The Future of Reading

I think there is real cause for concern when the skirmishes between advocates of "phonics instruction" and advocates of "whole language" mushroom into all-out reading wars. In many schools, teachers no longer get to find their own creative ways of combining the two approaches; instead they are given prescribed programs to follow in lockstep fashion. While the programs are extensions of phonics-based methods of teaching reading, they are sold under such descriptors as research-based, directed instruction, and programmed learning. They come fully scripted and are described as teacher-proof and fail-safe.

Such terms appeal to administrators whose schools will be judged mostly by how many children earn passing grades–rather than by how many excel–on mandatory examinations. While most of us realize that a focus on conformity and mediocrity is not good for children, we might not have thought about the unforeseen consequences on teachers and librarians.

Based on how quickly conversations can turn hostile–especially when political views are brought in–it is unreasonable to expect librarians to enter the fray as assigned peacekeepers. However, they need to be aware of the issues and the fact that many people are willing to hide behind children to promote commercial interests and political views quite separate from helping children develop either skills or positive attitudes toward reading. In some schools, the librarian may be the only respected adult in a position to support and encourage creative teachers who know that their job is to make sure that children learn not only how to read, but that they also develop a desire to read. Librarians also may be the only ones who can purchase and make available materials from professional, not-for-profit, organizations such as the National Council of Teachers of English and the International Reading Association. These groups present various sides of the issue along with alternative interpretations of "research-based."

Here at Arizona State University, adults who enter our post-baccalaureate programs to earn teaching certificates after trying something else usually say they are making a career change because they want a job where they can be creative. They anticipate never being bored because every day and every interaction will be different because every child is different. Such people have the potential to be energetic and inspiring teachers, but they will be sorely disappointed if they find themselves in a school where salespeople have not only convinced the administration that they have a guaranteed method of teaching reading, but have also hinted at powerful connections between their products and the high-stakes tests currently being used to judge the effectiveness of teachers and schools.

One of the problems with scripted approaches is that children have little or nothing to say about what they will read. This is sad because, as librarians see every day, being able to choose one's own reading material is a powerful motivator. If the only time children get to make reading choices is once a week when they come to the library, they will be woefully unprepared for real life where on a daily basis they are presented with more than they can possibly read in the time they have available.

Another problem is that scripted programs move so slowly that they eat up inordinate amounts of class time. A retired teacher and librarian recently telephoned me to say that she was going back to her old school to pick up her teaching "treasures," which she had given to a new first-grade teacher. She had called to see how things were going and the teacher confessed that she hadn't unpacked the boxes from the closet because her school was using a "research-based approach" and so the children were still concentrating on phonemic awareness. My friend was horrified because it was now December and by the time her first graders went home for Christmas break many of them were reading "real" books. She plans to set up shop as a tutor because she anticipates that parents will soon be clamoring for help.

Besides eating up the time reserved for teaching skills, scripted programs are pushing reading for pleasure out of the curriculum. All of us who have shared poetry and conducted story hours with children know the value of "scripts," but we also know that children have an uncanny ability to know if they are being presented with mundane "scripts" that even the storyteller does not find interesting. Children will not put forth the tremendous intellectual effort that is required to learn to read if they do not see a reward. The younger and more deprived children are, the more reward–the more pleasure–they need to see coming from the printed word. It probably won't hurt children to get practice in chanting sounds and studying "rules" and "exceptions to rules," but they also need to have fun with words–including thousands of words they have not been drilled on. From long ago when I took children's literature, I remember the well-stated idea that stories with no surprises–no unknown words–were "as boring as rice pudding without any raisins."

Experienced and confident teachers know how to combine phonics instruction with whole language, but new teachers as well as parents need to see how it is done. A good illustration is the scene in Margaret Edson's 1999 Pulitzer Prize-winning play, Wit, which is the story of Vivian's losing fight against cancer. Vivian is a middle-aged professor of English literature and in one of the lighter moments her favorite nurse comes in to give her an injection. Vivian says that she hopes the effect will be soporific. The nurse says she doesn't know what that means, but "it will make you sleepy." When Vivian explains that this is the exact meaning of soporific, she and the nurse laugh companionably, and then there is a flashback to Vivian's fifth birthday when she was given five of Beatrix Potter's little white books. The child Vivian is sitting on the floor by her father who is reading the newspaper. She opens The Tale of the Flopsy Bunnies and begins to read, "It is said that the effect of eating too much lettuce is sopor–sop–or–what is that word?"

"Sound it out," says her father, which Vivian does, finally coming up with soporific. Her father explains the meaning and talks with Vivian about what makes her sleepy and what makes him sleepy and then Vivian goes back to reading and discovers that "The little bunnies in the picture are asleep! They're sleeping! Like you said, because of soporific."

The adult Vivian explains that this was the moment she realized words would be her life's work. Few adults will know when they have contributed to this kind of an epiphany, but one thing we do know is that children are unlikely to make such discoveries while their class is following a scripted program. Another thing we know is that if children are restricted to reading only those stories that contain words they already know, they will miss out on a large part of children's literature.

Every fall in my "Symbols and Archetypes in Children's Literature" class, a few students become critical of their parents and their elementary school teachers and librarians for not having introduced them to some of the wonderful pieces of literature that they discover during the semester. Since the class is an elective, I assure the students that someone must have helped them learn to love children's literature or they would not be there. Occasionally students will come back after Christmas break to apologize for having falsely accused their parents of ignoring children's literature. When they got home their parents showed them all the books they had purchased and reminded them of how many trips they had taken to the library and of how many stories they had read together.

Such misunderstandings are the result of there being more great children's literature than any child could possibly read between second grade when they've learned to "decode" and sixth or seventh grade when they move on to teen interests. Each generation saves its best pieces–even writings that were originally intended for adults–to pass on to children, which means that the body of literature is almost as big as the one that adults have their whole lifetimes to savor. I am saddened by the way current instructional practices are nibbling away on the few short years during which people can read and appreciate children's literature through the eyes of a child.

Those of us who feel this way are going to have to increase our efforts to bring children the kind of pleasure and joy that will help them see that learning to read is worth the effort. We need to demonstrate to teachers and parents the infinite possibilities for bringing children genuine enjoyment connected to reading. A homebuilder in Arizona has recently been paying for full-page, double-spread public service ads in the states' largest newspapers. The left page is devoted to an almost life-size, full-color photo of a father reading to his daughter, who looks to be about four years old, while on the facing page is a smaller photo of a mother and son. The accompanying message, presented in fewer than 300 words, encourages parents to read to their preschoolers "15 minutes a day." This 15-minutes-a-day message holds wonderful promise, but not if parents misunderstand their role and get sold on using canned reading systems. Their role is to lay a foundation–what we used to call reading readiness–by sharing genuine pleasure with children.

When parents in the thrall of accountability measures ask me how many books they need to share with their preschoolers to guarantee a love for literature, I am reminded of the line in William Gibson's The Miracle Worker. Helen Keller's mother, who is tired of finger-spelling words to Helen, asks Annie Sullivan how many times the mothers of hearing children must repeat a word before the child learns it, and Miss Sullivan responds, "No mother every minded enough to count."

Very few parents–and even fewer children–have the perseverance to continue something for 15 minutes a day over a period of years if it isn't rewarding, which to children usually means pleasurable. Poets, authors, artists, and publishers have done their part by providing truly powerful and enjoyable "scripts"; now it's up to us to get them delivered to children in such a way that they will have the desire to do whatever it takes to learn to read.