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There Is a “Darned” Thing Wrong with Reading the Wrong Books
This “freecard” (a free postcard distributed by businesses and companies as advertising) from the days when Tower Records was a going concern is rich in many ways.
The Catholic Church has been notorious, among people who think for themselves, for ruling certain books off limits. And, unrelated to Catholicism, but certainly in bed with it, are all manner of censors (religious and non-religious) on the political right (and, yes, on the “cultural” left) and the general blockheadism (to borrow a word from Carlyle) of the general public that foists its laziness and timidity and cowardice and reactionary politics and leftist ideologies in the form of “judgments” onto all manner of classic pieces of writing as well as contemporary work that should win their serious attention if not approval.
In the freecard above, we see, from left to right, mom (with her traditional concern for family), sister (with her devotion to love stories and “’hit’ movies,” not art house films, mind you, but movies that have pleased the masses), brother (who, as a young male is expected to get a rise out of mystery and adventure), and dad (who must be concerned with economic value, not value in a larger sense, but merely the economic side).
Of course, the person who created this freecard for Tower Records may well be reading Sartre’s Nausea when he or she isn’t creating visual concepts for money, and the old-school visual and phrases such as “mighty satisfying” and “top notch” may well imply a tongue-in-cheek criticism of such philistine values; but the fact is that Tower Records wanted to move books. (“Hey, hipsters, pick up a couple of CDs and then wander back to our poetry shelf where we represent poets 'all the way from' Kerouac to Burroughs to Morrison [yes, with all the great poets to choose from, they offered up Jim Morrison as a poet].”)
Reading, as many believe and as the mom in the freecard suggests, is merely a pastime. The truth, though this fact is known by far too few, is this: the reading of literature that challenges the reader is a primary means for transformation of the self. That the masses don’t know this concept of reading is not news. May they come to know this through education. That far too many students supposedly educated in universities do not understand this is a travesty. May their grades reflect their philistinism. And may these graduates not carry their philistine values into “education” as teachers themselves.
Popular books that are easy to read and far below the “grade level” of university students should be left behind. More challenging fare (as well as more entertaining fare) is available, and the professors are available who want to teach such works. The university student who wants to teach seventh grade English (and a noble goal that is) should not be reading every book that’s popular with seventh graders. Those seventh graders should be transformed by the reading they’ll do. University students who will become teachers must transform themselves first through quality reading in order to turn to others and help them do something beyond learning how to read a TV Guide or the latest “it” book as judged by the masses who haven’t read much and when they have read a few books haven’t read much that’s worth reading.
If the following ad for a “book” makes you want to throw up, you might want to consider working toward obtaining a teaching position. You’re needed.
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I published the following short humor piece in Willamette Week (Portland, Oregon): vol. 22, no.7, Dec 20-Dec. 26, 1995, pp. 38-39.
Please Send Me One Dollar
This was my original plan. I would take out an ad in a major newspaper requesting that readers send me money. I would tell, in the ad, what the ad had cost me, and I would predict that I would come out ahead because people would admire my having taken the risk.
But I don't have enough cash for an ad in a major newspaper. Still, I want to pan for gold, to wildcat for oil. So I've written this short essay which I hope will provide some justifications for my appeal, and I've received a little money for it instead of spending money for an ad. That part of my plan has changed, but you can still participate in the bonanza I had in mind from the very beginning.
I am a professor of English in Oregon where I am doing my best, like T. S. Eliot, to purify the dialect of the tribe, where I'm engaging students in talk about Becoming as I explain what Keats meant by "negative capability." I've dedicated myself to what Camus called the "forces of dialogue." Like Martin Luther King, Jr., I believe in "constructive, nonviolent tension which is necessary for growth," and I believe that creative tension is often best produced through the literature I assign my students. And I have spent years writing my own work--critical and creative. These activities, however, do not pull in the big dough.
