Capital Letters 2015

NZATE Conference in Wellington

 

Day 2

Today's line up - Bernard Beckett and then Bernard Beckett.  And in between, food and then food.  Excellent.  I was very pleased that my timetable lacked complexity and appeared to err on the repetitive side ('appeared' being the key word here)for after yesterday's trials and tribulations, simplicity was my heart's truest desire.

The workshop

Call me shallow (I don't mind) but I trust a man in a cardy.  Maybe it's because I'm from the deep South.  Whatever the case, Beckett wore his well; hands in pockets, welcoming us as we entered the room at Wellington Girls' College.  Outraged readers, I ask you not to focus on the superficiality of my wardrobe commentary.  Instead, read this as an assessment of mana.  Cardies represent other c words to me: comfort, casualness and confidence. Beckett's command of the space was all of these things - comfortable, casual (as in relaxed/friendly/unpretentious, not slack!)and confident.  Pretty much everything I would want in a teacher.  Well, throw humour in there, too.  And you can, because Beckett is astutely funny. Laugh-out-loud funny, and in all the right places.  If you saw his keynote, you'll know this, but I'll talk of that soon.

It seems to me that a great teacher is an artist.  I got the sense that Beckett is this - he talked about teaching as being a conversation; an evolving discussion between people.  Inwardly I was fist-pumping - everyone loves an echo chamber (she said cynically).  Jokes aside, I think we can get really cynical about how exposure to theories, views and beliefs that match our own can be a never-ending loop of back-patting. There is real value in the inspiration that can come from those that seem to 'speak your language'.

 

Sorry (not sorry) - bad pun. 

Bernard Beckett's workshop was on narrative.  The blurb read:

Bernard Beckett

Picking apart narrative

As English teachers, we are well used to pulling text apart, to look for themes, revelations, metaphors and connection. Traditionally though, literary criticism has paid less attention to narrative: how it's constructed, what the tricks of the trade are, how the flow of the narrative affect us and why (film criticism, by contrast, pays much closer attention to narrative devices). In this workshop, I intend to come at narrative from a writer's perspective, and using some well known texts, look at how we might go about talking about and teaching the construction of narrative tension.

B22

 

It's true - literary criticism (including us as teachers - ME as a teacher) HAS paid less attention to narrative. In fact, I would posit that the word PLOT is almost a dirty word in English classrooms.  How often have you told students 'stay away from the plot', 'less plot, more opinion', and 'this is a plot summary'(said in a tone that insinuates more is needed)?  I know I feel like I've given that feedback before, in various forms, and I'll tell you now, Beckett has given me the confidence to STOP DISSING PLOT and value its place in the construction and deconstruction of texts. After all, if you don't have the story, what have you got? And, as a fellow teacher at this workshop said to me, plot can be a valuable way in for some students who struggle with theme, character, setting etc.  

Plot, you are hereby renamed NARRATIVE and shall be given the attention you deserve.  I apologise for the neglect you have experienced.

Beckett spoke about the importance of several elements.  They were:

* Building empathy
* Three act structure
* Reincorporation
* Internal coherence
* Endings
 

Beckett's notes on narrative - a conversation via whiteboard!

As I review this, I see the skill with which Beckett structured his workshop.  It all seemed so comfortable, casual and confident it would be easy to think that Beckett had no plan.  Indeed, he spoke of how, as a keynote, he was obliged to present a workshop - but foolish would be those of us who thought this meant a lack of skill and vision.  I felt like I was in the presence of a master teacher, and, as you can see from the focus points above, there was definite structure and flow.  What a remarkable teacher this man must be. How I would have loved to be in his classes!

Storycorps app - allows you to record interviews with people and save and/or upload to a site.

