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.
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?
Reposted from facebook from a thread about this blog. :)
ReplyDeleteAndy, I don't think it's bad to learn 'poetic terms' for analysing. A lot of people simply have no idea what a simile is or onomatopoeia, or a trope or whatever. Not everyone is going to go on to become great lovers of poetry, but having the tools to break it down and examine it is highly important. It makes poetry understandable, even appreciable, and it leads to different ways of thinking about, interpreting and evaluating concepts and ideas - which, I would argue, is an important reason for studying literature.In some ways, for me it is a bit like learning a language. You need to be given functional language chunks methodically; pieces of language, rehearsed and used in context. To my mind, the modern approach of teaching whole sentences in the hope that students will somehow just 'pick it up' with no context is ridiculous - but I digress.The more tools you have ('clunky' poetry analysis terminology), and with the knowledge to use them, the more you can do. So what's the problem?
Hmm Amanda I guess Andy's worry was that it would all be too much - but then school has always been wide-ranging! I think this is a good thing and students stand to gain a lot. :)
ReplyDeleteIf you're going to teach theory at A level (never mind GCSE) I'd rather start with Feminism, New Historicism or Postcolonialism than blinking Freud...
ReplyDeleteI think there ought to be a requirement to include more women and ethnic minority authors, particularly from overseas. Simply bracketing everything written outside the British Isles as "world literature in English" isn't enough.