The Strength of the Canon

Recently I stumbled upon the Top 100 Best Sellers for Kindle. Among the inevitable pop fiction, romance novels, and self-help texts were nestled classics: Jane Eyre, Les Misérables, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, Wuthering Heights. I have no doubt that the cost of classics (free!) has contributed to their high sales—and I recognize that downloading a book is not equated to reading a book. But I still find this a cause for optimism.

There's also this, an article discussing some publishers' attempts to re-brand classics for the young adult audience. Why not? The stories are engaging if the reader is receptive to them. (Any veteran teacher knows this.) And despite the adage warning us not to judge books by their covers, we can't help ourselves. It only make sense to be sure the cover best reflects the novel and appeals to its target audience.

Take, for example, the redesigned cover of Jane Eyre for young adults. It portrays the heroine as whimsical, strong, edgy:

And compare that cover with the Barnes and Noble edition: 

The sober countenance hardly reflects Jane's character, and the cover doesn't intimate the delight a reader will find in the pages that follow. The cover art outdated, but the novel is not.

The canon endures because the texts are universal. The accessibility of classics—as free editions and as appealing texts to young adults—will, I hope, warm another generation to the great works of literature.

There Will Be Grit

An oyster needs a speck of grit to make a pearl.

It's no secret that this blog has been largely neglected for the past four years. During that time, I've taught college writing—and, despite the nationwide handwriting over the state of students' literacy, I didn't feel the compulsion to write under the veil of my pseudonym. There was no grit.

But suddenly I find myself preparing to teach high school English once again—and I find myself compelled to blog. Let me explain.

About two months ago, we relocated to southern Florida for my husband's career. Five months of job applications to college, universities, public schools, private schools, and charter schools yielded two interviews: one with a public high school in an up-and-coming (read: crummy) district, and another with a college preparatory school. I only attended the latter, and I accepted a teaching position there. I won't be teaching college, but surely this is the next best thing.

I've spent the past few weeks reading and planning for the coming school year, and I'm genuinely excited for the new challenges I'll face.

Except.

Except that some of the emails I've received from the department chair have me reaching for the Alka Seltzer. She uses cautionary phrases such as "I don't want any repercussions," "Work with the other teachers so the kids don't teacher shop," "A differentiation is fine, but a large discrepancy asks for trouble," and passing references to parents' happiness (and thus silence).

Plop plop, fizz fizz.

I had almost forgotten that my reputation doesn't precede me here, that students aren't forewarned when registering for my classes, that these parents are likely to earn the moniker of "helicopter parents."

I had almost forgotten that I'll be doing much more than teaching. I'll also be blogging.