The keynote presentation

After food, Bernard Beckett presented his keynote to a cavernous hall of English educators.  Again, one could have been fooled into thinking that this was an unplanned presentation.  There was nothing but Beckett's name up on the screen.  Again, one would be foolish to think so. This address was an eloquent political commentary on where teaching seems to be heading and Beckett's views on this. I was so inspired by the image he described at the end - that of a teacher-as-assistant to students through a crucial part of their lives as they negotiate what it means to be, well, human. 

I think Bernard Beckett is my new hero.



P.S. I have more to write about Day 2, but am very excited to be going to the launch of Rachel Barrowman's biography of Maurice Gee, a favourite of mine.  And so I must abandon this, to return later tonight.  I'll be back!

Capital Letters 2015

NZATE Conference in Wellington

 

I'm practically falling asleep as I type, but I fear no post will come if I leave it until tomorrow so here goes!  Please excuse any typos, grammatical errors and jokes that aren't funny. I've been up since 4am.

Ah, the English Conference.  Held once a year in the middle of winter.  Last year, Rotorua was the destination; this year, Wellington.  I've been to three NZATE Conferences before - as a first year teacher on an NZATE scholarship (when teaching at Tolaga Bay Area School)in 2010, the Dunedin conference in 2012 and this year (as a teacher of five and a half years!) in Wellington. Whilst perhaps being seen as geographically strategic, in that I have family in Christchurch, I live in Dunedin and I love Wellington, the NZATE Conference is always inspiring.  Sometimes I have been too damn tired to be too inspired, but it's always been worth it, and I've always felt ready to hit the third term (in some ways) because of it.

This year it has truly been epic. And this is why.

Day One really started with Day-One-Minus-One, in that snow was predicted to fall in Dunedin on PRECISELY the day I was supposed to fly out.  Now, my friends know that I am the first to initiate the teacher-snow-dance (perhaps a truly Dunedin phenomenon? Although I suspect teachers in Otago and Southland all practice this), but this time - Noooooo!  I had a plane to catch!  Day-One-Minus-One was really me ruing my decision not to pay that extra night's accommodation and fly up on Tuesday night. 

I thought I was being pretty clever by booking the 6.50am flight.  I'd arrive in Wellington at 8, jump on a bus and be ready to rock up to the registrations at 8.30am. Sweet.

And then, it snowed.  As predicted, for once.  

Our street.  And snow.

Still our street.  And still more snow.

 We are on a hill, so when it looks like this, you're pretty much stuffed as far as any kind of transportation goes.  Except for your own two legs.

I was under strict instructions to call the shuttle company at 4am, and so that's when the alarm went off. Ugh. That's early, even for me.  No shuttles were moving anyone anywhere on the hills, but if I could get down to the Railway Station, well the hallowed shuttle would be waiting for me.  But departing at 5am.  And so I hustled.  

It was beautiful walking in the snow at 4.45am.  That is, equal parts beautiful and manic.  But I made it.

The airport

I was greeted with 'there's ice on the runway and check-in is suspended.' Aghh and ugh. Glenn Colquhoun's keynote and writing workshop were still within the realms of possibililty and hope at this stage - he was one of the reasons (after geography!) that I was attending this conference.

And then we waited.  And waited.  And waited. Five hours in the end.  Enough time to run my phone battery down.  

It looked like this.

Ad nauseam.  This was only 8am.  We took off at 11am.

You are keeping me from Glenn Coulquhoun!!!

Pretty.  Sigh.

The plane.  Five hours of looking at the plane.

Arty

And then ... finally!! At 11am, we were in the air.  I was just hoping to make lunch at this stage; anything else was going to be a boon.  I had lived a lifetime in a morning.  I was the water in the river.

So here is proof I'm here now: it's supposed to snow in Wellington.  It's stalking me; making me pay for all those years of southern snow-dancing (fellow southerners, you KNOW what I'm talking about!)

But more's the point - here's the Beehive.

From the bus.  I really think you can sense my relief in this picture.

