"The Reading Wars," P. David Pearson

Jason suggested doing a post on the different perspectives in reading education, which immediately made me think about P. David Pearson.  Last semester, I read an article that he coauthored with Alan Schoenfeld, "The Reading and Math Wars" (and highlighted basically the entire thing), but I suspected that he had an article only on reading that would be better for this purpose (which he does).  I also went to go hear his distinguished lecture at AERA, "The History of Reading Comprehension."  Plus, he was the discussant at one of David Gamson and David Baker's sessions, and he asked to borrow my program to look something up (!!).  Clearly, we are like bffs.  So I will use his "The Readings Wars" article and the crumpled, handwritten notes I took on a Sheraton notepad during his lecture to write this post.  :o)

First of all, you guys should all read this article.  It is AWESOME - in its breadth, depth, and insight.  I think that you have probably heard of the whole language vs. phonics debate in reading??  I actually have vague memories of hearing about this debate even as a middle school student.  Perhaps the most important thing to know about these terms is that they represent huge and enduring debates in education, much bigger than literacy instruction alone.  From the terms themselves, you might think ok, these are two approaches to teaching reading: Phonics focuses on teaching kids letter sounds and how to put them together (breaking words down); whole language focuses on teaching students how to recognize entire words.  No.  That might be a rough definition, but it is not what they mean.  

Whole language, for example, is a term that has come to represent many progressive teaching techniques.  Pearson calls it the “reading field’s foray into constructivist pedagogy,” but also associates it with other progressive approaches, like "process writing, literature-based reading, and integrated curriculum," which Pearson describes as whole language's "intellectual cousins" (220).  The “guiding principles” of whole language are “authenticity (in texts, tasks, and tests) and curricular integration (across reading, writing, speaking, and listening) and between the language arts and other curricular areas” (216).  The “whole language” approach to reading instruction stemmed from changes in ideas about how people learn.  Advances in technology allowed researchers to better understand the inner workings of the brain, the “cognitive revolution” in psychology.  In addition, there was a growing emphasis on sociocultural theories of learning, which emphasized how meaning comes from an individual transacting with their environment and with other people.  (Think about the reader-response activities we did in class, and how we also shared those personal transactions with the text with each other.) 

In contrast, phonics (more than just knowing letter sounds) represents a decontextualized approach to reading, in which it is assumed that if students understand and practice the pure mechanics of the reading process, they will be able to read well.  The emphasis is on the mechanical skills of reading – understanding letter sounds and how they blend together, repeated testing of students’ reading speed (the technical terms are decoding and fluency). As you might imagine, a systematic approach to decoding letter sounds lends itself much easily to worksheets, scripted curricula, and other deprofessionalizing modes of teaching.  Whole language sees the “language arts” as a set of connected modes of thinking; phonics sees reading and writing as two separate phenomena.

Pearson speculated in 1989 that he did not see whole language as having much traction in the policy community, not because he didn’t think it was a good idea, but because its tenets did not square with a policy maker’s worldview.  Whole language is based on interpretive theories of knowledge – that external reality doesn’t exist outside of our own experience of it.  It also emphasizes the professionalism and autonomy of the individual teacher, which makes it almost impossible to “scale up.”  Pearson did not think that such complex answers would have a place with policy-makers who want simple solutions.  Pearson did see whole language as having a large effect on publishing companies, however, significantly changing the structure of basal readers and leading to more thematically linked book sets.  In spite of these changes, the phonics movement has been ascendant since about the mid-1990s.  One reason for this is policy changes at the federal level that value quantitative, experimental research in education across the board.  (Much research supporting whole language was qualitative.)  When applied to reading, this research has used very capital-S “Scientific” methods to demonstrate the importance of phonemic awareness and actual instruction in phonics (225).  Whole language research was largely shut out of the conversation because it did not fit the government’s guidelines of rigorous scientific research (228). 

Pearson points out important caveats made in even the most pro-phonics federal reading reports, though, that allow for a balanced approach. Pearson himself advocates for a combination of both approaches, and I trust his assessment.  His work may provide an answer to those reading specialists who feel confused by their coursework coming from two divergent perspectives.  Perhaps his confidence that effective teachers do both will help to assuage their cognitive dissonance.

**I wrote a pretty good amount about this article, but probably still didn’t do it justice.  Like I said, I definitely recommend reading this one in its entirety!

