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Showing posts with label vocabulary. Show all posts
Showing posts with label vocabulary. Show all posts

Monday, December 10, 2018

Wind in the Willows and Other Real Books about Real Things

I loved Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass because I thought they were funny. I confess Peter Pan never impressed me much, although I read it as a mother and cried over Peter's little milk teeth (My oldest started school that year, her first and last in public school, and I was overly emotional about children growing up, I think).
I loved Wind in the Willows, but I'm not sure I can explain why, although I'll try.

I thought the characters 'real.' I mean, they are animals, so I knew the whole thing was pretend from beginning to end, but they had dimension.
They were interesting. You couldn't be sure how each one would act and what they would say. They weren't predictable cardboard two dimensional people, as so many characters in today's stories are. I also have a soft spot in my heart for crusty old grumps like Badger. I liked him immensely. I liked the vocabulary. It was rich and tasty (I've always loved the feel of large words in my mouth;-D). I liked the rich descriptions. I could savour the descriptive passages, and see, smell, taste, and feel the food, the aromas, the River.

Incidentally, Mr. Grahame wrote the stories for his blind son, which is why the descriptive passages are so, well, descriptive.
Here is a quote from the book Sixpence in Her Shoe, Phyllis McGinley specifically mentions The Wind in the Willows in a chapter on children's literature.
She is speaking of the paltry selection of quality books in her local library. She says:
Children, of all people, deserve the best. At this age, their tastes are
forming. From the first nursery rhyme to the last Arthurian legend, they should have what even their elders do not often get in a story- accomplished style, honest motivation, characters proficiently drawn.
And while those qualities can be found here if one searches, the mass of the writing is limp, listless, unoriginal, mediocre, and humdrum. Plots are insipid or mechanical. Too many pictures smother the story. And even when the writing lifts itself above accepted 'juvenile standards, its vigor is drained away by that leech among publishing structures- the Law of the Right Vocabulary....
The masterpieces among them [juvenile literature] never pall. They are the true escape literature, and in them one can run away to a genuine but different world, where virtue triumphs and struggle reaps its rewards. After all, there is only one test for a good book for children: can it be read without pain by an adult?
... But I do not mistake such books for what on a child's level they
are not- discussion of man's fate in symbols... I enjoy Alice's Adventures in Wonderland because I like nonsense...
Children are adventurous. Something rich and strange delights them.
(she then mentions how her daughter, at the age of five, was ill and
wanted to be read to. She began with Wind in the Willows because it was there)

I began to have misgivings. The adventures were satisfactory, but Kenneth Grahame had not been tutored in the new school of talking down to children. His vocabulary, his wit, his plotting gave no quarter
to limited comprehension.
"Look dear," I said, "preparing to shut the pages, these are awfully
hard words. I think the book is too old for you."
The patient was not only firm, she was distraught. "I don't care," she cried. "I don't care if it's too hard for me. I don't care if I can't understand the words. I just want to hear that story."
Mrs. McGinley says many other clever and witty things about children's literature and has some delicate sarcasm aimed at textbooks, but I think this is sufficient. This is part of why I love Wind in the Willows.
Will your children be inferior to mine if they don't read the same books? I doubt it. I think one can survive childhood without meeting Ratty, Mole, and Toad, although I love them so much it grieves me that others may not. But I do hope that whatever the books they do read, care will be taken that they are of the same literary quality. You see, I don't think it's the *stories* they read that matter as much as the *style.* Or rather, it isn't one over the other. Both are important.
I think it's important that we take care that the books we give our children contain writing that is really good, rich vocabulary, and realistic characters.

But when do they outgrow this fantasy stuff? Somebody asks, with the best intent in the world.  "Pretend and fairy tales are all very well, but there's a real world out there, too and they need to put these things aside at some point."

Talking toads are *not* realistic, I know, but Toady says the sort of things a pompous and silly toad might say if he could talk. That's what I mean by realistic. It works and fits together and seems plausible within the story.   Are friendship, loyalty, bread and butter and marmalade with tea,  the love of hearth and home, courage, and wicked creatures who do others harm real?  They are some of the most real and authentic things in the world, and they are large as life or larger in Wind and the Willows.  We can look at all sides, we can ponder their development over time, consider that a foolish, pompous, blustering idiot of a toad can still love his friends and have friends who love him, see how and why the pompousness is not courage though Toad often mistakes it as such.  It's real.   I think 'wholesome' stories told badly are just as damaging as unwholesome stories told well.
I do so love The Wind in the Willows, and it is a wholesome tale told very well indeed.