I did manage to both arrive for lunch and corner Glenn Coulquhoun to say nothing original and everything cliched: 'you're my favourite poet and I like your poems and I teach your poems and I JUST WANT YOU TO KNOW I'VE BEEN SITTING AT DUNEDIN AIRPORT THINKING ABOUT YOU.'  He was very polite, of course, and said he didn't want to add insult to injury, but that the workshop really was very good because English teachers are so receptive.  I recovered from this dagger to the heart by once more blabbing at him about something unmemorable and insignificant.  He was stoked, of course. Jokes. Ah well, the lunch was good, and my triomphe ultime was making it in time to enjoy it.  Small victories, by this stage, were clawed at desperately.

The afternoon workshop went by in a blur - I have lots to ponder and write about at a later date on group work and mixing students up - but I'm seeing double, so not now.  Karen Melhuish-Spencer made some salient points, but I felt pretty comfortable in the fact that I'd considered a lot of what was discussed.  I loved the 'Todaysmeet' stream - this allowed the audience to 'live comment' on the presentation. Cool, except my phone died because of the DAMN airport thing.  More adding of insult to injury: someone called my rapidly-flattening battery a 'rookie mistake' on the live feed.  I nearly stood up to demand they show their face.

www.todaysmeet.com.  Good times, although my phone died.

Righto, that's all for Day One.  Hopefully tomorrow is less epically eventful and more educational.  I'm excited about hearing Bernard Beckett talk about narrative and teaching it - tools I can use.  Excellent.

http://www.bookcouncil.org.nz/writers/beckettbernard.html
 

Teacher Only Day

I should be marking (sigh! The lament of teachers everywhere!) but I have been inspired to blog right now.  I have 20 minutes until morning tea, and it's free food, so time restrictions are real.

We started this gift of a day with a session on the Registered Teacher Criteria.  A question was asked 'who knows what the 12 criteria are?'  The girly-swot in me was inwardly cursing - 'damn it!' The poster is in my classroom, too, but with all that marking (sigh!) and teaching (yay!) stopping and meditating on the finer points that make up this document has not been the activity de rigeur.  Never mind!  Here I am now. A SHORT discussion and reflection follows (as my students like to say, and I celebrate because of the ever-evolving nature of language: because - free food!).

My little work corner. Poster top right.

These make sense to me.  Beyond the (necessary? Sigh.) rhetoric, the essence seems sound.
Here is my (15 minute: because - free food!) translation and reflection:

1.  Get on with your colleagues, for the sake of your students.  I know, it can be hard! But you are a professional.  Act professionally.  Find that thing in common (the students!!) and work it.

2.  Show that you care about your students. Humour! Time! Energy! Be open and available (I don't just mean time - we all need down time away from the job etc.  I mean in the class.  Interacting with students.  Be open.  Don't be a barrier to their learning.

3.  Acknowledge that Maori/tangata whenua are equal partners in the make-up of this fine country. SHOW it! Can you include texts from Maori authors? What about visual stuff in your classroom?  Can you visit Matua's class and see what he does?  All it takes is a bit of commitment to this one.

4.  Keep up with the programme, yo! Go to that conference.  Find something about the job, the subject, the profession that you love and believe in (or are curious and interested in).  In my case, if you expect your students to write (for example), write yourself! (That's why I'm committed to posting my book reviews here.  That's why I (HAVE SUCH FUN!) joining in with the writing and reading exercises (I sound like Pollyanna - let me assure you, I'm not.) Your students will be better for it.

5.  Don't just follow - be a leader! Ask provocative questions! Help all minds whir! We all have different perspectives and different things to offer.  Start to have a voice.

6.  Don't just turn up and expect good things to happen - plan. Plan well.  Plan in response to those gorgeous students (and the not-so-gorgeous ones - do they exist? Never!)

7.  Be respectful, motivated and inclusive, and expect the same back. 'Nuff said.

8.  Use that useful stuff from teachers' college and professional learning to help those students learn as best they can.  What works for THIS student in THIS class? (Yes, class sizes.  Yes, time time time and where is it?! Yes, how can anyone do all of this in this job.  But try).

