I have often mused at what has killed the love of reading for most American high school students. They tell me that they find reading "boring." How can anyone find reading "boring?"
Some of my fondest memories as a child are of my mother reading to me everyday after lunch. We would get onto her bed; I would pick the story; and together we would spend time travelling to far away places filled with adventure. When I entered school, my favorite day was Friday. Weekly Reader was distributed on Fridays, and the entire class would sit in total silence to see what each new week's edition would bring. In the third grade, we were allowed to select and purchase inexpensive paperbacks from some "mail order" company; this continued through the eighth grade, and I can't even imagine the number of books I ordered and read; I was not alone. Every student in our class participated, and we looked with anticipation for the day the books would be delivered. Pardon me, I digress.
What led to so many of my friend's loss of their excitement? Analysis - too much damned analysis. In high school, we dissected more than the fetal pig. We were forced to dissect every article, every poem, and every piece of literature that we read. I often wondered why is was so imperative to know what each author "intended," or what each author was "trying to say," or what literary tools the author used when . . .
I can appreciate a cookie without understanding its chemistry. I can appreciate the internal combustion engine without understanding its workings. I appreciate a Bach toccata and fugue without understanding music theory. Why can't I simply enjoy a piece of literature without some know-it-all language arts teacher's explanation and analysis of the artist's technique? Go teach grammar; and "leave us kids alone!"
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