So it just sorta dawned on me that I haven't posted anything in a couple of weeks. That's not because nothing's been happening--it's more that I've been totally preoccupied with work for the last three weeks. And that's not all bad. So as part of our first-year student program, we assign a common reading assignment for all first-year students to do over the summer (we're not supposed to call them Freshmen anymore, in case you are wondering). So I'd volunteered to be on the committee to choose the reading for this summer. Hey, I read; I review books; I work with literaure. This seemed to make sense. Additionally, I'm one of many faculty members who will have to work with the students using the book in question. So I'm not sure where the various nominations came from--mostly from other faculty members, I think. Anyway, I was assigned to read three books in order to give my opinion, input, whatever. Well, I felt like the proverbial stick in the mud, because I absolutely hated all three.
First, we had
Three Cups of Tea. This was the work that originally I was most excited about. It's the account of one man, Greg Mortensen, who has built a number of schools, particularly for females, in Pakistan. I'd heared Mortensen on NPR, and his story is interesting and inspiring. In many ways, he's simply an ordinary man who has accomplished remarkable things. Well, I just hated the book. It's written by a ghost writer, not Mortensen himself, and it's just not very well written. I'd much preferred to hear Mortensen's own story, first-hand, in the first person. But what really bugged me--and apparently noone else on the committee sees it this way--is that the work feels like it's just trying too hard to be inpsirational. I hate that. I've realized through this process that too often what other people perceive as deep and meaningful and moving, I just see as contrived and maudline. I like a well-told story, and I like when it's a poingnant story, but don't hit me over the head with how meaningful and deep it's all supposed to be. I mean, it seems to me that NPR's This American Life does this great job of simply telling a story and allowing the meaningful, inspirational bits to emerge, or not. That's what I want. I recently saw Garrison Keillor--he does that kind of thing well too.
Next, I was supposed to read Randy Pausch's
The Last Lecture. This one I'd also heard about on NPR. Apparently, it's the hot thing to read in some circles right now. Basically, Pausch is dying (of cancer, I think) and he gives a lecure or series of lectures in which he reflects on his life, on following one's dreams, that kind of thing. This work is adapted from his lectures. Apparently, you can see Pausch on YouTube, if you are so inclined. Again, there's something overly sentimental about the dying guy giving us his last reflections. I feel bad writing this, which illustrated part of my objection about this book, at least for our FYS program: I mean, it's really hard to have a critical conversation about the ideas of the dead guy, you know? We all feel bad that this man had to die in the prime of life, that his wife and children are living without him--this is sad, and we feel for these people. And that makes it really difficult to say that we find what he has to say irrelevant or frivilous or just plain wrong. We're reluctant to be critical about the dead guy. I might also add that, again, this feels like a work that being inspirational in a way that's just too much--even the format of the book screams, "Hey, here's a work that'll move you."
I was also assigned to read
Loung Ung's First They Killed My Father: A Daughter of Cambodia Remembers. This, as the title would suggest, is a kind of memoir by a young woman, a refugee from Cambodia, who lost many, many family members. Come to think of it, I've also heard Ung on NPR, talking about another book of hers. This one was written entirely in present tense, which kinda annoyed me. I honestly didn't read much of it, as it simply felt too depressing. I mean, I tend to be depressed anyway, and it just felt like whatever payoff I'd get wasn't worth the depression it seemed to be feeding, you know? Again, I'm sure that Ung has an absolutely remarkable and maybe even inspiring story to tell. But it just didn't feel appropriate for our program.
OK, so on Wednesday, the committee met to choose a book. I was pleased to discover that I wasn't the only one who really didn't feel enthused about any of the options--and there were others on the table. The three listed above are just the three that I happened to be working with. Many of my colleagues did like Three Cups of Tea, and I think that it got more positive feedback than any of the others. But ultimately, we decided that we'd like to consider more options. This is good in that I thought all the options were pretty crappy; this is bad in that it means more reading of things I might not really want to read (see below.) I promptly suggested anything by Jon Krakauer, preferably
Into Thin Air, which I absolutely love. I also suggested Gregory Maguire's
Wicked, another favorite of mine. I've used both successfully with first-year students, I should add. (Side bar: OK, Cheri, I know you thought Wicked was disturbing, and it is. I think it's supposed to be. But I still think it's really, really wonderful, though not at all like the musical.)
Anyhow (this is turning into a long post!), many on the committee also thought that Daniel Quinn's
Ishmael was a good option for our program. I'd never read it before, but it is a work that you see all the time on lists of life-changing works. Honestly, I'd been avoiding Ishmael for the last 10 years or so. I've known of colleagues who use it in class, often with Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintainence, and somehow I've had the impression that both are works that appeal to former hippies and maybe not the rest of us. But the dean was saying that students find Ishmael really moving and all that, so I decided that it was time to read it. So here's my quickie overview: it's written much like a Platonic dialogue. You have the student and the teacher talking back and forth, asking and answering questions about philosophical matters. There's very, very little plot and lots of talk about ideas. I don't necessarily love this set-up--I find it rather tedious (I'd rather just read an essay) but it could have been OK. What really killed it for me is this: the teacher-figure is a 500-pound, thinking, telepathic gorilla. Apparently, when he was younger he learned to understand English, tried to learn to speak but doesn't have the necessarly apparatus. So he learns to communicate telepathically. I'm not making this up, but it sounds ridiculous, I know. In fact, as a way to frame the story, the discussion it IS ridiculous. I just couldn't take it seriously. Really. And as the book progressed, I kept thinking that there would be this big revleation at the end, something that would really hit me, you know? And yes, there were big ideas, possibly life-changing ideas, that come up, but none of it felt particularly fresh, or insightful, or new, or even all that compelling to me. Again, maybe I just can't swallow the whole telepathic gorilla, Ishmael, sending us all brainwaves to communicated his profound insights. Annoying. The work was only published in 1992, but it felt oddly dated to me. I cannot, in good conscience, support this as something we compell our incoming students to read.
I don't know where to go from here--can't we all read Umberto Eco or C.S. Lewis and be done with it? All this, combined with students who keep saying that they just don't "get" The Wind in the Willows, has made it a frustrating week. I totally feel like I need some make-up therapy or to at least indulge in a book that I actually like.