9.  New Zealand is not monocultural - respect and CELEBRATE all cultures in your class. Even better, use it for planning - see #6.

10. Te Reo is beautiful, relevant, necessary.  Use it.  Expect good things from Maori students.

11. Use DATA. Marking (sigh.)  I sigh because of sheer volume, but get the biggest kicks from feedback and forward that makes sense to a student.  That EUREKA moment.  Very satisfying.

12. Read. Talk. Try to understand other points of views.  Look at what you believe in and ask WHY.  Isn't that what we are always asking our students to do, after all? 

So that's a gut response to the document.  For what it's worth.

(Gift of a day = CATCH UP! PLANNING! MEANINGFUL DISCUSSIONS BEYOND 5 FLEETING MINUTES IN THE STAFFROOM!)

Etta and Otto and Russell and James
by Emma Hooper

Dust, water, fish, deer. In the open arms of the wild earth, the elements and God’s creatures move together in a rural dance. Gophers are sacrificed so the land can better support. A daughter will always ‘know where to punch a calf to kill it, if it needs it. And hard enough.’ Prairie Canada seems the same but so very different to the rural experience everywhere else. The same: life and death are but a waltz apart. Different: there is dust, geographic specificity and the Canadian voice – ‘Doesn’t look like Russell’s back yet, hey?’

Although the uniquely Canadian aspects appeal, it is the universal that really draws us in to Hooper’s story. Etta and Otto are both at the curtain-call end of their lives – their life – together. More than 60 years of prairie living have passed in what one assumes is contented and compatible companionship. Except Russell lives next door, and Russell has also been a part of their lives for more than that 60 years of prairie living. The subtlety of their shared story resonates beyond the pages. The tale of Etta and Otto and Russell is centred by two locations; where they meet and when they part. The setting is importantly both of these things – time and place. The reader moves between historical wartime and present day as crucial decisions made almost by accident are relayed and related. ‘Russell waltzed instead of walked’ because of an accident on Otto’s family farm – even here at the start, Otto and Russell’s stories are intertwined.

As is Etta’s. Young Etta is a teacher. She has suffered the loss of her dear sister Alma and turns to teachers’ college, perhaps to stay near to her vulnerable parents. Otto is one of 15 Vogel children, attending the school at which Etta is teaching. When Otto signs up for active duty during wartime, Etta becomes his pen pal. Slowly and with absolute grace, these letters lead to love. Russell, because he ‘waltzes’, is left behind. Such is to be the story of his life.
Letters are present in older age, too. Otto writes to Etta, knowing they may not get to her. He signs these ‘Here, Otto’; a reminder of place and belonging. She has left; ‘I’ve never seen the water, so I’ve gone there’, she writes. But she is ‘Yours (always), Etta.’ Her memory is failing – dementia? Alzheimers? Perhaps just aging, so she carries a piece of paper that reminds her of self, family and others. There is a satisfying symmetry of action here; at the beginning of their story, he leaves her, and at the end, it is Etta’s turn for adventure. Otto remains and channels his grief through cooking Etta’s recipes, and creating papier-mâché creatures that bring him state-wide fame.

Fish are an important trope throughout. Not only because they live in the water Etta is yearning, but also because they provide a tenuous link to her lost sister. ‘They can come back alive when they touch your skin,’ says Alma of fish skulls. Etta wonders if ‘being against the skin of her fingers’ is enough to ‘wake them up, to make them talk.’ Later, as she consumes fish to survive, they whisper Il faut manger – it is necessary to eat. Sacrifice is necessary. ‘One small fish skull’ is one of very few precious belongings that Etta takes on her journey – a reminder that grief may settle but never really leaves.

