Resuscitation
Too many of my students have lost their love of reading. For many, books used to be a source of pleasure, escape, wonder and joy. Somewhere along the way, books became the enemy, or at least frivolity. People speak of reading in terms of life-giving breath, the inhale to writing’s exhale. I see it in my own children. They get genuinely excited when they start a new book. They share good reads with each other and talk to anyone who will listen about what they are currently reading.
In my classes, I am in the process of resuscitation — of my own reading life as well as my students’. I hate to admit it, but for years, I have not been inhaling the power of language and stories. I have been quite busy exhaling — blogs, poems, essays, reports — but I wasn’t making any time to inhale. And all of a sudden, after years of this, I started to suffocate. I needed to get back into books – new books, for my own experience, not as a study for teaching. In fact, I started to question my entire practice as a teacher of literature. I wanted to do more to excite my students about their reading instead of contributing to their quickly rotting attitudes toward books.
So this semester, my AP Lit students are choosing all of their novels on their own. I gave them some guidelines — one from the 19th, 20th, and 21st centuries, something dystopian, two collections of poetry. But that’s it. Now, they choose. This might not seem so revolutionary to some, but in the teaching world I come from, it is almost sacrilege.
Already, I feel like my classroom is revitalized. We are talking books — recommending authors and works, comparing old favorites to new possibilities, tackling authors we haven’t before and finding comfort in genres we love. What we are doing now feels real. It feels natural. It has resuscitated this old teacher and I hope has breathed new life into my young friends.
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