Tunneling to the Center of the Earth

Generally, I dislike writing these book reviews, but I do it because I think it is good for me (keeps my lit analysis skillz in shape, a little at least), but I’m actually excited about this one because I am so excited to tell you about this awesome book!

It is a collection of short stories called Tunneling to the Center of the Earth by Kevin Wilson.  I believe this is his first published book.   These eleven stories are about loneliness, the struggles of coming of age, and love.  Thematically (and perhaps a bit stylistically) they remind me of the stories in Winesburg, Ohio by Sherwood Anderson, which is officially one of my favorite books.  (In fact, in the bonus features of this book, Wilson cites an Anderson story as the inspiration for one of his own and he is quoted in one of the epigraphs of the book, which I’ll talk about in a minute.)  Most of these stories are a fascinating mix of the realistic and the just slightly absurd.  Absurd enough to make it fun and unique and humorous, but realistic enough for the stories to resonate.   Some of the story endings in this book are hopeful, some calmly sad, and some ambigeuous.

While not all of the stories have the fantastic element that I mentioned above, my two favorites did.  “Blowing up on the Spot” is about a man whose job is to collect the Qs in a Scrabble tile factory and whose parents spontaneously combusted on the subway.  He fears spontaneously combusting himself, and also worries for his younger brother, who has been suicidal since their parents’ death.  “The Choir Director Affair (The Baby’s Teeth)” is the story of a man’s affair, intertwined with the main character’s fascination for the man’s son, a baby with a premature full set of teeth.  And, if that wasn’t enough, the story is successfully narrated in the second person point of view. Whoa.  I was amazed.   The underlying seriousness of issues like suicide and adultry are skillfully mixed with the strange story elements, making for unpredictable and enjoyable reads.

One last thing: usually I’m not impressed by epigraphs in books because I don’t often see the connection to the story and because I don’t really like quotes, but the two that Wilson chose for this book of stories perfectly encompassed Wilson’s writing, I thought.

There’s nothing in this warm, vegetal dusk that is not beautiful or that will last. “Tropical Courtyard” by Joe Bolton

One hopes for so much from a chicken and is so dreadfully disillusioned. “The Egg” by Sherwood Anderson

Though I liked some more than others, there wasn’t a story in the book that I disliked.  I will definitely keep an eye out for whatever Kevin Wilson writes next.  I’m so excited about the possiblity of this author.   If he keeps it up, he will definitely be a new favorite of mine.  Best book I’ve read this year!

The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks

I picked up the Young Adult literature book The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks by E. Lockhart at the library this summer after hearing about it on NPR. 

The story’s protagonist is Frankie, a sophomore at the prestigious Alabaster Preparatory Academy, who has grown curves over the summer and has thus secured Matthew Livingston, a popular senior, as her new boyfriend.  Frankie soon finds out that Matthew is a member of the Loyal Order of the Basset Hounds, an all-male secret society that has been a tradition at the school since 1951.  Frankie is annoyed that 1) Matthew keeps ditching her for the society 2) the society is gender exclusive  and 3) the current members of the society are not clever enough to plan any good pranks, so she takes to spying on the society and eventually infiltrating it.  We know from the beginning that she gets caught, but have to read all the way through to find out the specifics of the pranks she references at the beginning (”the Library Lady,” “the Doggies in the Window,” and “the abduction of the Guppy” to name a few.) 

Frankie’s character is smart, creative, and self-aware, while still holding some of the insecurities of the typical teenage girl.  For example, she acknowledges early on that her boyfriend does not appreciate her for who she really is, but still revels in the security and popularity that her boyfriend brings.  Frankie is a good YA lit heroine, but because of the narration of the book, you don’t feel like you know her incredibly well.  She is a bit too unflappable for my tastes. 