Russell’s grief is the most heartbreaking. He loves Etta timelessly. ‘Why didn’t you tell me she was wonderful?’ he asks of Otto after his first day at school with his new teacher, a young Etta. She falls into his arms but once, when Otto is at war and all seems lost, except dancing. And so they do. As an old man, he is their neighbour, and yet can never share what Otto and Etta have. When Etta leaves to walk 2000 kilometres to the sea, he is frustrated and chases her. Otto wisely realises ‘it’s not what she wants, Russell,’ conveying an intuitive understanding that only one who shares intimacy with a person over decades can.

The magic realist elements in this text are harmoniously woven throughout the story. James is a coyote companion gifted words, although it would seem named, in another nod to the power of grief and memory, after Alma’s stillborn son. He is perhaps there to be looked after, as well as look after, Etta on her journey – a surrogate son or nephew. For Etta and Otto never have children, and little is said about this throughout.

The many evocations of grief and memory sting the reader, too. I felt for Russell, who spends his life pining after what he doesn’t have. He, Etta and Otto are at the end of their lives, and so there is a natural inclination to feel a certain sadness when reading. The book evokes a wistful and nostalgic air reminiscent of good poetry or music, and left me thinking for a long time about the exquisite pain and the exquisite beauty that is to be found in the irretractable rhythm of our lives as we simply and plainly just go about living them.
Reviewed by Lara Liesbeth

Etta and Otto and Russell and James
by Emma Hooper
Published by Fig Tree
ISBN 9780241185865

Originally published: https://booksellersnz.wordpress.com/2015/04/29/book-review-etta-and-otto-and-russell-and-james-by-emma-hooper/

The Anchoress by Robyn Cadwallader

Review by Lara Liesbeth

Imagine you are in a room, a cell really, ‘seven paces by nine’.  There is a door - nailed shut.  There are blocks of stone (they will become your friends).  And, luckily for you, a cat, who decides to make your cell his home, too.  (The cat can leave - and does - anytime he wants.  You can’t - or rather, don’t want to).

These circumstances are those of seventeen year old Sarah in 1255; the country, England.  The Anchoress tells the story of Sarah’s first few years as an anchoress, ‘a holy woman shut away in a small cell’ who dedicates herself to God and receives, in return, the care and protection of the Church.

I felt a little nervous about this premise - just a room?  Inside someone’s head in the room THE WHOLE TIME? Crikey, I thought - there had better be some flashback. It takes a writer wielding a powerful pen to write around such a limited setting.  Robyn Cadwallader should be well-pleased with her debut efforts here, for the story is crafted well and does indeed shift from inside to out - I need not have feared for my claustrophobic, reader-self.  And yes, there is flashback to vary the story.  All jokes aside, it is a necessary variation.

There are two narrative ‘voices’ in this novel - the first is that of Sarah, told in first person past tense.  The second is Father Ranaulf, a gifted scribe who starts out in his own small room, a scriptorium he dreams of growing.  His story is noticeably told in third person, giving him and the narrative a distant, less-caring air. Which is fairly fitting - Ranaulf is burdened with the spiritual care of Sarah quite early in the book.  He visits Sarah and the interactions are gruff and brief.  He doesn’t want anything to do with the woman, really, but land will be lost if the anchoress does not have ‘adequate counsel’.  I felt sorry for the man when his superior said ‘Your quill can wait, Father’, for I think Cadwallader writes the nearly-surly Ranaulf in all his complexity.  All he wants to do is work with his quill and produce beautiful scrolls. Yet he is required by duty to attend to Sarah.  In all truth, I wanted to let the man be, with his parchments and ink and admiration for fellow artists who work alongside him.  Even if he was lucky enough to be there because he was a man.

And what of Sarah, herself?  Shut in this room, with only two maids through a wall to interact with on a daily basis?  I found it hard to understand why she would choose this life, even with the necessary first person narration, and the reader’s omniscient ability to hear her thoughts.  The main internal conflict for Sarah is whether she can rise to the mighty challenge of being an anchoress - the anchoress immediately before her couldn’t bear it, and the one before that is buried beneath Sarah’s feet - yes, in the cell.  A lot of reading time was spent with my feminist self quietly chanting ‘just get out, just get out ...’.  A virtual impossibility in the 13th Century, of course.

