another to argue for or against 162

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Table 11.1. Sample gender and social class representations in unit texts Gender representation

Social class representation

News Stories

Pay gaps between men and women; Achievement gaps between boys and girls; Differential achievement in math and science

Income disparities Generational Poverty Income v. wealth Tracking and Education School funding disparities and zip codes

Eleanor & Park

Eleanor’s choice of clothing and Park’s use of eye makeup The comics and comic characters (from 1986) described

Eleanor’s and Park’s homes and home lives Characters’ social standings (i.e., how they are treated at school) Characters’ perceptions of themselves

Pride and Prejudice “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.” Miss Bingley as the stereotypical, upper-class woman, serving as a foil to Elizabeth

Cross-Textual

Eleanor and Elizabeth as representations of breaking feminine gender norms

Mrs. Bennet’s excitement over the news of Mr. Bingley coming to town because of his wealth (and therefore eligibility to marry one of her daughters) Lady Catherine’s objection to Elizabeth and Darcy’s relationship because of Elizabeth’s class status The idea of the “American Dream” (news article) and societal expectations in Pride and Prejudice

using social class as a measuring stick for relationships. Similarly, answering the question, “To what extent should someone’s family/social status define them?,” a student could reference a news article on school tracking and their blog entry on Mr. Darcy as a “gentleman” to argue against the use of social class as a defining characteristic of human beings. An additional summative writing activity teachers can incorporate is to have students ‘cross the stories.’ An example of this might involve a student placing Eleanor into the setting and conflict of one of the contemporary news articles and writing about how she would handle the situation. Another could be embedding Elizabeth as Park’s interest in Eleanor & Park, which would require students to have a firm grasp of both Eleanor and Elizabeth as characters, including how their identities are shaped by socio-historical context. A third example would ask students to rewrite a scene from Eleanor & Park as if it were set in the early 19th century. 163

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DISCUSSION

Our goal was to offer teachers an instructional unit that pairs a variety of texts – informational, YAL, and canonical – in an effort to create more robust and relevant learning opportunities for students. The unit itself was designed with several aims in mind. First, we want to foster opportunities for students to develop the skills and language for critical analysis of a variety of texts using Appleman’s gender and social class lenses. Second, we want students to apply those skills to engage in crosstextual analysis and meaning making. Third, we aim to help students understand and analyze social class and gender ideologies in canonical texts, in YAL, and in their lives. As ELA teachers and English educators, we must rethink traditional notions of teaching and learning and go beyond the single-text study of (mostly) canonicalonly literature to create time and space for students to think critically about and critique gendered and social class norms across texts. Likewise, it is important we help students understand and experience school reading as relevant to the world and to what they care about. Moving forward, we encourage teachers to explore new ways to help students critically analyze canonical texts and apply critical lenses in the pursuit of living intentionally and critically with others in a democracy. REFERENCES Alsup, J. (2010). Young adult literature and adolescent identity across cultures and classrooms. New York, NY: Routledge. Appleman, D. (2009). Critical encounters in secondary English: Teaching literary theory to adolescents. New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Coles, J. (2013). Every child’s birthright? Democratic entitlement and the role of canonical literature in the English national curriculum. The Curriculum Journal, 24(1), 50–66. Emig, L. (2015). Combining young adult and classic literature in a secondary English classroom. Rising Tide, 7, 1–27. Gallo, D. (2001). How classics create an aliterate society. The English Journal, 90(3), 33–39. Gibbons, L., Dail, J., & Stallworth, J. (2006). Young adult literature in the English curriculum today: Classroom teachers speak out. The ALAN Review, 33, 53–61. Gordon, E. (2005, May 23). Class mobility: Is the American dream a myth? NPR. Retrieved from https://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=4662456 Ivey, G., & Johnston, P. H. (2013). Engagement with young adult literature: Outcomes and processes. Reading Research Quarterly, 48(3), 255–275. Morrell, E. (2005). Critical English education. English Education, 37(4), 312–321. Nystrand, M., & Gamoran, A. (1991). Instructional discourse, student engagement, and literature achievement. Research in the Teaching of English, 25(3), 261–290. Paris, D. (2012). Culturally sustaining pedagogy: A needed change in stance, terminology, and practice. Educational Researcher, 41(3), 93–97. Rowell, R. (2013). Eleanor & Park. New York, NY: St. Martin’s Press. Rybakova, K., & Roccanti, R. (2016). Connecting the canon to current young adult literature. American Secondary Education, 44(2), 31–45. Santoli, S., & Wagner, M. (2004). Promoting young adult literature: The other ‘real’ literature. American Secondary Education, 33(1), 65–75. Stotsky, S. (2012). The death and resurrection of a coherent literature curriculum: What secondary English teachers can do. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield.

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PART 4 CONSIDERING WHOM WE TEACH

AMANDA HAERTLING THEIN

12. A CRITICAL EMOTIONAL APPROACH TO CANONICAL LITERATURE Lessons from Of Mice and Men

INTRODUCTION

This chapter offers teachers new ways to think about and approach the teaching of canonical literature by focusing on the role of emotion in students’ responses to canonical literature and in the events of the text. SURPRISING RESPONSES TO CANONICAL TEXTS

My first experience teaching Steinbeck’s (1994) Of Mice and Men took me by surprise. The book tells the story of two men, George Milton and Lennie Smalls, travelling through California as migrant workers during the Great Depression. George, a smart but uneducated man, sees himself as responsible for Lennie, who has immense physical stature and strength, and also intellectual disabilities. George and Lennie dream of buying their own plot of land that they can work on their own terms. However, in an effort to pursue this dream, they find themselves working on a farm where they run into problems with the owner’s angry son Curly and his lonely wife. When Lennie accidentally kills Curly’s wife, George decides to kill Lennie by shooting him in the back of the head, rather than allowing Curly and the other men to find him and murder him. The novel ends with what I, and most critics of the novel, view as a mercy killing. But, rather than viewing Lennie’s death this way, my 10th grade students seemed, one-by-one, to become increasingly angry about this ending. They felt that George was in the wrong, that Lennie’s life could have been saved, and that gun violence was never an answer. As the teacher, I set aside the emotion that was surfacing in my classroom and continued to encourage my students to take up the emotion I assumed this canonical text invited – an empathetic stance toward George that would lead them to an understanding of the book’s ending as symbolic of the failure of the American Dream during the Great Depression. In the end, I was left with two lingering feelings. First, that I hadn’t really listened to my students, and second, that I had somehow missed the chance to deeply engage my students and perhaps to move beyond traditional interpretations of this canonical text.

© KONINKLIJKE BRILL NV, LEIDEN, 2019 | DOI:10.1163/9789004389311_012

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As someone tasked with teaching a series of canonical American texts, I thought I knew what students should take from these texts. Canonical texts have been studied by literary critics for years; they have well-established interpretations that I believed had universal meaning that my students could relate to, including the battle between good and evil, the failure of the American Dream, the challenges of coming-of-age, the struggle for fairness and equality, and the pressure of social conformity on the individual. After years of teaching literature and studying the teaching of literature, I can see this experience with a fresh set of eyes. I realize now that although my students didn’t always respond to the universal themes in canonical literature as I imagined they would, their responses were, nonetheless, important. Their responses were evidence of emotional resonances with the text that had the potential to evoke key questions about and challenges to common interpretations of canonical texts. I realize now that I dismissed the emotion my students expressed in their responses since it defied my expectations for how students ought to respond to canonical texts – with a rational sort of empathy, understanding, and commitment to fairness. Instead of listening carefully to my students and helping them explore their responses, I marginalized students’ emotion, thereby missing the deeper questions that reading the novel posed for them – questions, in the case of my students’ responses to Of Mice and Men, related to recent gun violence in their community and the nature of the American Dream itself. With this experience in mind, my goal in this chapter is to offer teachers new ways to approach the teaching of canonical literature by focusing on the role of emotion in students’ responses to canonical literature and in the events of the text. I consider how teachers can work with students to learn about and engage emotion that challenges the rational, empathic responses we tend to expect in reading canonical literature. And, I consider how students and teachers can pay attention to emotion in canonical literature itself in an effort toward deeper interpretations of characters and events. WHAT IS EMOTION?

Most people view emotion as something that is experienced individually as both cognitive (Nussbaum, 2001; Solomon, 1995) and bodily sensation (Hume, 1964; James, 1890). For instance, the experience of falling in love is understood as personal (Jaggar, 1999). We feel it in our minds and our bodies, and it is about an individual, specific experience with another person. Yet, emotion is also understood as universal; falling in love is typically thought of as something that most people experience and that those experiences share similar characteristics. Finally, emotion is typically understood as distinct from and dichotomous to rational thought. Again, the emotion associated with falling in love is often cited as a reason why someone might make less-than-rational decisions. This understanding of emotion is evident in traditional paradigms of teaching canonical literature, such as New Criticism – a paradigm focused on pinpointing 168

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specific, commonly understood interpretations of literary texts through the close study of literary devices and figurative language. In New Criticism, emotion and affect are understood as distractions that should be ignored because they cause errors in interpretation (Wimsatt & Beardsley, 1949). In contemporary approaches to New Criticism, like those found in many literary anthologies, emotion is understood as something that can be invited into literary analysis, but only in the interest of generating initial engagement with the text by evoking empathetic connections between students’ lived experiences and the themes presumed to be offered by the text. In short, in common approaches to teaching canonical literature, emotion is something that can be invited into literary interpretation when necessary and dismissed when it becomes a distraction. The definition of emotion I use in this chapter is different and is grounded in scholarship that challenges cognitive, bodily, and universal understandings of emotion (Clough, 2007). In particular, I am interested in scholarship in the loosely defined field of critical emotion studies (e.g. Ahmed, 2004; Boler, 1999; Trainor, 2006). Trainor (2006) explains that this scholarship has its basis in the following key tenets: ‡ Emotions cannot be seen as distinct from reason. Emotions are intertwined with rational decision-making and are central to the construction of belief ‡ Emotions are not private, individual experiences but are rather socially experienced and constructed ‡ Emotion is taught and learned at home and at school. It is an important, deeply embedded, site of social control ‡ Emotions are structured in ways that relate to the system of values and norms that exist in a social context (pp. 647–648). In other words, for scholars in critical emotion studies, emotion is neither rational nor irrational. It is generated and moves within social and cultural contexts. It may be personally felt, but it is learned through social interactions and cultural values. Returning to the idea of falling in love, Jaggar (1989) points out that although romantic love feels personal and individual, and it seems like something most people experience, romantic love is a relatively new phenomenon, historically speaking, that was socially constructed in a particular culture, time, and space. Ideas about the emotion surrounding romantic love continue to shift and change across social, cultural, and historical contexts. In this view, emotion can become a site of social control, structuring the kinds of relationships, identities, and discourses that are considered valuable and appropriate in a given social context. This happens when particular norms for emotion are repeated and enforced in a social context, becoming “emotional rules” (Boler, 1999; Zembylas, 2002; Winans, 2012) for how we act, think, and feel. For instance, Boler (1999) points out that the structures of schooling tend to support the acquisition of White, middle-class norms, dispositions, and identities through emotional rules related to empathy, self-control, delayed gratification, and optimism. 169

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A view of emotion grounded in critical emotion studies matters for teachers because it makes clear that emotion is always already in our classrooms; it cannot be invited in or dismissed (Thein, Guise, & Sloan, 2015). Emotion enters our classrooms in the form of explicit and unspoken rules and expectations for behavior in our schools. It also enters our classrooms through students’ previous experiences with teachers and curricula. And, emotion circulates and takes shape in our classrooms as we make choices about how to interact with our students, implement our curricula, and respond to students’ questions and ideas. Emotion is not only in moments where we invite students to connect their personal experiences with their school-based learning. It is also in moments when we demand silence, require distanced or rational analysis, and insist that students develop certain interpretations and not others. It is not only in moments when students laugh, cry, or shout. It’s also in moments when students remain silent or appear resistant. WHY DOES EMOTION MATTER FOR LITERATURE LEARNING?

Boler (1999) explains that emotion guides what we pay attention to and what we ignore. It guides what students and teachers focus on in reading and interpreting literature, and what falls by the wayside. In the ELA classroom, teachers often (and frequently unwittingly) set up emotional rules for how students should act, think, and feel in their responses to literature. Teachers set up these rules in all sorts of ways through every-day decision making about how to teach literature. For instance, emotional rules are established when we choose to sit in a circle with students rather than standing in front of the classroom; when we ask open-ended questions rather than questions with pre-established answers; and when we provide opportunities for dialogue among students rather than insisting that students direct their responses to us. This kind of everyday decision making is often driven by teachers’ adherence to certain pedagogical paradigms for teaching certain kinds of literature. Without thinking about it, I had set up rules for the kinds of emotion students should take up in response to Of Mice and Men. I wanted my students to pay attention to the novella through a rational form of empathy and understanding –what Ellsworth (1989) would call “right and tasteful emotions.” These were the sorts of emotions that not only seemed school appropriate to me, but also were aligned with my goals in teaching the canon and its seemingly universal themes. By expressing resistance and anger, my students were breaking the unspoken emotional rules I had set in place; they were focusing their attention on the text in a way I hadn’t considered because I thought I knew what students should take from Of Mice and Men, a canonical text with which I was well-versed. In hindsight, I see that moments when students respond unexpectedly, breaking emotional rules, are the very moments to which I should be paying the most attention. These moments tell me that my students are deeply engaged and have questions I need to listen to and help them consider. These are the questions that can open up new – perhaps more immediate and important – interpretive possibilities for making sense of canonical texts. 170

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LEVERAGING EMOTION IN THE STUDY OF CANONICAL LITERATURE

Canonical literature often takes place in sociopolitical and historical contexts somewhat removed from students’ lives. And, while we often assume that canonical literature has universal themes that supersede history, culture, and politics, the symbols, signs, discourses and narratives that are typically used to derive universal themes and messages take on different emotional resonances in different contexts. One way to think about these differences is to consider how emotion “sticks” to various objects (people, places, symbols, signs, discourses, narratives, etc.), in different social, cultural, historical, and political contexts. The idea of emotion sticking to or accumulating around particular objects comes from Sara Ahmed (2004), a scholar in cultural studies. In Ahmed’s view, as emotion moves in a particular social context, it can come to stick, bind, or sediment around objects that have particular relevance and that develop certain meanings in a given time, space, and sociopolitical context. Importantly, some objects are “sticky” in certain contexts and not in others. And, different kinds of emotion may stick to an object in one context more than in another. A good example in the United States is the Confederate flag. Originally, this flag represented the Confederate States of American, an unrecognized country in the Southern United States from 1861–1865. After the Civil War and the fall of the Confederacy, the flag has become a sticky object as it has been flown in an array of contexts for different purposes, including as a commemoration of history, as an appeal to states’ rights, and as a display of racism and White supremacy. For some, the flag is associated with pride. For others it is associated with hatred and fear. The emotions that stick to the flag have changed across time. For instance, the flag was flown frequently across the South for many years as a symbol of Southern pride and history. However, as attitudes toward race and racism have changed across time, emotions such as fear and outrage have increasingly come to stick to the flag, and the display of the Confederate flag for official state purposes has decreased dramatically. In reading canonical literature, then, some symbols, signs, or “objects” that seemed particularly important in a given historical, social, or cultural context, don’t carry the same emotional resonance with readers in different contexts. And, other objects that may not have seemed particularly important in well-established interpretations of a canonical text, may seem emotionally sticky to some readers in today’s contexts. The study of emotion in students’ responses to texts and in texts themselves can expose these sometimes divergent emotional resonances and allow for interpretations that are both immediate and important to students, and for a different kind of close analysis of canonical texts. In the next sections I illustrate, through the study of two objects (the narrative of the plot of land and the gun that is used to kill Lennie), how students’ responses that seem to break the emotional rules of canonical interpretation can be taken up as important sites of engagement where emotion can be leveraged toward deeper interpretations of canonical texts. 171