Pearson, P. D.  (2004).  “The Reading Wars.”  Educational Policy.  Vol. 18, Issue 216.  p. 216-252.

Dark and Scary YA Lit Debate

I am not going to write a full post about this, but wanted to link to a recent debate (well, a recent iteration of a long-standing debate) about the "appropriateness" of YA lit for its intended audience.  There was a Wall Street Journal article by Meghan Gurdon last week that I mentioned to a few of you before class started the other day, called "Darkness Too Visible."  The article claimed that young adult literature today is "Darker than when you were a child, my dear," full of "Pathologies that went undescribed in print 40 years ago, that were still only sparingly outlined a generation ago, [which] are now spelled out in stomach-clenching detail."  Looking back to the history of YA lit review articles I blogged about earlier, I can say that this just isn't true.  Those "new realism" novels of the 1970s were full of drugs and pregnancy, and subject to the same outcry.  There has been quite an outcry to this article, some of which I have linked to below:

Mary Elizabeth Williams's response at slate.com: "Oh jeez, do we really have to have to have this argument again?...Critics like Gurdon are forever holding the dregs of the present up against the best of the past, which is an unfair and highly loaded argument."

Liz B., librarian and blogger at School Library Journal, responds: "There's dark things in them there books!"

"The Book Whisperer" Donalyn Miller, blogger at Ed Week: "Ms. Gurdon thoughtfully provides a suggested list of more appropriate YA titles for young readers. In keeping with the antiquated stance of the article, she divides the list into sections for "Young Men" and "Young Women" including 4 titles that were written more than 38 years ago."

Linda Holmes, NPR blogger: "While the WSJ piece refers to the YA fiction view of the world as a funhouse mirror, I fear that what's distorted is the vision of being a teenager that suggests kids don't know pathologies like suicide or abuse unless they read about them in books.  Do you remember being 15?"

Understanding Islam Through Young Adult Literature

This blog post will cover two articles from recent issues of the Journal of Adolescent & Adult Literacy, both dealing with helping students understand Islam.  This is an issue close to my heart.  I spent a month in Egypt in 2009 with other teachers, learning more about Egypt, Islam, and the ways that we often misunderstand many aspects of both Islam and the Middle East (such as the fact that Islam and the Middle East are NOT synonymous).  The first article, "Negotiating Understanding Through the Young Adult Literature of Muslim Cultures,"  by Allison Baer and Jacqueline Glasgow, focuses on using fiction to understand culture, whereas the second, "Critical Literacy: Using Nonfiction to Learn About Islam," by Stephen Phelps, obviously talks about how to use nonfiction to learn more factual information about Islam and dispel myths from realities. 

The authors of both articles point out that there is a definite need for more general knowledge about Islam, and I agree.  Many people do not know much about Islam, and don't have a desire to, easily associating Islam with terrorism.  Such a knee-jerk reaction does not do justice to the incredibly variety of people who identify as Muslims, or to the many different variations of Islam practiced around the world (to put it in more familiar terms, there is quite a range of beliefs between Unitarians, Quakers, Southern Baptists, snake-handling churches, and Catholics, even though they all identify as some branch of Christianity.  It's impossible to say what Christianity definitively is based on the beliefs of any one of these denominations, but many people do this about Islam!  "All Muslims are…” or “Oh, those Selafis…” etc.)   It may not even be possible for future generations of Americans to have the luxury of ignorance about Islam and the Middle East, however, as the world becomes even more globally-connected and the Muslim population in America and outside continues to grow.  Baer and Glasgow (and Phelps too) point out a number of myths and surprising facts in the beginning of their articles.  Worldwide, Muslims account for about 20-25% of the world's population (Christians are about 33%), and are a quickly-growing group within America.  (Interestingly, in America, 20% of Muslims are African American, and only 37% are of Arab descent (according to Phelps's sources).   Many people seem to use the words "Muslim" and "Arab" as interchangeably, but that is just not accurate.) 