Thursday, December 6, 2018

Vocabulary and Knowledge

Once upon a time I had a period of time where I supervised teenagers who were supposed to be doing certain quiet tasks of their own, but who often didn't.  I liked them. They were charming, engaging, and quite lovable, even the rascals among them. But I didn't have any support or back up or even any real input on what exactly were the expectations for the time period.  The exception on input was when the teens or I fell afoul of the oft confusing and contradictory rules.  Then I heard about it, but I didn't really hear what or how I was supposed to have done differently.

Sometimes some of them didn't want to do the tasks the adults had said they were supposed to, and preferred to engage in behaviors the adults had said they shouldn't do.  This was not necessarily bad behavior in and of itself, and a couple of the rules were incredibly arbitrary and not conducive to cooperation- like... the only students allowed to study together were the honor roll students.  A student not on the honour roll could not ask to quietly work in a study group with a student or students who were on the honour roll.  They also were not supposed to nap or stare into space or various other things, some of which were more easily defensible restrictions than others.  Many of those rules I found even more frustrating than the teens did, although I don't think they knew just how much.  I did my best to understand and enforce them as they were explained to me, but it was pretty soul-sucking and depressing.

A couple of times some of the teens got mouthy over it, but there were no adults who had my back, so I was on my own in dealing with it.  I did feel like I'd been asked to help and then was pushed into the deep end while holding weights and ordered not to let go of them.  And then while treading water with weights in my hand, I was told to go catch fish while floundering in the deep waters. 

"How?" I asked more than once.  Mostly, nobody answered me at all.  I heard through the grapevine that these questions were annoying.   "You're the teacher," one authority figure finally told me.  "You'll think of something."  But I wasn't the teacher. I wasn't a teacher. I had not been asked to be a teacher and I hadn't said I would be a teacher.  I was a homeschooling mom.  I have a great admiration for classroom teachers, immense.  I have no ability in that direction and I know it.  Because I know very well how hard that job is and how much talent is required for it, I had never desired to teach other people's children in a classroom setting, and, in fact, that wasn't what I'd been asked to do.  I had merely agreed to provide some adult supervision when asked because I wanted to be helpful.  I had not accepted the request because I had nothing else to do, and I had definitely not volunteered to be a teacher.

To add to the difficult of what I was asked to do, I was the face of the new rules to the kids. They did not know I hated them. The people who created those rules and sent me private emails telling me to enforce them would come in occasionally and ignore the rules themselves and allow the students to do the same.  So that made me look even more like the bad guy than ever.  If I sound frustrated, and maybe a little bit bitter, let's just think of this post as therapeutic.  I am sure the other side was just as frustrated and would write a very different version, but I was the one floundering in a sea of angry teenagers every day.  But that's not the point of the story.

One morning one of my favorites of the students was a bit fed up with the restrictions.  Said student was chafing at the bit a little and just starting to be mouthy.  I knew my student was just bored and lashing out and while I couldn't blame the kid, I also couldn't let this continue.  There had been smaller signs of breaking out before, and by now I knew I was on my own, so I'd been thinking about my options.  We'd had a conversation about something else a few days previously, and I'd been surprised by a word he didn't know.  I happened to stumble on an article on the joys of browsing old encyclopedias, and I  remembered something similar I'd done with profit out of sheer boredom as an adolescent and so I had a plan to implement the next time he started complaining.  I was ready.

 I brought him an old dictionary I'd seen in the room.  I opened it seemingly at random, although actually, I opened it to the page with the word he hadn't known (petition).  I grinned at him.  "Since you've done all the things you can think of today that the school allows you to do, and since you don't want to do the things the school says you can do, for the remaining 10 or 15 minutes of class I'd like you to start copying this page."  He didn't have to include all the pronunciations, etymology, and so on, just the word and the definition.

He didn't want to, but he wasn't really an insolent kid at heart, just an immensely frustrated, very smart, and very creative kid being squeezed by a tightening band of senseless bureaucratic mandates. He sat down and started doing it, although not without some huffing, puffing, and eye rolling.

I saved his paper for a long time, although it eventually got lost,  much to my disappointment. It was a delight.
He started by making editorial comments that were less than complimentary- 'this is dumb.  This is supposed to be school, why I am doing this dumb thing?' and next to one more obscure word and definition, "Who cares?"
But then something happened.  About the third word in, his editorial comment was, "Well, I guess that is kind of interesting." and then two or three entries below, another word was annotated with "I didn't know that.  This is educational after all." and then he started sketching little comic pictures illustrating some of the definitions.  They were clever, witty, a little on the sassy side, but quite entertaining and they showed he had gotten interested in spite of himself and was making connections.  I was delighted, and he enjoyed himself more than he'd expected to. He learned something, and he stayed out of trouble.

