Confession to Numerous Love Affairs...

It's not what you might think...

My husband...


Bon Jovi...



Harry Connick, Jr....


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No, it's about loving books and characters and well-crafted writing... words... "close" reading.



In 2013, Christopher Lehman and Kate Roberts wrote a beautiful professional book on this subject, Falling in Love with Close Reading:  Lessons for Analyzing Texts--and Life (Heinemann Publishers).  Consider this quote from page one:

Think of what you love most in the world:  your children, spouse, family, and friends.  Your home or a memento from a vacation.  Your cat.  That old sweater you have had forever.  Now consider how well, how intimately, you know those things.  How when your partner has a certain look on her face, you know she is feeling sweet on you.  How, on lucky occasions, you can preempt your child's tantrum.  How every thread on that sweater is as familiar as the fingers on your hands.  Think of the first person you fell in love with.  Think of the last.  

We know, in our bones, that loving something or someone involves knowing that thing or person very well.  Returning to it repeatedly, gazing at it for hours, considering each angle, each word, and thinking about its meaning.

Our connection to the written word can be as deep as a love affair.  Think of those books, the ones you memorized every line of when you were young...  Love brings us in close, leads us to study the details of a thing, and asks us to return again and again.... teaching readers to look at texts closely--by showing them one word, one scene, or one idea matters--is an opportunity to extend a love affair with reading.  It is also a chance to carry close reading habits beyond the page, to remind students that their lives are rich with significance, ready to be examined, reflected upon, and appreciated.

What's not to love about this?  It describes love--in life and of literature--and how it reading extends who we are as human beings.  It can give us hope, knowing that we are teaching academics well, while also critically examining how we live and what is happening in our world.  Close reading can help us pay closer attention to the details of our lives.

The first time I read a familiar book to children, they say, "We've read this book before."

And with my whole heart, I say, "A book you have read before is like an old friend; it's lovely to visit it again and again, getting to know and understand it better and love it more."  Every time I pick up a familiar read after this conversation, the children will say, "It's an old friend!"

And I say, "Yes, and it's time for us to get to know it better..." and that leads into the mini-lesson.

As the CCSS emerged, so did the term "close reading."  The truth is, close reading is something that teachers have been teaching in a variety of ways for years and that avid, wild readers do naturally.  Those familiar reads that I mentioned (above) were re-read with intention--for a purpose and with the love and openness that you willingly give to a friend.  In writer's workshop, we call this a "touchstone text," meaning that it is of such a quality that we can examine various elements of craft for a number of mini-lessons.  It's when you know the words or craft by heart--that's the love that comes with close reading.


In reading workshop, we re-read texts to think about an author's intent, to examine clues about themes, conflict, plot, and characterization.

I think back to my youth, to an experience in my fourth grade classroom....

I was an avid reader.  I seldom watched evening TV, so there were often hours to fill between dinner, homework, and bedtime.  Reading was the best option, especially on the dark, freezing-cold evenings of Midwestern winters or the long, sultry days of summer.  Like many children, some of the books on our home's bookshelves came from the "book club order" from school.  One such book on our shelf was Helen Siiteri's The Adventures of Nicholas or The Wonderful Life and Complete Account of That Famous Toymaker and Children's Friend, Nicholas, Better Known As Santa Claus.



This book was one of my childhood favorites.  I remember my sister, Lynda, reading it to me when I was just a toddler.  I begged her to re-read it at least annually, usually at Christmas time.  But as my love for this story grew, I would beg for it more often, adding to my stack of summertime reads.  By second grade, I was able to read most of it on my own, so Lynda and I partner read chapters aloud to each other.  By third grade, I could completely read it on my own, and I was proud to be able to do so.  At the ripe old age of 8, I decided to re-read this treasured book each year at Christmas.

Then came fourth grade...

It was just after Christmas; keeping my promise to myself, I had joyfully re-read The Adventures of Nicholas and felt grown-up in that I could now read this book independently AND remember to read it at Christmas, just as I had planned.  That year,  my sister and I had also read and re-read a Whitman copy of The Night Before Christmas (with a tall Santa Claus wearing a flocked coat and hat on the cover) until I had completely memorized the entire poem.  That same year, Lynda taught me the lyrics to what has become my favorite secular Christmas song, "Silver Bells".  I still cherish those memories and know all of the words by heart... another love affair of sorts.



I was feeling good about my holiday reading and learning.  Yes, I had made a reading plan for late December, and I had carried through with it on my own.  Imagine my exhilaration to open a package on Christmas morning, containing my first hardcover book.  It was (surprisingly) an unfamiliar text:  Roald Dahl's Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

 

Can you remember the first time you were exposed to a text so delightful as this?  I was in LOVE.  That Christmas was particularly snowy, and we stayed home for almost two whole weeks.  Every time I finished the book, I decided to re-read it.  I read it five times over Christmas break.  I knew it well.  I had, indeed, returned to it repeatedly, gazed at it for hours, considered each word, angle, and meaning. I had fallen in love with this book and with close reading.

Upon returning to school after break, our teacher asked us what we had been reading.  When it was my turn to share, I began by saying that I had re-read The Adventures of Nicholas.  

The teacher asked, "Re-read?  How many times have you read this book before?"

Her tone caught me off guard and made me instantly uncomfortable.

"Ummm.... I don't really know... maybe 7 or 8?" I answered, thinking of all of the times my sister and I had shared this well-loved treasure.

Then came her thunderous response, "Why would you re-read any book 7 or 8 times?  There are so many good books in the world, you couldn't possibly read them all.  It's a waste of time to re-read."

Chastised, I just looked down at my desk.  Thus, no one ever heard about my love for this text, my pleasure in being able to read it independently, or the pride I took in re-reading The Night Before Christmas until I had memorized the entire poem.

Silence filled the air.  No one dared to utter the word "re-read" for the rest of the year... or maybe for years to come.  

But my brain would not let it go.  

Was it really so wrong to love a book enough to re-read it?  

Was it possible that my teacher could be wrong?  

For a long time, this idea festered; as it did, I lost my drive for re-reading.  Even when I thought I would do it despite my teacher's "advice," I just couldn't.  What if re-reading turned out to be a colossal waste of time?  

I felt ashamed of my reading habits, my love of certain books over others.  I feared further ridicule, should I ask the "wrong" person... someone who might not understand.  My trust in my teacher had significantly diminished after her rebuke of re-reading; my heart told me that she was wrong, but I thought I was being disrespectful in even thinking such a thing.  Who could I ask?  Who would condemn me no further?

At last, I turned to my older sister, Lynda--this same sister who had read aloud with me for years who was, by now, in high school--and so much wiser than I.  By then, months had passed.  It was through hot tears of humiliation that I choked out the story of my teacher's reprimand about re-reading and asked her for her thoughts.  She was incensed, saying, "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!  I re-read all of the time, and so do my friends. She doesn't know what she's talking about.  Don't listen to her, Sissy."  It took time, but I eventually came to believe my sister (thank goodness).  

Now I know the value of re-reading for pleasure, for closer reading, to explore the writer's craft.  I know the joy of re-reading, which is much like spending quality time with an old friend--getting to know it even better, appreciating its nuances and maybe even noticing new reasons to love the words.  And as you change and grow, your heart hears it in new ways, over and over again... just like you see your friends in new ways through each shared thought and experience.

I know that re-reading cherished books is something we do for ourselves, just like spending time with friends that challenge us, soothe us, make us laugh--make us think and feel.  In this way, we get to know ourselves even better, as well.  Of course, there are plenty of things we love more than words... but our beloved book and poems are the old friends that are always there and welcome you back, time after time... now that's love.  True love.