Both articles use a critical theory framework.  They both defend the use of multicultural literature as a means to come to critical literacy, in which students are aware of the implicit power structure in their readings.  Phelps includes the following four dimensions as part of critical literacy: "disrupting the commonplace," "interrogating multiple viewpoints," focusing on sociopolitical issues," and "taking action and promoting social justice" (192).  Baer and Glasgow say that texts should be chosen and discussed to "address issues of power and privilege in society" (they actually cite Sonia Nieto here, "Understanding Multicultural Education in a Sociopolitical Context" (2010)). I think that Baer and Glasgow would agree with Bogun Yoon (author of my last post) that that multicultural literature should not be used superficially, as some kind of cultural tokenism to trot out in food festivals or by simply having protagonists of many backgrounds.  The benefits of multicultural literature for Baer and Glasgow center around cultural understanding and validation of diverse student backgrounds.  For Phelps, though, even including texts from a variety of cultural perspectives is not enough (as Yoon showed with her analysis of the implicit immigrant assimilation messages).  Phelps takes more of a classic critical theory perspective, saying that teachers should raise questions about social justice with students, and potentially create action plans. 

After Baer and Glasgow’s rationale for teaching multicultural literature (including fiction related to Islam), they provide a list of such literature, and an in-depth description of several works.  They review several recent novels, like Does My Head Look Big in This? (Abdel-Fattah, 2007) and The Girl in the Tangerine Scarf (Kahf, 2006).  The former is set in the US and the latter in Australia; both deal with issues of identity and fitting in (in this case, fitting into Western culture as a Muslim girl), a theme to which many teenagers can relate.  They also review several nonfiction memoirs, which notably, are both set in Afghanistan and tell the story of women whose rights were horribly curtailed.  (Note: again, let me emphasize that it is imperative that students do NOT read only a book like that and draw conclusions about Islam or the Middle East.)  The authors end by giving examples of instructional techniques they feel would go well with these books and this topic: the Socratic seminar and process drama (by process drama, they mean creating a scenario related to the book for students to act out, and gain empathy and understanding, like a court case or a presentation to the school board).

Phelps makes many of the same points – that multicultural literature and critical literacy are vital for students.  Unlike Baer and Glasgow though, Phelps is brutally honest about the potential challenges of talking about a controversial topic like Islam. He writes, “Practical classroom application of critical theory is not for the fainthearted” (193), and anticipates difficult discussions around the role of women in Islam, the church-state relationship, and Palestine (193) (definitely an issue about which so many Egyptians and others in the region care about passionately).  Phelps chose texts based on their relevance to the themes of being bicultural and being Muslim in America.  He reviews only nonfiction texts like Red, White, and Muslim: My Story of Belief (Hasan 2009). His main point is to complicate the easy associations students often make between Islam, Muslims, and various stereotypical concepts.  Phelps says, “Islam and a consideration of multiple viewpoints would encourage students to move beyond a ‘good Muslim/bad Muslim’ binary that demonizes any Muslim whose beliefs might diverge from dominant Western secular and political narratives” (197).

These two articles speak to each other quite well.  Of course, they are about similar topics and make similar points about the importance of learning about what it means to be Muslim.  Kind of funny though - Baer and Glasgow actually fall into some of the pitfalls that that Phelps identifies.  Baer and Glasgow include Shabanu: Daughter of the Wind (by Suzanne Fisher Staples) on their bibliography; Phelps points out the Shabanu is exactly the kind of Orientalist nonsense he is trying to fight against, with the novel's exotic sand, camels, tribes, and barbaric arranged marriages.  The authors of both articles, though, argue against "essentializing" an entire religion and/or region to a few key tropes.   I know that at my school we read Deborah Ellis's The Breadwinner.  Kids mostly liked the plot (girl in Afghanistan, dresses up like a boy to provide for her family since girls cannot walk around openly), but that one portrayal is hardly a comprehensive view of the region or the religion of Islam. 

Baer and Glasgow open their article with a quote from President Obama's 2009 Cairo speech to the Muslim World, in which he remarked on the economic success of the 7 million American Muslims.  When I was in Egypt shortly after Obama's speech, people were overjoyed.  People would stop us on the street and say, "Ameriki?" or "You are from America?" and when we said yes, many people would just say, "Obama!"  Unfortunately, I do not believe that this is still the attitude two years later, with many policies unchanged despite overthrowing Mubarak.

Baer, A. L. and J. N. Glasgow.  (2010).  "Negotiating Understanding Through the Young Adult Literature of Muslim Cultures."  Journal of Adolescent & Adult Literacy, Vol. 54, No. 1 (September 2010), pp. 23-32.

Phelps, S.  (2010).  "Critical Literacy: Using Nonfiction to Learn About Islam."  Journal of Adolescent & Adult Literacy.  Vol. 54, No. 3 (November 2010), pp. 190–198.

