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fandomhigh2008-09-04 02:35 am
clevermsbennet.livejournal.com) wrote in fandomhigh2008-09-04 02:35 am
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Literature, Class 1: Period 3, Thursday, September 4
Miss Elizabeth Bennet forced herself not to play idly with the chalk while she was waiting for her students to file into her classroom. (Her students. Her classroom. How very odd to think of them as such.)
"Good morning," she said finally, leaning back against her desk and regarding the room. "My name is Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and I am to be your Literature teacher this term."
She would politely omit the fact that she was very much surprised to be so.
"Why literature?" she asked, resting the chalk on her desk. "That's a question which can go many directions. First, why should I be teaching you literature? I do readily confess, I am not an expert or a learned scholar. I was accused once of being a great reader, who cared little for anything else," and her eyes twinkled with amusement, at that, "but that was idle gossip, and I assure you, it isn't the case. However, I do care greatly for books, and perhaps that's more important: having a passion for the subject. Scholars may get lost in themes and theoreticals that the average reader may never care about. It is possible to be too detached from the work, I feel; discussing the meter of a poem at length and never once touching on how that meter serves the emotional thrust of the work. Of course, it's entirely possible that the island was aiming for a scholar and abducted the wrong Literature teacher entirely, but if that is the case, we'll just have to make do as best we can."
She smiled at the room again. "So then, why is literature important? It's the stories we tell one another. Books resonate with us, as individuals. A good story can tell you things about the world and life that you hadn't realized before. A good character can make you wish that person was real, that you might sit and take tea with him. Literature can inform us, can move us, can allow us to escape our lives and step into someone else's, for a while. Someone's taste in books is very telling, I've found. It's hard to think ill of someone who likes many of the works you do, and a friend you care deeply for who doesn't appreciate the story that moves you the most -- you might discover you feel disappointed. Such things can be terribly personal, I'm afraid."
"Which brings us to the last version of today's question." Eliza looked around the room, hoping to catch the students' eyes. "Why literature, for each of you? What spurred you to sign up for this class? What do you read, in your leisure time, if you read at all? Why are those works the ones that catch your interest?"
"I assure you," she continued calmly, "there are no incorrect answers. If you read adventure stories because you get a thrill when pirates take the high seas, if you read gothic romance to swoon over the brave gentleman as he woos his lady, if you read the Holy Bible to immerse yourself in the Lord's Will, whatever you read, what matters is that you connect with it. I should be very much surprised if there weren't others in the class with similar tastes; perhaps you can arrange after class to trade books with one another."
She hesitated before adding, "It is very possible that some of you may not read at all, either for lack of time or because you simply haven't the ability. There is no shame in that. Ladies in my society were encouraged to be accomplished, but none received proper schooling; in fact, my sisters and I had no governess, and had to educate ourselves. It was then that I discovered how greatly I enjoyed reading. It is my hope that some of you may do the same."
"Also, I have heard that teachers here may acquire assistants to help with class matters. If any of you might be interested in the position -- for that matter, if any of you would like to enlighten me on what that position entails -- I would be much obliged if you would speak to me after class. For now, let us being by introducing ourselves. Shall we?"
"Good morning," she said finally, leaning back against her desk and regarding the room. "My name is Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and I am to be your Literature teacher this term."
She would politely omit the fact that she was very much surprised to be so.
"Why literature?" she asked, resting the chalk on her desk. "That's a question which can go many directions. First, why should I be teaching you literature? I do readily confess, I am not an expert or a learned scholar. I was accused once of being a great reader, who cared little for anything else," and her eyes twinkled with amusement, at that, "but that was idle gossip, and I assure you, it isn't the case. However, I do care greatly for books, and perhaps that's more important: having a passion for the subject. Scholars may get lost in themes and theoreticals that the average reader may never care about. It is possible to be too detached from the work, I feel; discussing the meter of a poem at length and never once touching on how that meter serves the emotional thrust of the work. Of course, it's entirely possible that the island was aiming for a scholar and abducted the wrong Literature teacher entirely, but if that is the case, we'll just have to make do as best we can."
She smiled at the room again. "So then, why is literature important? It's the stories we tell one another. Books resonate with us, as individuals. A good story can tell you things about the world and life that you hadn't realized before. A good character can make you wish that person was real, that you might sit and take tea with him. Literature can inform us, can move us, can allow us to escape our lives and step into someone else's, for a while. Someone's taste in books is very telling, I've found. It's hard to think ill of someone who likes many of the works you do, and a friend you care deeply for who doesn't appreciate the story that moves you the most -- you might discover you feel disappointed. Such things can be terribly personal, I'm afraid."
"Which brings us to the last version of today's question." Eliza looked around the room, hoping to catch the students' eyes. "Why literature, for each of you? What spurred you to sign up for this class? What do you read, in your leisure time, if you read at all? Why are those works the ones that catch your interest?"
"I assure you," she continued calmly, "there are no incorrect answers. If you read adventure stories because you get a thrill when pirates take the high seas, if you read gothic romance to swoon over the brave gentleman as he woos his lady, if you read the Holy Bible to immerse yourself in the Lord's Will, whatever you read, what matters is that you connect with it. I should be very much surprised if there weren't others in the class with similar tastes; perhaps you can arrange after class to trade books with one another."
She hesitated before adding, "It is very possible that some of you may not read at all, either for lack of time or because you simply haven't the ability. There is no shame in that. Ladies in my society were encouraged to be accomplished, but none received proper schooling; in fact, my sisters and I had no governess, and had to educate ourselves. It was then that I discovered how greatly I enjoyed reading. It is my hope that some of you may do the same."
"Also, I have heard that teachers here may acquire assistants to help with class matters. If any of you might be interested in the position -- for that matter, if any of you would like to enlighten me on what that position entails -- I would be much obliged if you would speak to me after class. For now, let us being by introducing ourselves. Shall we?"
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