September 27th--English 203/ Core 101

I'm in the library prepping for my classes now. I'll write a few lines on how the classes go once I'm out this evening, but I also want to use this space to keep a record of what I plan to discuss in class. 

American lit.--we're moving to "Realism" and "Naturalism" today, discussing Gilman's "The Yellow Wallpaper" and Cather's "Paul's Case: A Study in Temperament." I don't like to discuss two stories in a class period, as it ruins the flow (for me, anyway; I doubt the students notice), but so it goes. After missing classes for hurricane Florence and then the DVT/ PE, I needed a tighter schedule, and I didn't want to let either of these stories go, as I'd already cut a few other stories/ poems.  

I'll probably begin today's class with a brief discussion of how Realism/ Naturalism is different than Romanticism, which is what we've been studying. I'll point out how these categories/ genres are often created after the fact, thus writers don't necessarily fit neatly into a category. Some "modernist" writers have elements of "postmodernism," and Gilman's story is a good example of something that can be read as "realism" but also could be seen as Gothic horror (realism + horror go together, as the Kavanaugh hearings yesterday made clear). 

Transcendentalism (Thoreau and Emerson, others): There’s an order out there (God or whatever you want to call it) and we can know it.

Dark Romantics (Melville, Poe, Hawthorne...I'd perhaps call Melville an early Modernist): There’s an order out there, but doubtful we can know it—i.e. Bartleby (story and person) resists interpretation; Melville’s “great white whale” resists being turned into an obvious symbol) 

Naturalism (London, Steinbeck, Dreiser)—there’s an order out there, whether social/institutional or “God,” and we can know it, but it often works against us. 

REALISM (late 19^th/early 20^th centuries)—Realism moved away from the intense subjectivity (inwardness) and symbolism of much Romantic writing (“Bartleby” is a good example) and tried hard to present the world as it really is---the way a photograph might capture it.  Realism tries not to feel overblown or dramatic the way a fairy tale or parable or dream might (think about Poe and Hawhtorne).  And it's rarely sentimental or emotional.  It just reads like a plain and sensible account of whatever action it's describing. Mark Twain is the most well-known “realist” writer. Gilman’s “The Yellow Wallpaper” has been read as Gothic horror, and there are many obvious symbols in the story. However, Gilman has said she saw the story as realism. REALISM/NATURALISM (Naturalism is later outgrowth, early 20^th century)—Naturalism is an outgrowth of Realism, and it’s very similar. The main difference is that Naturalist writers tend to focus less on individuality and more on the way external forces shape reality. Naturalism's central belief is that individual human beings are at the mercy of uncontrollable larger forces that originate both inside and outside them.  These forces might include some of our more "animal" drives, such as the need for food, sex, shelter, social dominance, etc.   Or, in a more "external" vein, these forces might include the natural environment, the man-made environment, or finance, industry, and the economy. Naturalist works tend to be political, and also tend toward socialism. The most famous naturalists are Stephen Crane, Theodore Dreiser, Upton Sinclair, John Steinbeck, and Jack London.

Back to Gilman. I begin class with this letter she wrote about "The Yellow Wallpaper." I'm well aware of the fallacy of authorial intent, but in this case I think her letter helps steer students away from reading the story as a ghost story (which, in most interpretations I've heard, doesn't have much of a deeper point) and more toward a feminist story that questions patriarchal "patterns" (like the patterns in the wallpaper that the narrator imagines trap women, including herself). I've had a student or two write on evaluations that I'm "condescending", which is kind of hurtful and confusing to me. I try very hard to listen and, if anything, I think I'm a pretty laid back guy. I don't fancy myself much of an "authority" on anything. However, some readings of a story go nowhere and do nothing but limit the potential depth of a story. When I feel a student is heading in that direction (and taking the rest of the class with them), I usually try to ask more questions to get them to either add depth / nuance to their reading (maybe it can go somewhere worthwhile), or to try to steer them in a different direction by noticing (themselves) how many of the details in the story don't mesh with their reading. As novelist David Foster Wallace said somewhere, there is no "right" or "wrong" answer to questions about a text, but there is "interesting versus dull, fertile versus barren, plausible versus whacko." 

I always start class with Gilman's letter and provide a little context. In 1887, after having a child, Gilman wrote in her diary that she was very sick with "some brain disease" which brought suffering that cannot be felt by anybody else, to the point that her "mind has given way." She went to see the noted specialist Weir Mitchell (mentioned in the story) and was placed on his "rest cure". His instructions were to "Live as domestic a life as possible. Have your child with you all the time... Lie down an hour after each meal. Have but two hours' intellectual life a day. And never touch pen, brush or pencil as long as you live." For Gilman, an intellectual and early leader of women's suffrage (she wrote a book called Women and Economics, which argued that  “the economic independence and specialization of women as essential to the improvement of marriage, motherhood, domestic industry, and racial improvement), this was devastating, as she says in her letter.  

