Creation and Ownership – The Value of DIY Publication

Houston_panorama

It has been said that nobody reads anymore. Of course, each successive generation since the time of Plato and Aristotle has been branded lazy and unintelligent by the one that preceded it. But if you look at the reality of the situation, perhaps things are not as dire as they seem. According to a study reported by The Atlantic, “[s]ome 88 percent of Americans younger than 30 said they read a book in the past year compared with 79 percent of those older than 30” and “high school and college-aged people reported reading more than survey respondents in their late twenties.” This is encouraging, isn’t it? The idea that literacy is not dying and that in truth casual readership is on the rise? It certainly seems so.

One of the biggest questions I get asked when I’m promoting a book or talking about my experiences as a writer in general is why I self-publish. Have I tried to submit to a major publisher? If it isn’t good enough for a major publisher, why would anyone want to read it? All manner of questions that, while frustrating, are valid.

As an author, I have submitted far more pieces for publication than have seen the light of day. The world of publishing is, honestly, a relentless thunderstorm of noise and confusion. Something that I feel has value may not fit the vision of a particular publisher. A publication house has to think about their audience and their finances and the truth is even if reading as a common pass-time did drop to an all-time low,  there would be no shortage of hungry, eager writers looking to see their work published.

As of late, I have adopted a DIY attitude toward publication because as the cultural landscape changes and we see an increase in younger people reading, the importance of big publishers does seem diminished. Big publishers care about their bottom line. That means telling and selling stories that will find the broadest audience so that no money is lost. But, and I know I’m getting older and I can’t claim to be part of the “younger generation” much anymore, young readers want to read stories that are unconventional. Stories that big publishers might not want to take a risk on.

That’s why I wrote Madeline McCallister. That’s why I wrote a series about a bi-sexual female protagonist whose main ally is a black British agent who rejected his affluent upbringing to forge his own identity. That may not seem bold or groundbreaking, but it is a turnoff for some publishers. And the fact that it is even part of the conversation is why I put the work out into the world on my own, unfiltered by any mandate other than my own.

In the past, writers had to trade their vision and their control of their work in exchange for an audience. That was the power publication houses dealt in. Now, that isn’t precisely the case any longer.

For example, I have a few friends who work in the comic book industry. That world is so much bigger than Marvel and DC in terms of where stories are being told and what type of books are being produced. I look at what people like Isaiah Broussard and Jessi Jordan are doing and wonder why that same determined, boots-on-the-ground approach cannot work in the realm of literature the way that it does in comics. I understand that they are two different monsters, but in the age of social media and digital content, perhaps the differences aren’t as vast as they may once have seemed. Unfettered creative control that leads to genuine, interesting media in turn will find an audience. At least in theory.

So, in the interest of being clear, I want to assure people that I stand by the quality of my work. In fact, I would say that the DIY approach that births the projects published under my own banner allows me to take full responsibility for what I produce. That allows me to engage with my readers in a way some other writers are simply not able to. Maybe it is my affinity for the old punk rock mindset, but I take pride in my process. Does that mean I do not have designs on seeing my work distributed by a major publisher? No. I’m not against major publishers. I just want to combat the preconceived notion that self-publication should be dismissed as amateur hour.

As I gear up to begin promotional work on Too Close To Kill, part of that mission is also to educate people on the wonderful work being produced by other skilled writers like myself who are consistently producing excellent work that finds itself overlooked in the marketplace. Small and independent press are where some of the strongest and freshest literature in the modern world is being produced.

At this point, I simply want to raise enough money to convince Jeff Goldblum to record himself saying “literature finds a way.”

That would make it all worth it, don’t you think?

Advertisements

Media Analysis Monday – Rogue One and the Evolving Star Wars Cinematic Landscape

 

rogue1

It is an odd thing to examine the landscape we find ourselves in in 2017. If you can recall what things were like before December of 2012, fans of the Star Wars series could only dream that there would be further cinematic outings featuring that universe, and if that were to come to fruition it would only ever likely come once George Lucas kicked the bucket and found himself as a means to describe a similarly dead parrot. And yet here we are five years and two cinematic entries into the series later and the landscape has decidedly changed. As fans of the Star Wars universe, we have had to twist our way of thinking and align it with the reality that whether we want them or not, we will be seeing yearly entries into the cinematic canon. How long will it be before Disney tries their luck with more than one film in a calendar year? We can’t know for sure, but having seen success with their Marvel output, I would wager a guess that it can’t be too far away.

