English literature: why not the basics?

The revised GCSE English syllabus is to include two Shakespearian plays, some Romantic poetry, a nineteenth-century novel, First World War poetry, and examples (but not extracts!) of post-1918 British fiction, poetry or drama, and of world literature in English. There’s also to be a more thorough grounding in grammar, vocabulary, and writing style. This is a good thing.

So is the focus on literary texts instead of literary theory. A first-year undergraduate student tells me that his school taught Freudian theory at English literature GCSE and again at A-level. Playing spot-the-phallic symbol might achieve a point or two, but — pardon the pun — it’s not hard. Some students may be advanced enough early enough to benefit from dream theory and psychoanalysis; but if many arrive at university unable to evaluate what a text is about, to articulate clearly what it’s doing and how it’s doing it, what’s the use of being able to spout second-hand speculations about the author’s subconscious? It isn’t worth a thing next to the ability to grasp meaning, motivation and method effectively; to construct a logical argument from well-selected points and evidence; to create a coherent, comprehensive and comprehensible piece of work, carefully spellchecked and proofread to remove inanities, inconsistencies and contradictions. Whether the student hopes to walk an academic or  a vocational path after school, these skills will be crucial; employers care about application, accuracy and attention to detail, not half-understood Freud and Jung.

School is the place to learn the basics: a solid grounding in reading, interpretation and comprehension; in communicating thoughts as well and as clearly as possible. School is the place to learn to name and recognize the parts of speech and the basic literary and poetic methods; to discover how to organize an essay or a report sensibly; to acquire a work ethic. School is the place to lay down the footings of adult competence and confidence. It’s a vital mission: the absolute prerequisite, the sine qua non. There is never again the time, the place, the opportunity to construct this foundation, the base on which everything else will rest.

Why, then, do so many English teachers apparently feel it’s not worth doing or even that it’s not their job?

English Literature: the edited highlights?

There are ‘fears that many children are currently able to complete GCSEs in English without reading whole books — particularly those written prior to 1900 — while focusing on small “extracts” of Shakespearian plays’ (Graeme Paton, ‘More Shakespeare in “toughened up” English GCSEs’, Daily Telegraph, 8 February, 2013).

Last year I took part in a university open day, giving A-level students an overview of core and optional English literature modules on English joint honours courses.

When I’d given the students some basics on first-year modules, I invited questions. One young woman immediately put her hand up.

‘Can I ask,’ she said, ‘do the modules cover the whole text or extracts?’

Surprised at the question, I said, ‘Whole texts.’ The young woman looked rather disconcerted.

I took a few more questions, then told the students about some of the modules on offer at honours level. Again I asked if anyone had questions; the same young woman raised her hand.

‘What about the texts on the courses for second and third year students?’ she asked. ‘Do you study extracts for these, or are they complete books too?’

Still puzzled, I said, ‘Whole books.’ The young woman seemed no happier at this answer than at my previous response.

I wondered then, and have wondered many times since, why someone who apparently didn’t like or want to read was applying for a joint honours degree involving a minimum of fifty per cent study of literature, a subject which patently demands extensive reading; and why on earth she thought that excerpts might be used instead of complete texts. Until today, I had no idea that a school might attempt to teach literature via extracts. Adding this new information to last year’s knowledge, and seasoning the mixture with a little cynicism, I’d say it seems likely that this method is not confined to GCSE.

Amazon tastes Nectar no more

I’m still taken aback by Nectar’s sudden parting of the ways from Amazon. Amazon’s website gives no reason at all, but simply reports the fact. Nectar, however, seems to be claiming the responsibility for the decision:

We are constantly growing and developing the Nectar programme to ensure that we provide collectors with a spread of opportunities through which to collect and spend their points. On occasion, when we add a new partnership, we review existing relationships with companies that operate similar businesses.

So far, so reasonable; yet none of the partner members listed by Nectar as alternatives sells books:

The good news is that you can still collect Nectar points through eShops at over 500 online brands such as ASOS, Next, Debenhams, Argos, Apple, Currys and hundreds more!

I contacted Nectar about this, and received a commendably quick response. Unfortunately, it merely introduced me to the existence of abebooks.co.uk and, from the information supplied, it was clear that I, as a long-standing customer, know more than Nectar about how abebooks works.

I replied pointing out that this was not an equivalent outlet, since abebooks

• is not a retailer, selling direct to customers, but rather provides a portal for individual booksellers;
• costs more in terms of postage, as each item bought attracts a postage fee, unless there’s a promotion running;
• largely features secondhand books;
• does not have an extensive range of audiobooks (which I buy a lot since my aunt went blind);
• does not offer any ‘Look Inside function’ for books.

I’ve yet to receive an answer to that email.

It’s up to Nectar to select its partner outlets for the points scheme, of course, but this feels strange. Perhaps the decision is really due to Nectar wishing to distance itself from a company implicated in tax avoidance; but, if this is the case, why not say so? (Unless taking the moral high ground might come back to bite Nectar…) To state that there are other partner members that ‘operate similar businesses’ is both unsatisfying and disingenuous.

Perhaps it’s simply a coincidence that Sainsbury’s now sells ebooks…

Computerized medical records

I had a doctor’s appointment this morning to organize some repeat prescriptions that I hadn’t been able to order online. It turned out the practice had a new computer system. Though many details had been ported across accurately, several pieces of information were missing or incorrect. In this case, I couldn’t order repeat prescriptions because the system showed the previous issue date as 30 January 2013. This, it transpired, was when my records had been ported in.