A couple weeks later a different youngster in a different class started acting up and I assigned him the same task. He refused to cooperate and, as I said, nobody had my back at all, so when push came to shove, he was excused, and I was told I was being 'punitive' and he shouldn't have to do what I asked, and as you can imagine, that was the end of any illusion that I was somebody the students had to work   I was, not long after that, abruptly told they weren't going to need my help anymore and the whole thing ended on a somewhat sour note, although not without relief on my part. 

It bothered me, of course, to feel like I'd been kicked off the deep end and left to flounder. It bothered me that nobody had my back.  It bothered me that it wasn't important to anybody else to support my authority. It did not take long before I could laugh at this experience and see the dark and funny side and even sympathize at the dilemma of professional educators in their twenties who had to figure out what to do when a homeschooling mom in her fifties was foisted on them.

  But what bothered me the most  and the longest, and that I could never be amused about, was that an educator would see learning about new words and their definitions as 'punitive, as a waste of time.

Punitive was the last thing from my mind.   I wasn't punishing them with a whip, I was presenting them with a treasure chest for their perusal.  As a child I had occasionally been in circumstances where I was bored and frustrated and in the pre-screen days of my childhood, the only thing open to me was a dictionary and I had discovered it was a wonderful place to while away a few minutes. You could always discover something new and interesting.  I knew I was not the only young person who had discovered treasure in an old dictionary. I had read of others.  I hoped this irked young man could be distracted and redirected from his frustrations (which were not wholly unjustified) enough to make this discovery for himself, as had happened in the earlier class, and meanwhile, the other students who wanted to study could do so.

I intended the exercise as a two fold project - one, to redirect the bad attitude and the pent up energy into something more productive, an activity they could do without distracting other students, and mostly, because I knew it had immense value to these students- many of whom English was their second language.  They were seen as fluent, and they were, but they also had odd gaps.  Few of them liked reading at all, even many of the honor roll students. 

There's been a lot of research on the reading gap between underprivileged and middle to upper class kids.  There is a 30,000 word gap when they come to preschool. We now know that the 30,000 word gap between underprivileged children and their peers from reading families is a knowledge gap.That vocabulary gap isn't a gap in test scores and word lists. It's a gap in things the children know and have the language to talk about and to think about and picture in their mind's eyes.  These kids weren't underprivileged, but because English was often not their first language, they had many of the same deficits in English that underprivileged kids do.

 E.D. Hirsch (Core Knowledge, Cultural Literacy, and 'What Your __ Grader Needs to Know' author) once wrote:
 The most harmful idea is that children do not need a knowledge-rich curriculum to become proficient readers. The word reading, of course, has two senses. The first means the process of turning printed marks into sounds and these sounds into words. But the second sense means the very different process of understanding those words. Learning how to read in the first sense, as vital as it is, does not guarantee learning how to read in the second sense, comprehending the meaning of what is read. To become a good comprehender, a child needs a great deal of knowledge.   http://www.aft.org/pubs-reports/american_educator/issues/spring06/hirsch.htm

I would never recommend copying a few entries from a dictionary as the best way to fill a knowledge gap. But as a disciplinary tool, it's quite useful- educative, distracting, without being punitive at all.  I use disciplinary here in the fuller meaning- discipling.  Here is a useful way to distract a youngster from the mischief and mayhem he wants to engage in while giving him something to think about instead, and if he will only engage in the task, he will be thinking in no time at all, provided he's not set to do it for hours.  Ten or fifteen minutes is just about the outside of long enough for one session, and not daily at that.


 Anthony Esolen (Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of Your Child, Defending Marriage, and many others) explains the value of reading literature: (Hint: It's not to pass vocabulary tests) “Anyway, the gist of the solon’s objection to my criticisms was that we want students to be able to cite evidence when they make a claim about anything. My objection to his objection, as I was running out of time, was that, as worthy a goal as that might be, that’s not what a literature course is really about. He was thinking about tests, and I was thinking about David Copperfield. He was thinking of technique, and I was thinking about the imagination and truth. Now that I have the benefit of some time for reflection, and for looking at the page in question, I see that I missed an opportunity to make a crucial point. It has less to do with literature, to which I’ll return in a moment, than with the whole aim of an intellectual life—even of a human life. That aim is to behold the truth, and to love it for its beauty.”  (here)

It could be argued that a dictionary is not literature (although I might disagree if we are speaking of the OED). However, it is a place to behold small and beautiful truths.  Words themselves are beautiful, lovely, meaningful little jewelboxes encapsulating ideas. They are the way to knowledge, as without words, we cannot know.
Knowledge cross-pollinates. The more you know, the more you can know, and words are the signs along the way.  What you pick up from a few minutes reading an old dictionary is likely to show up again in another context, which is how we learn vocabulary naturally- seeing words used in different contexts over time.