In class, I ask students when women got the right to vote (most don't know--1920). We talk about stereotypes toward women then and now, and how those stereotypes may have influenced Mitchell's "rest cure" for women. I also point out that the word "hysteria" is from the Greek hystera, which means womb. Hysterectomy is from the same root word. Early medicine thought hysteria was a product of a woman's womb wondering around loose inside the body. In any case, I like to attempt to get discussion going with questions, so after giving some background/ context, I usually ask: 

1. In 1887, Charlotte Perkins Gilman went to see a specialist in the hope of curing her recurring nervous breakdowns. The specialist recommended a "rest cure," which consisted of lying in bed all day and engaging in intellectual activity for only two hours a day. After three months, Gilman says, she was "near the borderline of utter mental ruin." How do Perkins’ own experiences connect to the narrator of “The Yellow Wallpaper”?

2. Does the ending of “The Yellow Wallpaper” suggest progress (a woman tears down the shackles that are binding her) or pessimism (this woman has become genuinely mentally ill)? Or is it delivering a different type of message? How should we read this story?

Update (Post class): we had a good discussion of "The Yellow Wallpaper." Students tend to like this story, perhaps because 80% or so of my students are female. We discussed how the story is Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s response to the male-run medical establishment and the patriarchal structure of the nineteenth-century household. Gilman’s short story is a warning to her readers about the consequences of fixed gender roles assigned by male-dominated societies: the man’s role being that of the husband and rational thinker, and the woman’s role being that of the dutiful wife who does not question her husband’s authority. Some of the students were sympathetic to the husband in the story (even though he's condescending/ patronizing to the narrator) and I was happy that they brought up that both the narrator and her husband are trapped in their assigned roles and are doomed because of this. Someone also mentioned "gaslighting," a term that's been used a lot in politics the last couple years, which basically describes a type of abuse where one person tries to manipulate the other into questioning their own sanity. By the end of "The Yellow Wallpaper," I think it's clear the narrator has lost her sanity, so if there is any victory (she crawls over her husband) it's at the price of her sanity. But throughout the story, while telling her that SHE is the only one who can make herself better, he undermines all of her thoughts and ideas about her illness. 

There's much more to the story: of course she has post-partum depression or psychosis, which wasn't recognized at the time. Her husband forces her to stay in a room that was a prior nursery, which perhaps makes her think more about her child, and guilt from not being with her child. There are bars in the windows (for the kids, but symbolize entrapment), etc. I have an annotated version of the story with fairly extensive notes on D2L. I encourage students to read that version and read my notes. 

I am trying to stay away from politics in my classes, but after Kavanaugh's emotional outburst yesterday (which I wasn't aware of in class), it's pretty clear that the stereotypes toward men and women are still very much active. Dr. Ford didn't have the luxury of acting petulant, raging and then whining and crying, in the way Kavanaugh did. If she had acted like that, she would've been skewered for it. Hillary Clinton was questioned as potentially being "too emotional" to be president, and yet we have a president whose main communication is overly emotional twitter outbursts. So there you go--some people don't like to admit it, but the story is very much relevant. 

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Our discussion of "Paul's Case" was much quicker, mostly because we ran out of time. In the future, I doubt I'll ever try to teach two stories in one day. "Paul's Case" is one of my favorite stories to teach, so I was a bit disappointed that we didn't have more time to cover it. 

One of the things I tried to focus on--since I had already brought it up--was the ways in which "Paul's Case: A Study of Temperament" fits literary naturalism. Even the title fits nicely, as it seems to suggest Paul is a type of scientific specimen, a "study". One of the common traits of naturalism is determinism--the idea that individuals are at the complete mercy of forces, whether internal (genetics, etc.) or external (outward circumstances) or a mix. In the story, we see how life in Pittsburgh (bland, gray, monotonous, conforming) stifles or suffocates Paul.  After his escape to Carnegie Hall and the theater are taken away, we're told, "the whole thing was virtually determined.” The "whole thing" being his theft of money from his father's company and subsequent trip to New York. Once in New York, he buys a gun because he knows his escape will end, and he can't bear the thought of going back to Cordelia Street. 

