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| [a] Looming RF |
So we spent a little time yesterday looking at the "upside" of quizzes. They provide a way of getting students to class or, at the very least, bringing a fairly significant penalty to missing more than a few class sessions. Good stuff, but does that make it worth the time and effort that must go into them? Not if that were the only benefit, I would say. But there is more, and it starts to tip the balance toward quizzes. Let's take a look at how they can change the entire intellectual landscape.
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| [b] Cramming RF |
To begin, and to echo one of the first posts in this introductory essay, quizzes help me to make sure that students think about their readings at least five times, and in five different ways. They read before class, in class we discuss the readings, students then have short assignments or note-review sessions, and, finally, they engage the materials one more time and write papers. Wedged into the beginning of that—right between class preparation and class time—is the quiz. The quiz affords me the opportunity to take the way that students normally read history or anthropology books and turn it on its head, slowly teaching them the (for some reason) difficult concept that histories and ethnographies are written.
Let me explain. Take a look at all of the "pivots" noted above when it comes to class preparation. All of them, except quizzes these days, are very common at all levels of education. First, read the book, then discuss the book in class, next, review your notes, finally, use what you know to write a paper. By inserting the quiz into the first parts of the process, I have the luxury of messing with very basic assumptions and making students realize that studying history in college is—or should be—about more than soaking in the opinions of authorities.
This is a major pet (-agogical) peeve of mine.
You see, we all have a tendency to read history books, especially when we are reading about topics outside our comfort zones, like some people read oracles. Don't believe everything you read? Ever heard that? Well, I am sorry to report that it is fairly common for college students to read their books to find out what happened, and not to evaluate arguments. There are many reasons for this, ranging from K-12 backgrounds that emphasize comprehension to, well, just not knowing enough to be able to evaluate the writing. This is a challenge, but it is hardly insurmountable.
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| [c] Reenactment RF |
Let me give you an example.
Jimbo is an eighteen year-old sports fanatic and sometime college student. He cannot fathom what his history professor is saying each day about "evaluating arguments" and "understanding the perspective of the author." He reads a book very critical of the Shōwa emperor of Japan (r. 1926-1989) alongside one that is quite glowing in its treatment. He may feel a little bit of cognitive dissonance in reading the two accounts, especially because he is a careful reader. Then, in class, Jimbo's professor asks him to compare the two authors and their treatments of the subject.
Jimbo scratches his head, looks at his notebook, and tries to buy time. He has no idea how to answer the question, and for a reason that most history professors have never fully considered: Jimbo has read both books as testaments spoken from authority. He spends most of his time watching football, baseball, hockey, and basketball—and then managing his fantasy leagues—but he is no dullard. He is a good reader and a smart cookie. He understands the books and their key arguments.
But Jimbo doesn't understand that the books were written by authors.
Really? Yup, really. You may doubt my characterization of the matter, and I will concede that—in a basic, "real-world" sense—Jimbo understands that people write books. Like almost all of his classmates, however, he hasn't really thought deeply about how intertwined people are with the books they write. He hasn't really thought about the ways in which his historian authors have engaged archival materials, wrestled with interpretations, and bent-almost-to-breaking under the weight of earlier historiography. He still (he's eighteen, after all) reads history books to find out what happened.
My job as a college history professor...is to destroy that naiveté forever.
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| [d] Contrast RF |
Crush it underfoot.
It has been said that there is a kind of student who should never be an English major (and certainly not a graduate student in literature). This wonderful student loves novels and poems and essays and doggerel, and has been admiring good writing (and wonderfully suspense-filled endings) since she was a little girl reading her very first Nancy Drew mystery (if she is of a certain age). Smart parents and teachers tell her this:
Avoid the English major trap, my sweet little Ophelia. You feel and live through
literature, and your soul is pure. College professors will take the very spirit you
have garnered these two decades and chew it to the marrow with
analyses of mechanics, rhetoric, processes, and diction. Don't go there,
my child...not if you love literature.
The study of history is something like that.
There is a kind of student (we are assuming that s/he/they is very bright, like our Jimbo) who has only a 50-50 shot of finishing a history major. It's not about ability. It's about loving the what happened narrative so much that further analysis seems to wrench everything from its very moorings. I have met many of them. They love the History Channel, and they live to hear Uncle Tim or Grandpa Russ tell stories of the Korean War, Vietnam, or other engagements. They might even dress up once in a while in (American) Civil War reenactments. A few might even read manga about the Battle of Sekigahara.
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| [e] Serious RF |
Then they take my class.
I want to channel that excitement, but I have a bigger goal, too. I want them to understand what they are reading in the way that historians writing history do. What a concept. Cue the drum roll. Yup, I want them to learn to do history not (just) by learning "what happened" but (also) by learning to evaluate and interpret sources in precisely the way done by the authors of their books.
These are the big leagues (or at least Double-A). It's time to put on the big-kid pants.
Which brings me back to Jimbo and the Quizzes (this could be a 1970s garage band). Jimbo suddenly doesn't like history. It was fun when he watched the History Channel with grandma, but now this LaFleur guy is asking him what sources the author used, whom he acknowledged in the preface (huh?), and what the author's perspective was on the period of history we are studying. It's not fun anymore, he says. "Who wants to look at things this way?," he complains—and we haven't even met the concept that dominates later quizzes (the "implied author") yet. "I can't do this," Jimbo sighs. He continues, "I am more confused after class than I am before class; why would you ruin something we love by analyzing perspective and argument?"
Don't we just want to know what happened?
Oh, Jimbo. You have no idea. I'll tell you exactly why it is important (quizzes are key), and why you, Jimbo, do it all of the time already with stuff you truly love. You just don't realize it, big guy. This quiz content will change your life not by introducing something new, but by making apparent something you already do all of the time.
You just don't do it with school...yet.
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This is the introduction that will not end, and that is because there are soooooooo many positives when it comes to giving quizzes. They'll change Jimbo's life...and yours (and mine).See you tomorrow. You might even forget that there ever was a downside to these little daily examinations.
This is one part of a multi-post introduction. Click below for the other posts:
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| [f] Let's expel the (bad reading) demons within! RF |
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