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Engaging Resistance and Ambivalence in Teaching the Canon I became an English teacher in part because I loved many of the books in the canon. I was eager to read these texts with my students and help them discover the powerful themes and messages these texts had to offer. However, sometimes students responded to what I thought were key elements of canonical texts with resistance and ambivalence. My reaction to these responses was to assume that students were not reading the text carefully enough to truly understand the meaning of symbols, motifs, themes, and narratives in the text. In hindsight, I see students’ seeming resistance and ambivalence as its own sort of emotional engagement and as an opportunity to better understand students’ questions about the book. For instance, in reading Of Mice and Men, my middle and upper-middle class students – nearly all of whom lived in homes owned by their financially successful parents – had trouble understanding why George and Lennie’s dream of owning a plot of land was so important and so far out of reach. How could something that seemed so small to them be symbolic of something as big as the American Dream, as I insisted that it was? Would things really be so different for George and Lennie if they owned a tiny plot of land? Examining emotion in the plot of land narrative. For my students, the narrative of the plot of land – so central to George and Lennie – felt hollow. I insisted that this narrative, and the characters’ realization that their plan was out of reach, was symbolic of the failure of the American Dream. But this wasn’t convincing to my students and didn’t answer their questions. However, in the section that follows, I outline how, by studying the ways in which emotion sticks to, accumulates around, and is mobilized by this narrative, students can gain new understandings of why this narrative was important for these characters in this particular sociopolitical and historical context. Additionally, such study of emotion can help students consider how emotion works through similar narratives in their own lives to focus their attentions and motivate their actions. Finally, by juxtaposing the ways in which emotion works through narratives in their own lives with those in the text, students can construct interpretations that nuance the universal themes often assumed to be found in canonical texts. How does emotion “stick” to the narrative? In focusing on the narrative of the plot of land, students will notice that the story is told repeatedly by George and then by Lennie and others in the novella. Students can examine how emotion sticks to and accumulates around this narrative in ways that are specifically tied to hope and fear in the face of the economic powerlessness that the men in the novella experienced in living through the Great Depression. Students might first look at how George tells this narrative. For instance, he explains: 172

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All kin’s a vegetables in the garden, and if we want a little whisky we can sell a few eggs or something, or some milk. We’d jus’ live there. We’d belong there. There wouldn’t be no more runnin’ round the country and getting’ fed by a Jap cook. No sir, we’d have our own place where we belonged and not sleep in no bunk house…An’ it’s be our own, and ‘nobody could can us. If we don’t like a guy we ca say, ‘Get the hell out,’ and by God he’s got to do it. An’ if a fren’ come along, why we’d have an extra bunk, an’ we’d say, ‘Why don’t you spen’ the night?’ an’ by God he would. (p. 63) In examining how George tells this narrative, students might pay attention to what seems to motivate George about the narrative. For example, George focuses on his desire to grow his own produce and to choose what to sell and buy. George repeats ideas about belonging to a place that is just for Lennie and him. He also seems excited about the idea of choosing whom to allow on the land. Overall, then, students might notice that, for George, emotion related to a sense of agency, independence, and belonging seems to stick to this narrative, providing him with hope for the future in a time when he has little agency or power. How does emotion circulate and move among people? After pinpointing how emotion sticks to this narrative for George, students can examine how emotion moves, circulates, and changes as George repeats the narrative to others. The narrative begins as one George tells to Lennie, but quickly becomes one that they co-narrate, generating excitement and hope in the retellings. As George and Lennie repeat the narrative, students might notice that Lennie expresses excitement – much as George does – about owning property and having the ability to live off of that land. In the following excerpt George begins the narrative, but Lennie quickly jumps in to elaborate: O.K. Someday – we’re gonna get the jack together and we’re gonna have a little house and a couple of acres an’ a cow and some pigs and – “An’ live off the fatta the lan’,” Lennie shouted. “An’ have rabbits. Go on, George! Tell about what we’re gonna have in the garden and about the rabbits in cages… . (p. 15) At the same time that hope and excitement build around this narrative for both men, students might also notice that as the narrative circulates, moving between George and Lennie, it changes. It takes on other qualities, and other kinds of emotion seem to “stick” to the narrative. Lennie fixates on his particular role in the story – that of feeding and caring for the rabbits on the farm. As the narrative is repeated, Lennie gets more and more excited about his potential duties with the rabbits. George then sees this excitement and mobilizes it as a means of controlling Lennie’s behavior on the new farm where they have come to work. After a long warning about staying out of trouble at the new farm, George tells Lennie, “But you ain’t gonna get in no trouble, because if you do, I won’t let you tend the rabbits” (p. 17). From this moment, anxiety and fear – as well as hope and excitement – “stick” to this narrative 173

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as Lennie constantly worries that he will make a mistake that will cause George to revoke his responsibilities with the rabbits. In short, as the narrative in repeatedly co-narrated by George and Lennie, emotion not only sticks to it, but also accumulates and moves as it takes on new qualities and purposes. How is emotion mobilized toward action (or inaction)? Once students have the chance to examine how emotion sticks to this narrative and moves between people, they can consider how emotion around the narrative of the plot of land is mobilized, driving action and inaction in the novella as George and Lennie share it with others. The first person to hear George and Lennie tell the narrative of the plot of land is Candy, on older migrant worker whose physical health has left him with limited opportunity to work on the farm, and with a constant worry that he will become useless. Not realizing that Candy is listening, George and Lennie repeat the narrative of the plot of land to one another. Candy, who is listening, begins to imagine himself as part of the narrative. He interrupts George and Lennie’s musings to share his own idea, “‘Tell you what –’ He leaned forward eagerly. ‘S’pose I went in with you guys. Tha’s three hundred an’ fifty bucks I’d put in. I ain’t much good, but I could cook and tend the chickens and hoe the garden some. How’d that be?’” (p. 65). As Candy tells the narrative, excitement builds around hope for the future and his chance at being useful again. And, while George is initially skeptical, the more that Candy takes up and builds upon the narrative, the more that he, too, becomes excited about the idea, “They fell into a silence. They looked at one another, amazed. This thing they had never really believed in was coming true. George said reverently, ‘Jesus Christ! I bet we could swing her.’ His eyes were full of wonder. ‘I bet we could swing her,’ he repeated softly” (p. 66). When Candy takes up the narrative of the plot of land, hope and excitement increase, and the narrative accumulates new emotion in the form of Candy’s desire to become a real contributor and to gain authentic usefulness again. And, as these new emotions accumulate and new excitement is generated by all three men, the narrative changes and becomes a concrete plan of action rather than a distant dream. Emotion, therefore, is mobilized toward action for these characters – that of pooling their resources and developing a time frame for buying and working their own plot of land. Throughout the remainder of the novel, students can continue to track how emotion accumulates, moves, and is mobilized toward action and inaction through the narrative of the plot of land. They might notice how, when told to Crooks, a Black man who is isolated on the farm, the narrative generates disdain, then hope, then despair. Crooks initially dismisses the narrative as one common to many men who have come and gone from the farm. Then, when he realizes that Candy, Lennie, and George have a concrete plan, he begins to imagine that he might join them, doing odd jobs to earn his keep. But, after Curly’s wife comes into the room and threatens to have him hanged for talking back to her – reminding him of his place as a Black man – Crooks retracts his interest in the plan, insisting that he would never 174

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want to join them. For Crooks, the narrative offers hope for a life where he might have more freedom, followed by a harsh reminder that, as a Black man who will always be threatened by White people, the narrative is not for him. By studying how emotion sticks to and accumulates around the narrative of the plot of land, students will be able to see that this seemingly small dream holds significant meaning for characters in the book – tapping into their hopes and fears and motivating their actions in a time and place where they had few resources and little hope for independence. Students will be able to see that, for Lennie and George, actually buying the plot of land was less important than believing in its possibility and embracing emotion and action aligned with this possibility. Examining emotion in lived-world narratives. After students examine how emotion sticks to, accumulates around, and is mobilized through the narrative of the plot of land, they can examine how emotion works through similar narratives in their own worlds. For instance, students might think about narratives they tell themselves or that others tell them about their future successes. For my students, a common narrative was that by working hard in school and participating in a range of sports and activities, they would be accepted to a top college or university. A similar narrative was that by practicing every day and being a top athlete in a given sport, they would become a professional player or a collegiate star. After identifying several of these narratives, students might examine emotion that sticks to these narratives (hope for the future, fear of failure, desire for excellence, worry about competition), how that emotion accumulates as the narrative moves among people (conversations among peers, lectures from parents, speeches from coaches, films and books about people with inspirational stories of success), and how that emotion mobilizes action or inaction (staying up late to do homework; participating in extra practices; choosing friends with shared goals). Students can then take a critical approach to these narratives, conducting research on how many students from their school have gone on to be collegiate stars or professional athletes, and what high school athletes typically do after graduation. They could gather information about the percentage of students in their school that typically attends Ivy League universities after high school, the most common colleges students attend, and the number of students who enter a trade rather than attending college. ***

In looking into questions like these, students will learn that the narratives that mobilize emotion and drive actions in their lives are not always realistic and may not always have the outcomes they imagine. At this point students will be ready to consider what narratives about future dreams and successes accomplish both in Of Mice and Men and in their own lives, serving to deepen their understanding of the text and add nuance to the universal theme of the American Dream. For instance, students might consider the following questions: 175

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‡ What is the role of narratives of success in American culture today? In years past? ‡ Where do these narratives come from, and what kinds of emotion stick to them and accumulate around them? ‡ If most people won’t really accomplish their greatest dreams of success, why do we continue to believe in the narratives about these dreams? ‡ What does society gain and/or lose when people believe in success narratives? What do individuals gain and/or lose? ‡ What did Lennie and George gain and/or lose by believing in their dream of owning a plot of land? Thinking about these questions in their lives and in the text can help students understand that the American Dream – and dreams of success on the whole – is less about achieving a particular outcome and more about hopes and fears for what is possible in the future given the constraints and freedoms of their particular social, cultural, and political context. They might also consider how these hopes and fears are essential for the functioning of the United States as a meritocracy, but have both useful and detrimental outcomes for certain groups of people and individuals. Engaging Anger and Outrage in Teaching the Canon While my students sometimes responded to canonical texts with emotion that seemed resistant and ambivalent, they sometimes also responded with emotion that felt highly engaged but also seemed to miss the well-established interpretations I had anticipated. Thinking back on my own classroom experiences teaching Of Mice and Men, I am reminded of the anger and outrage students expressed in relation to George’s decision to shoot and kill Lennie. As with responses that seem ambivalent or resistant, I now see responses such as anger and outrage as important challenges to the emotional rules I may have implicitly set up about the kinds of emotional resonances and interpretations students should generate in reading canonical texts. These responses, like any others that feel surprising to me, are important invitations to delve into students’ questions. Identifying sticky objects. When students seem highly engaged with a text through emotion that surprises teachers, it is likely that some object or objects in the text have emotional resonances that challenge common interpretations. Therefore, pinpointing objects in the text that are “sticky” for students is a useful way to approach these responses. To begin this work, I would ask my students to work in pairs or small groups to think about the visceral reactions they felt and to consider which objects in the novel they associate with those reaction. In hindsight, I’ve come to see that the emotion that accumulated in my students’ responses to the novella was likely associated with recent gun violence that had shaken their community. Therefore, a sticky object for my students might have been the gun that George uses to shoot 176

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Lennie. Another sticky object may have been Lennie, who, much like the victims of gun violence in their own community, was a fundamentally innocent person who got caught up in the anger and confusion of others. Pinpointing associations. After identifying these sticky objects, I would ask students – in their small groups or pairs – to construct a collage of emotion surrounding that object, perhaps through digital collage-making software (there are many freely available apps). To begin the collage, I would ask students to start with an image or word representing the sticky object. Next, I would ask students to surround that image or word with words and phrases they associate with the sticky object. The goal of this activity is to help students pinpoint the ideas they associate with the object and start to gain an awareness of why, and in what ways, the object is salient for them. Linking associations to texts, symbols, and images. To help students dig more deeply into the words and phrases they associate with their sticky object, and to consider how those words and phrases have come to be associated with the object, I would next ask students to add images, symbols, and hyperlinks to those words and phrases on their collage, illustrating some places where their associations come from. For instance, in thinking about the gun as a sticky object, students might include words and phrases such as “stand your ground,” “gun control,” “school shooting,” or “Black Lives Matter.” Students might include links to stories in the media, images of people or places, song lyrics, political slogans, music, or blogs that they associate with those words or phrases. This activity will help students understand that the words and phrases they associate with an object are not somehow intrinsically linked to the object, but instead accumulate based on ideas, events, and conversations circulating in their larger social and cultural worlds. Identifying emotion. Once students have pinpointed images, symbols, stories, etc. that link up with their words and phrases, I would ask them to look closely at those texts, considering what kinds of emotion they evoke or represent. For instance, images related to “stand your ground,” include a number of political cartoons and artwork. One example is a profile of a person wearing a “hoodie.” The hoodie is in the shape of a raised fist. Across the image are the words, “stand your ground.” In studying this image students might notice or learn that that the symbol of the raised fist often represents forms of support, solidarity, and defiance in the Black community. At the same time, the image of a person in a hoodie calls to mind fear, sadness, and anger in a time when countless young Black men have been innocent victims of gun violence perpetrated by White men. Finally, in the context of this image, the words “stand your ground,” are repurposed from a law that many see as providing a legal avenue to unwarranted gun violence – suggesting indignation with the law and defiance of its purpose. Emotions evoked by this image, then, might include solidarity, anger, and fear surrounding guns and gun violence in America. 177

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As students identify emotions, they might create ways to include those words as prominent features in their collages. The goal of this activity is for students to gain an awareness of how the emotion that accumulates and circulates around a sticky object – in this case, a gun – is generated in specific sociopolitical contexts. Posing new questions. Ultimately, this series of activities aims to help students dig into their visceral responses to texts, gaining an awareness of the emotion that emerges in those responses, and pinpointing how that emotion is socially constructed and guides their attentions. Following this series of activities, students will be ready to ask more immediate questions of the text that leverage the emotion in their responses toward a deeper consideration of the text. For instance, in focusing on emotion related to guns and gun violence, students might consider the following questions: ‡ In America today, guns are often associated with violence, fear, conflict, hate, and anger. What emotions are associated with guns in Of Mice and Men? What objects in the novella, aside from guns, are associated with violence, fear, conflict, and hate? ‡ Gun violence is seen by many as a national crisis. It is associated with the senseless deaths of innocent people – including children and youth. How does emotion surrounding our current crisis with gun violence inform your interpretation of Lennie’s death – as an innocent and child-like person – in Of Mice and Men? ‡ Is Lennie’s death an act of violence, mercy, or both? Given the emotions many of us currently associate with guns, does George’s use of a gun inform your interpretation of the violence or mercy of this act? ‡ Prior to his death, what other acts of physical or emotional violence does Lennie experience? What emotions do you associate with these acts? In what way might these emotions lead you to see these acts as more or less violent than his death? Questions like these acknowledge and engage emotion that is mobilized through students’ responses to canonical literature, leveraging that emotion toward a closer and more meaningful consideration of the text and nuancing the universality of common interpretations that are grounded in empathy and understanding. MAKING CANONICAL TEXTS RELEVANT THROUGH CRITICAL EMOTIONAL LITERACY

When my students expressed anger and resistance in response to Of Mice and Men, it was easy to wonder whether this canonical text, written in the 1930s, was even relevant to their contemporary concerns and questions. However, I’ve come to see that their anger and resistance meant that this book did matter to them and did pose questions for them. What they needed, however, was for me to notice the emotion that was mobilized for them in reading the novella, and provide them with tools 178

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for making sense of that emotion and for using it to more deeply explore the novel, thereby challenging themes and interpretations often understood as universal. Teaching students about critical emotional literacy and taking emotion seriously in students’ responses to and interpretations of canonical literature provides a means for acknowledging and exploring the emotional resonances students find in texts, and for helping them locate those resonances in the larger circulation of emotions in their social and cultural worlds. It asks teachers to look for and lean into moments when students seem to be breaking our unspoken emotional rules for responding to literature – especially canonical literature, that can seem to have self-evident themes, lessons, and emotional resonances for students to take up. When we move away from our assumptions about how students ought to respond to canonical texts, and embrace the ways that students really do respond to these texts, we open up new possibilities for interpretations that are more urgent for students, more immediately felt, and perhaps more important than those we imagined. Ultimately, learning about the way emotion is socially, culturally, politically, and historically constructed – what Winans (2012) calls “critical emotional literacy” – is important for students long after they leave our classrooms. Understanding how emotion sticks to objects, how it accumulates, and how it mediates and mobilizes action is important as students listen to and participate in public discourse about issues that matter, as they consider the promises of politicians, and as they become critical consumers of media and culture. Finally, understanding how emotion works provides students with key insight into their own commitments, beliefs, and habits of (in)attention. REFERENCES Ahmed, S. (2004). The cultural politics of emotion. New York, NY: Routledge. Boler, M. (1999). Feeling power: Emotions and education. New York, NY: Routledge. Clough, P. T. (2007). Introduction. In P. T. Clough & J. Halley (Eds.), The affective turn: Theorizing the social (pp. 1–33). Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Ellsworth, E. (1989). Why doesn’t this feel empowering? Working through the repressive myths of critical pedagogy. Harvard Educational Review, 59(3), 297–324. Hume, D. (1964). The philosophical works: A treatise of human nature and dialogues concerning natural religion (Vol. 2). London: Scientia Verlag Aalen. Jaggar, A. (1989). Love and knowledge: Emotion in feminist epistemology. In A. Jaggar & S. Bordo (Eds.), Gender/body/knowledge (pp. 145–171). New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. James, W. (1890). The principles of psychology (Vol. 2). New York, NY: Dover. Nussbaum, M. C. (2001). Upheavals of thought: Intelligence of emotions. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Solomon, R. C. (1995). A passion for justice: Emotions and the origins of the social contract. Lanham, MD: Rowan & Littlefield. Steinbeck, J. (1994). Of mice and men. New York, NY: Penguin Books. Thein, A. H., Guise, M., & Sloan, D. L. (2015). Examining emotional rules in the English classroom: A critical discourse analysis of one student’s literary responses in two academic contexts. Research in the Teaching of English, 49(3), 200–223. Trainor, J. S. (2006). From identity to emotion: Frameworks for understanding, and teaching against, anticritical sentiments in the classroom. JAC, 26(3–4), 643–655.