Students often pick up on Paul's mom dying in childbirth, and use that as connection to Paul's behavior--which is good; it shows they're reading relatively closely. In the version of the story I have students read, we're told Paul’s mom died in childbirth in Colorado (not Pittsburgh) after a long illness and his teachers think that some of the “hysterical brilliance” in his eyes is related to a “hauntedness” that's from his mother dying in his youth (especially since he has an authoritarian father).  With this, there is the possibility that everything that is “wrong” with Paul was made wrong before he was born, which emphasizes the role of heredity (nature) on Paul’s circumstances, the way his life unfolds. However, in later versions of the story, Cather took out the part about the mother and the West (Colorado), which I think is important, because it takes away his mother as an explanatory mechanism and places greater emphasis on his environment as shaping his fate. But even in this reading, Paul’s fate seems pre-determined by outward society. Once he realizes he is going to run out of money and that his father will come to look for him, he feels that he has no way out, his life is completely pre-determined by outward circumstances.

I also point out that Cather was a lesbian and that "the thing in the corner" that Paul has always felt may be his repressed homosexuality. There is some evidence for this in the text: Everyone seems perplexed by Paul, but they don’t give a good reason why. The teachers charge him with “various misdemeanors”, but never define those misdemeanors. They also say he is “not the usual case” (note title), but why? Surely they’ve had defiant students before. The way he uses his eyes is described as “Particularly offensive in a boy.” Why would that be? They feel like he is scandalous because he is subverting gender roles to some extent? We’re also told that Paul is “accustomed to lying”; indeed, his entire life appears to him as a lie. Why would that be? Could he be lying, hiding, his sexuality?

The story also mentions “boys” numerous times: at ushers’ dressing room, where Paul teases the boys and they “sat on him” and he is “calmed by his suppression”. The "wild boy" that he meets and spends the night with (doesn't say what they do, only that they parted "coldly") is from San Francisco. San Francisco may be code for homosexuality, since San fran was known for gay bath houses, etc.

Paul’s contempt could perhaps be a defense mechanism. He feels insecure, uncertain, and projects confidence and an uncaring attitude to protect himself from criticism. We’re told he’s always glancing around him, nervously, feeling that “people might be watching him and trying to detect something.” What is he worried about them detecting?

Another key quote: “he had always been tormented by fear, a sort of apprehensive dread that, of late years, as the meshes of the lies he had told closed about him, had been pulling the muscles of his body tighter and tighter. Until now, he could not remember the time when he had not been dreading something. Even when he was a little boy, it was always there—behind him, or before, or on either side. There had always been the shadowed corner, the dark place into which he dared not look, but from which something seemed always to be watching him—and Paul had done things that were not pretty to watch, he knew.”—what is the “thing in the corner”? Could be his homosexuality. Could also be his feelings of alienation from spirit crushing “normal” working life. Hard to know.

Near end, he talks about how he feels like he no longer has to lie, but—of course—he is living a lie, living on money he stole from his father’s company. Dramatic irony is when readers are aware of something that the characters are not. I’d say there is a lot of it in this story. 

That's about as far as we got with the story. We briefly discussed the symbolism of flowers in the story (alienation, defiance, stand in for Paul himself). 

One reading we didn't get to was seeing it as a commentary on the American Dream and the "Gilded Age." I wish we had fit this reading in a bit more as it connects with our next story, Fitzgerald's "Winter Dreams," which is pretty much a short version of The Great Gatsby. Obviously both stories deal with the idea that wealth is everything--and the realization that maybe the American Dream is a hollow dream, a "winter" (dead) dream. 

In "Paul's Case," he sees New York as "the glaring affirmation of the omnipotence of wealth."—one reading is that a corruption of the American Dream has led to a belief only in the power, the “omnipotence” of money.

Gilded Age (1870-1900 ish)—the US economy grew more than any other time in history—think railroads, cities, industrialization, Westward expansion, etc. Wealth inequality was also the highest of any time in history until recently (wealth inequality is actually higher now, I think). An influential book of the period was Thorstein Veblen’s The Theory of the Leisure Class: An Economic Study of Institutions, which argued that” the businessmen who own the means of production, have employed themselves in the economically unproductive practices of conspicuous consumption and conspicuous leisure, which are useless activities that contribute neither to the economy nor to the material production of the useful goods and services required for the functioning of society; while it is the middle class and the working class who are usefully employed in the industrialised, productive occupations that support the whole of society.”

