Monday, June 28, 2010

Thinking or experiencing ... Why not both?

I'm reading the seminal article by Louise Rosenblatt called "The Literary Transaction: Evocation and Response." Rosenblatt has much to say that directly applies to my research. And she has much to say that will permanently shape the way I teach.

Almost every idea she proposes is new to me, and to put it mildly, I am excited about what I'm reading.

I want to respond to one area of her article, though, that slightly troubles me. I am probably 100% wrong, but my own classroom experiences, brief as they have been, bear describing in relation to an assertion she makes.

Let me explain.

First, two definitions from Rosenblatt:

Efferent reading experiences -- the reader comes to the task with a purpose in mind and carries away something from the interaction with the text (an opinion, skill, knowledge, etc.).

Aesthetic reading experiences -- the reader brings her background, memories, and feelings to the reading experience and in so doing, creates a new experience. We might, as its most basic level, think of this as pleasure reading.

Back to Rosenblatt. She is troubled by the use of stories to teach efferent reading skills. She calls it a deception to pique a child’s interest in a narrative and then ask questions about it, implying that only an efferent reading was necessary. She would like to see literature read as an end unto itself, for its value in presenting images of life, entertaining the reader, and introducing new places and people. She criticizes following up reading with factual questions or moving the reader toward analyzing what has just been read.

My response ...

This past year, I twice read children’s stories to my classes with no “after” reading activity planned, and no link whatsoever to any concept. In one case, I read Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus to my AP kids. The loved it. They laughed out loud. The looks on their faces were genuine delight. When I was finished reading and they were finished laughing and responding and demanding me to read it again, I put it aside. I attempted to transition to the next activity, but the kids looked really troubled. Aeisha said, “Wait, why did we read that?” I said, “For fun. Did you like it?” I got many affirming yesses and giggles. But Aeisha persisted (and many students nodded in agreement), “But is there some connection to something else we’re going to read or do?” I said, “Nope!” and moved the kids on to another lesson. But it was very clear to me that, although some of the kids were fine with the pleasure-only aspect of the book, others wanted to process it, discuss it, or connect it to another text or skill.

In a second instance, I had about 30 minutes to fill with my newspaper students at the end of a class late in the year. They had put the final issue of the newspaper to bed, and because many students were absent taking AP exams, it was not a good day to continue with final project presentations. So I pulled out Tales from Outer Suburbia and starting reading. Initially, the response was superb. Kids moved their chairs to better see the pictures, and they clamored for more stories after I’d read the first couple. But then, at least half the class got very restless. I know they loved the stories and connected to them on a purely enjoyment-based level – but only for about 15 minutes. When I didn’t do something with the stories, they got very bored.

Rosenblatt postulates that my students’ responses are explained by the emphasis on the efferent aspect of reading that the entire educational system has engaged in for decades. And she laments the result: the system “does not produce many readers capable of handling their initial responses or relating them to the text” (Theory into Practice, 1982, 274).

And while I partially agree, I think another reason explains my students’ restlessness. The human brain, I believe, wants to think, not just experience. We have an intrinsic desire to connect, predict, categorize, and speculate. And to ignore those innate responses in favor of a purely experiential reaction to literature is to ignore much of the richness the academic setting can, in the hands of an expert educator, offer.

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