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A. H. THEIN Wimsatt, W. K., & Beardsley, M. (1949). The affective fallacy. Sewanee Review, 57(1), 31–55. Winans, A. (2012). Cultivating critical emotional literacy: Cognitive and contemplative approaches to engaging difference. College English, 75, 150–170. Zembylas, M. (2002). “Structures of feeling” in curriculum and teaching: Theorizing the emotional rules. Educational Theory, 52(2), 187–208.

Amanda Haertling Thein University of Iowa Iowa City, IA

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13. CANONICAL TEXTS AND CULTURAL CRITIQUE WITH ENGLISH LEARNERS

While our professional organizations have charted new policies and practices responsive to the changing dynamics of the 21st century, some of the texts valued by English teachers have remained stable and durable, reflecting what is commonly referred to as the literary canon of British and American literatures. While no longer the exclusive province of dead white males, canonical texts have stood the test of time and are frequently anthologized in literature textbooks and curriculum (Applebee, 1993). Unfortunately, too often high school English teachers are mandated to teach reified canonical texts that often represent what most teens might perceive to be a distant past, remote and ostensibly disconnected from youth culture, digital media, and contemporary American life. For teachers in this situation, the question then becomes this: How might English teachers engage 21st century multilingual students in exploring ostensibly ancient and obscure texts and cultures? If engaging students with canonical texts is a challenge for most English teachers of native speakers of English, then those who teach non-native speakers of English, such as co-author and veteran teacher Erin, face additional challenges. In this chapter, we argue that Erin was successful in engaging her English learners by mobilizing three key 21st century concepts: cosmopolitan literacies, empathetic fusion, and epistemic privilege. In addition, we argue that the corollary concepts of transnationalism and translingualism (Evans & Hornberger, 2005) were necessary, not only for understanding the dynamics of the multilingual classroom, but also for creating community in the classroom. In the next section, we explore the theoretical underpinnings of Erin’s pedagogy before turning to her enactment with two canonical texts, Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet (1597/2009) and Dickens’ Great Expectations (2009). Additionally, we explain these terms, and then we will show how Erin enacted these in her classroom. CULTIVATING LOCAL AND GLOBAL CARE WITH COSMOPOLITAN LITERACIES

Because this is a chapter about teaching English learners, concepts of transnationalism and translingualism are salient to understanding Erin’s context. Transnationalism refers to the flow of information and bodies across permeable borders of language and culture. Translingual practices consist of learners using all of their language resources to produce knowledge (Canagarajah, 2013; Skerrett, 2015). Encouraging

© KONINKLIJKE BRILL NV, LEIDEN, 2019 | DOI:10.1163/9789004389311_013

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translingual practices and transnational perspectives, Erin fosters cosmopolitan literacies, that is, the linguistic and cultural practices demonstrating local and global cultural sensitivities to virtual and actual others, situated within larger systems of power, history, and economies (Hawkins, 2014; Bean & Drunkenly-Bean, 2015). Erin’s students produce knowledge as they create and interpret texts (Hull & Stornaiuolo, 2014), responding to local and global inequities in virtual and actual worlds (Hawkins, 2014; Vasudevan, 2014). Part of the mission of cosmopolitanism is to widen students’ understandings of the world and to nurture a deep and abiding responsiveness to others’ cultural norms and values, demonstrating a respect born of cultural sensitivity, what Silverman refers to as “proper distance” (Hull & Stornaiuolo, 2014, p. 15). As a corollary, Erin hoped to ignite “empathetic fusion” (Sepulveda, 2011, p. 559) that is, a deep sense of relating to a person as a whole human being without judgment (Sepulveda, 2011). Empathetic fusion fosters a form of unconditional acceptance and awareness, a form of solidarity with another. Erin hoped that her students would not only experience empathetic fusion in the classroom space but that this could transcend the classroom and lead students to become more empathetic overall, materializing in social action. Erin placed a premium on utilizing students’ first-hand knowledge of inequities, their vantage points as marginalized people whose lived experiences have taught them first-hand about oppression, power, and social justice struggles. Moya and Hames-Garcia (2000) refer to that experiential wisdom of those in struggle as their epistemic privilege. Erin’s students possessed rich and varied backgrounds as English learners, transnationals, refugees, and/or immigrants, and she wanted them to bring that knowledge to bear on issues of social justice. Hansen (2010, p. 20) suggests the affordances of Erin’s conceptual framework: In concrete terms, students deserve the opportunity to study local traditions and inheritances, both for their own sake and as a platform to engage larger world horizons of experience, knowledge, and point of view. They also deserve like opportunities to study new traditions and inheritances, both for their own educational sake and as a platform to more fully grasp the beauties, the distinctiveness, and the limitations in local horizons. Hansen’s words encapsulate the mission of Erin’s pedagogy, that is, to widen the lens on the local and the global, the self and those marked as other. Erin used the notion of empathetic fusion to foster sensitivity to textual, virtual and actual others; she also tapped into the epistemic privilege of students. The next sections demonstrate how Erin turned these theoretical principles into pedagogical practice in her English as a new language class. ADAPTING CANONICAL TEXTS FOR ENGLISH LEARNERS

While mainstream English classes in Erin’s school read the standard versions of texts, English learners relied on graphic novels traversing various lexile levels, 182

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reading Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet (1597, as cited in Bryant, Ed., 2009) and Charles Dickens’ Great Expectations (1851, as cited in Bryant, Ed., 2009). Shakespeare and Dickens are among the most frequently taught authors in studies of high school English curricula, and Romeo and Juliet ranks among the top texts used in the U.S. (Applebee, 1993). As Applebee reports, canonical texts allow teachers to use reader response “emphasizing the transaction between reader and text as the heart of the literary experience” (1993, p. 117). Rosenblatt (1978) called for engaging students in themes where they can make strong connections and form opinions about canonical texts. Using a reader response format, the students in Erin’s classroom studied both Romeo and Juliet and Great Expectations, forming connections and opinions, as well as learning to navigate multimodal texts that addressed themes of power, privilege, and social responsibility. Classical Comics, edited by Clive Bryant (2009), comprise three lexile levels of text categorized as quick, original, and plain text. These graphic renditions are designed to generate student interest by making texts accessible with vivid imagery. NCTE (2005) reported that Shelley Hong Xu praised graphic novels as the conceivable “‘point of reference’ to bridge what students already know and what they have yet to learn;” suggesting that students can anticipate inferences through their use. Furthermore, graphic novels aid English learners in expanding reading skills and background knowledge in conjunction with providing “diverse alternatives to traditional texts” (Schwarz, 2002). By exploring canonical texts in graphic novel formats, English learners could participate in conversations with peers, and that was one of the reasons Erin resisted the notion of the canon as the province of the elite. Her English learners were excited to know that they were reading two of the same texts that their peers in other English classes were reading. COSMOPOLITAN LITERACIES BY DESIGN

In order to enrich students’ reading experiences and their critical cosmopolitan literacy skills, Erin utilized writing prompts, large group and small group discussions, multimodal text productions, and interpretive activities focusing on popular culture. In so doing, she enabled students to expose inequities in systems and structures that benefitted some at the expense of others, both locally and globally (Freire, 1970; Luke, 2012; Van Sluys, Lewison, & Flint, 2006). That is, over time, the discussions of small, local, and immediate issues provided scaffolding to conversations about more distant events and broader experiences of power, privilege, and social responsibility. The next sections demonstrate how Erin and her students cultivated these themes in classroom practice. USING STUDENTS’ EPISTEMIC PRIVILEGE TO CULTIVATE EMPATHETIC FUSION: GREAT EXPECTATIONS

In addition to developing reading skills and an awareness of canonical texts, Erin claimed that the first goal for teaching the graphic novels of Great Expectations 183

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Empathy At the end of Chapter 5, the prisoner apologizes for stealing food from Joe, the blacksmith. Pip’s Uncle Joe states, “You’re welcome to it. Whatever you’ve done we wouldn’t have you starved to death for it, would we, Pip?” (Dickens, as cited in Bryant, 2009, p. 17) The quotation shows empathy for the prisoner. Based upon this quotation, define empathy Do you agree with Pip and Uncle Joe that the right thing to do was to give the escaped prisoner food? Why or Why not? Remember to use textual evidence to support your opinion. Figure 13.1. What counts as empathy?

and Romeo and Juliet was to develop empathy within students. Sepulveda calls for “empathetic fusion,” a deep sense of understanding by relating to another person as a whole human being, affectively, unconditionally (2011). Erin believed that if students could cultivate empathetic fusion with the characters of Great Expectations, then the students would engage in deeper inquiry. In order to accomplish this goal, Erin created a prompt that invited students to define empathy and explain how it manifested in course texts. In Figure 13.1, the students wrote about this topic in relation to Great Expectations. Sepulveda’s concept of empathetic fusion calls for building affirming relationships with students. Like Sepulveda (2011), Goizueta feels these caring relationships should accompany students. He states, “accompaniment includes not only being with another but also ‘doing’ with another” (2001, p. 558). Enacting those sentiments, Erin joined her students in responding to the writing prompt. Therefore, both students and teacher completed most of the writing prompts in this unit. Erin and her students interacted as a class with the word empathy, making a list of all the ways that this concept could be shown. The students discussed how Pip demonstrated empathy for Able Magwitch, the prisoner in Great Expectations. After the class interaction, students wrote about showing unconditional caring to others, using textual evidence from Great Expectations to prove their sentiments. The goal of creating empathetic fusion continued throughout the book. Erin’s students agreed that Pip’s demonstration of affinity by giving food to Abel Magwitch was the correct action, writing statements such as, “I agree because each prisoner should be given another chance and Abel Magwitch did not hurt Pip when he asked for the file and food…everyone deserves another chance because everyone is not perfect.” This student, Diego, was reflecting on his own belief that people deserve second chances and was showing a developing responsiveness when interacting with themes in the text. 184

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As students continued reading the text, they were asked to continue writing about Pip and privileges or lack thereof, considering questions such as: ‡ Pip says, “I told Joe I felt miserable and wished I was not common, so I’d lied to cover it up” (Dickens, as cited in Bryant, 2009, p. 26). What privileges do Estella and Miss Havisham have that Pip and his family do not have? Do you believe this makes Pip common? Student responses focused on characterizations of Pip. Nachi wrote, “Estella and Miss Havisham have privileges Pip does not have. Pip is poorer…I believe Pip is special. He is very kind. He helps Magwitch.” Nachi’s claim that Miss Havisham is privileged suggests that Nachi recognizes differences between Miss Havisham’s class status and Pip’s. In that same response to the prompt, Nachi shows empathy for Pip by deeming him “special” for his acts of kindness to Magwitch and others. Erin believed that intentionally cultivating students’ empathy with characters was necessary to engaging them in transactions with the text (Rosenblatt, 1978), encouraging them to enter a portal into the social world of the text, one far removed from their own. Nachi’s early affinity with Pip was a crucial step in Nachi’s social world of the text, which will eventually enable Nachi to deepen students’ understanding of virtual, textual, and actual persons and the forms of oppression they experienced. The next section explores how students’ experiences of oppression became the springboard for their consideration of power and privilege in local and global contexts. FROM EPISTEMIC TO CRITICAL COSMOPOLITAN LITERACIES

Erin believes that English learners can utilize their epistemic privilege (Moya & Hames-Garcia, 2000) to cultivate compassion for others. In order to set the stage for that inquiry, she invited students to investigate their own histories by comparing their lives now with their former lives in developing countries. As a prelude to applying these concepts to canonical texts, Erin’s students viewed a short video discussing the class system shown in Great Expectations. This short video served as an introduction to privilege based on class systems. Students then worked in small groups to compare the differences in the last country they lived in to life in the United States. The small groups analyzed privilege as well as social class in relation to the texts connecting to their own background knowledge. Gay envisions creating responsiveness for language learners by “focusing on making ELLs feel they belong and ensuring that students understand most of what is going on” (2008, p. 248). Erin activated students’ background knowledge as small groups created parallels between the students’ lives and the lives of the characters. In a short class discussion, Erin paired students and then asked them to compare the representation of the two family homes drawn within the comics. Students immediately described the difference in size of Pip’s versus Miss Havisham’s home; they called her home a “mansion” and cited the lack of servants at Pip’s home as compared to those present in the representation of Miss Havisham’s home. Erin used these inferences to point out the 185

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Differences: Life in Indiana 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Differences: Life in your country or the last country where you lived 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Differences: Pip’s Life 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Differences: Estella’s Life 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. Figure 13.2. Comparing your home country to Indiana

two main families in the beginning of the novel were living in different social classes in England. Next, students compared the lives of Pip and Estella, based on privilege. Erin created the following prompt (Figure 13.2): ‡ Recall the themes we’ve discussed of power, privilege, and social responsibility. Now, compare the differences between life in Indiana, and life in your home country. Write 5 differences about “Life in Indiana” and 5 differences about “Life in your country…” ‡ Then compare differences in Pip’s life with Estella’s life. How are their lives different? Where do you see the themes (power, privilege, and social responsibility) from the novel? One student, Will, answered this prompt by reflecting on privilege or lack of “good food” in his Ethiopian home for those who are poor versus the availability of “good food” for many within the United States, even those who are poor. He then connected his knowledge of securing food in rural Ethiopia to the privilege with Pip’s action of having extra food to provide for Magwitch, even though Pip was characterized as an unprivileged boy throughout the story. Will’s comments demonstrated his epistemic privilege in disclosing information about food insecurity, gained from living in Ethiopia. Will also revealed epistemic privilege when he compared his home country’s educational practices to those of the United States. Speaking about Ethiopia, Will stated, “There are schools, but to learn, you have to buy schools.” In other words, in Ethiopia only those who could afford to pay for school were educated, and public education in the U.S. was free to all, suggesting that free schooling was another form of American privilege. In fact, Will taught his peers

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about precarity in Ethiopia. Will’s words show not only his epistemic privilege, but also an emerging understanding of viewing others across difference, enacting the goal of engaging with global others in service, as shown in Will’s example of Pip providing extra food to the prisoner, and exploring communication across difference, as he negotiates his knowledge of living in two countries (Hawkins, 2014; Hull & Stornaiuolo, 2014). Erin also encouraged critical inquiry, global perspectives, and compassion for others by using writing prompts to focus on those issues. The following writing prompt was posted after Pip was released from his apprenticeship as a blacksmith by an unknown benefactor, who thereby granted Pip his dream of becoming a man of leisure, complete with a stipend, tutor, and flat in London. Pip moved away from the only life he had known, that of a working class citizen, to assume the position of a privileged gentleman living in the city of London. Erin wanted students to consider class issues by focusing on Pip’s initial awareness of social class as a young boy when he first realized he wanted to be a gentleman: ‡ Pip states being coarse and common “wouldn’t have mattered if nobody had told me” (Dickens, 2009, p. 45). Should Estella and Miss Havisham have pointed out to Pip that he was common? Do you believe that Pip’s life is not as good as Miss Havisham’s and Estella’s because he is an apprentice? Has anyone ever made you think that you weren’t able to do something as well as he or she could? How did this make you feel? With this prompt, Erin utilizes students’ epistemic privilege, their background knowledge as subaltern English learners. Moreover, she invites empathetic fusion: “Has anyone made you feel….” Louie, a student from Puerto Rico, connected his own experience of others discouraging him to similar themes in the text: “Once someone told me that I was never going to be able to go out and [speak] English like he did, and here I am, trying every day to improve….” Louie’s solidarity with Pip arises from a felt sense that both were underestimated, both struggled, and both overcame obstacles to succeed. His epistemic privilege – as a Puerto Rican who has been underestimated and has struggled – becomes the catalyst for empathetic fusion with Pip. AS A LISTENING PRACTICE