Now many people I know get tips in their line of work. Cabbies, hair stylists, street musicians, cocktail waitresses, letter carriers during the holiday season. What's my gratuity, my bonus, for dragging someone up and out of Plato's cave? Resentment from a student who earns a C- instead of an A+? My desire for greater financial remuneration isn't just selfishness on my part, really. I want to have ample financial resources so that my wife and sons and I can travel. Why shouldn't I ask for my abundant recompense? Those 900 numbers are bringing in oodles of money. Are those payments commensurate with the services provided? On a more positive note, think of all the people in business who have made mounds of moola because they had one good idea that met a need. Well, here's my one shot.
Beyond the problem of low salaries in my field, compared to other professions that demand an equivalent amount of post-graduate study, the work I do is often lonely work. It's prep, grade, prep, grade, prep, grade. What I need to know is that this work is respected, appreciated. And what better proof could there be in our culture of your respect and appreciation than your contribution of an almighty dollar bill? (Let's face it--you've tipped more for bad service in a restaurant!) Imagine this: I arrive at my office after a long night of grading, my eyes burning and my right hand still twitching from writer's cramp, and I find my mailbox stuffed with envelopes from near and far, each with a dollar bill in it. There's no need for you to write a thing. In fact, please don't. I see truckloads of writing as it is.
Look, I could compose an article asking for a million dollars, and all I would have to do would be to convince one multi-billionaire to fork it over. What I really want, what I so desperately need, is the approbation of one or two million of my fellow human beings who, in a profound and selfless gesture of goodwill, say, with each contribution, "Yes, Doyle. Thanks for all you're doing. You're the backbone of civilization. We wish you the best."
We English professors know that our colleagues in the business department often make lucrative deals off campus as consultants for companies. That's fine. But what reward do we in literature get for our published poems and stories and personal essays and critical articles? The supermarket won't swap me a box of cereal for one of the complimentary copies I receive of a literary magazine in which I've published a poem titled "A Little Life Every Day." I pointed out two errors on signs inside the local Safeway this past year--"Do" instead of "Due" and "Your" instead of "You're"--and all I got was a stare.
Be a part of something historic. I feel a groundswell of generosity. I could make the Guinness Book of Records with this one essay: MOST MONEY EVER EARNED FOR A SHORT HUMOR PIECE. This might be my one chance to whip Norman Mailer, make his huge advances for big books look puny next to my take for this short essay. And you can be part of this record-breaking event, just like the many people who worked to make a two-ton carrot cake or a tortilla the size of Amarillo.
Here's my address (please copy it correctly on your envelopes):
Professor Doyle Wesley Walls
Department of English -- UC Box A-142
Pacific University
Forest Grove, Oregon 97116-1797
U.S.A.
I recommend that you send your dollar in an envelope people can't see through. Please, don't expect any reply from me. I hope to be too busy. If I receive checks, I'll try to remember to write "Thanks!" under my signature.
I hear America (and the world!) rattling envelopes and crisp dollar bills even now. This sound is applause for my initiative, hoorays for my chutzpah.
Tomorrow, in "Introduction to Literature," we discuss Hamlet. When I speak the words "outrageous fortune" aloud, I'll be thinking of you and my dream that is now in your hands.
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John Updike is now dead at the age of 76. He was a great writer who should have received the Nobel Prize for Literature.
Posted at 12:59 PM in Academe, Art, Books, Education, Recommended Reading, Writers | Permalink | TrackBack (0)
A Structurally-Sound Theme Is like a Hamburger with Everything on It
Doyle W. Walls
Lisa opened the door of Frank's Smokehouse and looked inside. I motioned to her and moved away from the table where I sat with my colleagues. Lisa's mornings were filled with classes; her afternoons, with work. Something had to be done about her structureless themes. I spread out Lisa's four themes on the table in front of us. On each paper I had praised her for content, yet the content was not organized. Lisa decided to skip lunch despite my concern for her health. I am glad I did not skip lunch that day. When Frank called my number, I picked up my charcoal-broiled, double-meat hamburger with everything on it. While I was explaining theme structure to Lisa in an abstract way and taking bites from my hamburger, I realized that I was overlooking, or better yet looking over, a concrete simile. A hamburger cooked the way I like it has many similarities to the basic theme structure that I ask of my students. With the pedagogical approach presented in this essay, I have helped freshmen and sophomores replace chaos with clarity in their writing. I teach my students how to structure themes, something they seem to know little about, by lecturing to them concerning something they know everything about, the basic hamburger: meat, buns, and trimmings.