One feature of YA books that I often enjoy is when the author takes a little time out of the story to teach the reader something that is relevant to the plot.  The Series of Unfortunate Events books do this all the time–the narrator will use a word that is perhaps a bit above the level of the children reading it and will then cleverly define it.  In The Disreputable History,Frankie learns (and thus the narrator gets to tell us) about the panopticon, a French prison design by a philosopher which allowed the guard to look at all the prisoners at once, without the the prisoner knowing whether or not they actually were being watched, thus minimizing the amount of watching that actually needed to happen.  The author then connects this to how we often self-govern as a result of a societal norms, creating a sort of social panopticon.  This all connects to the plot a Frankie decides to break the panopticon “rules” of both Alabaster security and of her social group.  Interesting. 

The other cute “learning” element of this book is Frankie’s clever and humorous use of what she calls the “neglected positive.” I’ll let the book explain it:

The neglected positive of immaculate is maculate, meaning morally blemished or stained.  The neglected positive of insufferable is sufferable–meaning bearable–though no one ever uses it.

Other times, the neglected positive is nota word.  It is then an imaginary neglected positive, or INP (inpea)…Some inpeas:…Petuous, meaning careful.  Ept, meaning competent, from inept.  Turbed, meaning relaxed and comfortable, from disturbed. 

 After the narrator takes the time to explain this to us, Frankie uses these terms without further comment, and sometimes you have to look twice to figure out what she means.  While I have to laugh at how the author clearly adds stuff like this because she loves words a little too much, it is a nice addition for both style and character.

This book has a very clear social message–more so than many YA Lit books.  But, like much YA Lit, it is not subtle in its communication of said message.  From the book’s last page:

It is better to be alone, she figures, than to be with someone who can’t see who you are.  It is better to lead than to follow.  It is better to speak up than stay silent.  It is better to open doors than to shut them on people. 

In context, that quote is not quite as cloying as it sounds, but it is still a little much.  Throughout the book, Frankie points out not only blatant sexism, but also a problem that is probably much more common among the tween and teenage girls who might read this book–having a boyfriend or a social group that underestimates your worth and appreciates you for “eye candy” value only.  While this message is overly obvious in the book, it is a solid and uniquely presented one.  Overall, this is a light and entertaining book and certainly worth the short amount of time it takes to read.

Last Exit to Brooklyn

I picked up Last Exit to Brooklyn by Hubert Selby Jr. in college, most likely at the Brown Deer Salvation Army for $0.33, (I miss you Brown Deer Salvation Army!  I love you!), most likely because of the blurb on the back cover:

Last Exit to Brooklynwas found obscene at the Old Bailey in November 1967, a decision which was reversed by a historic Appeal Court judgement in July, 1968.  Now, ‘this honest and terrible book’ as Anthony Burgess describes it in his introduction to this edition, can take its rightful place as one of the major books of our time.

The book is a collection of vignettes of various length about working class people in the projects and tough streets of New York City.  In reference to that “obscene” ruling, it contains quite a bit of profanity, drug use, graphic descriptions of violence and graphic-er (yes) descriptions of  both homosexual and heterosexual activity.  Also, it leaves out all the apostrophes (insert audible gasp here). 

Seriously though, I found all the “obscenity” in Last Exitappropriate because it didn’t overwhelm the characters or the themes.  It is not sex or violence for the shock value.  It is part of a plot that proves a point.  (Tangentially, the only author I’ve found to go way too far in this area is Bret Easton Ellis, author of Less Than Zero and American Psycho.  The amount of sexual violence in AP made it unreadable, in my opinion.)    

It’s been awhile since I’ve indulged my love for modernist themes in literature and this book served to remind me how much I love stories of regular lives, filled with loneliness and alienation.   A perfect example of this is a story I taught while student teaching–The Far and the Nearby Thomas Wolfe.  (If you are actually going to click that link and read the story, don’t read the rest of this paragraph until you do.  Spoiler alert!)  It’s a very short story about a train conductor who passes the same town everyday for years, and daily exchanges waves with a woman and her daughter who grows into a women herself over the train conductor’s years of service.  The conductor can’t wait to retire and go see these women and this town close-up.  But when he does, the woman is old and bitter and he is left confused and disillusioned, realizing that the town he ”knew” is nothing like he imagined it, and he can never have that perfect picture back again.  Despite my penchant for being a fairly optimistic, cheery person, I love the how depressing this story is. Stories of disillusionment and despair tend to resonate with me.  (For more depressing, Holly-approved stories, check out “Bliss” by Katherine Mansfield and “The Story of an Hour” by Kate Chopin.)

