When my Grade 12 University level English class finished reading Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead, they entered class prepared to write a unit test as a culminating activity for the three and a half weeks they had spent reading Rand’s tome. Once all were seated, and the last-minute speculative whispering regarding possible themes and important quotes that may appear on the test had all settled, I outlined the test that I had prepared for them. I carefully explained that ‘Part A’ was a multiple choice section that was not designed to insult their intelligence, but that the descriptors they would be expected to match were present to trigger some ideas for ‘Part B’, a more complex portion of the test where students would be asked to respond to important themes of the text. Finally, I explained that ‘Part C’ was where the money would be: a metacognitive portion of the test where they would be asked about the reading strategies they had been implementing and improving over the unit. I reminded them that for all who had already begun working on their Reading Narrative Essays that were to be due the following week, ‘Part C’ wouldn’t be that difficult because they would have already been thinking along these lines. I then announced that if it were true that they indeed were writing a test that day, I would ask them to place all of their answers on the sheet of full-scap that I would give them, but that because the test was canceled, this wouldn’t be the case!
Exclamations of relief and joy were immediately exhaled and praised towards a variety of deities throughout the room. Now grinning, I told them that the unit test was going to be optional, and that I wanted them all to spend the period focused on their reading narrative essays. Only once all of the essays were completed, graded, and returned, would I allow each of them to make a decision, for better or for worse, whether or not to write the unit test. I realize that many of the students tend to do particularly well on unit tests and are often able to buoy their otherwise weaker English grades, and, though I didn’t want to take that opportunity away from them, I wanted them to critically think about how they had been learning over the course of the unit, every bit as much as about what they had learned.
The Reading Narrative Essay is one of the ways to meet the specific curriculum expectations of metacognition. My colleagues and I often shy away from incorporating a lot of metacognition into our English classrooms, because it can be difficult to evaluate — this despite the fact that only overall expectations must each be evaluated, but specific expectations must only be introduced and not necessarily evaluated either formatively or summatively. Nevertheless, I have frequently reminded my Grade 12 class that I want them to be thinking about their own strengths and weaknesses, what they are doing to improve their own learning and how those strategies are working for them.
For the narrative essay, I asked the students to each tell me a story about their experience of reading The Fountainhead, a story that represented the growth of their understanding of the novel including the setbacks and frustrations they suffered, the diversions and surprises they encountered, the connections they were able to make and the epiphanies they experienced. I wanted their narrative essay to explain to me what the novel was like for them, how it clashed or resonated with their own identity and their own ideas. I realize that this narrative essay format wouldn’t qualify my students for any of this year’s contest topics, but I’m still hoping that a few of my students will revise their work to submit to the Ayn Rand Institute judges.
Some students seemed genuinely relieved at the idea of writing a narrative essay, thinking an assignment asking them to tell a story about their reading experience sounded easy. Others seemed anxious at the thought of stepping out of their own comfort zone — disappointed that they were not being given the opportunity to demonstrate how well they’ve mastered the five-paragraph essay format they’d honed over their previous three years of high school.
When the essays came in, I found them a joy to mark because they were all so radically different and each was truly unique. Some students struggled with the freedom of writing in the first person, slipping in and out of the persuasive literary essay format that they had become familiar with, and others frequently digressed into plot summaries. Most, however, delivered a genuine narrative essay, complete with their brief attempts at exploring questions they had about plot, themes, and characters, with their predictions and set-backs along the way, and with their major “Ah ha!” moments. I tried to prepare a flexible rubric, but will welcome any suggestions colleagues may have.
While the narrative essay may be asking both students and instructors alike to step out of their comfort zone of the traditional five-paragraph format, I believe it is a real attempt at helping students find their own voice. Certainly something that Howard Roark, and Ayn Rand herself, would surely be pleased with.
This semester I’ve been using very short “Reading Guide” activities structured, overall, like that exam you gave your students. The main difference, of course, is that ours are for the short articles we read in my Freshman Comp. I course.
It’s also interesting that your faculty shy away from metacognitive writing whereas ours embraces it in a couple of lower level courses (at least at the beginning and end of the semesters). However, it sounds like your students come from a much better read background than ours (I think our average incoming Freshman has a 9th grade reading level). We find that the metacognitive activities help our students realize just how much they actually have to write about.
True, they are hard to grade sometimes, but we coach them through the steps, which I think helps both them and us understand what should be in there.
Keep up the good work!
Ben, thanks for your thoughts on this. I would certainly enjoy hearing more about your ‘coaching them through the steps.’
For most of our curriculum’s big papers, we get the ball rolling with “Feeders” (because they “feed” into the overall project; clever, I know).
These Feeders generally do one of two things: a) teach the students a necessary skill needed for the project they’re working on (such as how to properly cite sources) or b) have them do a small writing exercise that is really part of the paper they’re writing (such as drafting a thesis statement). Occasionally, we’re able to do both at the same time, like with a paper that requires the student to know how to effectively summarize a text. In that case, there might be a Feeder than asks them to do just that.
As instructors, we can then use those Feeders to see how well the students have mastered a particular skill and/or direct their first draft.
PS Thanks for the recognition in your Blogroll