The unexamined life is not worth reading.
-- Paraphrase of Socrates
I remember a comment one of my student advisees once made when we were discussing summer reading at the beginning of the school year. "Why do we always have to read about poor, underprivileged people?" he asked. It was an interesting observation. Books like When I Was Puerto Rican, Ecology of a Cracker Childhood, or The Color of Water certainly deal with people confronted with financial adversity and other societal challenges; portraying situations and scenarios that, in most cases, are foreign to and out of the realm of experience of the typical independent school student. I replied to the individual who made this remark by asking whether he might be more interested in a steady diet of books about affluent teens living in privileged neighborhoods and attending exclusive college prep schools. As simplistic as this student's observation might appear, it reflects an attitude that I seem to encounter more and more frequently.
Should books be mirrors or microscopes?
When you hold up a book and peer into it, do you always want to see your own reflection staring back at you, your own version of reality, a microcosm of your world, characters who speak your language in your register, and exhibit your mannerisms, in short, a confirmation of your values and beliefs? Or, when you hold up a book and look into it, are you willing to use it as a microscope to investigate people and situations different from your own, to see alternate world views, perhaps even to challenge your political and moral being?
According to the American Library Association's Office of Intellectual Freedom, among the most frequently challenged books of 2001 were Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck for offensive language; I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou for sexual content, racism, offensive language, and violence; and the anonymously written Go Ask Alice for sexual explicitness and offensive language . [1]
These books, all of which were published more than thirty years ago (Of Mice and Men was published more than sixty years ago), appear year after year on high school syllabi and recommended reading lists. The objections to these books seem to stem in large part from the fact that the characters and scenarios are perceived to be an affront to the sensibilities of today's students and their families. The individuals portrayed in these books probably don't come from our neighborhoods or look or sound like us. Might this not be the very reason that teachers choose these titles year after year? Not only are they books with proven literary merit, but they also provide teachers and students with a forum to discuss sensitive and important life issues in a mature, structured way before they graduate from high school. As a librarian and a parent, I understand the value of presenting such books to students, even though some of the language and situations depicted in these books may appear harsh, even to me. In an educational context, thorny life issues such as drug abuse, euthanasia, and childhood violence can be handled sensitively. Great literature has never been just mere entertainment. Great literature often assumes a didactic role in exposing readers to some of life's great problems--war, social injustice, religious strife, and human foibles.
Teachers frequently serve as chaperones and leaders on field trips and travel abroad. While our primarily responsibility in these situations is to guarantee the safety or our charges, we also want to encourage them to move beyond their comfort zone. Whether accompanying them on a trip to Italy or taking them to a concert downtown, we want them to be open-minded and try something new. In a foreign country, we would probably discourage them from making a beeline to the familiarity of a Pizza Hut or a McDonald's or calling a culture primitive because the locals don't serve their drinks ice-cold. We would probably choose to take our students to a symphony by Berlioz rather than a pop concert. Our goal in these situations is to give students the opportunity to experience and perhaps even appreciate something that is new to them (even "foreign"), rather than comfort them with the familiar.
Outside of travel, I think books represent one of the most powerful vehicles to experience different cultures, experiences, and points of view. Books allow one to become an armchair tourist, traversing time and space. With books we are able to "witness" the trials and suffering of the inhabitants of a 17th century plague village in England with Geraldine Brooks' Year of Miracles ; understand a mother's anguished desperation in confronting the certainty of her children's return to slavery in Nobel prize-winning author Toni Morrison's Beloved; glimpse Brunelleschi's genius and the bravado of the Italian Renaissance as the citizens of Florence attempted to top their cathedral with the world's largest masonry dome in Ross King's nonfiction work Brunelleschi's Dome; follow an American Civil War soldier on his homeward journey in Charles Frazier's Cold Mountain; or experience the frenzied evacuation of Dunkirk during World War II in Ian McEwan's Atonement.
Books, both fiction and nonfiction, make it possible for one to step outside of the familiar, to delve temporarily into another reality while deepening one's understanding of a historical time or social norm far removed from one's own. With travel and with books, I think that our role when exposed to new and different situations must initially be one of impartial observer, a diplomat who accepts new experiences with patience and aplomb and does not jump to conclusions when a new situation does not automatically conform to his established realm of experience.
I imagine that when we read books we probably need both mirrors and microscopes. Certainly there are times when all we want to do is read a book that is nostalgic, contains similar characters to ourselves, or reaffirms our worldview. I think, however, that literature in education excels when it challenges assumptions, helping students to become more intellectually discriminating, morally astute, and sensitive of other lifestyles and experiences. Let good literature speak for itself. We will all be the better for it.
Notes
1. The Most Frequently Challenged Books of 2001. 21 August 2002. American Library Association. 3 Sept. 2002.