Anyway, I like Last Exitfor its modern themes. These people’s lives suck.  Georgette is in love with Vinnie, who plays her and doesn’t love her back.  Tralala is  drug-addicted prostitute.  Harry is a secretly gay union worker whom no one likes.  Etc.  Their lives are repetitious and painful to watch.  There are no happy endings.  In fact, this book is filled with rather disturbing endings.

There were a couple elements of the book that threw me more than any of the “obscenity”, but upon further reflection, I think I understand why Selby wrote this way.  First of all, many of the homosexual males in the book have female names and are referred to as “she.”  To be clear, these are not transgendered characters.  Because of this, it was disorienting and hard to picture the characters correctly.  Much of the book is written with the bias of chauvinist male characters, and these characters devalue women throughout.  Perhaps Selby referred to the gay men as “she”  to show a similar devaluing of homosexual men in the eyes of the other men.  Also, Harry, the union work who discovers he is gay, is uncomfortable with his sexuality and might find safety in referring to these men in feminine terms. 

The other element that seemed offensive on first reading was the last section of the book , which portrays several husbands who range from lazy to abusive to philandering while their wives do all the housework, childcare, and provide the income.  In each case, the men have no respect or appreciation for their wives.  These men are horrible, and while their wives despise them, several of the wives are still sexually desirous of them.  That made me totally mad–it seemed like a stereotype of women that was coming from the author, not from that chauvinist male voice.  But overall I don’t think Selby is sexist, I think he is pointing out the irony of the husbands’ perspectives–they are looking elsewhere for gratification, while their wives are desperate to be fulfilled.  Desperation reigns throughout, in fact.  It is sad.

I think this book is important because of its focus on alienated, powerless, hurting people–those dismissed because their addictions or illness, those who are underestimated or stereotyped, those who are desperate for a different life.  Like many of my favorite books, Last Exit is character-driven.  These alienated, powerless people are given complex voices, and though often what they choose to say and think and do is not pretty or positive, it is real and human, and the voices, no matter how horrible, cannot be ignored.

Blue Shoe

You might very well already know that Anne Lamott is one of my favorite authors.  I’ve read all of her books of essays about faith, and the one about writing, and now two of her novels.  Her memoirs are insightful, provocative, and hilarious. (See my reflection on one here.)   Her novels, while they don’t live up to her non-fiction, are still quite well-written.

Blue Shoe is about Mattie, a 30-something, divorced mom of two who is struggling with her mother’s declining health, her dead father’s sordid past, her ex-husband’s new wife and baby, and her crush on a married man, among other things.  It’s a story of everyday things, really, though there’s a bit of romance thrown in.  The ending is hopeful, but not unrealistic.

The first thing I noticed as I began Blue Shoe was all the similarities to Lamott’s own life.   The other novel I’ve read, Rosie, also had a lot of autobiographical elements.  At first this annoyed me, but now I’m not as sure that it’s a problem.  (You’re supposed to write what you know, right?  It worked for Anne of Green Gables.)   Like Lamott, Mattie is a single mom, a Californian, a Christian, and has a strong circle of support that includes both family and friends who are as close as family.  Like Lamott, Mattie lives a messy life with a roller coaster of emotions.  Perhaps it is these similarities to Lamott’s own life that makes the book feel quite intimate much of the time.  For example, another struggle in the book is the decline  and eventual death of the family dog, Marjorie.  The moments as the children slide under the bed to lie next to her, as the dog passes horrible gas, and as the family gathers around her and the vet puts her to sleep, are so simple and sad that I imagine Lamott must have experienced this event too.