Erin recognized that students needed to sharpen their listening skills to “hear” the emotions behind words if they were to cultivate empathy. Succeeding the study of Great Expectations and ahead of Romeo and Juliet, Erin used a podcast to remind participants of empathetic fusion. Students tuned in to “How Empathy Works?” (2017). The podcast scrutinized aspects of this concept, such as the changing perception of empathy in the Obama administration to the Trump administration. These questions were an exercise to focus on listening skills in addition to empathy; therefore, students were asked to provide phrases and definitions the narrators stated within the podcast. Students answered these prompts: 187

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Empathy Podcast 1. What differences do the narrators see in empathy during the Obama administration and the Trump administration? Do you agree or disagree? 2. According to this podcast, what is the end goal of empathy? Do you agree this is always the end goal? Why or why not? 3. Are people more empathetic toward those they know or more empathetic toward many people they don’t know? Does the number of people affected by tragedy cause people to feel more empathy? 4. Why don’t we feel empathy for everyone? After the podcast, students discussed the narrator’s viewpoints and explored their own views of how empathy has changed or remained the same on a global scale due to changing United States leadership. Kenneth’s writing focused on how empathy is realized. Kenneth’s assessment of the podcast was, “I learned more about the true nature of humans. We don’t feel [empathy] for people that aren’t like us.” Kenneth’s adopted the perspective of the narrators as he realized that such unconditional affection isn’t freely given, and that there are limitations to the empathy felt by humans. This podcast allowed students to consider empathy and begin to form their own perspectives of how responsiveness is shown by and for others. Most students aligned with the beliefs of the podcast narrators, who shared interview and research data claiming empathy is contingent upon perceptions of likeness to one another, or isn’t felt if people are perceived as different from those giving empathy. Before listening to this podcast, students had only considered empathy as a new vocabulary word and shared examples of giving or receiving empathy from their own experiences. However, after engaging with the podcast and listening to research material explaining how empathy is realized in society, Kenneth and others began to critically consider these studies and form opinions based on their previous and emerging knowledge of empathy. THE SYNERGIES OF COSMOPOLITAN LITERACIES, EMPATHETIC FUSION, AND EPISTEMIC PRIVILEGE WITH ROMEO AND JULIET

The first writing prompt assigned for Romeo and Juliet focused on interweaving critical cosmopolitanism with student’s own knowledge of global issues. Erin created this prompt to serve as an early scaffold for moving from near and personal themes to distant global issues, i.e., family differences to world conflicts. Erin wanted students to understand the global nature of critical cosmopolitanism, supporting her students in the process of becoming citizens of the world who are sensitized to issues of oppression and power (Hansen, 2013). However, Erin also wanted students to value the knowledge they held as immigrants with global concerns. The prompt stated: ‡ The Montagues and Capulets fight in the marketplace in the opening scene. In fact, their hatred for one another and their family name is so strong that even their 188

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servants fight. Is it okay to judge someone that is different from you due to his or her name or to any other feature (skin color, weight, height, language, etc.)? Why or why not? Students began to demonstrate emerging conceptions of cosmopolitanism as they considered conflict as a universal theme. One student, Tamirin, who is from Japan, wrote that it is “not good…to judge someone that is different than you due to their name or due to any other feature.” Tamirin was cognizant of oppression, citing evidence for her beliefs by relating unfair judgment of others to the “persecution of Jews.” She connected the conflict between the Montagues and Capulets to the genocide of Jews, gypsies, and others during the Holocaust, a historical conflict in which an entire race was judged in what she deemed an unfair use of power. Tamirin’s emerging empathy for a race of people begins to develop as a cosmopolitan stance; here she is “cognizant of oppression and power” (Hansen, 2013) in historical events. Furthermore, Tamirin is making these connections due to her own background knowledge of historical events paired with her knowledge of the canonical text, Romeo and Juliet. Her connection to cultural and historical oppression foregrounds her own knowledge, but she is also considering universal themes as they appear in canonical texts. As a sequence to the first prompt, Erin asked students to discuss disagreements that they were aware of in the world or within their communities. ‡ What connections can you make to conflicts you see in the world around you? Do you see any examples of power and privilege? The discussion then turned to points of social action where students could voice ideas or suggest actions that could create social change. Tamirin, tapping into her knowledge of historical events and showing an emerging sense of cosmopolitanism, wrote about power and privilege as she considered engaging in social action stating, “It is strange that people with power and privilege do things that other people cannot do.” In discussion with her reading partner and in her writing, both Tamirin and her partner argued that principals, teachers, and athletes were able to engage in activities that not all students were able to do, thus demonstrating social power and privilege within the school. Tamirin and her partner used school examples as a springboard for considering the broader themes of community power and privilege in Romeo and Juliet. Tamirin explained that the two prominent families, the Montagues and Capulets, represented power and privilege in the textual community of Verona in Romeo and Juliet. She was able to connect these textual examples to her life as a student, showing an evolving understanding of the role of power in her social world and in canonical texts. Erin believed cultural perspectives informed student responses as students either defended or condemned Romeo’s choice to avenge Mercutio’s death by killing Tybalt. Students considered the prompt: Would you have killed Tybalt? What could you have done differently? The four Japanese students believed Romeo’s actions were 189

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unnecessary, and that Romeo was not justified in killing Tybalt. Louie, from Puerto Rico, stated, “Yes, he (Tybalt) killed my best friend. He had to take revenge….” Similar to Louie’s assertion that revenge was necessary, Diego, from Mexico, agreed and stated, “I would have killed Tybalt because he killed my friend. You should not leave someone who killed your friend alive in the world.” However, when Erin interviewed her students after that class, Louie and Diego both emphasized that their responses were their own opinions and did not represent family’s beliefs or cultural perspectives. Ben and Amir, from India, interrupted this interview upon arriving to class. Ben argued that his response was a cultural belief, stating, “I feel revenge is necessary when harming a brother and most of my family would have done the same thing.” Amir agreed that his response reflected a cultural belief: “My family would have [avenged Tybalt’s death]. We did it in the Temple. There were actual sword fights at my temple.” Upon further questioning, Ben and Amir told a story of a sword fight in April 2018 at their Temple in Central Indiana. Amir believed the people in power were wrong because they were abusing power, and they deserved punishment. He stated that in his culture, if someone does something bad, that someone should avenge those actions. This interview with four students from three different countries, India, Mexico, and Puerto Rico, revealed the many variances in cultural beliefs concerning revenge. Again, the themes in the text allowed students to rely on their own knowledge and consider critical literacy themes within canonical texts. Erin also challenged students to turn their empathy into social action, connecting their own knowledge of current events to the themes discussed in the texts. The conversation turned to social action when students read about Friar Laurence ending the feud between Romeo and Juliet’s families by uniting the two families through the marriage of Romeo and Juliet. Erin challenged students to make connections between their reading of the text and current events, focusing on a planned school walk out March 14, 2018, to combat school shootings and violence. Students were asked to answer the following prompt: ‡ In Act 2, Friar Laurence decides to marry Romeo and Juliet. His plan is to unite the Montague and Capulet families by marriage and end the feud. Was this a good plan? Additionally, this week students planned a school walk out to end school violence. Was this a good plan? Are there any similarities between these two plans? Students were able to have discussions of social events as the themes of the canonical texts connected to current social issues. Although only a few students joined the walk out at Erin’s school, those who did not join the silent walk out generated a lot of discussion about why other students walked out. Were they really protesting, or did they just want to get out of class? Tamirin stated that the school walkout and Friar Laurence’s plans were both good because both were opportunities to “stop the fight…between the homes” or “…to end school violence.” Tamirin was making connections between the feuding families’ unfolding drama in Romeo and Juliet and the topical issue of school violence after a recent school shooting in Florida. 190

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The connections students made in class enabled them to understand the difficulties that characters faced in Romeo and Juliet and in contemporary times. Erin wanted students to develop empathy for textual and actual others, so she created an invitation for students designed to deepen their understandings of others. Borba (2016, p. 2) suggests enacting perspectives of characters in order “to stretch students’ empathy muscles.” Erin also did so to strengthen students’ connections with other aspects of cosmopolitanism – consideration of engagement with others (Hawkins, 2014), communication across difference (Hull & Stornaiuolo, 2014), empathetic fusion (Sepulveda, 2011), and a cognizance of oppression and power (Hansen, 2013) – students created comics of one of the main characters: Romeo, Juliet, Lady Capulet, Friar Lawrence, or Lady Montague. This comic detailed the perspective of the chosen character, as students described the feelings and actions based on the events in each act. Erin hoped this activity would spur students to imagine the perspectives of others as they considered definitions of empathy and related those ideas to the texts and to their own lives. Additionally, students built on the creation of empathetic comics to create a final project, choosing from the following prompts: You Are the Comic ‡ You are Romeo. You have just been banished from Verona for avenging Mercutio. How do you feel? Describe your thoughts and regrets. ‡ You are Juliet. You have just been notified that your father will make you marry Paris. Describe your feelings. What emotions fuel the choices you make? ‡ You are Lady Montague. You have just found out about Romeo and Juliet’s death. Describe your feelings. Describe the moments before you die of grief. ‡ You are Friar Lawrence. You have just witnessed the horrific scene at the tomb and must explain what happened to the Montagues and Capulets. Describe your feelings. What will you say? These discussion questions elicited students’ evolving understandings of social justice issues on local and global scales. COMICS AS A CULMINATING PROJECT: FROM EMPATHY TO COSMOPOLITAN LITERACIES

While marginalized peoples are often positioned as victims situated in larger systems of power and privilege – their fates determined by race, class and other markers of difference – Erin took a different stance. She chose to invite students to become authors of their own life stories, taking up agency by recasting the past and designing new futures through the culminating unit project, creating comic memoirs. By highlighting their lived experiences, transnational identities, and home cultures, some students exercised their epistemic privilege, making peers aware of oppression 191

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and inequities around the world. In so doing, those students sensitized their classmates to global perspectives and deepened students’ emerging cosmopolitan literacies. The prompt that follows invites students to reflect upon their linguistic and cultural resources as global citizens: Your Life as a Comic Book! Imagine that your life was a comic book. What would the author include? ‡ Write about your journey to the ENL class. Where did your life start? Where have you been and how has it changed? (If you want to use family pictures for comics, bring them in.) ‡ Explain a major cultural difference between what you experienced in another country and what you have seen in the US (examples: school, family, social class, privilege, etc.) ‡ Explain how the move from one place to another changed or influenced you. Where did your life start? Where have you been? How has your life changed? Students had many different ideas about how to approach these prompts. Nikki echoed these thoughts using four pages to talk about memories of her childhood in Japan, yet stating that she has had many “good experiences” in the United States. She writes, I was born in Yokohama, Japan, but I never lived there. I moved to Nagoya, Japan, right after I was born…When I was three, my family was told we had to move to Detroit, Michigan. My mother was very worried because at the time Detroit had the highest crime rate in the United States. When I was four, I moved to Indiana. I already spoke English, but I scored very low on the test, so they put me in ESL…When I was eight, my father moved back to Japan. A year later, the rest of my family moved back to Japan as well…for five years. Last year, I moved back to Indiana. Nikki’s repeated relocations echo a theme that others shared in their comics: that mobility and relocation were givens for students in Erin’s class. Through them, Nikki and her peers gain broader and richer transnational perspectives on life. The description of Nikki’s lived experiences portrays her as a multilingual student who “they” (school officials) place in classes she deemed unnecessary as an English speaker. This shows Nikki’s lack of power, a connection to the themes in the canonical texts, Great Expectations and Romeo and Juliet, as she navigates new schools and countries while relearning languages and cultural norms due to her family’s transnational lifestyle. Therefore, student experiences are informing their understanding of canonical texts and becoming an “aid in meaning construction” (Harper, 2014). Nikki is also showing an emerging sense of cosmopolitanism as she considers her movements around the globe and the effect each school had on her placement in English classes. As witnesses to her story, other students also had 192

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the chance to share in this emerging cosmopolitanism as they considered Nikki’s movements around the globe in conjunction with their own movements. Erin’s students engaged in written and oral discussions that valued students’ lived experiences and foregrounded their knowledge of empathy and oppression through the study of canonical texts. Although the goal was for students to develop cosmopolitan literacies by exploring local and global issues, virtual and actual selves, students showed more evidence of learning about texts and cultures when they were able to draw upon their lived experiences and tap into their abilities to empathize with virtual and actual others. While the comic versions of canonical texts provide access to canonical texts for English learners, we argue that while such texts are necessary, they are not sufficient. Using teaching strategies to draw out students’ knowledge and experiences as refugees, transnationals, and immigrants, teachers can affirm student voices and validate students’ accumulating epistemic privilege. Experiences of struggle and precarity can also become springboards for understanding textual and actual others experiencing oppression, thereby creating the conditions for empathetic fusion among students and between students and texts. Additionally, pairing these strategies with canonical texts, teachers can sensitize students to an awareness of local and global issues. Students did demonstrate incremental progress toward cosmopolitan literacies by coming “closer and closer apart” and “further and further together” (Hansen, 2011, p. 5) as a community, respecting the local and global practices of peers, signaling the presence and promise of cosmopolitan literacies, especially when paired with canonical texts. REFERENCES Applebee, A. (1993). Literature in the secondary school: Studies of curriculum and instruction in the United States. Urbana, IL: National Council of Teachers of English. Bean, T. W., & Dunkerly-Bean, J. (2015). Expanding conceptions of adolescent literacy research and practice: Cosmopolitan theory in educational contexts. Australian Journal of Language and Literacy, 38(1), 46–54. Borba, M. A. (2016). Seven ways to teach perspective taking and stretch students’ empathy muscles. Retrieved from http://micheleborba.com/8-ways-to-teach-perspective-taking-and-stretch-studentsempathymuscles/ Canagarajah, S. (2013). Translingual practice: Global Englishes and cosmopolitan relations. New York, NY: Routledge. Dickens, C. (2009). Great expectations: The graphic novel. Boston, MA: Heinle ELT. Evans, B., & Hornberger, N. (2005). No child left behind: Repealing and unpeeling language policy in the United States. Language Policy, 4, 87–106. Freire, P. (1970). Pedagogy of the oppressed. New York, NY: Herder and Herder. Gay, N. (2008). Alone, confused, and frustrated: Developing empathy and strategies for working with English language learners. The Clearing House, 81(6), 247. Retrieved from https://doi.org/10.3200/ TCHS.81.6.247-250 Goizueta, R. S. (2001). Caminando con Jesus: Toward a Hispanic/Latino theology of accompaniment. New York, NY: Orbis Books. Hansen, D. (2010). Cosmopolitanism and education: A view from the ground. Teachers College Record, 112(1), 1–30.