A more interesting question going forward is whether or not future installments will branch away from what we consider to be the central narrative of the series thus far, the chronology that began with The Phantom Menace and is still directly continuing with The Last Jedi later this year. Every film thus far has been a link in a chain. Is it possible to tell a story in this universe that does not have ties to the central stories of Episodes I-VIII+? When Rogue One was released in December, it was an experiment. A Star Wars film featuring no Jedi? That would be a stretch for a good many casual fans. Indeed a good amount of chatter on the web featured confused commenters wondering why there was another death star, unaware that this was meant to serve as a prequel to A New Hope.  Given the overall box office success of the film, earning a total $1,055,724,829 worldwide based off of a reported 200 million dollar budget, it is highly likely that the takeaway Disney got from the release of Rogue One is that so long as the words “Star” and “Wars” are somewhere in proximity to the title they can expect astronomical returns on their monetary investment.

The upcoming Han Solo film directed by Phil Lord and Christopher Miller featuring Alden Ehrenreich in the role originated by Harrison Ford will be another major test for Disney. They want to see if audiences will allow and support the recasting of central characters for spinoff projects. When people think of Han Solo they think of Harrison Ford. It is not a James Bond situation where the name conjures multiple actors to mind depending on the personal experience of the audience in relation to the series. Han Solo and Harrison Ford are inseparable at this point. It was made the third act of The Force Awakens resonate in the manner that it did, as any attempt to have a new actor carry on the performance would have undercut the emotional reaction the audience was expected to have regarding the end of his arc in the larger narrative. Having someone play the character at a point prior to the moment we first meet him in A New Hope is not as bitter a pill to swallow in the minds of most audience members. At least this is the hope of executives planning the next several years of spinoffs and sequels bearing the Star Wars brand.

Rogue One, upon first viewing can be viewed as a bit too tethered to the original trilogy. The script uses the established saga as a crutch on which to give the story means to amble forward. Under close scrutiny, large holes appear in the narrative construction and the depth of the characters can be called into question. However, that raises the question of whether or not the film needs to divest itself of its own legacy in order to be valid. Simply because nobody in the cast is named Skywalker or carries a lightsaber does not mean that it isn’t an integral part of the greater story being told in the main saga. It is retroactively thus, and that may feel like a bit of a cheat. However, the film crafts a story that directly ties to central moments of A New Hope. I cannot speak to how well the film plays on a structural, emotional, and objective level without a prior connection to A New Hope, as I have had that film etched into the back of my brain since I was five years old. Analytically speaking, only two moments require a connection on the part of the audience;

  1. Anything involving Darth Vader
  2. CGI Princess Leia

Aside from those instances, the film’s narrative stands on its own and establishes its own internal logic and narrative force. The conflict presented within Jyn Erso as a character may not be as rich as others in the central saga, though much of that can be attributed to the logistical reality of a standalone film versus a multi-part epic. Her struggle to reconcile her feelings toward her father and his desire to undermine the Imperial war machine with her sense of self-preservation drives the central theme of the film; personal investment in societal change. The script takes strides to contrast Jyn with characters who fall on a spectrum of ideals, specifically through Chirrut’s mysticism-driven ideals that insist that what happens is the will of the universe (see force) and Cassian Andor’s deeply personalized sense of purpose in rebellion.

There is enough thematic and narrative meat to allow Rogue One to stand on its own. Ultimately its ties to the greater Star Wars canon are simply embellishments for the sake of the initiated that do little to detract from the experience for casual observers. The film could take greater pains to force an investment in the characters on the part of the audience, but the end product is ultimately serviceable in every regard. There is little here that could be critiqued to a degree as to classify Rogue One as a poor film. While some may not enjoy the film enthusiastically, from an objective point of view the film functions well in every regard; composition, editing, effects, score, etc. They all work. Where the film deserves a critical eye is in regard to the script itself, which does seem to fail to develop our central characters fully. While some might argue that this is a trapping of an ensemble production, it is clear that the film was probably another full draft away from being where it needed to be in terms of character development. It is unclear how much of this is as a result of the much ballyhooed reshoots and editing bay shenanigans, but if we take things at face value there is still enough to find issue with.

Beyond The Last Jedi and the as-yet-untitled Han Solo film, we really do not know much about the future of the franchise. What direction will they go? In what ways will they course correct from Rogue One? Do they need to course correct at all? Everything at this juncture is speculation, and however things pan out, the first steps of this marathon have worked out well for Disney and Lucasfilm.