The other element that makes the book feel intimate is Lamott’s unique choices of imagery.  Her descriptions are just not quite like any others .  She can make normal things seem totally horrible or totally glorious in just a sentence or two.  See for yourself:

Totally Horrible: (Describing the scene at a nursing home):  “So Mattie and the children wandered the halls and worriedly watched the old people do things nice old people were not supposed to do–play with food, moan, gape at things that weren’t there.  Grandparents were supposed to have looks of tender appreciation on their faces when they saw children; these people wore rubber Halloween masks of insanity and vacancy, their eyes rolling and weepy, their tongues thrusting, their fingers of bone.”

Totally Glorious: (Describing an old woman): “She looked like an ancient Russian nun, all wrinkles and creases, spokes emanating from around her mouth like sun rays, deep dark eyes hidden by folds of skin.  Half of her face was in light, the other mostly in shadow, which created a sense of rest: without the shadow you wouldn’t have seen the shape, the landscape of her face.”

Also, Anne Lamott has this thing for ”smell” imagery.  I remember this was the case in Rosie too.   She just mentions the smell of things in her descriptions a lot–Mattie’s children’s heads, an old woman’s apartment, an empty room– and it sticks out to me.  Not a bad or good thing, just unique.

In comparison to her non-fiction, Lamott’s novels suffer from a lack of humor.  The witty, self-depreceting humor in her non-fiction is absolutely crucial.  I miss it here.  The book is very rarely funny or even light-hearted.  Sure, Mattie is dealing with all those aforementioned problems, but so is Lamott in her non-fiction, and she still uses humor all the time.  I would really like to see what Lamott could do if she made a great departure from the fiction she’s written so far, and wrote a novel in the humorous vein of her non-fiction.

Until she does that or publishes a new book of non-fiction, or until I have a kid and it is time to read Operating Instructions: A Journal of My Son’s First Year, I might be taking a break from Anne Lamott.  But I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: if you haven’t read Travelling Mercies, take a break from whatever you are doing and read it right now.  (Especially if you are Jack and you have my copy.  No, I don’t want it back.  I want you to read it.)

Iodine and A Girl Named Zippy

I was introduced to author Haven Kimmel over spring break, when I went to hear Augusten Burroughs (Running with Scissors) in conversation with her at the Carolina Theater.  Kimmel (who lives in Durham) and Burroughs are good friends and their unique connection made for a hilarious and intimate experience.  Mostly, though, I was struck by Kimmel’s (to put it simply)…weirdness.  Quirky, offbeat statements are what she’s made of, and that mixed with a strange wit, a huge appetite for research, a Quaker upbringing, and an insatiable need to write make for a very interesting, unique lady.  She came across as a little bit crazy, and I mean that in an entirely good way.

 So, I decided to read something she’s written.  I started with Iodine because Augusten Burroughs said during the conversation that it is the best thing she’s written.  (It is also the most recent.)  Iodine is a novel about a female college student with an assumed name who lives a secret life as a squatter after running away from an abusive mother and the father that she is in love with (yes…that kind of love) but who refused her advances (It’s not at all as provocative as it sounds).  Her real name is Trace but her name at college is Ianthe, and it is Ianthe who falls in love with her professor and begins a relationship with him.  In the meantime, Trace is unpacking the psychological damage caused by her abusive upbringing.   

 I was unprepared for how confusing this book was going to be.  It switches back and forth between Trace’s diary/dream and memory journal in first person narration, and third person narration following Trace/Ianthe.  Though I teach my students to question the veracity of first person narrators, I forgot to follow my own advice, and it took me about halfway through the book to realize I couldn’t trust anything Trace was saying.  She’s a bit crazy and her memories are all jumbled and repressed.  Once I figured that out, the book made more sense.   Still though, I didn’t love it.  The characters felt distant, the romance strange, and the story unfailingly dark and heavy.  It’s not a bad book; I just didn’t connect with it.  Perhaps if I had more experience with psychological distress?  Not that I’m asking for it.

