Dear Amazon.com Customer,
We've noticed that customers who have expressed interest in Wuthering Heights have also ordered Thunderbolt P-47s Over Europe Deluxe Edition on DVD. For this reason, you might like to know that Thunderbolt P-47s Over Europe Deluxe Edition is now available on DVD.
(OK, this makes a little bit of sense out of it. But only a little:
Filmed in Technicolor, Thunderbolt was the last of Major William Wyler's wartime directorial efforts on behalf of the US Army Air Corps. As in his previous WW2 documentaries, Wyler himself participated in the mission that he depicts herein on film... Adding poignancy to the film is the knowledge that several of the extremely young American participants, here shown smiling and waving at the camera, did not survive the battle. --Hal Erickson, New York Times)
Monday, February 26, 2007
Sad Books
SuperBowl Sunday. We're sitting on the couch, nine-year-old Nick between Mark and me. I'm knitting, Nick is reading; only Mark is giving his full attention to the game. At some point, I look over Nick's shoulder and see the arresting illustration from Bridge to Terabithia: a silhouette of Jess's father holding his shattered son, who has just learned of his best friend's death. I put my arm around Nick.
"It's sad there, isn't it?"
read the rest over at LiteraryMama.com
"It's sad there, isn't it?"
read the rest over at LiteraryMama.com
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Fear of Failure
I broke two boards in my tae kwon do test yesterday (green belt!): one with the palm of my hand, another with my elbow. I didn't expect to break them. I knew I could break one with a kick--my legs are pretty strong--but I didn't think my upper body strength could match that.
I also thought that, because I didn't think I could break a board, I wouldn't be able to. Self-fulfilling prophecy and all. But in fact it was easy; I broke each one on the first try.
I think the reason it worked had almost nothing to do with strength, and nothing at all to do with confidence. I broke them because I wasn't afraid of failing to break them.
I'm not afraid of failing at tae kwon do. This is a new experience for me. I like to do things well, and I mostly don't do stuff that I don't do well, or at least well enough for my standards (they are lower in many things--say, cleaning?--than others). I know what it is to fear failure, in other words. But I practice tae kwon do because it's fun, it's good exercise, and it's a way of doing something with Nick, and I don't worry a whole lot about being really good. The teacher is very kind, and he makes it easy not to worry about failing, too--although he corrects me (often!), he does so after praising me, after telling me what I did right. I messed up my patterns (memorized sequences of movements) in my test yesterday, adding extraneous moves to even the most basic one, stalling for a moment in both of the others--and he just had me do them again. Calmly, easily. And I did them fine the second time, and then I broke the boards. No sweat.
The flip side of my success yesterday is another experience, though. I've been grading papers this past week. I have good students this semester, for the most part: they have taken English classes before, they like to read, they contribute well to discussion. And many of their papers were really quite good. The ones that weren't, though, seemed to suffer not from an inability to read the poems, or to analyze them, but from a fear of getting something wrong. They were too cautious, too plodding, too slow; they said little that was right, for fear of saying something that was wrong. They spent four sentences where one would do, trying to "prove" an idea that was apparent at first glance. They made obvious (and, mostly, perfectly accurate) points, but didn't take any chances, go out on any limbs, to make more interesting claims, to push their arguments a little further.*
These aren't bad students, as I said. But their caution weakens their writing.
So, a paradox: I succeed by not fearing failure; they fail to succeed (by their terms--we're talking B- and C+ papers here, mostly) by fearing to fail. They wouldn't say they fear failure, of course, so much as they desire success. But the paradox is clear, at least to me: the desire to avoid failure prevents success. They need to be able to take a risk, to flirt with failure, in order to achieve.
How can I get them not to fear failure, though? Nothing's riding on my tae kwon do class, after all; if I don't progress, it's my problem and my problem alone. If they fail English (or even get a B, some of them), they stay in school longer, or don't get into grad school, or disappoint their parents, or don't get the job they want...etc. It's hard to convince them that it's worth taking a risk when they think the stakes are so high--and when, to be honest, they don't really know how to take those risks.
I've got my work cut out for me.
*One of the poems they could write about was Browning's "Andrea del Sarto," which is all about this. In class, almost no one got that the poem's subtitle--"called, the faultless painter"--represents a criticism, not a compliment. Andrea is good at what he does, but he doesn't try to do anything harder or more interesting; he knows that's not quite enough, but he's afraid to take risks, and that makes him "faultless" but not, as he recognizes, great. The essays about this poem were particularly weak, now that I think about it. Hmm.
I also thought that, because I didn't think I could break a board, I wouldn't be able to. Self-fulfilling prophecy and all. But in fact it was easy; I broke each one on the first try.
I think the reason it worked had almost nothing to do with strength, and nothing at all to do with confidence. I broke them because I wasn't afraid of failing to break them.
