This post will be a rant about one of my classes I am taking this semester: Jewish American Literature. I was so excited to have this class as an option to take, and I snatched it up immediately. Are you kidding? Jewish American literature during World War II? It didn't take a seconds worth of thought to know I was going to absolutely love this class. Well a heaping, bug infested turd was dropped on me when I got to the class and realized what we would be tested on and what our first assignment was.
The teacher starts reading to us from Where the Wild Things Are by Jewish-American author Maurice Sendak. "Perfect!" I thought. "Now we'll discuss deeper themes and meanings and learn about how Sendak's culture influenced his work!" The first question the teacher asks: "Does Max look happy in this picture?"
"No, he doesn't look happy at all does he?!"
...maybe she's just reverting to Mom mode. The real discussion will follow after she's finished reading.
"In this class every quiz will consist of the questions: What is the main focus of the story? Who is the main character? What is the author's purpose for writing the story? We could go into deeper themes and subconscious messages, but we aren't going to."
This is where my foot starts tapping rapidly and anxiety builds up in my stomach ready to purge. She doesn't even realize she should have said "subliminal" messages.
"There will be some poetry and you can tell the difference between poetry and other writing, because it's shorter and broken into different sentences."
You have got to be kidding me...
"Also we will be reading non-fiction and fiction. Can anyone tell me the difference between fiction and non-fiction?"
At this point I collected what little dignity I had left and started ignoring her and doodling. The only relief that came to me was when she dismissed the class.
I'm LIVID! I thought this was going to be a class where I could go into deep discussions and debates, really rack my brain over various topics. I am considered a senior in college now, and it is shocking and ultimately insulting that I have a teacher who is explaining to me what a poem looks like. My junior year of high school I was writing essays on how Edgar Allan Poe uses Gothic form to suggest or develop a new kind of poetry in The Fall of the House of Usher. Now that I'm in my fourth year of college you're telling me my teacher wants me to write short paragraphs explaining who the main character is, and what the central focus of the story is?! Maybe the reading will be interesting at least, and I can look up "subconscious messages" on my own so I don't lose my ever-loving mind.
At least I really liked my outfit for the day.
Till next time,