The most important part of the theme is the meat. One must first check the freezer to see if he has meat, extra lean meat. Without meat, one has no theme. I tell my students that their content is what I am after. Their eternal question concerning content and style is irrelevant. Because I am concerned with their ideas, I must necessarily be concerned with the effective presentation of those ideas. I hate to assign a writing topic only to see someone take out a clean sheet of paper, write his complete heading, write his title, write his first few sentences, and then sit and stare into space for twenty minutes. This student started without thinking, without checking to see if he had anything to write about. He, like Lisa, might well have flashes of excellent content; but the content will be obscured by disorganization, and some of the best points the student has to offer may never reach the paper. Set the meat out to thaw. Thawing time is thinking time.
When the meat has thawed, one can arrange the meat into separate patties. These patties are the body paragraphs. The meat patties are manageable parts. A letter to the editor might need only one or two meat patties. A paper on Ancient History, e.g., a paper on the Beatles, might naturally divide into four meat patties. I recommend three meat patties as a rule in order to insure development of an idea, but I am flexible on this point. The content should determine the number of body paragraphs needed. If a student finds that he consistently writes a body paragraph that is weak, he should return to the thawing stage and check his categories for division. A hamburger without symmetrical meat patties will not stack up. The meat patties in a hamburger-theme should be well done. A half-broiled idea is no better than a half-baked idea. A "rare" idea is something most of us admire. But in hamburger-theme terminology, "rare" means that the body paragraphs have not been thought through; "rare" meat patties have not been tested in the fire by the writer. A paragraph that has not been criticized by its own writer will not be tough enough to keep from crumbling during the teacher's inspection.
Preparing the buns, i.e., the introduction and conclusion, is step number two when the student is writing a hamburger-theme. Although the top bun comes before the meat in the hamburger-theme, it is important to remind the student that the top bun and the bottom bun are one set. A student can not write an introduction before he knows what the meat of his essay will be. The buns, albeit a part of the hamburger, are made of entirely different ingredients than the meat; therefore, the buns have an entirely different function. By this point in the lecture, I have already drawn three symmetrical, horizontal meat patties on the board. I then draw the buns on the board, but I draw the top bun on the bottom and vice versa. The students quickly correct my mistake, and I make them tell me that there is a difference that anyone can see between a top and bottom bun.
Similarly, the two parts of bread in the hamburger-theme have separate, recognizable functions. The top bun, when placed on top of the meat patties while they are kept warm, emits an aroma that can make one leave his study and walk into the kitchen. I tell my students that my research in the library (so I lie a little) has led me to believe that the very top of the top bun is that portion which sends out the aroma which in turn makes me more amenable to consuming the entire hamburger even if I had not wanted a hamburger in the first place. As an example of aroma, I refer to the beginning of class when I pulled out my handkerchief and stuffed the top of it inside the front of my collar and told the students to shut their books and forget about English because I wanted to speak about a favorite topic of mine, food. (This method of capturing the student's attention works well, especially around the noon hour.) The bottom bun is similar to the top bun, so the similarity should be made apparent in a hamburger-theme. If one opens his paper with a fish image, I ask to see that fish reappear in the conclusion. I like continuity. I also like mustard, an ingredient of paramount importance to the buns on a hamburger-theme. The mustard should appear twice: at the bottom of the top bun (thesis statement) and at the top of the bottom bun (restatement of thesis statement). The tangy taste of mustard, unlike many sauces often used on hamburgers, is immediately recognizable. The thesis statement and the restatement of the thesis statement should be just as apparent.