 Iodine was so weird that I wasn’t sure it accurately represented Haven Kimmel’s work, so I decided to try again.  I decided it was sign from Heaven (not really) when I found A Girl Named Zippy at a thrift store for 50 cents on the same day I finished Iodine.  Zippy is Kimmel’s memoir of her childhood in tiny Mooreland, Indiana.  It was less strange, less heavy, more humorous, and much more enjoyable.  Kimmel narrates her memories in first person, looking back on her childhood, but preserving much of the voice of an naive child.  It is a mostly lighthearted story that still touches on some of the imperfections and problems in her town and her family. Kimmel comes across as a extroverted, mischievous and accepting child.  She, happily, does not comment on the impact or importance of her experiences, but lets her memories speak for themselves.  It is an often funny and sometimes touching book, the way a childhood memoir should be. 

If you want to check out Haven Kimmel, start with A Girl Named Zippy.

Dear Prudence

Pru coming home from Greyhound Friends.

Prudence Wakefield, my sweet and beautiful first dog, died May 31, 2009 of heatstroke.   Here is a dog obituary and memorial, of sorts. 

Prudence was born on May 4, 2003, bred for racing in West Virginia.  Her race name was Value Plays.  That name makes no sense; we realize this.  She raced until she was 4 or so, and won 15 out of 131 races.  Check out her stats and pedigree here (Please note that her father and grandfather were the same dog.  We think this may account for her lack of genius). 

First day as Prudence.

We met Pru at Greyhound Friends of North Carolina in February 2008, only a day or two after she arrived at the kennel.  We picked her out because she was sweet and calm.  Her first name of course, comes from my favorite Beatles song.  Her unofficial last name, Wakefield, is an homage to Jessica and Elizabeth Wakefield of the Sweet Valley High series.  She was sometimes dubbed, among other things, Prudie Pie, Sweetie Pru, Pru Face, Pork-a-Pru, Prudential, and Prudical the Musical. 

Christmas Pru.

Prudence came home with us on February 16, 2008.  She was unbelievably shy in the beginning, and never really required correction.  In fact, she did something mischievous so rarely that when she did, we usually laughed in amazement rather than scolding her.  She remained the sweetest, calmest dog I’ve ever met until the end, but eventually developed some definite personality. 

Pru cuddling with Oliver.

Chillin in the yard.

Seemed like Saturday mornings were her favorites, with both of us home and the promise of a long morning walk looming.  When we would both appear in the living room, she would crouch into play mode and spin in circles, occasionally letting out an involuntary bark, which usually seemed to surprise her.  Prudence barely ever barked, but when she was excited we would sometimes bark at her until she barked back. 

Lucy sits on Pru. Pru exercises her favorite emotion: indifference

Prudence didn’t show affection too readily, but in recent months I felt like she loved us a little more than before.  When we petted her, she would lean into us and rest her head on our knees.  She also had a penchant for licking our toes with a rather disturbingly sensual concentration.  Of course, she looked the same way when she licked the hardwood floor. 

Friends and noses.

Prudence spent most of her time on her pillow looking innocent, but she was a secret wildlife assassin.  In the backyard, she caught and killed the following, in this order, with a combination of stalking and bursts of speed: mouse, bird, squirrel.  At the beach with the Jordan family last summer, we spent a night pointing out crabs and letting her chase and bark at them.  She finally caught and chomped a little one.  It was a great source of entertainment for both her and us.

Pru:1 Crab: 0

Prudence went through obedience school in Spring 2008, but she was pretty hopeless.  Not only could I not get her to sit, neither could the very experienced teachers.  Eventually I got her to sit and down on the living room rug, but only when hot dog was present.  And she never really seemed to learn the difference between sit and down; the presence of hot dog would just cause her to do one or the other until she was rewarded.

It was her indifference that made her the victim of such things.