"Paul’s Case" was written in 1905 and can be seen as an attack on this version of the American Dream, equating all happiness with wealth and consumption. In a sense, Paul is “trapped” by this American belief. “These were his own people, he told himself”—but really they are not. He can’t escape the inner Pittsburgh he carries within himself; it is part of his identity, like it or not, and he doesn’t put in the work that would be needed to move beyond that identification. He wants merely escape, and he imaginations that he is someone he isn’t.

“rivets on a machine”. He has the Thoreauvian idea that “the mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation,” but his answer to getting out of that desperation is quite different.

He keeps trying to convince himself he fits in, but “The mere stage properties were all he contended for.” In other words, he is a passive observer. He thinks money can BUY him an identity, but it doesn’t. Or if it does, it’s only temporarily. I’d say one of his big downfalls is that he doesn’t see value in work. He wants to live inside a delusion, and of course that delusion has to come crashing down. When it does, he is in a quite different environment than the Waldorf…he is literally at the end of the tracks, snow falling all around him, and nature the “immense design of things” that will swallow Paul and the systems he is caught up in. 

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Core 101--peer review. Went relatively well. Missing several students, though. Otherwise, students seemed relatively engaged. No one finished early. 

September 26th, Core 101 (Peer Review of Personal Essay)

For today's class, we did peer-review of the personal essays (narrative, descriptive). Not too much to say about the peer-review. I started class by going over these instructions on the board: 

Peer Review Instructions:

1. Find a partner
2. Choose who wants to go first. That person should read his or her essay out loud.
3. As the writer reads the essay, mark down anything you notice that could/ should be changed (places where you are confused, places where you need more info, places where the wording of the sentences is unclear, etc.).
4. The second person should read his/ her essay out loud. Again, the listener should mark things that could / should be changed.
5. After reading the essays aloud, exchange essays take some quiet time to fill out the peer review sheets. Write in full sentences. If something is not working, don’t just say it doesn’t work. Try to help make suggestions for revision. Treat it like you’d like your own essay to be treated. Be kind, but also offer constructive criticism.
6. After filling out the peer review, come back together (10 minutes?) to discuss the peer review sheets. The writer should talk during this time, too. Let the reviewer know what you were trying to do. Ask questions. See if things worked the way you hoped they would.
7. Exchange peer review sheets.
8. Use your partner’s comments/ suggestions to help you make revisions. Keep in mind that it is YOUR essay, so all revisions are ultimately up to you. However, if something was unclear, etc., it may be a good idea to address that.
9. I will provide you feedback via email or D2L. I will do my best to finish these by Friday evening, though it may spill into Saturday. Please read over my comments. If you have questions, let me know. 

The 3 o'clock class did a great job with the peer-review. They're in Young Hall, which has "break out" spaces outside the rooms for students to study, so I allowed them to do the peer-review in those spaces as long as they stayed on the 4th floor. My job was to walk around from group to group, listening and answering questions. I like what I heard from most groups. They didn't seem like they were rushing through to get finished; instead, I heard a lot of comments about "too much summary" and needing more scene, questions about unanswered issues in the essays, et cetera. Everyone seemed really on task. 

In my 5 o'clock class, I was missing 7 out of 15 students. I'd imagine those people did not finish their drafts, so did not come to class. That's bad, but I'm honestly not sure what I could do about it. They had an extra week because I was in the hospital last week with a DVT / PE. Of those who made it to class, only one pair seemed to take the peer-review seriously. The others rushed through it, finishing in about 30 minutes total. With reading the essays, filling out the peer-review sheets, and discussing, my estimate is that the review should take at least 50 minutes to an hour if taken seriously. 

Again, not really sure what I could do differently. We modeled a peer review and talked about what makes it effective in class on Monday; I had very specific questions related to their papers to address (questions that, if answered seriously, would help make the essays better), and I walked around the classroom attempting to keep people on task. One possibility for why the peer-reviews worked better in the 3 o'clock is that those students had more space--the break out areas allowed them to do the review in private, versus three or so seats away from another group. While I think that made a difference, it's really no excuse for not taking it seriously. I know the onus is on the teacher--more than ever before, I think--to make classes engaging, enjoyable, etc. But if students refuse to do structured work (at a college level), I'm not sure what can be done about that. At some point, all the creativity in the world in lesson design or whatever just masks a lack of serious intent on the part of students, in my opinion. 

Bright spot: 1 out of 2 classes isn't bad. The 3 o'clock class did a great job. Those who were in the 5 o'clock class may have helped each other more than I realize despite them rushing through it. 

Sept 25, Literature and Core

American Lit.--

I'm always doing this blog a day late for my T/ Th classes, which makes it more difficult to be honest or have anything of substance to say. After class, I immediately have a Core class, and after that I am exhausted. 