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Erin McNeill Center Grove High School Greenwood, IN Mary Beth Hines Literacy, Culture, & Language Education Indiana University Bloomington, IN

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14. “THIS AIN’T GOT NUTTIN TO DO WITH MY LIFE” Art and Imitation in Romeo and Juliet

INTRODUCTION

Two households – both alike in dignity In fair Verona where we lay our scene… Romeo and Juliet continues to be one of the most commonly taught books in American public secondary schools (Applebee, 1989; Grossberg, 2018). Like most young people, poet Donté Clark first encountered the play in high school when he was about 15 years old. He said, “The first time I read Romeo and Juliet, I was like, this is weak. It’s boring. I don’t get it. I don’t see how this relate to me. That was my attitude. Like, this ain’t got nuttin to do with my life.”1 Donté’s sentiment is not uncommon. Students often come to Shakespeare with a ‘fear’ of the language and an expectation that they will not understand it (Thompson & Turchi, 2016). Similarly, teachers cite Shakespeare’s language as the most difficult to teach (Thompson & Turchi, 2016). Donté offers a counterstory to this narrative of distance between Shakespeare’s plays and contemporary students – particularly historically minoritized students – in Romeo Is Bleeding, a documentary about rewriting Shakespeare in the language of a community in Richmond, California. Re-reading Romeo and Juliet in his early twenties, Donté realized: “Damn, this is my life. This is what’s goin’ on in my neighborhood right now.” What changed for Donté? Re-visiting the play through the eyes of a spoken word artist who embodies language, Donté saw a connection between his lived experiences and the world Shakespeare painted through words. In this chapter, we introduce the documentary Romeo Is Bleeding as a modern, current, and relevant example of how, as Donté says later in the documentary film, “Art is an imitation of life.” Our purpose is to share how teachers can use Romeo Is Bleeding to connect historically minoritized high school students to Shakespeare and, more importantly, to model reciprocity between art and experience. Donté and the other poets in the documentary model generative reading by actively reconstructing Romeo and Juliet in the image of their neighborhood. Students can use Shakespeare’s rich language to picture connections to their own experiences through

© KONINKLIJKE BRILL NV, LEIDEN, 2019 | DOI:10.1163/9789004389311_014

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rewriting scenes, playing with language, and envisioning characters as vividly as people familiar to them in life and media. This chapter frames literary study as mimesis, or the representation of lived experiences. ‘Art as imitation’ is a lens for looking at Romeo and Juliet in the way that Donté looked at the play – a critical reading that can reshape both textual and personal experiences (Luke, 2012). After describing elements relevant to common themes in these two texts, we describe examples of what a mimetic approach to teaching Romeo and Juliet looks like in the classroom through reading and subverting texts. In the conclusion, we revisit the language of Shakespeare through the languages of students’ lived experiences. Teaching Romeo and Juliet alongside the stories of minoritized youth in Romeo is Bleeding not only renders Shakespeare’s world culturally relevant for students seemingly not represented in the canon, it also helps to elevate the poetic voices of historically minoritized youth in a way that legitimizes, or ‘canonizes’ their own stories. Research Context of Pedagogical Approach The descriptions and examples in this chapter focus on work with Ms. Murphy (all names are pseudonyms) and her 9th grade English students. The school where Ms. Murphy teaches has over 3,000 students with 53% total minority enrollment and 1/3 characterized as economically disadvantaged (U.S. News, 2017). What is presented here in this chapter is a combination of what we did and what we would do differently for future iterations of the project. I (Fawn) am a researcher and newly minted Ph.D. in literacy who taught high school English in the same large urban district. I am also a teacher educator with a decade of experience in secondary English education at the local university. In my work at the district level with new teachers, I saw firsthand the rewards and challenges of teaching in a highly diverse district whose students speak more than 154 different languages. In keeping with formative experiment methodology, which emphasizes close collaboration with teachers in authentic contexts (Reinking & Bradley, 2008), I actively engage in designing and, on occasion, implementing instruction in the classroom. I (Chyllis) am an Assistant Literacy Professor; as a teacher educator and former classroom teacher, I have over 20 years of classroom experience. As Fawn’s doctoral advisor, I contributed to the project from the beginning by working with Fawn and Ms. Murphy to formulate and develop their idea for the project. Perhaps most importantly, we are all (including Ms. Murphy) white women whose identities reflect the majority of teachers – 80% – in classrooms where students are increasingly more diverse (Taie & Goldring, 2017), an unfortunate reality that will continue to be the case “for the foreseeable future” (Howard, 2016, p. 6). Therefore, it is essential to adopt critical pedagogical practices (Morrell, 2008) that position students and teachers in ways that encourage multiple perspectives in English language arts content. Our approach to teaching Shakespeare takes to heart 196

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the admonition that educators draw on critical pedagogy situated “in the experiences of the students” rather than those of the teacher (Morrell & Duncan-Andrade, 2002, p. 91). Therefore, we emphasize learning that privileges both students’ diverse identities and lived literacy practices. We, as researchers, acknowledge our status as outsiders in a discussion about community-specific languages and identities, such as Donté’s in Romeo is Bleeding. Texts like the documentary Romeo is Bleeding put our students back in the teaching of Shakespeare, making room in the canon for the artful expression of their lives. THE LIMITATIONS OF “ART AS IMITATION” FOR HISTORICALLY MINORITIZED YOUTH

Throughout art history, aesthetic philosophers have wrestled with locating the essence of art, or what makes something Art with a capital “A.” These philosophers have identified mimesis – the quality of representation – as that which governs the creation of a work of art. In other words, art is that which imitates nature in order to bring people closer to the essence of reality, or to capture the universal in the particular. Canonical works of literature, including a host of Shakespearean tragedies like Romeo and Juliet, have been “canonized” precisely for the ways they have managed to capture the universal in the particular. The “great” novels, plays, and poems are those that give readers the opportunity to live through an experience that allows insight into the human condition. In other words, canonical works of literature are those that successfully “imitate life.” Donté’s reaction, “Like, this ain’t got nuttin to do with my life,” in response to his initial reading of Shakespeare’s seemingly timeless classic, is not the response, then, predicted by aesthetic philosophers. However, educational researchers (e.g., Dyches, 2017; Thompson & Turchi, 2016) have noted the struggles students have faced in seeing their own experiences reflected in Shakespeare’s plays. These struggles are all the more real for marginalized readers who “have always had to read themselves into canons that excluded them” (Thomas & Stornaiuolo, 2016, p. 317). But Donté’s later epiphany about Romeo and Juliet – that it actually mirrored what was going on in his own neighborhood “right now” – brings into focus a real possibility for finding reciprocity between art and experience for all students. Media scholars have suggested that educators focus on the impact that so-called canonical texts have on contemporary culture by following the “flow of stories and information across multiple modalities” (Jenkins et al., 2009, p. xiv). We, therefore, offer a summary of Romeo and Juliet as well as Romeo is Bleeding. We believe that the documentary, as well as the teaching of the documentary alongside Romeo and Juliet, helps to illustrate the ways that Shakespeare’s tragedy transcends the particularity of its plots and protagonists. In other words, the documentary Romeo is Bleeding, gestures toward what might be possible in the teaching of canonical 197

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texts that – at the outset – seem a far cry from the reality of the minoritized youth experiencing them: Art is an imitation of their lives. A TALE OF TWO “TEXTS”

In this section, we provide a brief synopsis of the two texts. To demonstrate how art imitates the modern narratives of historically minoritized youth in Romeo is Bleeding, we draw on themes from Romeo and Juliet around violence and miscommunication. Romeo and Juliet Readers are likely familiar with the story of the “star crossed lovers” Romeo and Juliet, whose forbidden union leads to fateful tragedy. The play opens with a prologue that gives away the entire the plot, including the deaths of the young lovers. The first conflict stems from an ancient grudge between two families. We are told that this grudge has recently flared, a “break to new mutiny.” What is important to emphasize before students watch the film or read the play, is that Shakespeare purposefully leaves the conflict generic (Bloom, 2010). The “ancient grudge” and the “parents’ strife” are inherited by the youth in the play, placing an emphasis on the effects of the conflict. In the midst of the feud between “two foes” are two of their children, Montague’s Romeo and Capulet’s Juliet, who fall in love. A further complication, the betrothal of Juliet to Count Paris by her father, initiates intergenerational conflict. The grudge creates the tension on which the whole play revolves – not only the central conflict of forbidden love, but also the ensuing intergenerational strife and the violence between young men. Several die in the course of the play, but integral to the plot are the deaths of Mercutio, a heartbreaking loss for Romeo, and Tybalt – in retribution for Mercutio’s death – at the hands of Romeo. Tybalt, Juliet’s beloved cousin, escalates the emotional dissonance of the feud, emphasizing both the senselessness of the violence and its inevitability. Knowing the outcome frees students to focus on Shakespeare’s craft. Words provide insight into the psyche and identity of characters, the development of the plot, and poetry of the language. Romeo Is Bleeding Romeo is Bleeding is a documentary chronicling an urban adaptation of Romeo and Juliet by Donté Clark and a cast of high school spoken word poets in the youth organization, RAW Talent. Scenes from the RAW Talent adaptation, Té’s Harmony, are interwoven into multiple narratives from the personal, historical, and artistic perspectives of people living in the Richmond, California community affected by an ongoing turf war between two neighborhoods: North and Central. Archival news and film footage supplement the stories, as do the poetry and insights of the young artists in the documentary. In the beginning of the film, the gang violence has become lore among members of the community, from former gang-members 198

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to police officers and civic employees. The competing histories about the origin of the feud mirror the “ancient grudge” with no known origin in Romeo and Juliet. We later learn that this grudge, too, is also a family affair. Donté’s older brothers were involved in a car accident that sparked the violent conflict. As the documentary progresses, the all-too-real deaths of young men from street violence continue. Ultimately, it is the death of one of Donté’s protégés, Demarea, that devastates him to near irreparability. Although the documentary does not present the adaptation in its entirety, students learn about Té’s Harmony and witness the artistic processes of Donté and the other cast members. Thus, high school students in English classes will benefit from seeing how the cast members meld Shakespeare’s words and themes into spoken word poetry performances. Spoken word not only underscores aspects of what Jamilla Lyiscott (2017) called “Black textual expressions” (p. 50), but also the embodiment and visualization of poetry that supports a contemporary reading. Other challenges facing the community, such as poverty, industrial pollution, and racism contribute to the conflict, highlighting the complexity of issues facing residents in this particular part of the Richmond community. In the press kit for the documentary, this weaving of art and experience is described as “a cycle, where real life informs poetry, which informs history, which informs real life” (“Romeo is Bleeding,” 2017). As Audre Lorde (1982) said, “There is no such thing as a single-issue struggle because we do not live single-issue lives” (n.p.). PEDAGOGY OF ART AND IMITATION

Ms. Murphy taught Romeo and Juliet from the perspective of “Shakespeare as genius,” with an emphasis on language and literary devices to prepare her 9th grade students for Advanced Placement English courses in the 11th and 12th grades. She taught Romeo and Juliet not because she particularly liked it (she did not), but because it was mandated. In her classroom, students read the play first and watched excerpts of the documentary. Ms. Murphy initially entertained the idea of showing the entire documentary, but ultimately asked us to identify excerpts that would focus on language, in accordance with the emphasis of her course. After students watched excerpts, they were tasked with rewriting their own scene, which we discuss below in the section titled Subverting Texts. Based upon our experience researching Ms. Murphy’s 9th grade English class, we suggest starting with the documentary and reading Romeo and Juliet after to encourage students to visualize themselves in the canon. In what follows, we delineate a multi-phase process to reading Romeo and Juliet alongside a viewing of the documentary Romeo is Bleeding. Reading for Thematic Echoes Ms. Murphy’s students began the unit by analyzing the Prologue from Romeo and Juliet. The Prologue served as an introduction to the play, the language of 199

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Shakespeare, and excerpts from the film. As Ladson-Billings (2014) cautions, we must avoid a voyeuristic approach when bringing culturally relevant material into the classroom, such as the documentary. Teachers can help students develop an awareness of the positionality of the viewer and the viewed in relation to the documentary and canonical literature.2 Additionally, should teachers wish to expand on the language of this particular Richmond community or discuss spoken word, the text Doing Critical Literacy underscores the arbitrary value placed on languages, especially versions of English privileged in school and the literary canon (Janks et al., 2014). The section that follows traces two themes common to both Romeo and Juliet and the world of the youth described in Romeo is Bleeding. The first theme addresses violence and is presented in two parts: Violence as Socially Systemic Problem and Mad Blood Stirring. The second theme briefly explores the difficulties inherent in human communication, resulting misunderstanding and/or misrepresentation, and is presented in Thou Knowest Me Not. Violence as socially systemic problem. In the documentary, violence takes the form of “war in the ghetto, Central versus North,” but also in other insidious ways, such as poverty, industrial pollution, and racism, drawing attention to policies and perspectives that have real effects in communities. The themes point to socially systemic problems that play out in both Shakespeare’s play and the everyday realities of the students featured in the documentary, underscoring the universal in the particular in art and experience. The structure of the film establishes multiple perspectives around the root causes of violence. Shortly after the opening scene, Donté recites the Prologue directly from Shakespeare. Interspersed with the Prologue is the voice of a female police officer explaining that “there are a lot of moving parts to this city,” juxtaposing million-dollar homes with inner city areas where poverty and violence are more prevalent. She reinforces the “ancient grudge” narrative in Shakespeare by discussing “flare ups” where a “myriad of shootings” have taken place, all while a soundtrack of ominous music, sirens, and gunshots plays in the background. Then Donté’s voice, “From ancient grudge break to new mutiny…Welcome to my city.” The documentary cuts to Donté performing a spoken word poem onstage, “It has an aftertaste of slavery…” and is intertwined with a brief montage of archival footage of the migration of Black people from the South to North Richmond in the 1940s, through to the 1990s when Donté was born at the height of the crack cocaine epidemic. The “aftertaste” in the poem is realized through the imagery of the after-effects of slavery and systemic racism in America throughout the documentary. The prologues in both texts show how art reflects the lived experiences of Richmond youth. The opening scenes of inherited violence show how deeply it is entrenched in each community and how it shapes the present and futures of those living with its entanglements. Romeo and Donté both struggle to stay above of the fray.

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Mad blood stirring.3 The star-crossed lovers in both plays are doomed because they are born into a system that perpetuates a cycle of violence. In both the documentary and Shakespeare’s play, men in particular are “wedded to calamity” (3.3.60). After the introduction by Donté that includes his first encounter with Romeo and Juliet, a transition introduces the “fatal feud between neighborhoods” of Richmond, California. The documentary cuts to Black youth participating in an activity where they step from one side of the room to another in response to questions read aloud by Donté, such as “step forward if where you live is not a safe environment for you or your family” or “step forward if you have lost someone to gun violence.” In most cases, the majority of the youth step forward at each turn, leaving only a few behind. When Donté calls out, “step forward if you feel like you connected to everybody, and you can go anywhere without fear,” no one moves. In the background, someone says, “Damn!” Donté’s voiceover continues: You gotta understand that violence is not gonna stop. That’s – That beyond flesh. You know what I mean? That’s spiritual. Several scenes in Romeo and Juliet prepare students for the role the feud plays in both texts. In the play, Shakespeare also makes it clear that peace is unlikely. As the rival young men in the first Act of Romeo and Juliet draw swords, Benvolio tries to cool flaring tempers, to no avail: BENVOLIO: I do but keep the peace. Put up thy sword, Or manage it to part these men with me. TYBALT: What, drawn and talk of peace? I hate the word, As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee. (1.1.69–72) The young men on both sides of the feud are caught in a cycle of violence that renders any immediate cause for the violence irrelevant or as Donté said, “beyond flesh.” Throughout the documentary, personal wrongs and the pain resulting from the violent deaths are the source of the hate that springs eternal. In an interview, Donté says that it has more to do with “When I was eight years old they killed my brother. Now I’m 19, I’m rockin’, I don’t want to hear nothing else.” In other words, it no longer matters how the feud started. This reality is echoed in another Shakespearean scene, where Mercutio and Benvolio are on the streets of Verona. Benvolio suggests they head home before trouble finds them: I pray thee, good Mercutio, let’s retire. The day is hot, the Capels are abroad, And if we meet we shall not ‘scape a brawl, For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring. (3.1.1–4) Donté talks about how “you trained or you taught” arbitrary boundaries: “You don’t mess with that side. You see ‘em, it’s on sight,” or instant confrontation. He strives throughout the documentary to show that the violent feud in his neighborhood is senseless – “killing your own people.” Like Romeo in the play, he can see beyond the 201

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immediate “mad blood” and continues, “But I’m a good person at heart. I care about life. I care about people.” His older brother, Deanzer, later reflects the sentiment that “violence is not gonna stop”: You know, some things you just can’t change. I mean, but you can try though. Like he doing, he trying. But its worth it though, it’s worth a try. Likewise, at the end of the documentary, Los Angeles Poet Laureate Luis J. Rodriguez, says, “If we don’t bring out the beauty of the youth, it will turn to violence.” He is speaking about the violence plaguing this particular community, but as the poets in Romeo is Bleeding have demonstrated, violence comes in many forms. But, to play off of Friar Lawrence’s words, violent delights need not have violent ends. Donté and D’Neise express this in the last lines of Té’s Harmony: Who are we? Two stubborn seeds Stuck in the barrel of America’s gun, Bloomin’ from its metal mouth. But tonight, we choose life. For Donté, poetry is a vehicle for hope and healing for his students, an opportunity to control some aspect of life and perhaps change it. He tells us that his work at RAW Talent is more than writing poetry – it is about “working with young people tryin’ to figure out what do you care about? And let’s go from there.” What Donté cares about is revealed in the lines of Té’s Harmony and in this interview from the documentary: What I care about…is we put those guns down. It’s like just because we inherited this beef, don’t mean that we gotta keep passing down. Finding what one cares deeply about can influence how students read the word and the world (Friere & Macedo, 1987), bringing experience and therefore relevance to canonical texts. Adaptations or responses to canonical texts provide an opportunity to share that concern in a way that counters misperceptions and shapes perspectives. Thou knowest me not. Misunderstanding and misrepresentation run rife through both texts. In the play, Tybalt challenges Romeo to fight. In response, Romeo tells Tybalt, “I see thou knowest me not” (3.1.66), for Romeo sees beyond the consuming hatred of the grudge now that his world has been enlarged by love. Where Romeo’s love for Juliet enlightens, Donté’s art is both a way out of the cycle of violence and atonement for the actions of his brothers, who were involved in the accident that spurred the turf war: “I’m just gonna say this. Uh, if it was one of my brothers in there, who…who…who, you know, was a part of this…I did take on some type of ownership.” In other instances, intergenerational conflict represents the interweaving of grand narratives (fateful violence) with the personal – humanizing the experiences of the youth depicted in the film.

