Typecasting

One of the major concepts I teach in both English 12 and GT English 9 is the archetypal approach to literature. Although I find it fascinating to trace similar ideas through time, cultures, and literary works, I had never seriously considered how archetypes affect our lives.

Piqued by a momentary curiosity to read about Celtic Mythology, I stumbled upon information about the Morrígan, a Celtic battle goddess who was believed to be comprised of three parts, Nemhain, Macha, and Badb. Instantly a number of triads came to mind: besides the Holy Trinity, there are the brothers Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades who rule the earth, sea, and underworld in Greek Mythology; in terms of psychology, there are groups of threes including Freud's tripartite psyche; the Greeks proclaimed that ethos, pathos, and logos are the three rhetorical appeals that work together to make a sound argument. Jeez, archetypes are everywhere.

Silly me, I should have seen this sooner. Tomorrow I will teach one of my favorite lessons: my GT English 9 students will read the remaining chapters of To Kill a Mockingbird for tomorrow, and we will discuss the archetype of loss of innocence. In addition to discussing the characters in Harper Lee's brilliant novel, class discussion will also call students' attention to other works we have read this year, including A Separate Peace and Lord of the Flies; we will then read an excerpt from the Bible about the original loss of innocence: eating from the tree of knowledge.

What I love most about literature is that although it is fiction, it is real. Archetypes don't magically appear in literature from all cultures and time periods; they reflect the same basic experiences most humans encounter during their lives. One of the things I love most about To Kill a Mockingbird is the narrative: it is so easy for students (and me) to relate to Scout as a narrator. Class discussion often diverts from the literary analysis to personal connections and experiences—everyone knows of a "creepy" house in their neighborhood; everyone has a love-hate relationship with a sibling or cousin; everyone has experienced discrimination. This is what makes Mockingbird such a timeless novel: forty-eight years after its publication, it still tells the tale of childhood and the loss of innocence.

Independent of To Kill a Mockingbird, I relate to many of my students' experiences through my own memories of high school and college. My young age—I'm twenty-five, a scant eight years older than my seniors—can be an advantage when I'm trying to relate to America's youth. Yesterday one of my senior boys (men!) was telling me that now that he is eighteen, he finds himself fighting with his father less often. Acting as a sage, I told him it is common for teenage boys to enter an (almost-Oedipal) power struggle with their fathers that eventually fizzles once the adolescents approach their twenties. As I said it, I recalled my husband's account of conflict with his father (with whom he now has an excellent relationship) and how my twenty-one year old brother is now on much more amicable terms with our father. This is not an amazing coincidence; this is the normal course of a relationship with many teenage boys and their fathers.

The difficult part about teaching archetypes is that they exist in students' lives. (Indeed, I have only recently learned this myself.) Many teenagers believe their situations to be unique, which often leads to trite and clichéd poetry. But they are not unique at all: we have heard it all before. The beauty of it, however, is finding a new way to tell a tale that touches readers with its timelessness.

I can't wait to teach archetypes tomorrow.