I'm not afraid of failing at tae kwon do. This is a new experience for me. I like to do things well, and I mostly don't do stuff that I don't do well, or at least well enough for my standards (they are lower in many things--say, cleaning?--than others). I know what it is to fear failure, in other words. But I practice tae kwon do because it's fun, it's good exercise, and it's a way of doing something with Nick, and I don't worry a whole lot about being really good. The teacher is very kind, and he makes it easy not to worry about failing, too--although he corrects me (often!), he does so after praising me, after telling me what I did right. I messed up my patterns (memorized sequences of movements) in my test yesterday, adding extraneous moves to even the most basic one, stalling for a moment in both of the others--and he just had me do them again. Calmly, easily. And I did them fine the second time, and then I broke the boards. No sweat.
The flip side of my success yesterday is another experience, though. I've been grading papers this past week. I have good students this semester, for the most part: they have taken English classes before, they like to read, they contribute well to discussion. And many of their papers were really quite good. The ones that weren't, though, seemed to suffer not from an inability to read the poems, or to analyze them, but from a fear of getting something wrong. They were too cautious, too plodding, too slow; they said little that was right, for fear of saying something that was wrong. They spent four sentences where one would do, trying to "prove" an idea that was apparent at first glance. They made obvious (and, mostly, perfectly accurate) points, but didn't take any chances, go out on any limbs, to make more interesting claims, to push their arguments a little further.*
These aren't bad students, as I said. But their caution weakens their writing.
So, a paradox: I succeed by not fearing failure; they fail to succeed (by their terms--we're talking B- and C+ papers here, mostly) by fearing to fail. They wouldn't say they fear failure, of course, so much as they desire success. But the paradox is clear, at least to me: the desire to avoid failure prevents success. They need to be able to take a risk, to flirt with failure, in order to achieve.
How can I get them not to fear failure, though? Nothing's riding on my tae kwon do class, after all; if I don't progress, it's my problem and my problem alone. If they fail English (or even get a B, some of them), they stay in school longer, or don't get into grad school, or disappoint their parents, or don't get the job they want...etc. It's hard to convince them that it's worth taking a risk when they think the stakes are so high--and when, to be honest, they don't really know how to take those risks.
I've got my work cut out for me.
*One of the poems they could write about was Browning's "Andrea del Sarto," which is all about this. In class, almost no one got that the poem's subtitle--"called, the faultless painter"--represents a criticism, not a compliment. Andrea is good at what he does, but he doesn't try to do anything harder or more interesting; he knows that's not quite enough, but he's afraid to take risks, and that makes him "faultless" but not, as he recognizes, great. The essays about this poem were particularly weak, now that I think about it. Hmm.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Happy Birthday, Cat in the Hat
We're long past the Dr. Seuss years, but I think I can still recite several of his books from memory. We read them that often, and they're really that good.
And now, if you wish the Cat a happy birthday, Random House will send a free book to First Book, a literacy organization. Go do it!
And now, if you wish the Cat a happy birthday, Random House will send a free book to First Book, a literacy organization. Go do it!
Monday, February 19, 2007
libraries, censorship, and the Newbery
You already know about The Higher Power of Lucky and how it uses a big bad word on page one, thereby sneaking nastiness into the minds of impressionable youth. So all I'm doing here is pointing you to some of the best responses to the kerfuffle.
Here's the NYTimes' silly report on it.
Roger Sutton notes that parents aren't always the best folks to monitor kids' reading.
Scott Westerfield is sorry he wasn't informed of the scrotum-sneaking children’s literature conspiracies.
Justine Larbalestier is sceptical of the claim that children's authors are trying to offend us.
Monica Edinger gives us a teacher's viewpoint on what kinds of things are hard to read aloud, and why.
J.L. Bell feels lucky, and has a lot more links.
And, for the record, the librarian quoted at the end of the NYTimes piece as saying that “But you won’t find men’s genitalia in quality literature . . . At least not for children” saves herself a tiny bit with that final qualification, but still misses the boat: the genitalia in question belong to a dog.
Here's the NYTimes' silly report on it.
Roger Sutton notes that parents aren't always the best folks to monitor kids' reading.
Scott Westerfield is sorry he wasn't informed of the scrotum-sneaking children’s literature conspiracies.
Justine Larbalestier is sceptical of the claim that children's authors are trying to offend us.
Monica Edinger gives us a teacher's viewpoint on what kinds of things are hard to read aloud, and why.
J.L. Bell feels lucky, and has a lot more links.
And, for the record, the librarian quoted at the end of the NYTimes piece as saying that “But you won’t find men’s genitalia in quality literature . . . At least not for children” saves herself a tiny bit with that final qualification, but still misses the boat: the genitalia in question belong to a dog.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
something to read
I got lots of great birthday presents this year, but right now this is the one I'm spending a little time with:
Sarah Kinson interviews Philip Pullman
Sarah Kinson interviews Philip Pullman
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