Assimilation Ideology: Critically Examining Underlying Messages in Multicultural Literature (Bogum Yoon, Anne Simpson, Claudia Haag)

Most teachers would likely say that multicultural literature should be included in an English/Language Arts classroom.  Despite any kind of culture wars in the 1990s over a perceived excess of multiculturalism or political-correctness, it is my impression that educators generally accept that students today will live in a globally-connected world, and therefore need exposure to other cultures.   

Bogum Yoon opens the article with a personal narration of her experience reviewing many children's/YA books related to Korea.  Yoon, like many who advocate for including multicultural literature, believes such books should "promote cultural pluralism, rather than monoculturalism that focuses on assimilation to a dominant culture" (109).  She was troubled, however, when she began to notice a pattern of assimilation in the works she was reviewing.  She decided to take a more formal look at children's multicultural literature to see if this pattern persisted.  Yoon invited two [European] colleagues, Anne Simpson and Claudia Haag, to closely examine 12 works of multicultural literature from a middle school library.  (Although, I should note that they were all picture books.)

The researchers studied the books using two research questions as guides:
1. "What ideologies are embedded in the multicultural text?"
2. "How are the ideologies of assimilation or pluralism present?"
(***To clarify, assimilation here means that the books have an underlying the message that American immigrants can only be successful in America by adapting to dominant American culture and language, while losing aspects of their home culture and language.  Pluralism in this article means that all students, not just minorities or immigrant students, are taught to value others' cultures and languages, without assuming that assimilation is the only desirable outcome.)

The authors asked a local middle school librarian to choose 12 multicultural picture books at random.  The research design was basically for each of the three authors to work separately to classify the 12 books as pluralistic, assimilationist, or neutral/unclear.  Then, the three authors met to discuss and compare notes.  Four of the 12 books possessed a clear narrative of assimilation in the eyes of all three researchers.  Within these four books, the researchers identified two themes.  Two of the books featured characters who first resist the dominant culture, but ultimately assimilate.  The second theme was the good old American dream...that America is "the land of opportunity" (112). 

The authors detail the problematic aspects of the children's books at length, before ending the article with suggestions for teachers when choosing multicultural literature and reading it with students.  The authors recommend that teachers use two overall strategies.  First, choose children's picture books that do not promote unquestioning assimilation into dominant culture.  Alternatively, read the problematic books with students, but ask students questions to help them question the metanarrative of assimilation within the books. 

I thought I was going to love this article.  After all, the only constant through all of my academic work has been a desire to make implicit power structures or social forces...explicit.  Another way of saying this might be that I like to take the world as my text, find patterns, and tell people.  In the past, this has included everything from analyzing the evolution of fairy tale heroines in popular culture and their implications for young women, to looking at the underlying assumptions of the nature of patriotism in the Teaching American History federal grant program.  I even had my 8th grade students look at the immigrant experience in America and get different perspectives on just how much opportunity immigrants often have in "the land of opportunity."  Doing this kind of text analysis for messages about what it means to be American is right up my alley.

But...I actually found this article to be kind of annoying!  (I know, such a helpful comment.)  I think that the authors' overall idea was an important one; multicultural literature that has an underlying message of erasing a culture instead of appreciating it should be exposed.  However, what about the potential value of assimilation, even if simply from a survival perspective?  Or, the dismantling the master's house with the master's tools argument?  Immigrants should of course retain aspects of their home culture, but what good is that if they cannot survive within the system that we have?  If I moved to Barcelona, for example, I would not resist speaking Spanish just so that I could refuse to submit to the dominant culture. 

My overall point here is that the entire issue is very complicated, and I felt that the authors' portrayal of the issue was along the lines of assimilation = bad, pluralism = good.  The authors were from such a strong critical theory perspective, that I worried they were unable to see the issue with the complexity I think it deserves.  What is social justice?  Whose definition of justice?  How is justice defined? 

Yoon, B., Anne Simpson, and Claudia Haag.  (2010).  "Assimilation Ideology: Critically Examining Underlying Messages in Multicultural Literature."  Journal of Adolescent & Adult Literacy, Vol. 54, No. 2 (October 2010), pp. 109-118.

"The Best of Both Worlds": Rethinking the Merit of Graphic Novels, Sean P. Connors

Sean Connors writes in response to two commonly held assumptions about the use of graphic novels in secondary literature classrooms.  The first assumption is that the use of graphic novels is simply a "means to an end," usually as a bridge for reluctant or struggling readers to eventually come to "better" literature.  Connors feels that graphic novels are seldom seen as works of literary merit on their own terms.  The second assumption Connors writes against is the idea that all students will enjoy reading graphic novels.