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Ms. Murphy emphasized intergenerational tensions in the play because she thought many of her students would relate to feeling misunderstood or misrepresented by the adults in their lives. One powerful example of art imitating life in both texts is the confrontation between Juliet and her father over her impending marriage. In Act 3, Scene 5 of Romeo and Juliet, Juliet attempts to explain to her father why she refuses to marry Paris. Her father becomes enraged, calling her reasoning “chopped logic!” Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds, But fettle your fine joints ‘gainst Thursday next To go with Paris to Saint Peter’s Church, Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. Out, you green sickness, carrion! Out, you baggage! You tallow face! As Juliet begs her father to “hear me out with patience but to speak a word,” RAW Talent artist and cast member, 17 year old D’Neise, delivers lines as Harmony that echo Juliet’s desperation, that of a daughter striving to be heard: FATHER:

You’re dead to me! Seventeen, you’re still a baby yourself. Destined to be a bastard before entering in this world. Té, still a boy, has no idea what it takes to be a man but dares to make me a grandfather.

HARMONY: Pops, I picked up my first gun in the first grade. You were too naïve to notice or too caught up in your fast life to realize that I watched your every move. Many a nights, my heart yearned for that loving father. Just one “I’m proud of you,” one kiss on the forehead saying, “Baby girl, I love you,” but, no! I got, “Harmony, shut up, learn your place, you have no say, you never will, that’s life.” You never owned up to the damage you left me with. [Father turns away] D’Neise’s writing is drawn from life: this scene is “most real to me, ‘cause me and my dad…aren’t close. I feel like that poem really came from, like, a real place. Like something I would really want to say to my dad.” The social effects of the conflict in Shakespeare’s play are mirrored in the documentary, where intergenerational conflict surfaces in the particulars of the lived experiences of the youth in the documentary: the absence of fathers, the effects of incarceration, and the clash of wills inherent in relationships. As Ms. Murphy notes, these themes resonate with all of her students. TURN RANCOR TO PURE LOVE4: THE POWER OF LANGUAGE

Shakespeare’s language is celebrated as a work of art – language that has created a distance between the play and contemporary students reading it. And yet, the 203

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students in the documentary Romeo is Bleeding create their own poetry that relies on many of the same sophisticated devices that Shakespeare uses. Donté performs one poem in particular that begins: “Until you understand me, please find me guilty.” The performance demonstrates culturally significant meanings imposed on Black men, reaching far back in history and lingering, powerfully, in the present: “You tell me who I’m supposed to be. You tell me how I’m supposed to behave, cuz you see, it’s hard for me to manage me, see I’m split,” a possible reference to the “doubleconsciousness” of W.E.B. Du Bois (1903), “always looking at one’s self through the eyes of others” (p. 3). Donté continues: “I’m tired of contradiction keeping me in prison” (Clark, 2013). Donté sees art as a way to reshape experience, subvert power in order to “turn rancor to pure love,” as Friar Lawrence had hoped (2.3.99). As students begin to see the thematic connections between Romeo and Juliet and their own worlds, they too are able to find a poetic voice to tell their own stories. Subverting Texts: (Re)writing Shakespeare’s Words for Students’ Worlds A critical approach to learning invites students to actively (re)write their worlds. Inspired by the documentary, Ms. Murphy developed a “Scene ReWrite” assignment. Students could choose one of five scenes (see Figure 14.1) to adapt. Each of the five scenes was chosen because Ms. Murphy saw opportunities for students to explore the motivations of characters at important turning points in the play. The assignment introduction began with scenes depicting Donté and RAW Talent youths writing, workshopping, or rehearsing lines from Té’s Harmony. In the rewrite assignment, students could use some of the bard’s words to give Shakespeare “props,” as Donté modelled, but the languages in the rewrites had to reflect conflict, settings, characters, and style of their own. The following three sections explore examples from each of these three elements. Writing about conflict and setting. As Ms. Murphy’s students began to see the thematic connections between Romeo and Juliet and their own worlds, they too were able to find a poetic voice to tell their own stories. The students approached the Scenes ACT 1 Romeo explaining his woe to Benvolio (1: 1: 173–254)

ACT 2 Romeo and Juliet declaring their love to one another (2: 2: 53–213)

ACT 3 Juliet learning of Tybalt’s death and Romeo’s banishment (3: 2: 39–155)

ACT 4 The discovery of Juliet’s “death” (4: 5: 1–105)

Figure 14.1. Romeo and Juliet scene rewrite assignment

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ACT 5 The truth is revealed and the feud finally ends (5: 3: 185–335)

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rewrite by first considering what they cared about, looking for scenes that resonated with them in the play. When Ms. Murphy introduced the assignment, one student exclaimed, “You know I’m Mexican, so I’m going to do a telenovela!” She described a story in which the Romeo character would be deported, rather than banished. The plot would revolve around rival gangs, Mexican cartel, rather than families. She then turned and talked excitedly with a friend, animatedly describing developments in her scene until the bell rang. In her final, written version based on Act III, Juana, the Juliet character, learns of her cousin Teo’s death for which Rico is deported. The confrontation took place on “7th and 12th Street” in a border town. Dress, conflict, and language reflect the author’s (student’s) experiences in the introduction to her scene rewrite: In this scene, Juana recently confessed her love to Rico and with that received (sic) a promise ring. She has been waiting all day for Rico to return from work in the fields when her abuela walks in. Juana is wearing a red flannel with levi (sic) jeans and converse with her hair in braids. Abuela is wearing an old Mexican pajama dress with her in a messy bun. Abuela informs Juana that Teo has been shot and that Rico is getting deported… This student vividly described people that could easily exist in her own world and included details such as name-brand clothing and hairstyles particular to her social groups. But, most importantly, she wrote characters and languages that are not represented in Shakespeare. Though the conflicts mirrored those experienced by Romeo and Juliet, the worlds legitimized in this student’s writing were distinctly her own. Writing character. After establishing conflict and setting, students shaped characters whose identities were mirrored in Shakespeare’s play. Language was purposeful and students were eager to use languages they used outside of school, beginning with names. In the previous example, Rico and Juana are intentional choices stemming from the student’s statement, “You know I’m Mexican.” Naming is also explored in the play and the documentary. In Romeo and Juliet, Juliet opines, “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose/By any other name would smell as sweet” (2.2.1 2). Likewise, in Té’s Harmony, names communicate something essential about the characters’ cultural identities. For example, Donté names his Romeo character Té and Juliet, he calls Harmony. He describes how names express a Black identity that would resonate with his audience: Romeo is gonna be Té, me, from North Richmond. And then Juliet is gonna be Harmony, from Central Richmond, to see how the community parallels Romeo and Juliet…I don’t wanna be Romeo. Call me Té, man. That sound just as suave as Romeo. Ya feel me? But how you spell it is what make it suave. It’s T-E with that hyphen over that E. That’s what make it like, “Ooh.” And he Black? Ooh. Té! 205

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We heard students discuss names for characters in high school clicks, such as Rihanna and Luke, or other Hispanic names, like Rosa and Juan. Characters also reflected significant people in the students’ lives, such as Abuela, Spanish for ‘grandmother,’ for the role of the Nurse in one student’s rewrite. Characterization went further than naming, as reflected in descriptions of clothing or diction and speech, but names were clearly significant to the students and led them to considerations of how to build language and style around their characters. Style and language. Donté utilized verses directly from Romeo and Juliet, to “give props,” but it was the language from the neighborhood, or “how we talk” (Clark, 2017) that was privileged in Té’s Harmony. Similarly, Ms. Murphy’s students considered lines in Romeo and Juliet and developed their own storylines based on them. The following lines from Té’s Harmony provide students with an example of how lines were written by RAW Talent cast members to mirror those in Shakespeare (see Table 14.1). The scene depicts Tybalt’s reaction upon seeing Romeo at the Capulet ball. In the lines from both plays, “hatred runs deep,” but the power of the lines spoken by the character T.Y. from Té’s Harmony rests in personal trauma that parallels the lived experiences of youth in Donté’s neighbourhood. The tone is captured in both examples, but the second more closely resembles the experiences of a particular audience. Ms. Murphy encouraged students to focus on the literary devices in their own writing using Shakespeare’s text as a guide to “translate that figurative language.” In a conversation with another student, Ms. Murphy was overheard saying, “You want to go back and look at the language Shakespeare uses for Romeo. There must be differences in tones.” We observed her encouraging students to pay attention to “text” and “show the use of language.” The students in Ms. Murphy’s class also used literary devices that mimicked Shakespeare’s playfulness with language, such as metaphors like: “He is a peasant disguised as a prince. Did Los Padillas ever hide such a beautiful disguise?” and “He’s like a warm sopapilla with salt instead of sugar.” Another interesting manifestation of Table 14.1. Comparing lines Tybalt: This, by his voice should be a Montague. Fetch me my rapier, boy. What dares the slave Come hither, cover’d with an antic face, To fleer and scorn at our solemnity? Now, by the stock and honour of my kin, To strike him dead, I hold it not a sin.

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T.Y.: Is them some Narfers? They walked thin ice Unknowing, unaware of death’s swift hands waiting Lurking, thirsting blood. My hatred runs deep. …Just like they took my brother. …We drowned in puddles of tears While their hands are painted red With our blood, My brother’s blood. My hatred runs deep.

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language was in the following Spanish translation. In this example, the student uses parenthesis to translate lines to English: Abuela: Dios Mio (oh my God) Juana:

Que paso? (What’s happening?)

Translations are later abandoned completely as the writing gains momentum: Abuela: Lo siento mija. Men can not be trusted in the world that we live in today. Juana:

I always told Teo to stay away from those vatos. Los Padillas has never done so much evil in one day.

Abuela tells her granddaughter she is sorry, to which Juana responds that she had warned Teo to stay away from those men. Together, language and imagery combine to tell stories of diverse communities and experiences in the students’ examples. But most powerful was the way that they subverted the exclusivity of the canon, and Shakespeare in particular, to give voice to their own experiences. CONCLUSION

Tonight, we begin to rewrite this story. (Donté Clark) In Romeo is Bleeding, students wrote an alternative story in response to the canon (Bissonnette & Glazier, 2017) by (re)visioning dominant narratives around historically minoritized youth. As Donté said in an interview, Romeo and Juliet presented him with an opportunity to leverage the canon to change audience perspectives: So the ah-ha moment was, Romeo and Juliet is romanticized and we are demonized. If I can get the world to see us like Romeo and Juliet, then maybe they can have more compassion for Chicago, and Detroit, and New Orleans, and St. Louis and then Richmond, California. (Clark, 2017, July 17) Shakespeare provided a way to elevate the stories of the youth in Richmond and beyond. In the classroom, Ms. Murphy’s students located issues and experiences important to them, and fashioned stories in their own image. Aesthetic philosophers might call this mimesis, or art imitating life, but John Dewey (1934) would argue that imitation is simply the recognition that the aesthetic is inseparable from everyday experience. Our lives are Art. Dewey argues that Shakespeare resonates with readers because he embraces the all-too-human and “turns it upon itself” (1934, p. 35). Unfortunately, when art “attains classic status, it somehow becomes isolated from the human conditions under which it was brought into being and from the human consequences it engenders in actual life-experience” (Dewey, 1934, p. 1). Donté Clark and the youth in RAW Talent reconnect our students with the canon, opening an avenue for the poetic voices of historically minoritized youth in a way that legitimizes, or ‘canonizes’ their own stories. 207

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NOTES 1

2

3 4

Unless otherwise stated, all quotes from Donté Clark are transcribed from the documentary film, Romeo is Bleeding. Practices of Looking is an invaluable resource for thinking about how to communicate culturally significant meanings inherent in the images students encounter every day (Sturken & Cartwright, 2009, 2017). Another text useful for talking about language, especially dialects, is Doing Critical Literacy (Janks, Dixon, Ferreira, Granville, & Newfield, 2014). Together, these two texts provide teachers with resources for instruction about representation, stereotypes, and locating the power of images in film. Act 3, Scene 1, ll. 2–4. Act 2, Scene 3, l. 99.

REFERENCES Applebee, A. (1989). A study of gook-length works taught in high school English programs. Albany, NY: Center for the Learning and Teaching of Literature. Bissonnette, J. D., & Glazier, J. (2015). A counterstory of one’s own: Using counterstorytelling to engage students with the British canon. Journal of Adolescent and Adult Literacy, 59(6), 685–694. Bloom, H. (Ed.). (2010). Bloom’s guides: Romeo and Juliet (New edition). Troy, NY: Infobase Publishing. Clark, D. (2017, July 17). Russel Simmons, Donté Clark, & Jason Zeldes on the film, “Romeo is bleeding” (Madison Vain). Retrieved from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y_jAJgaVOqo Dewey, J. (1934). Art as experience. New York, NY: Penguin Group. Du Bois, W. E. B. (1903). The souls of Black folk: Essays and sketches (3rd ed.). Chicago, IL: A.C. McClurg & Co. Dyches, J. (2017). Shaking off Shakespeare: A White teacher, urban students, and the mediating powers of a canonical counter-curriculum. Urban Review, 49, 300–325. doi:10.1007/s11236-017-0402-4 Freire, P., & Macedo, D. (1987). Literacy: Reading the word and the world. Westport, CT: Critical Studies in Education Series. Grossberg, B. (2018, January 26). The most commonly read books in high school. Retrieved from https://www.thoughtco.com/most-commonly-read-books-private-schools-2774330 Howard, G. R. (2016). We can’t teach what we don’t know: White teachers, multiracial schools (3rd ed.). New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Janks, H., Dixon, K., Ferreira, A., Granville, S., & Newfield, D. (2014). Doing critical literacy: Texts and activities for students and teachers. New York, NY: Routledge. Jenkins, H., & Kelley, W. (Eds.). (2013). Reading in a participatory culture: Remixing Moby-Dick in the English classroom. New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Ladson-Billings, G. (2014). Culturally relevant pedagogy 2.0: a.k.a. the remix. Harvard Educational Review, 84(1), 74–84. Lorde, A. (1982). Learning from the 60s. Retrieved from http://www.blackpast.org/1982-audre-lordelearning-60s Luke, A. (2012). Critical literacy: Foundational notes. Theory into Practice, 51(1), 4–11. Lyiscott, J. (2017). Racial identity and liberation literacies in the classroom. English Journal, 104(4), 47–53. Morrell, E. (2008). Critical literacy and urban youth: Pedagogies of access dissent, and liberation. New York, NY: Routledge. Morrell, E., & Duncan-Andrade, J. M. R. (2002). Promoting academic literacy with urban youth through engaging hip-hop culture. The English Journal, 91(6), 88–92. Reinking, D., & Bradley, B. A. (2008). Formative and design experiments. New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Romeo is Bleeding, A Documentary Film by Jason Zeldes. (2017). Retrieved May 25, 2018, from http://www.romeoisbleedingfilm.com/ Shakespeare, W. (2011/1871). Romeo and Juliet. New York, NY: Simon & Schuster.