The last step in preparing the hamburger-theme is the trimmings. Although the appearance of a multitude of "minor" errors can fail a paper, the trimmings do not bear so much on whether or not the grade for the paper is pass or fail; but the trimmings do separate the average paper from the "B" and "A" papers. The onions, pickles, tomatoes, and lettuce are the fine details which enhance the basic structure of the hamburger. Washing the fine details is a method of omitting that which does not belong. The trimmings should be used in moderation. One should not spend too much time on a small detail just as one should not place an entire head of lettuce between two meat patties. Teaching the student to add the trimmings last and use them sparingly will help the student, especially when he is writing under pressure, e.g., in-class themes or essay tests. I have mentioned the four trimmings that are most commonly found on a hamburger. Each semester I have to set my students straight concerning what I do not want on hamburger-themes. First, I do not want cheese. When my students mention cheese as a trimming, I remind them that the assignment was to make a hamburger, not a cheeseburger. One should always follow the assignment. Second, I do not want to see anyone's "special" sauce. On one occasion I made the mistake of ordering a hamburger with "special" sauce. I had no idea what I was eating. "Special" sauce is unintelligible, incoherent. I will have nothing in my hamburger that is incomprehensible, and I will not have any such goop in an essay. The warnings I give concerning cheese and "special" sauce help remind the student that he should be writing with an audience in mind and that while he knows what it is that he is writing about, he should make what he knows clear for the reader.
The three parts of a common hamburger--meat, buns, and trimmings--have provided me with the simplest and most effective simile I have found for teaching my students how to structure a theme. After I had finished my hamburger and my impromptu lecture to Lisa during that noon hour in the Smokehouse, I asked Lisa two questions. If I had taken my hamburger to Frank with instructions to run the entire hamburger through the meat grinder, would the nutrition of that which came through the meat grinder be the same as the structured hamburger? Lisa said it would. Would I have eaten all that came out of the meat grinder? Lisa said I probably would not have eaten over a bite or two. Lisa saw the connection I was making between the nutritionally-sound, yet unstructured and consequently unappetizing hamburger-in-a-cup and her own thoughtful, yet weakly-structured essays. Lisa explained that it was the organization of the ingredients that made me consume the entire hamburger. In short order, Lisa's themes were structured and clear. Incidentally, Frank's Smokehouse burned down a few months after Lisa and I discussed her themes there; but Frank's Food Factory, at a new location, is thriving to this day because Frank remembered the same basic structure of a hamburger and never deviated from it.
Exercise Exchange: A Journal for Teachers of English in High Schools and Colleges, vol. 26, no. 1, fall 1981, pp. 26-28.
I take the following straight from andrewsullivan.theatlantic.com/the_daily_dish for October 11, 2008 (Sullivan himself is recommended reading):
Sullivan quotes Theodore Dalrymple on apology projection:
The False Apology Syndrome flourishes wherever there has been a shift in the traditional locus of moral concern. At one time, a man probably felt most morally responsible for his own actions. He was adjudged (and judged himself) good or bad by how he conducted himself toward those in his immediate circle. From its center rippled circles of ever-decreasing moral concern, of which he was also increasingly ignorant. Now, however, it is the other way round. Under the influence of the media of mass communication and the spread of sociological ways of thinking, a man is most likely to judge himself and others by the opinions he and they hold on political, social, and economic questions that are far distant from his immediate circle. A man may be an irresponsible father, but that is more than compensated for by his deep concern about global warming, or foreign policy, or the food situation in Africa.
I appreciate the way Dalrymple isolates and damns the phony here. The first time I saw this idea was in a poet's book of prose on poetry. If only I could remember which poet and give credit. Marvin Bell? Philip Levine? Louis Simpson?
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My essay titled "How Will You Go to College?" appeared as guest commentary on irascibleprofessor.com on October 25, 2008.
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Check out the article here. And note the link to a blog post near the top of the article.
Oh some scholars are mighty upset now! Kafka can think and write about many subjects, and those subjects, dark as they are, can, oddly, be very comforting to those of us who have found our comfort spot in Kafka's darkness. But watch out: there might be some other kind of "dark" we haven't made peace with; "our" Kafka might just be someone we have to accept as a real human being, not merely "our" plaything or mouthpiece.