In any case, for this class, we read Melville's "Bartleby, the Scrivener: A Story of Wall Street," one of my favorite stories, but also one that is extremely perplexing (particularly to beginning readers) and highly ambiguous. It deals with concepts that are abstract and difficult for some to conceptualize. Like the narrator (a lawyer), many students tend to be very pragmatic and want clear answers. Bartleby always reminds me of the Dylan song, "Ballad of a Thin Man"--"Ah, you've been with the professors and they've all liked your looks / With great lawyers you have discussed lepers and crooks /You've been through all of F. Scott Fitzgerald's books / You're very well-read, it's well-known. / But something is happening here and you don't know what it is / Do you, Mr. Jones?" The story (and the song) resist attempts at rational explanation. Part of what's interesting about the story is that Bartleby shakes the narrator, a "safe" man (not just in business, but spiritually/ metaphysically) out of that feeling of safety. We hear the story from the narrator's perspective, so it is as much about him as it is Bartleby. 

The easiest way I've found to read this story is as a parable of Melville's fate as a writer--as autobiographical, even if cloaked in layers of ambiguity. When he published "Bartleby" in 1853, Melville had just come off the dismal failure of Moby Dick, his philosophical masterpiece…the book wouldn't become a "classic" until it was rediscovered by critics nearly half a century after its publication, many years after Melville's death. Melville had had enormous success with his earliest books, such as Typee and Omoo—books that dealt with his experiences on the high seas and on various islands, adventure books, escapism. Under this interpretation, the Lawyer represents the ordinary reader, who desires that Melville continue "copying" (a "scrivener" is a copyist, a human Xerox machine) his earlier works and wants clarity/ a rational framework, while Melville, pained by the failure of Moby Dick, replies that he would "prefer not to," and finally stops writing entirely. The "dead letters," therefore, are Melville's shunned novels, “letters” that never reached the people. 

The following letter that Melville wrote to fellow writer Nathaniel Hawthorne can be used as a support of this reading of "Bartleby"-- 

In a week or so, I go to New York, to bury myself in a third story room, and work and slave on my “Whale” while it is driving through the press. That is the only way I can finish it now—I am pulled so hither and thither by circumstances. The calm, the coolness, the silent grass-growing mood in which a man ought always to compose,--that, I fear, can seldom be mine. Dollars damn me…My dear Sir, a presentiment is on me,--I shall at last be worn out and perish…What I feel most moved to write that is banned,--it will not pay.  Yet altogether write the other way I cannot.

Melville's brother worked on Wall Street and had a successful (financially) life, whereas Melville struggled to make ends meet writing the type of novel he wanted to write (philosophical, serious, difficult). 

Since "Bartleby" (the story and character) is philosophical, and--like Moby Dick, the great white whale--a symbol with near endless referents, to the point of unintelligibility, it makes sense to read the story this way. The white whale in Moby Dick has been seen as all sorts of symbols; and over the course of the novel, nearly every discipline known to man is used to understand the essential nature of the whale. Each of these systems of knowledge, however--including art, taxonomy, and phrenology--fails to give an adequate account. The multiplicity of approaches that Ishmael takes, coupled with his compulsive need to assert his authority as a narrator and the frequent references to the limits of observation (men cannot see the depths of the ocean, for example), suggest that human knowledge is always limited and insufficient. When it comes to Moby Dick himself, this limitation takes on allegorical significance. The ways of Moby Dick, like those of the Christian God, are unknowable to man, and thus trying to interpret them, as Ahab does, is inevitably futile and often fatal.

In class, I connect this back to what we discussed with the Transcendentalists (Emerson and Thoreau). Whereas Thoreau and Emerson thought that humans could “know” God (or whatever you choose to call the concept of "God") through intuition and imagination and immersing one’s self in nature (God’s creation), Melville highly doubts this. Bartleby can be read as a sort of anti-Thoreau (passive resistance in the capitalist economy leads to death; and, he's unable to see natural facts "blossom" into spiritual facts. Instead, his "dead-wall reveries" show only the same blank, impenetrable wall--to be able to see "God" would ground all the "assumptions" the lawyer has about human nature, give them ultimate meaning. 

In any case, Bartleby--like Melville--is a writer. Bartleby refuses to do the type of writing demanded of him, just as Melville refused to write formulaic novels. Neither Bartleby or Melville was particularly concerned with the values of Wall Street (values exemplified by the Lawyer, who looks up to John Jacob Astor mostly because of his wealth). When Bartleby ceases to write, he begins to die. Bartleby resists Wall St. routine (passively), then the lawyer tries to reason with Bartleby to get him to conform to expectations, and finally, he is punished. 