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Fawn Canady University of Nevada–Las Vegas Las Vegas, NV Chyllis E. Scott University of Nevada–Las Vegas Las Vegas, NV

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MARY E. STYSLINGER, NICOLE WALKER, ANGELA BYRD AND KAYLA HOSTETLER

15. TEACHING CRITICALLY FOR FREEDOM WITH 1984

The choice for mankind lies between freedom and happiness and for the great bulk of mankind, happiness is better. – George Orwell, 1984 As teachers, researchers, and citizens, we believe in education for the civic, moral, and political good. Inspired by Freire, we want for the pursuit of imagination, practice of critical thinking, and teaching of freedom and social responsibility in classrooms. This is why and how we advocate teaching Orwell’s renowned classic, 1984. If we approach this text with critical pedagogy, we open a space where students have the freedom to question text, self, others, society, and foster those skills necessary for living successfully within a democracy. At a time proliferate with “alternative facts” and the daily re-tweeting of history, there is a need to re-visit this prophetic canonical text. Since the last presidential inauguration, sales for 1984 have increased by 9,500 percent, and Penguin has announced plans for a 75,000-copy reprint (Charles, 2017). Of course, many leaders across time have manipulated truth through language (i.e. Obama’s concealment of the National Security Agency’s eavesdropping; Clinton’s testimony relying on the word “is”; and Nixon’s handling of the Vietnam war and Watergate), but it seems timely once again to address speech, expression, and their relationship to power in Orwell’s text, for a society needs to be free to question, to doubt, to voice, to imagine, and to create without fear of retribution. Freire believed pedagogy to be both a political and moral practice that “provides the knowledge, skills, and social relations that enable students to explore the possibilities of what it means to be critical citizens while expanding and deepening their participation in the promise of a substantive democracy” (Giroux, 2010, p. 716). We adhere to this belief and argue for a more critical approach when teaching canonical texts, certainly one such as 1984 which so obviously warns of the dangers of a totalitarian regime prohibiting independent thinking. Unlike the majority of subjects living in Orwell’s oppressive Oceania, we want to inspire critical thought and encourage students to be informed citizens and social agents. All of this is much easier said than done. It is one thing to suggest critical pedagogy and quite another to implement it in a secondary classroom. After all, right thinking requires right doing (Freire, 2001).

© KONINKLIJKE BRILL NV, LEIDEN, 2019 | DOI:10.1163/9789004389311_015

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If we want students to be critical thinkers, we need to adopt practices which create possibilities for the construction – rather than transference – of knowledge. We must be careful to practice beliefs and guide rather than indoctrinate, incite rather than proselytize. We have to respect the autonomy of the learner, all the while fostering his/her critical capacity, inherent curiosity, social responsibility, and utopian imagination. This chapter will describe how to create critical pedagogy with George Orwell’s 1984 through a unit focused around “freedom of speech and expression.” In an effort to align content with practice, we will share pedagogy which prompts students’ freedom of expression through individual meaning-making and the sharing of diverse perspectives in response to the idea of the authoritative/monologic canon. We will demonstrate how to facilitate a critical reading workshop and offer suggestions for curriculum and teaching, including: read aloud, critical reader response, close reading, and Socratic seminar. We suggest these workshop structures as a means to facilitate critical thinking and dialogue, guiding students to imagine a more socially just world, a utopia in contrast to the dystopia relayed through Orwell’s text. LAYING A FOUNDATION FOR WORKSHOP TEACHING

A workshop is a metaphor for a particular kind of learning environment which organizes reading and writing experiences in meaningful ways. Unlike more traditional methods, a workshop is learning and learner-centered, social and collaborative. Like Winston in 1984, we are rebellious, subverting the traditional, lecture-based approach sometimes adopted in secondary classrooms. Instead, our workshop pedagogy encourages student response, choice, and voice. There is access to varied texts, opportunities for choice, and time allocated for reading, writing, talking, and sharing. Teachers teach focused mini-lessons designed to guide students through reading and writing processes. Expectations are high, but there is room for reflection and confusion as long as a safe learning environment is established which teachers insure through structured management. Our reading workshop for 1984 begins with the selection of a unit focus. A unit focus encourages us to think more broadly and intertextually – to see beyond planning around a single core text. Since the core text is canonical, it is even more vital that we supplement the unit with diverse text. Listed as the most frequently taught novel, grades 9–10, in Beers and Probst’s (2013) survey of teachers, 1984 has also appeared on the AP Literature Exam. The novel is written by a white, European male and shares the white, Eurocentric male narrative while Julia, our primary female character, is both sexualized and pushed to the periphery. Also contributing to its “canoncity,” 1984 was/is “culturally significant” (Sacks, 2013) to a population fearful of totalitarianism. There are certainly valid arguments for and against teaching a canonical work such as 1984. There are those who support the canon and use these texts as a basis for comparison, and there are those who challenge these texts for their Eurocentric, 212

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masculine representations of experience – those who note the absence of female, African American, Native American, Asian American, and Latinx representation in terms of author or understanding. While our unit will certainly center around 1984, the development of a unit focus encourages us to interweave more diverse texts such as young adult novels, picture books, non-fiction text, graphic novels, short stories, film, poetry, plays, lyrics, plays, and art which include more inclusive cultural representations. Once we have defined a focus, we ask essential questions. Tied to a unit focus, essential questions connect the core text to the other genre. Effective essential questions accommodate many possible answers as opposed to the traditional perspective that these texts have a right interpretation. As we want to prod freedom of speech and expression and facilitate critical thinking and dialogue, we ask those questions which will inspire students to explore what it means to be critical citizens living within a democracy. So we utilize essential questions to raise students’ critical consciousness: a heightened awareness of the world and the power structures that shape it. Since our unit is focused around freedom of speech and expression, we want to heighten students’ critical awareness around access to/regulation of freedom of speech and expression. As Freire once stated, “Freedom without limit is as impossible as freedom that is suffocated or contracted” (Freire, 2001, p. 96). But where should we draw the line between independence and government? As we come to discover in 1984, those in power condense and manipulate language to suppress original thought. In what ways are those in power regulating expression within our society and beyond? For what reasons? And what can we do about it? Throughout our unit focused around 1984, we ask students to ponder the following essential questions: Why do some people have more freedoms of speech and expression than others? Why do we limit freedom of speech and expression? What are the effects of censoring thought, speech, language, and expression? And how can we ensure freedoms of thought, speech, language, and expression are protected? Through a critical reading workshop pedagogy described and detailed below, we encourage students to live the tension and experience the contradiction between freedom and authority with an aim towards social responsibility. READING ALOUD TO INCLUDE DIVERSE TEXT AND FOSTER CRITICAL READER RESPONSE

It seems a simple place to begin, but read-alouds of diverse text can undermine the singleness of voice and idea of the canon and introduce as well as deepen and broaden student understanding of a unit focus, essential questions, and core text. As teachers, we make conscious and deliberate choices, choosing texts which transport students into the lives of others like and unlike them. When we teach a canonical text such as 1984, one heavy with white, male narrative, it is important that we provide 213

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students alternative genre, idea, and perspective. We want to expose students to texts beyond the canon – works not just reflective of mainstream European Americans. As a student once so aptly told Wilhelm (1997), “Reading is a way to get inside other people…It’s a way to learn stuff that’s impossible to learn any other way because you learn from the inside” (p. 35). With the help of companion texts read alongside 1984, we can provide access to many possible voices and ways of being and thinking in our classrooms. We can select texts purposefully to heighten student awareness of issues of power and equity in relation to freedoms in our efforts to heighten critical consciousness. In our reading workshop, we read aloud shorter works of fiction, non-fiction, poetry, or lyrics which complement the core canonical text, expand the unit focus, and help us explore essential questions. We read aloud to to hear new and different voices. We read aloud picture books, filling the space with varied perspectives around freedom of speech and expression. For example, Amnesty International’s Dreams of Freedom pairs well with 1984. Other suggestions include: The Big Box by Toni Morrison, Amy Belligera and the Fireflies by Paul and Kate Buckley, Malala Yousafzai: Warrior with Words by Karen Legget Abouraya, Malala’s Magic Pencil by Malala Yousafzai, and A is for Activist by Innosanto Nagara. We can read aloud poetry including “Freedom’s Plow” by Langston Hughes, “The Quiet World” by Jeffery McDaniel, “Caged Bird” by Maya Angelou, “Oppression” by Jimmy Baca and “Think As I Think” by Stephen Crane or lyrics such as Green Day’s “American Idiot,” Rise Against’s “Great Awakening,” or Beyonce’s “Freedom” which provides a thoughtful springboard for dialogue around freedom of expression in relation to the Black Lives Matter movement. As we want for individual meaning-making, we nurture student reaction in a variety of ways during or after read aloud. While most response is written, we don’t have to limit students through medium. Response can take musical, theatrical, visual, and spoken forms. In fact, performative responses allow students to create and express meaning in ways that go well beyond written or oral language, engaging creativity and imagination. We also do not want to discount the role technology plays in promoting and recording responses from readers. While one of the most common ways to elicit response from readers is through a response journal, students can blog, post, snap, or tweet. Above all, we want to encourage freedom of expression in response to what is read. No matter the platform or format, we provide students an array of prompts such as these below, some adapted from Myers (1988), to generate choice in personal response during or following read aloud: ‡ How does the text make you feel and why? ‡ Have you read/heard anything that reminds you of someone or something else? What can you relate to? Explain. ‡ Write a poem or lyrics in response to what you have read/heard. ‡ Draw a picture or create a collage in response to what you have read/heard, and write a paragraph explaining why you drew this. 214

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‡ Do you feel there is an opinion expressed by the author through this work? What is it? How do you know this? Do you agree? Why or why not? ‡ What would you change about what you have read/heard and why? These questions ground students’ responses in a meaningful understanding of the texts offered, and after students have responded to text personally, we want to scaffold them towards more critical thinking. It is important to encourage students to consider the contextual, textual, authorial, personal, and cultural factors which might be influencing their responses. In order for students to think more critically about the text/world, they first need to think more critically about their selves and their responses. Once students have responded, we engage in critical reader response, examining initial responses through a critical lens. Using critical pedagogy, we guide students to recognize those forces that have ruled their lives and shaped their consciousness. We want students to be more self-reflective, to recognize what they know/believe and how they have come to know/believe – as Freire would say, to recognize one’s conditioning – those genetic, socio-cultural, and historical factors which have shaped us. Through critical reader response we can acknowledge that which shapes us as well as the text. And if we can become conscious of that, then we can move beyond that (Freire, 2001). In order to move students beyond initial responses, we prod them to reflect on why they might have had certain responses to the reading. We ask students to actively question the text and their selves. In guiding students to think more critically about those factors influencing responses, they might gain an understanding of the factors influencing the responses of others, leading to a greater awareness of the diversity of responses, expressions, and voices of others. We have found two frames especially helpful in provoking students to critically reflect on responses. Rycik and Irvin (2005) and McLaughlin and DeVoogd (2004) offer a series of questions to promote reading from a critical stance. Drawing from each, we have utilized the following prompts to guide critical discussion with students: Re-read your initial personal response to what you have read. Why do you think you responded in this way? What factors might have led you to respond in this way? Do you think your response was influenced by your religion, race, gender, age, socio-economic status, or sexual orientation? By your beliefs? ‡ What do you think the author wants us to think and why? ‡ Are any voices missing from what you have read? ‡ Is there a different perspective that hasn’t been shared or included in the text? ‡ ‡ ‡ ‡

We can encourage students to reflect critically on their responses in any format including quizzes or the blogs, posts, snaps, tweets, journals, conversations, or performances previously introduced. We simply layer the critical atop the personal. While the above questions can be used to prompt critical discussion about the forces influencing responses to text, we also want to grow student understanding of the social, cultural, and political forces influencing the creation of text. 215

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Multi-voiced journals (Styslinger & Whisenant, 2004) offer a means for students to better understand a text’s purpose as they encourage responses to reading in varied, cultured voices of characters. Students write as if they are characters representative of otherness in a text they are reading. For example, when reading 1984, we ask students to respond as if they are: Julia, O’Brien, Mr. Charington, Syme, Parsons, Emmanuel Goldstein, or Big Brother. Each of these characters allows the experience of crossing into the life of an “other” as opposed to Winston Smith, our central character. Through multi-voiced journals, we become: an optimistic young woman who rebels for personal pleasure, a powerful member of the inner party who ensnares Winston, a member of the thought police who runs a second hand store, an intelligent young man who writes for Newspeak, an outgoing dull party member with a wife and kids, a legendary leader of the brotherhood, or the perceived ruler of Oceania who is always watching. With such an approach, students project and predict how literature speaks to/as others. In this way we are teaching students to read texts critically and to listen carefully for the points of view of others. NEWSPEAK, ‘FAKE NEWS,’ AND THE CASE FOR CLOSE READING

While we broaden students’ critical perspective and thinking through reading aloud with diverse text, we also want to engage in close reading of the core, canonical text. The time is unwrong for close reading 1984. Terms such as “alternative facts,” “fake news,” and “fake media news” sound like words directly taken from Orwell’s dystopian Oceania. Yet, they proliferate our news headlines, social media posts, and present-day conversations, making the language of Orwell’s dystopian world increasingly relevant for study. Though Orwell predicted a different terms list – doublethink, doublespeak, Newspeak, among them – his predicted purposes and principles behind key shifts in language (from what he termed Oldspeak to Newspeak) are currently visible even within some democratic societies. For example, students could connect to articles appearing in The Washington Post after President Trump’s administration attempted to create a banned words list for the CDC (Sun & Eilperin, 2017). Students thus have ample opportunities to make text-to-text and text-to-world connections between the novel and their own contexts. Orwell’s world of manipulated language for state aggrandizement and manipulation of its citizenry provides rich opportunities for students to examine language, its manipulation, and associations with power, in particular. Language, even more than actions, dominates the text and its characters. In a new world where the word “free” no longer exists or applies to being politically or intellectually free, it is important we practice pedagogy that examines the critical examination of language. Ingsoc’s principles and even its methods of torture are heavily imbued with a hierarchy of language expressed in simple terms but rife with ambiguous meaning and authoritative import. Having students analyze language 216

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closely for the ways in which Orwell’s dystopian society subtracts from, adds to, and defines/redefines essential vocabulary as well as how its formulation is purposefully misleading in the society’s efforts to negate freedom engenders a deeper understanding of the novel and how language is sometimes similarly used in our present-day contexts. Close reading, which generally directs students to notice elements of style and structure utilized by an author to relay meaning (Styslinger, 2017) is used in our workshop to guide students beyond the confines of more traditional, structuralist approaches of analyzing literature because of how it incorporates reader-response theory into its practices. Whereas structuralists traditionally view text as fixed and static with all elements needed for analysis rooted solely in the text, reader-response theory invites student interactions with the text, though the text still plays a central role. For example, in our critical reading workshop, students use close reading to analyze sentence structure, punctuation, parts of speech, vocabulary, and literary terms displayed within the text. Yet, they are also given choices as to what their eyes are drawn to, opportunities to explain the reasoning behind these choices, and finally, analytical questions to ponder that combine text details with the reader’s points of view woven into their analysis. Student comprehension of the language elements, essential questions, as well as the text/world are deepened in such a setting where student talk is the springboard for literary habits of mind. Close Reading Workshop Engagement Close reading begins with purposefully selected sections of text varying from a handful of sentences, to a paragraph, to a page in length. In our critical reading workshop, we encourage students to select passages which deepen understanding of essential questions as well as encourage language scrutiny. Choice/Freedom is essential to raise students’ critical consciousness and safeguard the formal analysis from overly pedantic and proselytizing influences on the part of the teacher. Students still require structure, modeling, and guided practice that are embedded within a workshop structure, but they also need options and voice that are additional hallmarks of a workshop model. The following sections demonstrate how a workshop model can be applied to 1984 to raise students’ critical consciousness about the uses of language and illustrate how formal analysis of language elements can contribute to that process and increase students’ language analysis skills. The passage selected for these sections is short but impactful and rich in language analysis. It is also one of the most accessible excerpts from the texts for readers of all proficiencies, another important consideration for workshop selections: ‡ War is Peace ‡ Freedom is Slavery ‡ Ignorance is Strength (Orwell, 1949, p. 4). 217

