This week the HL class was depleted because of a Land Day field trip to plant trees which took up most of the day, and which many students skipped. First period, which did take place, therefore saw a 75% showing of the HL class for week two on "Indian Camp," the Hemingway story that tells of a young boy who goes with his doctor father to help deliver an Indian woman's baby, and after the C-section discovers that the father of the newborn son has committed suicide in the upper bunk.
Last week we had them do initial written responses before we discussed the piece. Here is A's:
I was so delighted as I read this - my comment, cut off in the photo, is how immediately A. identified several of the key characteristics of Hemingway's writing. If ever there were an argument not to tell students what they'll draw from a piece of literature before they read it. If the essential of a piece is actually true, then they'll pick up on it themselves. And if they don't, I have to be very careful about what I try to get them to see, since that doesn't tend to work very well. I felt good about Wednesday's class though, because I felt like our discussion allowed us to play right on that line between the students being drawn out to the extent of their perceptiveness, and then being challenged to see something that they wouldn't have seen had I not mentioned it.
We started by reading the story for a second time. I was so excited to as them what details they felt took on new significance the second time around, now that they know the story ends in suicide, but that question went close to no where. They drifted into discussing why the man kills himself, which we had already talked about last week, and which felt like a dull direction to take this second discussion.
I tried to direct the conversation in new directions, particularly to their opinions last week that the story was incomplete. I asked them what a complete story is, and why this one was incomplete. They said that this one didn't allow us to connect with the characters because there was so little detail given. The same few people were sharing their opinions, and I had the impression that they were not necessarily representative of the whole class's perspectives.
N. said "I think the son is important in the story, because it makes it so the father is explaining everything to the son, so we have everything explained to us as readers." I got up from the circle and took up this moment for a mini-lecture.
We looked at the father's role more carefully - I wrote the word omniscient on the board and discussed the ways this character seemed to be all knowing - he knows why women scream in labor, he knows all about the birth process, and how to do a Caesarian with a jack-knife, and how to work with Indians, and he knows about how many women and men kill themselves, and he knows that death is easy (at least, he says these things in response to his son's questions). I asked the students what the father didn't know - J. said he didn't know how much pain the woman in labor was actually experiencing, because he'd never experienced it himself. I agreed. No one said that he didn't actually know what was wrong with the father, and the fact that something unbearable was eating him in that upper bunk while his wife gave birth. We established that, and then talked about how limited our knowledge is. The doctor didn't know very much about the situation in the camp, even though he thought he knew a lot. We as readers think we know what's going on in the story until the suicide at the end, then we realise that we have been focusing on the wrong experience.
We used the following graphic to talk about this concept:
Last week we had them do initial written responses before we discussed the piece. Here is A's:
I was so delighted as I read this - my comment, cut off in the photo, is how immediately A. identified several of the key characteristics of Hemingway's writing. If ever there were an argument not to tell students what they'll draw from a piece of literature before they read it. If the essential of a piece is actually true, then they'll pick up on it themselves. And if they don't, I have to be very careful about what I try to get them to see, since that doesn't tend to work very well. I felt good about Wednesday's class though, because I felt like our discussion allowed us to play right on that line between the students being drawn out to the extent of their perceptiveness, and then being challenged to see something that they wouldn't have seen had I not mentioned it.
We started by reading the story for a second time. I was so excited to as them what details they felt took on new significance the second time around, now that they know the story ends in suicide, but that question went close to no where. They drifted into discussing why the man kills himself, which we had already talked about last week, and which felt like a dull direction to take this second discussion.
I tried to direct the conversation in new directions, particularly to their opinions last week that the story was incomplete. I asked them what a complete story is, and why this one was incomplete. They said that this one didn't allow us to connect with the characters because there was so little detail given. The same few people were sharing their opinions, and I had the impression that they were not necessarily representative of the whole class's perspectives.
N. said "I think the son is important in the story, because it makes it so the father is explaining everything to the son, so we have everything explained to us as readers." I got up from the circle and took up this moment for a mini-lecture.
We looked at the father's role more carefully - I wrote the word omniscient on the board and discussed the ways this character seemed to be all knowing - he knows why women scream in labor, he knows all about the birth process, and how to do a Caesarian with a jack-knife, and how to work with Indians, and he knows about how many women and men kill themselves, and he knows that death is easy (at least, he says these things in response to his son's questions). I asked the students what the father didn't know - J. said he didn't know how much pain the woman in labor was actually experiencing, because he'd never experienced it himself. I agreed. No one said that he didn't actually know what was wrong with the father, and the fact that something unbearable was eating him in that upper bunk while his wife gave birth. We established that, and then talked about how limited our knowledge is. The doctor didn't know very much about the situation in the camp, even though he thought he knew a lot. We as readers think we know what's going on in the story until the suicide at the end, then we realise that we have been focusing on the wrong experience.
We used the following graphic to talk about this concept:
This ice berg is used to describe Hemingway's story-telling technique. The part of the ice berg above water represents the story, and what the reader feels aware of but never sees, is the ice under water. The true significance of the ice berg is this part, that lies underneath the water, out of sight, but which directly influences the way the ice berg sits, floats, and moves. I pointed out that our own stories of the world around us are similarly limited. We only ever see the ice berg. "My story of each of you is incomplete. My story of even my closest friends and family is incomplete; it has to be, because there is so much about them and their experience that I don't know or understand." I gestured to the student who had been the most outspoken about how incomplete the story is. "Yes, the story is incomplete. But what story isn't?" I asked. We had a good few minutes of discussion after that before the bell wrang.
Later that day I spoke to S., one of the students in that class, on the Land Day field trip. She said "I really loved what you said in class today - that our stories are incomplete." That was the first time a student had said that to me. It felt very good.
Now, about Land Day: all eleventh graders who came to school got pick axes and hoes so old they looked like relics, which they were asked to use to plant saplings in holes in the sidewalk in El Bireh. We seemed to be planting where other trees had failed before these new ones, and I wondered if there's a watering system in place for the new arrivals. Even if they grow, it strikes me as a strange project. In the places where there is decent sidewalk in Ramallah, there are often trees planted right in the middle of them, which prevents pedestrians from being able to walk on them. One student pointed out that we should be picking up the litter that layered the surrounding lots. I had to agree.
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