However, even as I struggled with the decisions Sarah made, I also felt transported by Cadwallader to a completely different time and place; a time of serfs and lords and theology above all else.  A time of patriarchy and religion.  Although there is a long way to go in religious and gender equality, I was left feeling after reading this that perhaps we have come quite a long way.  In the end, the way Sarah compromises to resolve her inner turmoil makes for a satisfying conclusion to this story about a very repressive time in England’s history.

Originally published: https://booksellersnz.wordpress.com/2015/04/01/book-review-the-anchoress-by-robyn-cadwallader/

Relationships, relationships, relationships

And then, in the blink of an eye, summer was more or less over and the nose is, once again, at the grindstone.  Usually I don't feel so 'grindstone-y' about school, but it's been a bit of a tough start.  I'm writing this from home, sick again in February, in what seems to be a habitual forced respite.  I look back on last year's emails, and see that February 2014 was also when I first fell off the health wagon for that year.  Why, you ask?  Well, I think any teacher will agree that it's relationships, relationships, relationships.  And high school student bugs, of course ... but I'm more interested in examining the former - I hand wash and sanitise, so there's not much to consider with the latter except bad luck.  And that I should touch my nose less.

When I go down, it's always the throat first, followed by the lungs, and the voice.  At school we are speaking, speaking, speaking, performing, facilitating, moving, moving, busy, busy. We are dealing, as most schools are, with some very large classes and limited resources.  Stress is immediate, with technology double-booked, professional relationships to once more give time and love to, and students asking when that first piece of work will be back, having handed it in two days ago.  This year I feel like I'm cracking a bit more, but my memory has always been shocking, and my husband tells me it's the same every year.  I'm going to choose to believe him, because, if it is actually getting harder every year, I don't want to think about what is to come.

I've really only had to talk to my family (and some friends, admittedly) during December and January.  That's 6 people, maybe 20 tops if you include those aforementioned mates. Suddenly, upon return of students, I'm engaging with 140 plus students, daily, and another 40 staff. I think the body goes into shock. Plus, a lot of those students are new to me - I've never taught them before.  And so, the re-negotiation of how the classroom will work begins.

Forming relationships is hard.  It's not something that happens overnight.  It takes little actions, on a daily basis.  It takes consistency and humour.  Even though some believe you don't have to like a student to form a working relationship with them (and you don't, as a student, have to like a teacher to form a relationship with them!) there surely has to be SOMETHING there.  Maybe respect?  Well, respect doesn't come cheap, either.

Click on the picture to see the animation

So much time and energy is (quite rightly) given over to figuring out what, as one of my very dear colleagues and mentor from another school used to say, is the bridge for the gap between you and the student. I'm really not surprised that I'm sick, I'm more surprised that my colleagues aren't, too!

There's that old saying 'teachers aren't in it for the money' or something similar to that.  In some ways, that's not true.  You need to feel like you are able to live a decent life outside of school.  And I think that teachers are paid okay.  Obviously, if you were to add up everything most (not all, for sure) teachers do, you'd have to be paying them much, much more.  

In many more ways, it is very, very true.  Teachers (mostly) ARE NOT in it for the money.  It's the feeling, for me at least, of helping teenagers try to be the best human/adult they can be that keeps me in this vocation.  I think teenagers, for the most part, are amazing.  And if they're not yet, they have the potential to be.  It is eye-roll worthy, but it is a privilege to potentially affect how another forming human being sees the world.

So even though my lungs feel like they're collapsing, I'll probably end up marking even though I should be sleeping.  And even though my body is sending me definite signals in this first period of lurgy about SLOWING DOWN and eating properly, I'll probably still end up having my lunch after school, as was the case most of last year.  I don't think that's martyrdom or anything, it's just that simple thing it always comes down to: do the good old pros outweigh the good old cons?  Thankfully, I don't need to write that list down to know that the pros are still winning.

