I read The Old Man in the Sea when I was in 6th grade, because my mother really liked it. (Her other favorites include Ayn Rand, James Baldwin, and Henry Miller, and Silhouette Romance Novels). I have never, ever hated something more. Except maybe the Red Pny or the Pearl. I don't think I could ever read it.

I have a tendancy to see hope in things that other people find bleak, although I am not sure why or if I am maybe even misreading things. I read Kate Chopin's Awakenings, which ends with a woman committing suicide by swimming into the ocean and thought the woman took a swim, was reborn and came out of the sea to live a long and happy life. Boy was I embarrassed in class!

I really need to read A Tale of Two Cities again. I remember loving it more than anything else we read in AP English senior year with the possible exception of Macbeth, but I read it in a hurry as I was recovering from chicken pox, and now I barely remember it.

I tried around the time Chosen aired, feeling as I did somewhat vindicated in the notion that you'd TOTALLY have a Far, Far Better Thing moment there, as I'd been saying that for ages.

It's... purple. I have a residual fondness for it, having once dressed as Madame DeFarge for Halloween, but man, it's purple. And the things that annoyed me enough to cause annotations in the margins at 15 annoyed me even more this time 'round.

Lately, other than my big old Mosley kick, I've been attempting re-reads of favorites of my youth. Thus far, they've been kind of a disappointment. (Last night's was Swimming to Cambodia, which now makes me cringe--how much of that was regarding the author's fate, I don't know.)

Steinbeck was so, so hit or miss for me. I think even the most stunning stuff was tainted by "The Red Pony" and "The Pearl".

What is the appeal of bleakness?

For me - it's the relief of seeing the horror that I'm experiencing expressed in some way. For example, I have a deep desire to see Guernica, because it is, for me, a perfect encapsulation of the horror of war that doesn't overwhelm and therefore numb me like actual photos do. It's an interpretation that allows me to process that feeling. Same thing with East of Eden.

Steinbeck was so, so hit or miss for me. I think even the most stunning stuff was tainted by "The Red Pony" and "The Pearl".

I have to confess, actually, that I hated The Red Pony and the Pearl so much that I am not sure I have read any other Steinbeck in the original form. I have read plays of Of Mice and Men and Grapes of Wrath and seen movies of those and East of Eden(although that may have been because of a 7th grade James Dean obsession)

It seems, from reading Kristen and Kat's posts that teachers have a little bit more leeway in choosing teaching material, which is nice as The Big Two Hearted River also ruined me for Hemingway until I read For Whom the Bell TOlls in college.

Interesting, I don't like any Hemingway. but I don't hate him. I can see why people like him, but he doesn't grab me. Strangely, he seems overly sentimental to me. Wordsworth is another one that doesn't really grab me, but I get why other people do.

On the other hand, there's a whole lot of Dickens that I completely adore -- in particular the great monster 900-page late novels Dombey , Bleak House , and Our Mutual Friend. (The order switches, with BH usually in the lead until I pick up OMF again). All of those manage the whole scope from commentary to characters to just... damn.

Those are JZ's favorite Dickens' novels too.

The longer I teach, the more I drift back to the classics. It's funny, really. I love bringing contemporary fiction and poetry into my curriculum, but I feel a driving need to teach the classics. Then again, one of the things I'm most proud of is that my students consistently say I make "boring old stuff" interesting, and that makes me very happy. As much as I thought that my colleague who first decided to have the girls read the entire Odyssey was batshit crazy, the students tell us year after year that it gives them such a solid foundation in the rest of their literary studies. What determines a classic is very much debatable, but I think that how you teach a classic book will determine whether or not that book is relevant or useful to most students. Hence the fact that I had some really hideously bad high school English teachers who led me to believe I didn't like Shakespeare (!!!).

Then again, the three books I read in high school that I remember having the most profound effect on me were The Jungle, 1984, and The Grapes of Wrath, and my teacher at the time was...not good. So who know.

I think this post may be lacking a central point. Just go with it.

ETA: I also really loved The Sun Also Rises and The Old Man and the Sea, but I had better teachers for those. TOMatS in particular. I think I would have hated it without proper guidance.

As much as I thought that my colleague who first decided to have the girls read the entire Odyssey was batshit crazy, the students tell us year after year that it gives them such a solid foundation in the rest of their literary studies.

I have very fond memories (fond, as in, if you went to my HS and you diss Mr S. I WILL CUT YOU) of my AP English teacher, who similarly had us do the whole Aeneid. (He was a Latinist. What can I say?) It was a slog at the time, but I ended up wishing we'd had enough time for both the Iliad and the Odyssey as well.

(Also, this thread has turned into a workout for my quick-edit-i skills. Yay!)

Then again, the three books I read in high school that I remember having the most profound effect on me were The Jungle, 1984, and The Grapes of Wrath, and my teacher at the time was...not good. So who knows.

I'm terrified of rats to this day.

I'm terrified of rats to this day.

Between The Jungle and 1984, how could you not be??