(I’ve been through this before. When my previous practice first computerized its records, much of the information held in the physical files wasn’t transferred. In my case, and my mother’s, this meant jettisoning the complete list of medication known to produce an allergic reaction. Since both my parents were allergy-prone, I started collecting allergies early in childhood; and over the years they have increased in number considerably. I was reasonably clear on the drugs that had demonstrated their hostility to me in adulthood, but not all those that had been noted on my medical records when I was a child. Having the information on the records was useful; it meant that doctors didn’t have to rely on my memory: they could see which drugs weren’t going to work for me, thereby saving me a greater or lesser amount of unpleasantness, and saving the NHS money. I’ve never understood why this transfer to the computerized system wasn’t announced in advance, so patients had the opportunity to obtain such crucial information before it was lost forever. If the drug-allergy information was important enough to write on my file in the first place, when and why did it stop mattering? A related question: why does no doctor or nurse ever read the ‘latex allergy’ warning written in huge red letters on the cover of my hospital records? They ask unexpected questions, and while I'm racking my brain for the response, they pull on the Wrong Colour Gloves, and then I'm in trouble for not telling them in time…)

Back to this morning. Because my current doctor’s system no longer showed that I had undergone an annual medication review in September, I had to have my blood pressure and weight taken, and then I had to answer the standard questions doctors are required to ask, seemingly at every consultation, on smoking (the system no longer registered that I gave up last year), drinking (somehow I still managed to be lectured, even though, in an attempt to lose weight, I had halved my intake to a maximum of four units a week), eating habits (somewhat curtailed: see drinking, above) and exercise (another lecture… If exercise gave me the endorphin hit everyone promises, keeping up the gym visits would be easier; sadly, it never does and never has. I’ve yet to find a doctor who can explain this to me).

Then the doctor started on the computerized prescription routine. As I watched her open each medication record individually, make changes to the date, and then hit OK, I couldn’t help thinking that, overall, the appointment hadn’t made best use of her highly-trained (and thus expensive) time. The vast majority of the appointment involved the doctor typing in blood pressure and weight figures, asking simple questions from onscreen prompts (‘Do you smoke?… When did you give up? … How many did you used to smoke per day? … How many units of alcohol per week?’ ‘Dunno, but I drink four glasses of wine’) and entering the answers, and inputting dates and other non-specialist data into the system.

No medical training is needed for this. It cannot be cost-efficient for fully qualified doctors to perform tasks that could be done by less highly trained, and cheaper, staff. Hospitals use a combination of nurses and administrators to gather and record preliminary information before the patient sees a doctor. Such functions could be carried out by nurses and administrators in general practice too, freeing up doctors’ time for tasks requiring their expertise. A practice with a do-it-yourself blood pressure machine could free up the nurses’ time for something more vital, too.

All this took at least 10 minutes. My surgery has several large notices stating that a patient should only raise one issue or problem per appointment. This isn’t rare: several people I know tell me their surgeries operate this rule, and some even impose a time limit. A quick trawl with a search engine shows that many surgeries’ websites operate a similar system. Twice, a doctor has politely remonstrated with me for bringing two — brief, and once, so I thought, related — problems in; so I know they are serious about it.*
 

I was, therefore, more than a little puzzled by what happened next. My doctor finished updating the records and clicked the onscreen button to send the prescriptions to the printer. At this point, a large pop-up box appeared on the screen. The doctor told me that it was a reminder saying, in effect: ask the patient if there’s anything else you can help with — thus completely conflicting with the well-publicized and apparently strict only-one-problem-per-appointment rule.

I'm not sure this new system has been well thought through…

* In November 2011, the NHS reported that doctors in general practice spend an average of 8–10 minutes with each patient; two months earlier, Dr Roger Henderson had suggested that the average is 7 minutes. A new survey is due later this year.

Prostate Cancer - still no screening

Cancer Research UK states that prostate cancer is projected to become the most common cancer by 2030. It’s uncommon in younger men, but ‘the incidence rates rise sharply from around age 50-54’. The NHS says that it ‘can usually be cured if it is treated in its early stages’ — so why is there still no national screening programme for men aged 50+?

 

Link: Prostate Cancer UK, Sledgehammer Fund

Married Couple's Allowance: archaic and unjust

The reported dismay over the government’s plan not to resurrect Married Couple’s Allowance  (MCA) in the imminent budget is puzzling.

Feminists in the UK argued long and hard for married women to be treated independently from their husbands, instead of being viewed as dependents — equivalent to children — even if they earned their own income. Until MCA was finally abolished in 1990, a wife’s income was treated as her spouse's for tax purposes, and reported on his tax return, leaving her no financial privacy from her husband, although he could keep his personal finances secret from her if he so chose. Quite apart from being demeaning, the system was open to abuse by a profligate partner.

While far from ideal, MCA made some sense when married women were expected to give up paid employment on marriage to focus instead on bearing and raising children, and were thus dependent — like children — on their husbands. MCA made less and less sense as more and more wives and mothers stayed in work.

MCA was replaced in 2000 by credits related to children: these were intended to offset some of the expenditure involved in bringing up children, while all working-age adults had a basic Personal Tax Allowance unaffected by their marital status.

In a society that entitles both men and women to work, and to be treated as independent adults in tax law, it seems pointless and unjust to return to an archaic system of tax allowances based on the formal union of two people (whatever their gender), and which thus penalizes adults outside that category, as well as the children of adults who may be unmarried for a variety of reasons, including widowhood and divorce.