Atypical Reality – Utilizing Technology in the Modern Classroom

tech

There is a tendency in the field of education to gravitate to the idea of “standardization.” It is determined by those in a position of power, earned or otherwise, that all things must meet an established standard. There is nothing inherently wrong with this. A baseline or a goal must be implemented in order to measure mastery, however the means in which we ascertain that mastery should never be reduced to something as rudimentary as a pre-determined standard. If a classroom is to be dynamic, that is to be fluid and adaptive to the needs of the students therein, then the means of implementing instruction on a day to day basis must be malleable to whatever degree the instructor’s specific population necessitates.

I teach senior level English Language Arts. My student population is diverse when taken as a whole and even more so when examined on a sectional basis with regard to individual class rosters. In years past I have had students coded as special ed, though this year that population group includes only a single child in a single instruction period. As such, examining the different populations, learning styles, and personality types present in a given period, it is functionally impossible to classify a “typical” day in my classroom because each individual population presents itself as an independent and wholly identifiable “type.” For example, comparing block 1A to block 2A is largely a futile venture, as instructing them in the same material necessitates entirely different teaching styles. Block 1A, coming in so early in the instructional day, requires more rigorous warm-up activity to incite their young minds to engage in what will follow. That extra time needs to be built into the lesson plan. Conversely, block 2A, having already endured a morning period arrives largely ready to engage in activity with little patience for anything they might perceive as extraneous or a diversion to the central points of the day. I have referred to them at times as “all business,” and do not use this term in a derogatory manner, simply a statement of my understanding with regard to their mindset in the classroom.

While each individual class may be hard to categorize or typify, all English classrooms essentially boil down to the same central idea; instruction in the utilization of the English language to comprehend, analyze, and communicate information. Whether a student is looking at informational text, classic literature, poetry or unclassifiable genre writing, they should be focused on understanding the central message of the text, finding the importance behind the words written, and concentrating on communicating their understanding through a written composition of their own. At any given point in a day in an English classroom, irrespective of the individual assignment at hand, the students should be engaged in an aspect of that process. Every assignment is a link in the aforementioned chain of understanding, analysis and communication. If a student is reading a text, they should be seeking understanding of said text. If they are working on a graphic organizer, seeking to structure their ideas generated while reading a given text, it should reflect the analysis they have engaged in. A submitted draft of an essay should signify mastery of a concept, showcasing their ability to communicate the learning they have processed throughout several days of learning.

As such, technology should serve as an essential tool in facilitating this process. According to  experts at Edutopia, “effective tech integration must happen across the curriculum in ways that research shows deepen and enhance the learning process. In particular, it must support four key components of learning: active engagement, participation in groups, frequent interaction and feedback, and connection to real-world experts.” When used effectively, technology allows students to begin a self-sufficient journey of knowledge discovery. When a student is unsure about a concept, it is not enough for an instructor to supply a response that fulfills the query. Instead, the teacher can provide an opportunity for further learning opportunities by initiating a process that allows the student to research the solution to their problems for themselves. Technology should not be a crutch for students, instead it should be a valuable resource that enhances the learning experience itself. For example, if a student has an issue with the definition of a particular term, an instructor could utilize a resource such as Vocabulary.Com to teach not only the meaning of the word in the context that the student is requesting, but alternative uses that could be of value to the student at a later date. Essentially, technology helps to turn learning into a true process for the student. Studies show that “mastery of learning is also important. Children need an opportunity to redo assignments until they learn the material. Some people take longer than others to learn, but that does not mean that they are inferior or cannot learn” (Wadhwa). At the end of the day, technology should be utilized to build bridges over gaps for students, not serve as a detour from the expectations set forth by the instructor.

A typical classroom should not be able to be categorized. When appraising a classroom, observers should be quick to understand that no two classrooms are the same; not within a single school, nor a single department or even a single instructor. Instructors in modern education understand that flexibility is key and that the utilization of available resources allows for a vibrant, diverse teaching environment across multiple class periods and populations. All instructors should know the truth, only the strong survive; nise forte vivere.

Works Cited

Edutopia. “Why Integrate Technology into the Curriculum?: The Reasons Are Many.” Edutopia. N.p., 17 Mar. 2008. Web. 20 Feb. 2017.

Wadhwa, Vivek. “Here’s How We Can Reinvent the Classroom for the Digital Age.” The Huffington Post. TheHuffingtonPost.com, 09 Apr. 2015. Web. 20 Feb. 2017.