Connors devotes some space to a historical overview of comics, and debates over their use in English classrooms, from the 1940s on.  Connors uses articles from English Journal in the 1940s to show how comics, even at that time, were seen as a way to bring struggling readers to more valid, literary texts.  Connors's overall argument is that many graphic novels are worthy of literary merit; although I agree with him, his evidence is rather slim.  He quotes three high school students who praise the genre.  Connors also says that "educators routinely cite [graphic novels'] ability to foster self-reflection, initiate social change, promote tolerance, and stimulate the imagination" (67) as rationales, but does not give any direct quotes or examples of this.

Connors's second point, which I had not previously considered, is that many students are aware of the stigma attached to graphic novels, manga, or comics.  Connors encountered quite a bit of resistance to the idea of teaching graphic novels among his university-level pre-service teachers; they thought that graphic novels were childish (because they had pictures), did not promote reading because there was little text, and did not promote "critical thinking" (each of the three students mentioned this as a drawback, but it is unclear exactly what they meant by critical thinking).  Even more interesting though, were the attitudes Connors encountered from high school students who loved to read graphic novels.  He found that those students were reluctant to read graphic novels openly because they felt an attached social stigma.

Connors ends with a call for professional journals like the ALAN Review to generally promote the use of graphic novels, discuss their unique pedagogical challenges, review new graphic novels, and cull the graphic novels of most literary merit for the ALAN readership.   

This article raises the question for me, "What exactly is literary merit?"  Connors points out that [some] graphic novels should be seen as works of literary merit in their own right, not just as a bridge to something better (Actually, Bucky Carter, who I mentioned in my previous post, has a book called Building Literacy Connections with Graphic Novels: Page by Page, Panel by Panel, that uses graphic novels in conjunction with "classic literature" rather than on their own).  So what should the qualifications be?  Connors says that not all graphic novels have literary merit, so what makes a text "worth" reading and talking/writing about with 120 students?  My own answer would be a combination of thematic depth with thoughtful formal characteristics.  Graphic novels are not my genre of expertise, but I can speak to this a little bit.  Art Spiegelman's Maus, for example, which I did read with my students, is quite complex, which I think makes it worth unpacking as a group.  The story of the author's father, a Holocaust survivor, Maus on one level is a story about what happened during the Holocaust.  On another level, it is about the ways in which a traumatic experience can affect a family for generations.  Maus is about a father-son relationship.  Maus is about memory and repression and moving on, or not.  Maus is about a sometimes unreliable and sometimes unsympathetic narrator.  Maus also has layers of complex visual symbolism that make it, I think, "worthy" of that kind of a formalist literary analysis.  Of course, there is the symbolism of the animals - the Jews are drawn as mice and the Nazis as cats.  This symbolic relationship is easy for middle school students to understand.  There is also a recurring image of a fly throughout the book, evoking everything from an annoyance, a pest, to flies buzzing over dead bodies (I always thought of Emily Dickinson's poem, "I heard a fly buzz when I died").  In addition, you can also draw students' attention to the size or shape of panels at various points, connecting what is being said to how it is drawn. 

Connors, S. P.  (2010).  "'The Best of Both Worlds': Rethinking the Literary Merit of Graphic Novels.  ALAN Review; Vol. 37, Issue 3; ProQuest Education Journals. pg. 65-70.

Familiar Aliens: Science Fiction as Social Commentary, Elaine J. O'Quinn and Heather Atwell

Very apropos to our current unit on Feed, O'Quinn and Atwell provide additional rationales for teaching the dystopian genre of "techno-science" (their term for novels like Feed and Nancy Farmer's The House of the Scorpion, which are both stories of current technology amplified and used for evil purposes).  This article is from an issue of the ALAN Review devoted to exploring all kinds of digital media and "new literacies," graphic novels in particular.  It is actually guest edited by an acquaintance of mine, James Bucky Carter, who was getting his PhD in English education at UVA while I was there getting my Master's and teaching certification.  He is now an assistant professor at University of Texas-El Paso, has been hugely successful with his career, and is the go-to-guy for graphic novels and YA lit.  (I linked to his blog above.)