 

 

DECEMBER! AGGHHH!

Well, I can't quite believe it, but my last post here was in August.  AUGUST! That was winter.  That was the cold, dark depths of what makes Dunedin Dunedin. That was before the crazy exam season for seniors, including preliminary and actual NCEA exams. And, of course, marking, marking, marking.  Welcome, December.  You are a gift to teachers!

What I also love about December is that finally I can read.  By this I mean, I have the time to read.  I can read for pleasure and I can read to inform my teaching practice. 

At the moment, I'm getting into audiobooks.  This was triggered by need and curiosity - a long road trip driving between Dunedin and Christchurch and back again in a weekend.  There is an extra dimension to audiobooks; a scary variability - the narrator.  If the narrator grates, it's unlikely that I'll keep listening.  That voice! Richard Flanagan's The Narrow Road to the Deep North was my choice for the drive, and I was reassured by the fact that the book was read by Flanagan, too.  So, I reasoned, even if I didn't like his voice, it was being read the way intended when written. 

It was so enjoyable listening to this year's Booker winner in this way.  It opened up a new (but, of course, old) way of enjoying stories for me.  In the past, when it's come to storytelling, I've always favoured reading over listening (unless you count my writer husband spinning another good yarn at the dinner table.  'Tell us another story about when you were in India!' says Esme (aged 5), yet again.  Solomon (aged 15) groans and rolls his eyes, yet again.  But he is always secretly interested). 

In the Secondary Teaching and Learning Guide for my subject area, English, the key concept areas are Identity, Communication, Story and Meaning.  This guide is well worth devoting some holiday time to this December.  The guide says this:

Story

People use oral, written, and visual English to tell stories, and to read, hear, and view the stories of others.  Our stories define us. When our stories connect with the stories of others, our lives change.

I agree.  Stories define us.  Stories help us empathise.  Stories are yet another form of creativity - vital in life and for living (and certainly in the classroom and in education.  Have a look at the video in this post.  Ken Robinson explaining this again - it's an old favourite).

I thought a lot about this as I listened to a story in a different way - via audiobook rather than reading.  When we read we decode via a range of semiotics; we make meaning using signs and symbols on a page - words.  When we listen we are still decoding and still engaging with semiotics - but it a different way.  This got me thinking about signs and symbols a little more, too.

The New Zealand Curriculum has some fabulous aspirational guidelines in the 'Values' and 'Key Competencies'.  It says this about signs and symbols:

Using language, symbols, and texts

Using language, symbols, and texts is about working with and making meaning of the codes in which knowledge is expressed. Languages and symbols are systems for representing and communicating information, experiences, and ideas. People use languages and symbols to produce texts of all kinds: written, oral/aural, and visual; informative and imaginative; informal and formal; mathematical, scientific, and technological.
Students who are competent users of language, symbols, and texts can interpret and use words, number, images, movement, metaphor, and technologies in a range of contexts. They recognise how choices of language, symbol, or text affect people’s understanding and the ways in which they respond to communications. They confidently use ICT (including, where appropriate, assistive technologies) to access and provide information and to communicate with others.

So, of course, listening to language is as vital as reading language.  That is why 'listening' is as valued as 'reading' in the New Zealand English Curriculum Area.  'Understanding, using, and creating oral, written, and visual texts of increasing complexity is at the heart of English teaching and learning. By engaging with text-based activities, students become increasingly skilled and sophisticated speakers and listeners, writers and readers, presenters and viewers.'  

I guess that listening to Richard Flanagan's charming Australian drawl is another text, another life experience, that has led me again to the New Zealand Curriculum, and once again I find myself reflecting on and thinking about my teaching practice in response to this.

Conclusion?  Perhaps more oral texts in class.  And maybe I'll start with The Narrow Road to the Deep North.




'Civilisation is a race between education and catastrophe.' H.G. Wells