Media Analysis Monday – When The Audience Fights The Narrative; WrestleMania 33 and Audience Expectations Versus Creative Intent

undertaker1

Professional wrestling, also affectionately or derisively referred to as sports entertainment, is a narrative endeavor. The athleticism, the ring-work, the production value; all of it is, ultimately, in service to narrative function. The play is the thing. It is for this reason that many people refer to the product as a type of soap opera, the hybrid blending of legitimate fisticuffs and Young and the Restless. One need only look to the bleed between the weekly programming of WWE and the storylines presented on E!’s Total Divas, a bleed that has become so muddled that the climax to one of the marquee matches at WrestleMania XXXIII featured the resolution of a years-long plot point from the aforementioned reality show. Wrestling is very seldom about the actual craft in the ring. There are legions of fans who would balk at such a thesis but looking at the product as it is presented currently, whether one is speaking of WWE, Lucha Underground, or even New Japan Professional Wrestling, the action happening in the ring only ever works if the narrative placing the performers between the ropes has cohesion and connects with the audience.

But what happens when it doesn’t?

WrestleMania XXXIII’s final bout featured a confrontation between Roman Reigns, a young superstar on an upward trajectory whose meteoric ascension has largely been attributed to preferential treatment from the ownership of the company, and The Undertaker, a performer whose legacy spans over two decades and who to many fans represents the essence of a bygone era. It was billed and sold as a clash of two dominant forces jockeying for the title of ultimate alpha dog, but what seems to have happened is that the narrative surrounding the match eclipsed the narrative that propelled the confrontation. The time of enjoying professional wrestling as a product in earnest seems to be long past. In the bygone era to which Undertaker largely belonged, “kayfabe,” or the veil that separated our reality from the one presented in the ring was opaque. Currently, you would be hard pressed to find any superstar without an Instagram or Twitter profile. The audience understands that these wrestlers are, first and foremost, performers inhabiting the space of a character. These characters are working within the frame of a narrative devised by writers and the spectacle that follows is no different from watching a stage production of Hamlet. As a result of the emerging transparency that the modern era has provided, the audience is acutely aware of things that happen off-stage. As such, much as a film can be rejected because of audience perception of the writer, director, or actors involved, so too can the same be said for modern angles in professional wrestling.

This creates an interesting dilemma for those tasked with weaving the narrative threads within the greater context of the product they are trying to create. In the case of Roman Reigns taking on The Undertaker, the company clearly wanted to sell an epic clash where the torch was passed between generations. It is a moving narrative when done correctly, and there are very few characters in the pantheon of professional wrestling who bring as much presence as The Undertaker. The issue arising from this particular pairing stems from the fact that the creative powers that be want to push Roman Reigns as being emblematic and representative of the modern era while the crowds largely do not want to accept him as such. While he is a talented performer in most regards, fans have often pointed to his less than charismatic delivery of scripted material and his lack of versatility within the ring as proof that he does not deserve the preferential treatment he has received.

At WrestleMania XXXII in 2016, Roman Reigns was crowned champion in the main event and the boos were so resounding that the audio levels had to be adjusted in order to sell the narrative that this was meant to be a moment of triumph. The audience rejection of Roman Reigns as the figurehead of modern WWE had begun long before and yet the narrative never shifted; never evolved to meet the desires of the audience. This raises an interesting point of contention among fans; are creative writers of ongoing narrative such as professional wrestling beholden to the whims of the audience they ostensibly serve? A comparable situation would be an enterprise such as serialized comic books. Writers have been known to roll initiatives back or alter plans based on critical and commercial reception from time to time, so why does professional wrestling seem to eschew this mindset?

The long and short of it seems to be a difference in the size of the audience and a lack of mainstream competition. While there are numerous professional wrestling organizations putting on quality entertainment on a weekly basis, nobody can touch the production value or entrenched popular culture cache of WWE. In return, the writers of their product largely do not tell stories that bend to the whim of their audience.

But is that entirely a negative? Does it not speak to a more concentrated form of narrative purity? There are no easy answers in this regard, however it does serve a central purpose that very little else could manage to provoke and that is engagement and discussion. It generates speculative creativity on the part of the audience with regard to how the story could have played out in another universe. It sparks arguments whether the narrative climax cohesively serves the story being told. It makes the fans talk.

And, for better or worse, people are talking.