The rare upside down sleeping pose, making her look more like a space creature than usual.

There were many signs that our sweet Pru was not the brightest crayon in the box, but our favorite was the night that she returned to the back door happily…with her own poop smeared on her shoulder (and nowhere else). It’s hard to picture a scenario in which this could have happened, but she managed it.

Pru in the Illinois snow.

Happy dog.

On the other hand, Pru could be sneaky. Generally, she could be trusted to leave our food well enough alone, even if we ate it while sitting on the living room floor, right in front of her face. One evening we hosted our church small group and Pru lay on her pillow as we prayed.  Slowly, she inched her way off the pillow, into the middle of our circle, and just close enough to an abandoned plate to snatch a piece of bread off of it, all as we prayed.  We never saw it coming.

Pretty dog.

Wet and clean dog.

 Pru’s least favorite things: the door of the TV cabinet, baths, eating on time, the Farmer’s Market, carrots,  socks on her nose.  Pru’s favorite things: Hot dogs, expensive cheese, chewing up Nick’s empty Lactaid packets, gently chomping her toys, running figure 8s, the moment right before it was time to open the door and go for a walk, the beach, Nick, Dave and Jenna, Lucy’s house, walking between two people, stealing socks, sleeping, being scratched on the neck.

Emerald Isle, March 2008

Prudence, we are picturing you dancing around on your hind legs in Dog Heaven.  Thanks for adding so much happiness to our lives.

There’s Nothing New Under the Sun

I was reminded of Walk It Out” –a song that will forever remind me of the good parts of my first year of teaching–last week when my fourth period planning buddies and I were gathered in Bryan’s room and some random YouTube was had. 

It started when Bryan alerted us to the newest dance craze, the “Stanky Legg.”  (I am not lying.)  Not only does this dance have the worst name of all time, it appears to also be the worst dance of all time, in that it really does not seem to be much of a dance at all.  (I challenge you to watch all 4:18 of this video…I’ve not done it.)  Doesn’t one have to wonder how this idea was thought up?  (”Oohh…great idea brah!  The Stanky Legg!  With two “g”s!  You kinda twist your leg(g?) around like this…”)

Which then brought us to the much more entertaining dance craze of 2006, which my students begged to teach me many a time.

Which brought us to what might be my favorite viral video of all time, which I first posted a couple years ago.  This video never fails to make me LOL, as they say.

Which brought us to the original version–the song Bob Fosse actually meant to choreograph.  Less entertaining, but does remind me of my childhood watching Lawrence Welk reruns on PBS. 

Which reminded me of the fact that Beyonce recently confirmed that her “Single Ladies” dance was inspired by Bob Fosse.

CLICK HERE (Beyonce has disabled embedding.)

Isn’t pop culture amazing?

P.S.  I feel like Tasersedge with this post of a billion somewhat-related videos in a row.

P.P.S.  I wish I could dance.  I’ve even been practicing the Stanky Legg.

Some Inspiration for Teacher Appreciation Week

Stolen from Alexis’s Facebook.

Waiting: The True Confessions of a Waitress

Unlike some people in my family, when I buy books at a place that books are cheap, I am typically quite selective.  (Case in point: A couple of years ago at the library book sale, I picked out exactly one book, while some people brought home two grocery bags full.)  Perhaps this selectivity is actually a result of the excesses of some people, or perhaps it is because at this point in my life I only want to buy books that I think I will actually read (unlike some people).  Anyway, a year or two ago, I picked up Waiting: The True Confessions of a Waitress by Debra Ginsberg at a thrift store.  At the end of Spring Break,  I pulled it off the shelf.

The book is a memoir of a college-educated woman who has waited tables for twenty or so years.  She details her experiences at several different restaurants, introduces many of the characters and friends she worked with, waxes poetic about various elements of serving and being served, and weaves in her tale of single motherhood. 

