Discovering Imagery| Teachers Open Doors (Part 2)

In the first part of this two-part series on teachers, I wrote about my introduction to poetry in middle school. Today, I will be recounting my introduction to literary analysis. My eighth grade English teacher, Mr. Korvne, not only inspired me to read poetry for fun but he also taught me to recognize imagery in books.

I still remember the day in seventh grade when I was asked on a test to explain the quote “He that troubleth his own house shall inherit the wind”. This verse from Proverbs 11 inspired the title for a play on the Scopes Monkey Trial: Inherit the Wind by by Jerome Lawrence and Robert E. Lee. I sat there trying to figure out how houses and wind could be related to the play’s plot. What does it mean to inherit wind? I am pretty sure that I failed that test. There were too many analysis questions and not enough content-based ones.

Although I read for fun throughout my childhood, I did not know how to analyze the language or imagery of a work. When I was asked to analyze a passage from a book, I responded with a summary of the plot. But in eighth grade, Mr. Korvne actively tried to help me understand the difference between an analysis and a summary. He invited my father and me to a mini-conference one morning because I had just submitted an inadequate essay on Jerry Spinelli’s YA novel Stargirl. I thought I had done a good job explaining what happened in the book. Unfortunately, the teacher was not interested in a regurgitation of the plot.

After Stargirl, the class was assigned Lord of the Flies by William Golding. This time, Mr. Korvne brought our attention to the numerous images in the book and how they related to the work’s overall plot. I enjoyed those classes because they opened my eyes to a different way of reading. It also helped that I liked the bookDystopian fiction is quite popular today, but it was a little-known genre when I was in middle school.

Suddenly, I discovered a passion for close reading. I remember studying for my essay test the day before, with pages and pages of notes in front of me covering in detail each and every image in the book. I’m sure I would be horrified today by the quality of those notes, but I remember being amazed by everything that I had learned. When I mentioned the book to my father, he told me that he had spent spent an entire semester in high school on Lord of the Flies.

Imagine that! I lived with someone who was also familiar with the imagery I was learning to identify in class.

On the day of the test, were were asked to write essay responses to two of three possible questions. I don’t remember what we were asked, but I recall attempting to answer the first two questions. After 50 minutes of class, I had only addressed the first half of the first question! Thankfully, I was not the only one who was unable to finish in the allotted time. Because we were all new to writing in-class essays, Mr. Korvne gave us some extra time the following day to finish up.

But another 50 minutes came and went, and I had answered only one essay questions. I had tried to write absolutely everything that I’d learned concerning the characters in the novel. I remember writing furiously, but not really getting anywhere with my essay. There was just so much to say. I wanted Mr. Korvne to know that I had paid attention in class and that I had finally discovered close reading.

But I only had a 50% (an F) to show for my new-found passion.

I failed the in-class essay test not because I didn’t know how to answer the questions but because I had too much to say. I began borrowing classics from Mr. Korvne’s classroom in hopes of improving my reading skills. My first serious classic was A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens. The following summer I attempted to read all of the books on Matilda’s reading list. To this day, I am surprised that Roald Dahl’s 5 year old character was able to read and understand Tess of the D’Urbervilles. It’s definitely not kid-friendly.

Grades can be helpful markers for tracking one’s intellectual development, but they are not always accurate indicators of proficiency. I failed Mr. Korvne’s test because I didn’t answer an entire question, but I had finally learned that there was more to a well-constructed novel than its plot. As instructors, we need to focus more on the skills we are teaching our students than on how well they can perform under pressure. Mr. Korvne was an excellent instructor because he taught me to think about literature in new ways.

The F I received on my in-class assessment no longer matters, but I am currently a PhD student in French literature. Close-reading is my job, and I am damn good at it!


Discovering Poetry | Teachers Open Doors (Part 1)

When I was in 8th grade, I had two experiences that have been pivotal in my intellectual development.

I will share one with you today.


The summer before the first day of class, my future 8th grade English teacher assigned a poetry anthology. It was an easy assignment. We were asked to select twenty poems relating to a topic of our choice. I selected my topic, “Animals”, easily because I have always loved learning about the natural world. Unfortunately, I was not a fan of poetry. The only poems I enjoyed were those found in children’s novels. Because of my obsession with Roald Dahl, I was quite familiar with his poems. Thankfully, Dahl had written a few poems about animals. My favorite to-date is “The Pig”. I later used it in my audition for the middle school play.

While I was curating my anthology, I discovered poems that I enjoyed but are not critically acclaimed. I couldn’t care less about meter or style. I was only looking for entertainment. If an animal poem was funny, I selected it for my anthology. Soon, I widened my reading to include non-animal-related children’s poems.

I was obsessed. Not only did I read and reread my favorite poems, I also memorized them. During the first month of class, I recited these “silly” poems before my teacher. “You are Old, Father William” from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, “The Pig” from Roald Dahl’s short story collection Kiss Kiss, “Anabel Lee” by Edgar Allan Poe, and some poem about the Easter bunny by Dean Koontz (yes, him!).

If it weren’t for children’s poetry I would never have discovered “fine” literature (poetry AND prose). I started to pay attention to words and the ways they disclose or conceal meaning.

The most successful teachers are those who can instill a passion for learning in their students. As you will discover next week, I was a weak language student for most of my childhood. I couldn’t analyze a book for beans, and my vocabulary was quite limited. Although I read a lot, my analytical essays were nothing but summaries of the work at hand. But Mr. Korvne’s simple assignment invited me to explore poetry at my own pace and on my own terms.