Media Analysis Mondays – Examining Disney’s Live Action Adaptations

beautyandthebeast

Remakes and reboots are an established phenomenon at this juncture. As much as film can be an artistic medium, so too is it largely beholden to the whims of capitalism and the quest for box office success. When patterns begin to form, sometimes they are easily recognizable; such as every studio’s desire to create a “shared universe” in the wake of 2012’s The Avengers. Other patterns develop with a degree of subtlety, creating a lens with which to view a certain era of time. Patterns may also develop within a sort of microcosm, in an isolated environment divorced from the whole. Disney has of late taken to adapting their animated classics into live-action films, an initiative that can be traced back to 2010’s Alice in Wonderland directed by Tim Burton.

Since that time, we have seen adaptations of Sleeping Beauty in the revisionist Maleficent, Cinderella in 2015, with The Jungle book and Pete’s Dragon rounding out 2016. Spring of this year sees the release of Beauty and the Beast, whose original animated counterpart marked a turning point in the history of animation and of Disney as a company. The train is still rolling as casting has just begun for Aladdin, news recently broke that Mulan is moving forward but will not be a musical and it has been reported that James Earl Jones will reprise his role as the voice of Mufasa in a live action version of The Lion King.

While these adaptations have hitherto been moderate to extreme box office heavyweights, the lingering critical question upon the release of each subsequent film has been whether the studio is doing anything with the new versions of the film to justify their existence beyond the revenue they generate. Does translating these classic animated films into a live action film bring anything to the table that wasn’t there in the original version?

Focusing solely on the latest film in the lineup, it feels as if Disney has for the first time put an emphasis on injecting something new into the narrative for the sake of justifying its own existence. The script’s portrayal of Belle, here portrayed as the creative/inventive genius in her father’s workshop, seems hell-bent on making strides to correct the perception that the character is simply a bookworm suffering from Stockholm Syndrome. The script moves a few steps further by feeling the need to give Belle her own “tragic backstory,” perhaps to put her in the same company as Lily James’ Cinderella. This would not be obtrusive, had the script not felt the need to do the same for Beast, giving a kind of justification for his decision to turn away the enchantress that places the curse upon his home.

Wanting to provide depth to a character is not usually a tick mark in the negative column. However, this adaptation does not provide enough attention to this subplot for it to carry enough weight. In the end, it feels like padding; largely unnecessary in most regards. Some minor additions to the script actually do work, such as the addition of Beast’s third-act solo following Belle’s departure or LeFou’s eventual about-face in his relationship with Gaston.

The 2017 Beauty and the Beast is a good film, though it is not a great one. Part of the reason for this is simply that the original on which it is based succeeds in just about every regard where the remake falters. It is somewhat disappointing, but if you look at the patterns, it is not all that unsurprising.

Thinkpiece Thursday -Addressing The Dismissal of Authorial Intent In The Critique of Media in the Modern Age

LauraMangold

I happened upon a series of tweets from someone whom I do not recall earlier this week that argued Logan was a poor film because Laura’s existence only served to provide Wolverine with an arc. I do not dispute the argument regarding Laura’s purpose. I do however refute the idea that it nullifies the effectiveness of the film as a whole. I have noticed as of late that there is a growing contingent of critics who believe that if a film does not tick every box in their personal criteria it cannot be labeled a success. This zero-sum approach to media criticism is ultimately detrimental because it creates an environment in which media of value is set up to fail and perpetuates a system in which creator purpose is devalued.

I do not argue against the idea of critiquing a particular piece of media’s shortcomings. That is the bedrock of critique. When a critic says that they feel a piece of writing or a particular film lacks development of certain characters or that the story would be better serviced by an uptick in diversity, those are constructive bits of criticism that can be defended and argued in meaningful ways. What is not helpful are critics who make a declarative statement that a piece of media loses the total of its value because it doesn’t hit a benchmark set by that critic when they sit down to examine that same piece of media.

This is closely tied to my feeling that creator intent is being largely devalued in the modern age. Media must be examined on the terms set by the piece itself, not those which critics draft of their own accord. Whatever rubric that critics utilize to gauge the effectiveness of media should always include the creator’s purpose. If we take the example of Logan then; that Laura exists as a means to engender an arc in Wolverine is perhaps a worthy critique. Perhaps infusing her with a greater sense of internal motivation would enhance the overall narrative. That is indeed a possibility. However, to argue that a secondary character being utilized as a means to push forward the narrative is cause to dismiss the whole of the work is utterly absurd. In this case, the film is titled Logan. All things in the film are generally constructed to give value to his journey. While the film is filled with a cadre of characters, Logan is not necessarily what I would consider an ensemble piece. Not in the same manner that the X-Men films or the Avengers franchise are, anyway. This is not the same as arguing that Black Widow is used largely to further the arc of Bruce Banner in Avengers: Age of Ultron, as part of a team they ostensibly have equal value to the narrative. The difference between the two comes with the intent of narrative delivery. This is something critics need to be mindful of when they approach any given piece of media, lest they risk devaluing their own analysis.