Anyway, O'Quinn and Atwell advocate for reading newer "techno-science" dystopias, either in addition to or instead of, older science fiction like Frankenstein or H.G. Wells's War of the Worlds.  The authors argue that these techno-science dystopias are more relevant to the daily realities of students today, who are immersed in a digital world.  If a teacher's goal is to help students question the world around them, including ethical dilemmas stemming from technology use, The House of the Scorpion and Feed are both excellent choices.

The authors devote quite a lot of space to summarizing The House of the Scorpion and Feed; since we are reading Feed, I will briefly summarize only The House of the Scorpions (by Nancy Farmer - it's awesome - you should read it), and then summarize the authors' recommendations for using each book.  
The House of the Scorpion is set in a no-man's land between Mexico and the US.  The governments of both countries have come to a sinister agreement to solve the problem of illegal immigration.  The US agrees to turn a blind eye to drug cultivation in the no-man's land, and to ignore drug smuggling into America, because Mexico agrees to manage its own border and prevent any of its citizens from crossing into the US.  The owners of the drug "plantations" in the no-man's land take those who are caught trying to cross the border, and turn them into zombies slaves (called eejits) to work on the drug plantations.  Like this wasn't nightmarish enough, the extremely wealthy can clone themselves to have an available source for organ transplants (this is very similar to the plot of the 2005 film The Island).  The book is told from the point of view of a young boy, who the reader later finds out, (SPOILER ALERT - highlight text to read), is the clone of the drug lord running the plantation.      There are quite a few social issues brought up by the book: immigration for one (I think there is an intended comparison to the plantation-slave system of the American South, as well as the implication that the use of Mexican farm labor in America can be compared to that system), and the relationship between the US and Mexico's drug war (I might point out that drug cultivation is dependent on a willing consumer market).  As O'Quinn and Atwell point out, the book also asks questions about cloning, the use of human embryos, and just what makes a human a human? 

Feed brings up some similar issues of the ethics of technology use in human bodies.  The slaves on the drug plantations of Nancy Farmer's book are turned into zombies by putting computer chips in their heads to control them; Titus's feed is not so different.  His behavior is certainly controlled by the feed, though not to the extent of the eejits.  The authors call Feed's genre "cyberpunk" and compare it to Bladerunner and The Matrix.  Thoughts on this categorization??  (I am not sure about it.)  Other issues raised by Feed which I am sure will come up are in our discussion are an excess of consumerism, treatment of the environment (and the impact of both of those things on other countries), and an over-reliance on technology.

The authors suggest pairing these novels with older dystopias like 1984 (1949) or Brave New World (1932) to consider how those authors' visions of the future have come true, or not, and to speculate about the problems our students will encounter in their lifetimes, as well as potential solutions.

Finally, the authors also suggest connecting to the many dystopian films raising many of the same issues.  For example, WALL-E, appropriate for any group, depicts humans as having utterly destroyed the Earth and departed to spaceships where they can drink super-sized sodas and watch TV all day while sitting down.  Avatar might be another example most students are familiar with.

In my own experience, I have found the dystopian genre to be one of my favorites for using with middle school students because it allows for the discussion of so many deep issues through text that is accessible to students.  I never even feel guilty about watching a film because the discussion is so rich and multilayered.  For example, Avatar at its heart is a story of colonization, which is relevant to all kinds of texts that aren't even in the sci-fi genre (Heart of Darkness, Things Fall Apart, Cry the Beloved Country are a few that come to mind right away - plus, did anyone else notice the major parallel to the Pocahontas story going on in Avatar??  Jake Sully, about to die, saved by the daughter of the chief, and the daughter takes him under her wing and they fall in love, which adds a whole other continent of colonization to the discussion).  When I read The Giver with my seventh grade students, we used it as an opportunity to think about the question, "Is utopia possible?"  They tried to make one - they were charged with deciding on an economic system, political system, religion, etc. that would maximize human happiness, and the conclusion that they all came to was that it was basically impossible to engineer a society where everyone was happy without severely curtailing individual rights, which defeated the whole purpose. 

To wrap it up here with some connections to history, I just skimmed through a biography of Louisa May Alcott - her father, Bronson Alcott, was a progressive educator who founded a vegan utopian society called Fruitlands in the 1840s in Massachusetts.  Real utopian movements throughout history are fascinating to read about and consider in light of futuristic societies in fiction, also serving as a source of social commentary.  Two other examples I can think of are M.T. Anderson's other novel (which I liked much better than Feed), The Astonishing Story of Octavian Nothing, Traitor to the Nation (set in Revolutionary War America) and As Meat Loves Salt (which I actually lost patience with), set in the English Civil War.