He also introduced me to imagery, but more on that later…


Learning French – My Journey

Image result for frenchWhen people ask me at what age I started learning French I tell them that I started when I was six. That’s somewhat true. I was in first grade when I started learning a few French words. In second grade, I learned how to identify different classroom objects. “Pen” is “un stylo”, “pencil” is “un crayon”, etc. But I only started learning French grammar in seventh grade. Then in eighth grade I decided I was too cool for school so that I had the privilege of retaking French 2 during my freshman year of high school.

Enter Madame Andre. I first met her while taking my language entrance exam. After a curt “Bonjour” she pulled out her red pen and marked up my exam while I was taking it! Mme Andre returned a half hour later to correct the rest of my exam. She told me in her thick Parisian accent that I belonged in first year French, but if I promised to work hard she would allow me to retake French 2. “How kind”, I thought.

But I was a competitive figure skater throughout high school, so I missed first period nearly everyday of the week. I missed over 70% of my French classes that year. But I did fine. I turned in all of my assignments and did pretty well on all of my exams. Still, Mme Andre insisted on meeting with me during my lunch breaks. We soon became friends. It is largely because of Mme Andre and another French teacher at my high school that I fell in love with French.

Mme Andre never spoke English in class. Immersion learning is quite fashionable today, but I am sure Mme Andre was one of the few high school language teachers in the country who taught beginning French courses entirely in the target language. My first French 2 class I did not understand a word of what she was saying.

We had a grammar book, but I learned most of my French through reading books. In French 2, we were assigned some stories in René Goscinny’s Le Petit Nicolas a des ennuis. One of the first French words I learned was “langoustine” (jumbo shrimp). The little Nicolas had a thing for them. At first, I looked up nearly every word in the dictionary. It took me a week to read a ten page story. There was no way for me to cheat. I couldn’t find an English translation of Goscinny’s work. But the stories were so funny, that I wanted to read all of them. With my trusty Larousse dictionary, I spent what little spare time I had reading Le Petit Nicolas.

After finishing that book, I asked my mom to buy me the only French work at the now-closed Borders: Le gentil petit diable by Pierre Gripari. The title story was about a devil who wanted to be good and enter Heaven. If I remember correctly, one of the stories in the collection was about a man who marries a potato!

One of the skills a language student learns is how to use context to understand a sentence with an unknown word. I kept a notebook for all of the new words I was encountering. Every week, I went through the notebook and checked off the words I had properly learned.

At the end of French 3, I decided that I wanted to try reading a novel. My high school library had a very good French collection. The first novel I read from cover to cover was La tristesse du cerf-volant by Françoise Mallet-Joris. This was no grocery store book. This was literary fiction by an award-winning Belgian writer! The first time I read the novel, I’m pretty sure I understood only about 20%. It took me about a month to finish, but I found the story captivating. It is a family saga centered around a controversial surrealist fresco. Mallet-Joris is known for writing LGBT fiction. In La tristesse du cerf-volantan art director named Georges Doutrement falls in love with Christophe (the artist of the fresco) but Christophe’s sister Clara has a quasi-incestuous love for her brother. This was definitely not the kind of fiction I was normally into, but I couldn’t put it down.

A year later, I reread the novel and understood around 60%. I read many other novels as well, but none were as complicated as La tristesse du cerf-volant. Today, I not only understand the plot, but I enjoy analyzing its many themes. I’m pretty sure La tristesse du cerf-volant is the most obscure of Mallet-Joris’ novels, but it is one of my all-time favorite French works because it was the first French novel I ever read.

In a little over two weeks, I will be starting my PhD at a prestigious university. I am proud of my accomplishments, but I’m also nervous. Since high school, my teachers have always patted me on the back. But in the past few months, I’ve been taking a more objective look at my language and research skills. I know that my PhD program will be much more intense than my Master’s program was.

My research and interpretation skills have certainly improved, but I’m not sure my written and spoken French skills have. Last week, I reread Courrier Sud by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. It was one of my favorite books of 2014. However, this time around I noticed how many words I didn’t understand. I’m afraid that I have plateaued. Because I don’t need to know every word of what I read, I don’t go out of my way to expand my vocabulary. I’ve rested on my laurels for far too long. I need to recover the same attention to detail that I once had.

I am still learning French. I don’t want to admit that publicly. I don’t even want to admit that to myself. I’d rather see myself as a great language-learner, but I will fail to improve if I keep deceiving myself. We should certainly be proud of our accomplishments, but we also need to acknowledge our limitations.

A PhD program is not just school. It is professional development. I am climbing a steep mountain, and I need all the training I can get. I need even more discipline than before because I’m also learning Latin. The humanities are not doing so hot. There are only a few academic positions open and so many applicants.

Maybe you can relate to my journey. People have always told you that you are good at one particular thing. You are proud of your talent, but you also need a good kick in the pants. Perhaps, it wasn’t necessary for me to make this post. I’m not sure if any of it will help language learners. But I guess sometimes we need to tell our own stories to remind ourselves of what we have done and where we are going. I will always be grateful to Madame Denise Andre for encouraging me to learn French. I haven’t talked to her in a few years. I’m sure she will be proud to know that one of her students is pursuing a PhD in a language she spent over 30 years teaching.