This makes me think of the recent Occupy Wall Street movement, where some of the protestors held signs reading "I Prefer Not To"--meaning, I suppose, that like Bartleby, they preferred not to take part in the infernal machine of capitalism, where more and more of the wealth is going to the 1% while the rest of us struggle. The irony is that the end of Melville's story seems to say there is no way out--that failure to participate in capitalism/ consumer society (not the same thing, but close enough) equals death. Bartleby's "preferences" mean nothing in the world he's in. 

Another way to read this story is to see Bartleby as a sort of anti-Sisyphus. I ran through this reading with my students rather quickly, since it involves explaining Camus' "Myth of Sisyphus" and his ideas about life being absurd (pushing the same boulder up the hill every day, day after day), before ever getting into the interpretation. In this reading, Bartleby could be read as a sort of anti-Sisyphus in that he sees the absurdity of social constructs/ mechanizations of daily life, but doesn't afford the same value to choice; all choices are equally preferable, or not preferable. Whereas in the Camus reading, "we must imagine Sisyphus happy," it is hard to do that with Bartleby, who, in his lack of preferences, just dies. 

We also discussed all the walls as the central symbol in the story; it is, after all, "A Tale of Wall Street," and there are several walls in the story. One way to read the story--and all the walls--is as examining alienation and dehumanization of wage labor in a capitalist society, a sort of Marxist reading. Only Bartleby, not Turkey or Nippers (or even the Lawyer), is completely aware of his own alienation. He tells the narrator, "I know you, and I want nothing to say to you." It seems that Bartleby does know the narrator, whereas the narrator begins the story by saying that he can't write a "full and sufficient" life of Bartleby--that he can't pin him down and understand him, and by understanding, feel like he controls him. The walls, we are told, hem in creative and reflective people ("devoid of what landscape painters would call life"..."Byron" (a famous British poet) would not have sat down with Bartleby to examine a law document). 

This is a lot to get through in a one hour class. I tried to get students to see as much of it as possible. We didn't have quite as much discussion as previous classes, although I tried to ask questions as I spoke to get students to connect the dots and give me the readings rather than me just telling them how to interpret the story. At the same time, I don't think they would've been able to interpret the story on anything more than a very superficial level, without some guidance. A few people did speak up, and in general, people seemed to be paying attention (didn't have their heads down, etc.). 

In some ways, it was a tough class--difficult to help students make connections and come up with interpretations. However, many students said they enjoyed the story and understood it much better after our class discussion, which made me feel relatively good about how it went. As for my own performance, I felt that I was relatively clear. I've taught this story many times, so I have a decent idea of what I want to say, but it's difficult to pull clarity out of ambiguity without ruining the depth of the story. Students may like clarity, but pretending to have a complete understanding of a story that people have interpreted in thousands of ways since its publication, seems like a disservice to the greatness of the story to me. And I truly do love "Bartleby," so I want them to see the richness, the depth, the range of interpretations. Some days, I struggle to say anything clearly, even if it's something I know well. But I feel like I've been relatively articulate this semester. Of course, I felt that way last semester, too, and about 1/3 of the evaluations from students were surprisingly negative. 

Core (5 o'clock)--

For this class, we did the sample peer reviews of my essay, "Rite of Passage" (see the previous post on MWF Core class), and a student essay, "Fear of Failure." I started class by going over some of the things I feel they could get out of peer review if it's done well. After that, I read my essay and we discussed it. I was happy that students noticed the places where I had summary vs. where it was almost entirely scene/ imagery. They also had intelligent things to say about WHY I should include the summary / exposition to give proper context and the fact that I pulled in some imagery even within the summary. The discussion of the student essay also went well. Several students had ideas about alternate titles, and quite a few people pointed out that it was too much summary, not enough scene. When I asked where they would include scenes ("break open" the summary) or add dialogue, they had good ideas about where that should happen. They also mentioned some of the unanswered questions they had about the essay, such as what the writer's injury was, what the physical therapy was like, etc. Overall, this was one of the best classes I've had with this section of Core. I hope it carries over to their peer reviews on Thursday. 

September 24th--Core 101 (MWF)

Back in class today after missing Wednesday and Friday of last week. A few weeks ago, I developed pain behind my knee and went to the ER because I was concerned it might be a DVT. The ultrasound came back negative, but the pain persisted, eventually moving into my calf, where it felt like a vice was closing in around my gastroc muscle. By that point, I'd also developed shortness of breath. The ultrasound Wednesday revealed a DVT in my calf and thigh, and a CT Scan a while later revealed PE on both of my lungs. I was admitted to the hospital and stayed Wednesday and Thursday night for monitoring and other tests (echocardiogram, etc.).

