About this time every year, my American Literature classes are rounding the bend in their reading of The Grapes of Wrath. I can always tell, without exception, which students have actually finished the book. In fact, I can tell the moment they enter the classroom. There is just something about the end of that book (those of you who have experienced the ‘end of that book’ know exactly what I am talking about!) that can rout even the stoutest of poker faces. And let’s be honest, I think it hits the ladies in the class a little harder. I have come to expect it now, after many years of teaching The Grapes of Wrath. In fact…I look forward to it. Much to the chagrin of my students, my goal in teaching them is to make them uncomfortable. Not upset. Not afraid. But uncomfortable. In fact, all the selections we read during both junior and senior year are highly uncomfortable texts. I think it is safe to say that truly great literature, in general, makes us unsettled. It has to in order to make us think. If a work is too soft, too approachable, we get lazy. We just sit back and read passively and calmly. (Now, here I must confess that there are times that I want that kind of reading experience, and I think some of that is okay.) However, passive reading is one sided. The author has all the power. But reading—reading is a two person activity…the reader and the writer. If the story is too easy, too comfortable, I am less likely as a reader to push back. Readers should ask questions of the author and of the world. They should explore alternatives and engage in a dialogue with the text. This is the beauty of annotating IN the text (no writing in your book isn’t a sin…as long as it is YOUR book). You become something of a writer of the book too…you are writing your responses, your thoughts, your questions. This two-sided experience is the heart of active reading. And once we read actively, the story begins to really take on meaning.
So what, you may ask, is the meaning of the end of The Grapes of Wrath? Well, as I sit here looking at my own annotations I see that I was intrigued by the use of the word “mysteriously” and with the text ending in a scene highlighting Rose of Sharon instead of perhaps the more prominent Tom. But then I also have copious notes contrasting the gravity of this ending scene with the more frivolous ear piercing right of passage from a few chapters back. Both of these are solid points of departure for a discussion about the text…which can go a variety of ways depending on the class. One particular year, I remember a student (visibly disgusted by the scene) saying “what on Earth could Steinbeck be trying to tell us with the end of this? It is just gross! I mean didn’t somebody have a cup?” Of course the simple, and yet not so simple, answer was no…and perhaps the author’s point was that sometimes life doesn’t give you a cup. I shared this idea with the class…they laughed of course, but at the same time it made sense. The end was about suffering and overcoming; it was about the human condition. It became a little joke between me and that class for the rest of their junior year and into their following year as seniors. The morning that the seniors pranked our school (as seniors tend to do as they near graduation) I found a Styrofoam cup on my desk with a sticky note attached proclaiming: Life Has Given You a Cup. I have to believe that somewhere Steinbeck was smiling. I sure was.
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Wendy Picard GorhamWendy lives and works in the midst of words everyday--English teacher by profession, and writer by passion! Archives
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