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A menu of questions to prod close reading of vocabulary was used as a scaffold for discussion, providing students with choice and voice in the workshop frame: ‡ Which words stand out to you and why? ‡ Which words need to be defined and better understood to increase your understanding of the text? ‡ Which words carry certain connotations? ‡ How does Orwell use word choice to characterize the society and characters within it? ‡ How does Orwell’s word choice impact our discussion of themes such as power and powerlessness? Another series of questions were used to prompt dialogue around parts of speech: ‡ Does this passage include patterns of many parts of speech, or does it contain a limited pattern? ‡ Is there a difference in sections of narration versus sections of dialogue or excerpted texts? What is indicated? ‡ How might Orwell use parts of speech patterns to develop themes such as knowing one’s place in society? Specific responses shared in the following sections come from a student named Owen,1 an at-promise student attending a rural after-school tutoring program. Close Reading with Vocabulary When considering vocabulary, it is important for students to identify words that stand out to them along with their reasoning behind these choices. This responsebased invitation prepares students to dive into deeper analysis of the text. When asked to list words that stand out, Owen selected “war” and “peace” and explained, “War is used by the bigger person to make peace. You don’t have to go at it with a negative response. You can make it a positive because two wrongs don’t make a right.” Owen had shared previously that he was bullied throughout middle school and no one in authority stopped it. Becoming combative had been his way of resistance. While it is important to honor his initial response to the text, it is also important for students to formally analyze the text and have them anchor their responses in more than personal opinion during a close reading. Our questions can be crafted to help students navigate formal analysis of vocabulary, and sometimes students can also address a literary term in the process that fits the context. For example, Owen’s choice of words helps him consider themes of power and powerlessness. After revisiting his word choices from the first question, Owen stated, “In the book world, in a way if you look at how they have their laws, if everyone stands up and rebels, they can retaliate [long pause] but they let the fear come in.” Then, Owen returned to his “words that stand out” list and said, “Ignorance is strength.” While he 218

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did not directly reference current events or current governments (such as continual changes in President Trump’s cabinet), in his subsequent statement, he was definitely referencing more than Orwell’s government when he continued, “If you find out too much, the government makes you disappear.” These answers indicate not only his ability to connect to key themes but also show that his critical consciousness is rising. He understands that the language itself is a tool of power to engender fear and submission in the population. Parts of Speech Having students analyze parts of speech needs to be especially purposeful beyond traditional labeling and parsing of words. The passage selected for close reading needs to be clearly making a broader point versus being randomly chosen for some kind of parts of speech quiz. Orwell creates a rich space for such analysis. Parts of speech do not lend themselves as readily to response-based invitations; however, their formal analysis within a workshop setting can be meaningful and raise student critical consciousness in surprising ways. Ingsoc, the system of government in Oceania, uses simple language and largely nouns and linking verbs throughout its short directives. When compared to a document such as the excerpt of The Declaration of Independence Orwell includes in his appendix, students can mine the passage deeply. For example, once Owen was reminded that linking verbs are state of being verbs, he replied, “It is what it is” as his summary of what state of being verbs are. When he compared Newspeak to the richer language of the Declaration, he connected the wide range of words and parts of speech to overall ideas of freedom in that portion of the text that is read aloud to him. Connecting parts of speech to larger constructs such as syntax allows students to see how IngSoc in 1984 is manipulative on more than one level and is also indicative of the overall constraints of the society as language is used as a tool of power and control. Not only is the vocabulary of IngSoc used to disrupt semantics and exert influence, syntax and the straightforward language created by the parts of speech that comprise it are used to direct the population in non-negotiable terms both in their lack of complex sentence structure and in their absence of modifiers found more prevalent in democratic documents such as The Declaration of Independence. Close reading provides rich spaces for reader responses and formal analysis within the workshop setting. As students are able to discuss the use of language and its impacts on plot, themes, and character, students better understand the text/world while raising critical consciousness. It transforms practices that are sometimes relegated to isolated skill drills into meaningful, contextual interactions with text, and students who otherwise might not find their voice or academic success are able to do so in an environment of support and validation of individual and collaborative voice – which aligns with our vision for a pluralistic and democratic world for our students. 219

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FOSTERING CRITICAL CONSCIOUSNESS WITH SOCRATIC CIRCLES

As reinforced through our discussion of close reading, we want to cultivate student voice and center the knowing around the student in order to develop necessary dialogic skills needed to become agents of participatory democracy. In doing so, students develop a habit of the mind focused on examining, challenging and accepting or rejecting ideas that they are presented with. As Freire (1996) argued, this is how we, as teachers, can aid in the emergence of consciousness for our students, which is the first step towards developing agency. Students need opportunities to practice the skills required in a safe, constructive space that will nurture rather than suppress growth. They need to gain voice before taking action. They need freedom to explore ideas without the interference of adults’ own ideological positioning, something Freire (1996) thinks of as liberating education, which “consists of acts of cognition, not transferals of information” (p. 60). As educators, we are charged with creating opportunities for ensuring open dialogue in classrooms. As Pradl (1996) noted, “When students’ responses are respected by teachers in a democratic setting, they develop confidence in voicing their thoughts. The path to individual agency, to self-determination, inevitably involves social testing” (p. 9). The Socratic Method aptly fills this calling as it poses the teacher by turns as an inquisitor or a referee, but never producer. Instead, the students construct the knowledge shared without interference from the adult beyond ensuring that thinking is clarified and decorum is maintained. In its simplest terms, Socratic Seminars pose a series of questions to a group of students for the purpose of exploration in a social context. The exchange of ideas may be moderated by a teacher, but should not involve the teacher’s interpretation of those ideas. As Gee (2012) posits, “meaning is something we negotiate and contest over socially” (p. 24). Socratic Seminars are constructed around the goal of centering the unpacking of text and sharing of understandings through students’ interpretative evaluations based on evidence rooted in the text/world as a means of creating meaning. Some objectives that promote this agenda include: encouraging students to express their own ideas about a reading rather than repeating conventional theories; creating an environment where students learn to listen to one another and appreciate perspectives outside of their own; fostering thoughtful debate based upon evidence cited from a close reading of the text; motivating a love for reading through the development of the analytical mind; and promoting writing through a platform of topics of interest. There are a variety of ways teachers might employ Socratic strategy with a unit focused around freedom of expression and 1984 at its core, but there are a few principles that can be applied no matter what variation you might wish to pursue. Each seminar contains varied question types which encourage participants to access responses both on a personal and critical level. As Rosenblatt explained, each transaction of text begins with the personal as an entry point because it allows the respondent to 220

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access his or her own positioning in relation to the text. So we open seminars with a personal response question that might allow for a variety of perspectives to flood the space. For example, when considering our unit focus for 1984, students might consider their own definitions of freedom and discuss what freedoms they believe they possess and those they believe are denied and for what reasons. These answers are grounded in personal opinion that may require subtle analysis of language, but still allow for flexibility of ideas. Next, we ask participants to open to an interpretive close reading of the text by answering a question that is grounded in providing a text-dependent analysis in response. For example, we might provide students with Winston’s definition of freedom: “Freedom is the freedom to say that two plus two makes four. If that is granted, all else follows” (Orwell, 1949, p. 84) and ask for an analysis of why the author might choose to use what we would consider common fact as an indication of something greater. In doing so, students have license to examine privilege in being allowed to recognize information we consider commonplace, and the juxtaposition of thought control both in the text and in other places in the world. In this way, we encourage students to interrogate the elements of the text itself, whether linguistic versus numeric, textual connections or philosophical, to develop ideas worth exploring. We also allow them to bring their own thinking to the question by offering a task with multiple possible responses. Finally, we ask students to examine questions that extend thinking to incorporate how this idea intersects with the world outside our classroom. In regards to 1984, we might ask what the acceptable balance is between government control and individual freedom when privacy issues are at stake or whether or not citizens should be willing to give up personal freedoms and privacy in times of national crisis. These sorts of questions allow students to bring in real world examples from the news and their own lives and interact with the ideas provided in the text to inform their thinking on the world around them. Borrowing from the words of Pradl (1996), “In important aspects, democratic readers begin addressing texts with a new sense of critical and interpretive responsibility” (p. 9) when they are given the space to interact with one another without interference from the teacher. To better illustrate how this might work, let’s continue to examine this method through the lens of Orwell’s 1984. We often have students develop and submit a series of questions that fit each of the categories outlined above and choose several to use in order to extend the idea that they are responsible for their own learning. The teacher, in turn, contributes a question referred to as an extension idea, which students write about after the conclusion of the seminar and post to an online shared space. In doing so, we honor the voice of students who may not speak during the seminar but who have valuable insight to share. Prior to the seminar, we review our agreed upon norms for the discussion, which the students have themselves created. For example, every student is expected to arrive prepared both to discuss and listen, consider all viewpoints through a lens of openness, and take personal ownership in the quality of the discussion produced. The observance of these norms will, of course, be a work in progress, but with repetition and mindfulness the quality is likely to improve over time. 221

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Here is a sample of one such seminar engaged in as a class: ‡ Opening Question: What is the tone of the novel? ‡ Interpretation Question: What is the purpose and effect of Newspeak in the novel? ‡ Closing Question: Altering history for the benefit of the government is one of the clear critiques of this novel. What historical events might have motivated Orwell to include this idea and do we see examples of it occurring today? Why or why not? ‡ Extension Idea: What does Orwell mean when he writes, “Power is not a means; it is an end,” and how do we see this idea play out in communities we are part of? As we move through the questions, as teachers, we work to ensure that we are not providing verbal or body cues regarding personal thoughts on their discussion. Instead, we strive to facilitate the questions and decenter selves as the focal point of the discussion, the traditional seat of the teacher in a room. In doing so, we seek to open the space in which students challenge and compel one another to dig deeper into meaning they make. Students later provide both their written notes for each question and their extension idea so that we can offer feedback on ways to grow their thinking based on a rubric that we co-construct. The simplicity of this method also makes it ideal for incorporating a variety of informational texts that can be used to explore the unit focus and essential questions. Beale, L. (2013, August 03). Opinion: We’re living ‘1984’ today. Retrieved May 14, 2018, from https://www.cnn.com/2013/08/03/opinion/beale-1984-now/index.html Leetaru, K. (2018, May 03). Facebook’s 1984-Themed Effort To Decide What News Is ‘Trustworthy’ Goes Live. Retrieved May 14, 2018, from https://www.forbes.com/sites/kalevleetaru/2018/05/03/facebooks-1984-themed-effort-todecide-what-news-is-trustworthy-goes-live/#2f5aaab55ed7 Mashal, M., & Faizi, F. (2017, November 03). Afghanistan Acts to Ban WhatsApp, but Claims Move Is Temporary. Retrieved May 14, 2018, from https://www.nytimes.com/2017/11/03/world/asia/afghanistan-whatsapp-ban.html Weiland, N. (2017, November 03). White Nationalist Richard Spencer Is Barred From Speaking at a Federal Building. Retrieved May 14, 2018, from https://www.nytimes.com/2017/11/02/us/politics/richard-spencer-washingtonconference.html Wu, T. (2017, October 27). How Twitter Killed the First Amendment. Retrieved May 14, 2018, from https://www.nytimes.com/2017/10/27/opinion/twitter-first-amendment.html Zhao, C. (2018, May 03). ‘Black Mirror’ in China? 1.4 billion citizens will be monitored through a social credit system. Retrieved May 14, 2018, from http://www.newsweek.com/china-social-credit-system-906865

Figure 15.1. List of sample articles to facilitate text to world connections

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For example, an article from The New York Times on how Twitter has destroyed the First Amendment (Wu, 2017) provides insight into Orwell’s critique of the dangers of free speech as it intersects with hate speech. A CNN opinion piece comparing Newspeak to Textspeak (Beale, 2013) generates some vigorous debate on whether or not language evolves organically or for political purpose. Figure 15.1 provides a listing of sample articles which can be used to facilitate text/world connections and raise students’ critical consciousness. Facilitating a Socratic in any form takes time, but the effort is more than worth the returns as you watch students become self-possessed in their thinking and reasoning through dialogue with one another, practicing a workshop structure in accordance with our democratic vision of the world. PUTTING IT ALL TOGETHER

Developing, implementing, and facilitating a critical reading workshop requires a great deal of preparation: finding a unit focus; asking essential questions; collecting diverse text; and selecting workshop structures such as those described above. We also have to arrange these structures in such a way as to bring order to our classroom days. Organizing the workshop involves considering how read aloud, critical reader response, close reading, and Socratic seminar connect with one another. While there is no exact or prescribed formula, we want the structures to fit together like a puzzle, forming a cohesive and holistic picture of classroom literature and literacy experience, leading students to more critical thinking around the unit focus. Whereas Orwell once claimed that when offered a choice between freedom and happiness, “for the great bulk of mankind, happiness is better,” we do not agree. When we approach the teaching of the canon, and of a text like 1984, with critical pedagogy in a workshop setting, our students come to appreciate the freedom to question text, self, others, and society. They come to understand their role as critical citizens and the power of their voices. They come to recognize and practice those skills necessary for living within a democracy. By adopting practices that create possibility for personal and critical meaning-making with students through a workshop approach, our pedagogy – and students’ meaning-making –indeed becomes a practice for freedom. NOTE 1

Owen is a pseudonym for a young man participating in an after school program where Angela volunteers once a week. He attends a rural high school in the southeastern United States and has been attending the program to improve his grades as he is mentored by adult volunteers.

REFERENCES Beale, L. (2013, August 3). Opinion: We’re living ‘1984’ today. Retrieved May 14, 2018, from https://www.cnn.com/2013/08/03/opinion/beale-1984-now/index.html

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M. E. STYSLINGER ET AL. Beers, K., & Probst, R. E. (2013). Notice & note: Strategies for close reading. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann. Charles, R. (2017, January 25). Why Orwell’s 1984 matters so much now. The Washington Post. Retrieved from http://www.washingtonpost.com/entertainment/books/why-orwells-1984-matters-so-much-now/ 2017/01/25/3cf81964-e313-11e6-a453-19ec4b3d09ba_story.html?utm_term=.fe82dd2d47cd Freire, P. (2001). Pedagogy of freedom: Ethics, democracy, and civic courage. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Freire, P., & Ramos, M. B. (1996). Pedagogy of the oppressed. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books. Gee, J. P. (2012). Social linguistics and literacies: Ideology in discourses. London: Routledge. Giroux, H. A. (2010). Rethinking education as the practice of freedom: Paulo Freire and the promise of critical pedagogy. Policy Futures in Education, 8(6), 715–721. McLaughlin, M., & De Voogd, G. (2004). Critical literacy as comprehension: Expanding reader response. Journal of Adolescent and Adult Literacy, 48(1), 52–62. Myers, K. L. (1988). Twenty (better) questions. English Journal, 77(1), 64–65. Orwell, G. (1949). 1984 (Signet classics). New York, NY: Penguin Books. Pradl, G. M. (1996). Literature for democracy: Reading as a social act. Portsmouth, NH: Boynton/Cook. Rycik, J. A., & Irvin, J. L. (2005). Teaching reading in the middle grades: Understanding and supporting literacy development. Boston, MA: Allyn & Bacon. Sacks, S. (2013, May 23). Canon fodder: Denouncing the classics. The New Yorker. Retrieved from http://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/canon-fodder-denouncing-the-classics Styslinger, M. E. (2017). Workshopping the canon. Urbana: NCTE. Styslinger, M. E., & Whisenant, A. (2004). Crossing cultures with multi-voiced journals. Voices from the Middle, 12(1), 26–31. Sun, L. H., & Eilperin, J. (2017, December 15). CDC gets list of forbidden words: Fetus, transgender, diversity. The Washington Post. Retrieved from https://www.washingtonpost.com/national/healthscience/cdc-gets-list-of-forbidden-words-fetus-transgender-diversity/2017/12/15/f503837a-e1cf11e7-89e8-edec16379010_story.html?utm_term=.8d129933aff6 Wilhelm, J. (1997). “You gotta be the book”: Teaching engaged and reflective reading with adolescents. New York, NY: Teachers College Press. Wu, T. (2017, October 27). How Twitter killed the first amendment. Retrieved May 14, 2018, from https://www.nytimes.com/2017/10/27/opinion/twitter-first-amendment.html

Mary E. Styslinger University of South Carolina Columbia, SC Nicole Walker Ridge View High School Columbia, SC Angela Byrd University of South Carolina Columbia, SC Kayla Hostetler Aiken High School Aiken, SC

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