O'Quinn, E.J. and Heather Atwell.  (2010).  "Familiar Aliens: Science Fiction as Social Commentary."  ALAN Review.  Volume 37, Issue 3.  ProQuest Education Journals. pg. 45-50.

"From Insider to Outsider: The Evolution of Young Adult Literature," Michael Cart

In a similar vein to my last post, this article from Voices from the Middle discusses the changes in adolescent literature over time, but from a much more recent perspective than the Hamilton article.  Michael Cart, himself an award-winning YA author, covers changes from the 1950s to the time of publication (2001).  

Cart begins by relaying some rare statistics of hope about adolescent reading habits: 56% of all students between age 12 and 18 read in excess of 10 books every year, and 70% of middle school students read upwards of 10 books annually.  Cart really has no evidence for why this might be, but says he "likes to think" that middle school students read so much because of "the amazing abundance of good young adult books currently being published for them" (95). 

Cart does refer to some demographic changes in who is considered "adolescent" according to book publishers, making the argument that the range has gradually expanded on both ends, now including "tweens" as well as twenty-somethings.  (Certainly there has been quite a bit of crossover appeal to many recent best-sellers, for example, Harry Potter, Twilight, even The Hunger Games, all of which many parents of adolescents were reading.)

Cart then summarizes each decade's trends in YA lit, starting with the 1940s and 50s, in which "genre fiction" like mystery, adventure, sports, sci fi, and romance was first marketed toward a specific adolescent age group.  The 1960s marked the beginning of that "new realism" I talked about in my previous post, with books like The Outsiders and Robert Lipsyte's The Contender.  These books were not just realistic fiction, but more "hard-edged" (96), as Cart says, focusing on gritty topics relevant to many teen readers, but written in a more artful manner than the more formulaic genre fiction of the previous generation.  In the 1970s, "the decade of the problem novel" (96), this trend became quite pronounced.  Cart explains these "problem novels" as "didactic works of social realism that sacrificed art on the alter of individual 'problems of the week' (alcoholism, drug abuse, divorce, poverty, etc., ad nauseum)" (96).  Because of their [at times unpopular] commitment to discussing gritty social issues, Cart seems to think that genre fiction experienced a resurgence in the 1980s (i.e. Sweet Valley High, Fear Street).  This is an interesting idea that I had never really considered - a kind of retrenchment from social issues in fiction that certainly parallels the move in educational policy away from involvement in or direct amelioration of social problems.

In the 1990s, middle school literature became popular as publishers started to market many YA books to a slightly younger age group, and there was an overall expansion of who was considered a "YA" and just how "Y" they actually were.  Cart says that this "expansion of the audience...freed authors to tackle more serious subjects and to introduce more complex characters and considerations of ambiguity" (96), leading us to what he believes is our current golden age of YA lit.  For the trends of the early-2000s, Cart correctly anticipates the emergence of more graphic media, such as a the graphic novel or other cross-genre hybrid texts (The Absolutely True Diary of a Part Time Indian or Monster by Walter Dean Meyers).  He also points to the mass popularity of complex works of YA sci fi and fantasy, such as The Golden Compass trilogy.

I agree with Cart that there is a great deal of YA literature to choose from now with deep and juicy themes, rich symbolism, written about issues that adolescents directly care about, and written in a style that is usually more accessible to them.  I think there is an implicit idea in Cart's article that genre fiction is "bad."  I might amplify this a bit by saying that genre fiction may not be what you want to choose for an entire class to read, but I think it is important to understand too that some students just love a certain series, and honestly, reading is reading!  Why split hairs and validate only some "official" books, as we were discussing in class today?  For example, middle school boys often love Mike Lupica's sports books.  They are certainly perfectly fine books, and I would never discourage any student who loved them from reading them.  In fact, I would often direct male reluctant readers towards them.  However, I don't think they are meaty enough to justify reading as a class.  The more I learn about the exponential growth of background knowledge that comes through reading and how it directly correlated with academic success, I think, wow, just get kids to read anything that they enjoy and find any way you can to get them to keep going.  They will transition just fine to more "official" texts later. 

Cart, M.  (2001).  "From insider to outsider: The evolution of young adult literature."  Voices From the Middle; 9 (2), p. 95-97.