I picked it up because he “behind-the-scenes” viewpoint sounded interesting.  Unfortunately, it wasn’t.  This book was all-around not very good.  I was not impressed with Ginsberg’s writing.  First of all, any “interesting” stories were hindered by Ginsberg’s attempts to add significance to every chapter.  I didn’t need to read maudlin reflections on every single thing.  It was even predictable: last page of the chapter=annoying reflection part.  She was taking herself way too seriously.

My other major grievance also had to do with the writing.  Ginsberg uses so many qualifiers and it makes her writing weak.  I’m always telling my students not to do what she does here.  “In my opinion…” ”perhaps…” “in my mind…”  Look, writer, I’m relying on you to be the expert.  Please don’t add shadows of doubt to everything you say.  Overall, Ginsberg’s writing is sloppy, loose, and random.  All this might be overlooked if I was learning anything of value.  But that wasn’t happening either.  I’m not even sure why I read this whole book, except that by the time I realized the book wasn’t getting better, I was halfway done and it wasn’t really much effort to finish. 

A bit of positivity–after reading the book’s 300 pages, I am more aware of a couple of things: servers’ utter reliance and focus on tips, and the stereotypes surrounding waitresses.  Slightly intriguing, but not worth a whole book.

I’ve decided the one draw of waiting tables is the amount of money it provides relative to the amount of time one has to work.  This was reinforced by the book and by the drunk guy talking to the cute girl on the Duke bus Wednesday night.  Ginsberg found herself drawn back to waiting repeatedly because it allowed her to make enough money to support herself and her son while still being able to spend quite a bit of time with him.  She even quit a much more prestigious editing job for this reason.  The drunk guy told the girl, a Duke student, that he doesn’t go to school–he waits tables at night and spends the days “painting and smoking weed.”  He professed it was a pretty good life.  After some days of teaching (just some!), I would agree.  Although I would replace “painting and smoking weed” with “reading and going to Scrap Exchange.” 

Anyway, back to the point.  This book will be back at the thrift store shortly, if anyone wants it.

Testing My Resolve

I think standardized tests are crap. They shouldn’t matter. I don’t want my teaching to have to cater to a standardized test in any way. I believe in accountability for teachers and students but I don’t believe in accountability that crushes students and teachers while providing useless data.

But guess what–they do matter. This is my third year teaching English I, which has an End-of-Course test that must be passed before students graduate. My students’ lives are severely complicated when they cannot pass this test. There is often a palpable sense of despair in the air of my room on testing days, which happen three times a semester (two benchmark practice exams and the real EOC). I am doing my students a disservice if I do not give them information and knowledge that will make them more confident about and better prepared for the test.

So for much of the semester, we spend 15-30 minutes out of a 90 minute class period doing test prep. Not only do we cover test material (particularly the grammar section), we discuss and practice test-taking tips that these students never learned and don’t do naturally–reading the questions first, highlighting important info, starting with the hardest part of the test, using process of elimination, etc. We set class goals and individual goals. We discuss benchmark results. I offer incentives for individual and group growth. All this with the hope that on test days, students will attack the test with confidence, will focus and try hard, and will exhibit growth–not necessarily growth to the point of passing, but growth. Any growth. To psyche myself up for this test prep, I must believe that it will work. I must force myself to believe–so that my students can believe–that this practice will make a difference on their EOC score.

Today is a test day. One fourth of my standard class is not here to take the test. At least two of those students are wandering the halls. One student who passed the last benchmark has fallen asleep and refuses to revive and do more work. The same is true of another student who didn’t pass the first benchmark but who is surely capable. One student who has literally not been in my class since the first day of the semester is here to take the test. One student has been staring at the same page for 20 minutes with no change. One student refused to take the test for the first 15 minutes, then randomly bubbled some answers. Perhaps half the class is following the tips we discussed.

This test day is just one more that makes that forced belief come crashing down. Our test prep will not make a perceivable difference. I am disappointed once again. And really, all along, I have thought that standardized tests are crap.

P.S.  Thanks for reading my rant.  I’ll feel fine again tomorrow, lest you think I am down in the dumps.