I certainly understand the desire to see problematic elements of media addressed. What I simply cannot understand is casual dismissal of the whole due to a single flaw in its construction. We as consumers of media need to be mindful that authorial intent and creator purpose are still worth examining when engaging with the analysis of media.

High Art In Middling Education

literature

The education world is rife with conflict and disagreement; one need only look at the furor generated by the ideas of our new secretary of education if they need an affirmation of that idea. A debate that seems to rage within the halls of the institutions that I find myself frequenting is whether high school students on their way to a higher education should be required to read classic literature. Some advocates for moving away from literature argue that the relevance of such works is long gone and that it does little to prepare them for whatever challenges university life will bring them. Such arguments find no purchase with one such as I. To the contrary, I believe that lessening the focus on literature does a terrible disservice to young students.Studying literature at the high school level engenders growth in students by pushing the limits of comprehension that otherwise lie idle in complacency and providing cultural context that cannot be gleaned through other means.

The most practical virtue of the study of literature comes from the principle that resistance builds character. High school students will struggle with literature, if well taught. A high school senior will find some difficulty in unpacking the themes and deciphering the meaning of Shakespeare and Chaucer. College students studying in the English discipline struggle with such material. By introducing students to the concept of studying long-form literature at the high school level, educators build skills in much the manner that weight-lifters make gains; by pushing limits.

The central argument that seems to be presented against the teaching of literature is that a majority of students will not continue to study literature at the university level. The belief is that most will not take many English courses beyond the initial requirement of Composition and Rhetoric and therefore there is no impetus to focus on the established canon of literature that has been the backbone of English classrooms since what seems like time immemorial. District experts, at least where I have been an educator, are moving away from literature and focusing on attempting to teach the skill of analysis through excerpts, usually under a page in length. While it is possible to analyze an excerpt, and while there is nothing wrong with this practice on the whole, it also does not address skills that are lost be removing the study of established literature over a prolonged period of time. The time spent poring over the text is, in and of itself, a skill. Remembering the chronology of events, being able to map character relation, comprehension of the progression of the narrative, etc.; these are all skills that are left underdeveloped if replaced by short-form analysis.

If the only argument against the reading of literature were simply that a majority of students will not engage in in-depth study of English at the college level, that would be well and good. The skills necessary for the students who do in fact choose a liberal arts major could, in theory, be honed and perfected through practice at the college level. That flies in the face of the mission statement of high school educators to produce college ready graduates, but if we accept the idea that the study of long-form literature is the purview of upperclassmen in the back half of their undergraduate career, then allowances can be made.

However, that argument does nothing to address the fact that literature is a whetstone on which the sword of the mind can be sharpened. Did you understand that last sentence? It is a metaphor. You likely understood it because an English teacher drilled it into your head. Probably during high school. Page long excerpts can teach the concept of literary devices and, yes, one can analyze them. But it is unlikely, in my humble opinion, that any educator worth their salt would call a one-page excerpt challenging or rigorous to the degree that a developing mind requires. The prolonged study of literature is a study skill that builds academic endurance. Attempting to replicate that skill with truncated excerpts is the same as trying to attain the build of Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson using one pound barbells. It just does not work.

Another element of studying established, classic literature over a substantial period of time that cannot be discounted is the concept of cultural relevance. Advocates for moving away from the study of literature say that the window of relevance for the established canon is passed and our focus going forward should largely be repetition of basic skills utilizing shorter, targeted texts. By doing this, we do a disservice to the students by robbing them of cultural touchstones. When you feed excerpts and short-form literature to high school students what you do is devalue the content of the writing. How can a student reasonably be expected to retain the information and the meaning behind the myriad excerpts they’ve been force-fed over thirty six instructional weeks? Contrast that to teaching four major works each year, wherein they are expected to make connections between them over the course of the instructional year; teaching in this way teaches that what we engage in has value beyond the idea of simply learning a simple skill. Show a student that literature is applicable and they will reap the rewards.

Perhaps I am just a bitter high school teacher, but the arguments for literature far outweigh the arguments against. Those seeking to replace it from the curriculum appear to be reactionary, recoiling in fear from the rising tide of low test scores and declining graduation rates. The solution is not to cut corners. The solution is to stand firm.