According to most things I've read online, people aren't really supposed to return to work after a PE for about six weeks, but the doctor at the ER said I should be okay with the medicine (Xarelto), so here I am. I've had shallow breathing once or twice today, which concerns me, but otherwise, I feel pretty good and--somewhat surprisingly--it was nice to be back in class and get my mind off of the clots.

Everything went relatively well in my 3 o'clock class. They are finishing up their personal narrative essays, so I went over a couple sample essays in class to model what I'd like the peer review (Wednesday) to look like. These essays--a sample I wrote called "Rite of Passage" and a student sample called "Fear of Failure"--have been on D2L for a while. I had students fill out a peer review sheet for each essay and submit it to D2L for an in-class quiz grade (10 pts.). The discussion about the essays in the 3 o'clock class was relatively lively. Though written quickly, my essay was relatively good, so I was glad they noticed things that could possibly be changed to make it better, such as adding some interior monologue at points, adding more description near the end of the essay, etc. I believe everyone in the class spoke, which counts as a good class discussion and is a positive sign heading into the units on argumentation, etc., which require more student participation.

Read Sample Deer Essay: file:///C:/Users/maaburne/Desktop/killing%20a%20deer.htm

 (cut and paste the URL if you'd like to read my essay, I guess. I have no idea how to technology). 

5 o'clock class--The five o'clock class is a bit feistier than the 3, and I was missing 6 out of 15 students, but otherwise things went relatively well. Several people spoke up and got involved in the sample peer-reviews. I tried to model what I'd like to see with the peer reviews--1) read the essay aloud, which allows readers and listeners to notice things they may not notice otherwise, 2) be kind, but honest in the process--explain to them how you "see" it, point out any questions or confusions. I pointed out that it's helpful to get multiple perspectives (audiences); peers because perhaps they think more like you, me as instructor because I know what I'd like to teach them, and the Writing Center because they are trained to work with writing needs. I also pointed out that peer review can work because it allows us to see our writing "through" another person, it allows us to see how other students think and write (valuable when seeing writing as craft), seeing other students strengths and weaknesses, and seeing new ideas and ways of explaining ideas.

Overall, not bad. We will see how peer review goes on Wednesday.

Core 101, Monday 9/10

Core, 3 and 5 o'clock--the schedule today had us discussing "scene-making" vs. "exposition" for the personal essays. I borrow some of what I do for today's class--"cracking open a scene"--from Bill Roorbach's Writing Life Stories, a text we used for a Creative Nonfiction class I had with Rick Van Noy in grad school.

I usually start this class with a 10 minute prezi that talks about the difference between a scene and exposition. This comes from the Roorbach book and from books on fiction I've read. I try to simplify it as much as possible on the prezi so that it fits their assignment.

Scenes "show" and make readers feel like they're there, experiencing--or at least witnessing--everything that happens. Exposition gives backstory, facts and information that the reader needs to understand the present or ongoing action of the story (narrative). Exposition "tells" more than it "shows." Although it's somewhat different, I explain summary as part of exposition; beginning students tend to automatically write summaries and struggle with scene. But I honestly think part of that boils down to lack of effort and time spent working on the essay, trying to find the precise details, not lack of understanding.

Creating a believable scene, built from well-chosen details, can be extremely difficult. Writing a summary is much easier. Students tend to take the easy path. This is hard for me to understand because when I was a student I was a perfectionist. I at least TRIED to communicate everything--including shades of emotional meaning--as precisely as I could.

Before going over the prezi today, I started class by presenting TS Eliot's definition of "objective correlative," from his essay on Hamlet, on the board:

If writers or poets or playwrights want to create an emotional reaction in the audience, they must find a combination of images, objects, or description evoking the appropriate emotion. The source of the emotional reaction isn't in one particular object, one particular image, or one particular word. Instead, the emotion originates in the combination of these phenomena when they appear together.

After sharing this definition, I asked students how this idea of objective correlative connects back to
"showing," not "telling"--what we've been talking about with the personal essays. I waited but didn't really get answers, so I tried to explain. I suggested that in their own essays, they should strive to create SCENES (not just that evoke emotions in the reader. I also suggested that these scenes would be composed of not just one or two, but multiple SENSORY DETAILS that work together to create or evoke the emotion in the reader.

Of course, this explanation was rather abstract--me "telling," not showing--so I offered this overwrought example. 

Imagine a film: the sky is gray, clouds heavy; it's pouring rain. A few people dressed in black are gathered around a freshly dug grave. Some are crying, most have their heads down. A woman with tears streaming down her face steps from the group and places a ring on the tombstone...a few seconds later, the clouds briefly open and a ray of sun shines down, hitting the ring and a green patch of grass near the grave. 

After pointing out that the example was a bit cheesy, I asked them what emotions the scene evoked. A couple of people said "sadness," so I asked about the sunlight at the end...no one really spoke, so I said maybe that could evoke hope or at least some glimpse of optimism. I'm not sure how smoothly I said any of this--I don't like the idea of recording myself--but short of that, I have no idea how I sound. Perhaps ridiculous. Honestly, the students seemed to find it all ridiculous. Most didn't seem to be listening or paying attention. But at any rate, I tried to get the idea across. 

Next, I asked them to consider how John Updike's poem "Dog's Death" illustrates this idea of "objective correlative." Here is the poem: 

“Dog’s Death” by John Updike

She must have been kicked unseen or brushed by a car.
Too young to know much, she was beginning to learn
To use the newspapers spread on the kitchen floor
And to win, wetting there, the words, "Good dog! Good dog!"

We thought her shy malaise was a shot reaction.
The autopsy disclosed a rupture in her liver.
As we teased her with play, blood was filling her skin
And her heart was learning to lie down forever.

Monday morning, as the children were noisily fed
And sent to school, she crawled beneath the youngest's bed.
We found her twisted and limp but still alive.
In the car to the vet's, on my lap, she tried

To bite my hand and died. I stroked her warm fur
And my wife called in a voice imperious with tears.
Though surrounded by love that would have upheld her,
Nevertheless she sank and, stiffening, disappeared.

Back home, we found that in the night her frame,
Drawing near to dissolution had endured the shame
Of diarrhea and had dragged across the floor
To a newspaper carelessly left there.  Good dog.

I'd never really used this poem in class before (to teach this idea, anyway), but a former professor posted it on Facebook a couple days ago, and it stuck in my head. The discussion of the poem in today's class wasn't great--on first reading, the students didn't seem to like it, or "get" it. My expectation was that it would be a great example to show how extremely powerful emotions are best conveyed by OBJECTIVE images. But they certainly didn't seem to think it packs the emotional wallop that I do. So, it pretty much fell flat. 

I tried to salvage it by going through line by line and explaining that he's presenting an "objective" scene--not "telling" us what to feel--but in doing so creates powerful emotions. The scene of the puppy trying to bite the man's hand as it dies is a heart-wrenching juxtaposition, as is the final image of the dog--in the middle of its suffering--pulling itself across the floor to use the bathroom on a newspaper, in order to be a "good dog." The overall emotional weight of the poem is greater than its individual details. But I don't really know that the students saw any of this in class--my feeling was that they found the poem pretty easy to dismiss. 

If I were to use this in the future, perhaps I'd put them into small groups and have them read the poem aloud, then answer questions about the emotions it evokes (a problem with this is that many aren't strong readers, and they read it in broken chunks that make no grammatical sense--if it makes no sense at all, then, of course, the emotional weight is lost). 

In any case, after this I went over the quick prezi that I mentioned at the beginning of this post. After going over the prezi, I asked them to look at their own rough drafts and mark which sentences / paragraphs are "scene" and which are summary/ exposition. I suggested they try to "crack open" the summaries by focusing on particular lines they could develop into full scenes. I also suggested they consider any un-answered questions a reader might have while reading, to try to develop scenes that could help answer those questions. 

Post class reflection: Of course I'm writing all of this post-class, but my immediate feeling today was that what I was trying to do just didn't work. I may have tried to fit in too many examples--just throwing things out there hoping something would stick. But none of the examples really seemed to engage the students. During the part of class where they were supposed to analyze their own use of scene and exposition, most just started talking to one another or looking at their phones (even though I have a no phone policy in the syllabus). I would have had them exchange essays, but their rough drafts at this point are too "rough". That's something I could change in the future, but I'm not sure why it would work any better. The novelty of someone else's essay? 

The part of teaching I struggle most with is organizing thoughts/ ideas/ material in a way that is relevant or engaging to students. I have no doubt that my classes have "content", but I do sometimes (perhaps often) leave class with the feeling that the students didn't really get it, that I'm not presenting it in a way that reaches them. The ideas that I went over in Core today aren't particularly difficult to understand, but it is difficult to put them into practice. I'm not sure what sort of "fun" activity I could do to trick them into putting in that work.