 Professors have been lamenting for some time that American students come to college without knowing much. It might be because we emphasize knowing 'how to learn' over actual knowledge and  literacy over actually reading literature:
"Such a thought was recently echoed in The New York Times by University of Virginia professor and reading expert Daniel Willingham. Pointing out the obvious fact that reading scores have remained dismally stagnant for the last 30 years (roughly a third of high school seniors are proficient in the subject), Willingham notes that our issue is not with teaching students to know their letters and sound them out. Instead, reading proficiency becomes a problem when students fail to comprehend the meaning of the text: “Current education practices show that reading comprehension is misunderstood. It’s treated like a general skill that can be applied with equal success to all texts. Rather, comprehension is intimately intertwined with knowledge.” Unfortunately, that knowledge is not being passed on to students. For that reason, Willingham suggests “decreasing the time spent on literacy instruction in early grades,” using it instead to build knowledge of other subjects: “Third-graders spend 56 percent of their time on literacy activities but 6 percent each on science and social studies. This disproportionate emphasis on literacy backfires in later grades, when children’s lack of subject matter knowledge impedes comprehension.”

Unfortunately, this state of things is ingrained in the American education system, a fact explained by educator E.D. Hirsch his book Cultural Literacy:

 “The theories that have dominated American education for the past fifty years stem ultimately from Jean Jacques Rousseau, who believed that we should encourage the natural development of young children and not impose adult ideas upon them before they can truly understand them. … He thought that a child’s intellectual and social skills would develop naturally without regard to the specific content of education. His content-neutral conception of educational development has long been triumphant in American schools of education and has long dominated the ‘developmental,’ content-neutral curricula of our elementary schools.”

 Clearly, Rousseau’s philosophy of education isn’t working for America’s public schools, for American students increasingly appear to “know nothing.” 

This is because we value so many other things above knowledge.

 This next article excerpt is long, but it's one of my favourites because of the  demonstrated link to school and post-school success:

" our schools need to figure out how to encourage vocabulary growth. They should understand, for starters, that word-learning occurs slowly and through a largely unconscious process. (you need multiple exposures in a meaningful context, not lists of words and their short definitions to match up) The sense of a word that a listener or reader gains from multiple exposures to it isn’t a fixed and definite meaning but rather a system of meaning possibilities that get narrowed down through context on each occasion. As Miller showed, knowledge of a word is a memory residue of several meaningful encounters with the word in diverse contexts. We retain bits of those past contexts in memory as part of the word’s meaning-potential. Almost all the word meanings that we know are acquired indirectly by intuitively guessing new meanings as we get the overall gist of what we’re hearing or reading. ... So the fastest way to gain a large vocabulary through schooling is to follow a systematic curriculum that presents new words in familiar contexts, thereby enabling the student to make correct meaning-guesses unconsciously. Spending large amounts of school time on individual word study is an inefficient and insufficient route to a bigger vocabulary. There are just too many words to be learned by 12th grade—between 25,000 and 60,000. A large vocabulary results not from memorizing word lists but from acquiring knowledge about the social and natural worlds. .... To make the necessary school changes in the United States, an intellectual revolution needs to occur to undo the vast anti-intellectual revolution that took place in the 1930s. We can’t afford to victimize ourselves further by continued loyalty to outworn and mistaken ideas. Of these, the idea that most requires overturning is how-to-ism—the notion that schooling should concern itself not with mere factual knowledge, which is constantly changing, but rather with giving students the intellectual tools to assimilate new knowledge. These tools typically include the ability to look things up, to think critically, and to accommodate oneself flexibly to the world of the unknowable future. How-to-ism has failed because of its fundamental misconception of skills, which considers them analogous to automated processes, such as making a free throw in basketball. In English class, young children are now practicing soul-deadening how-to exercises like “finding the main idea” in a passage and “questioning the author.” These exercises usurp students’ mental capacity for understanding what is written by forcing them to think self-consciously about the reading process itself. The exercises also waste time that ought to be spent gaining knowledge and vocabulary. The increasingly desperate pursuit of this empty, formalistic misconception of reading explains why our schools’ intense focus on reading skills has produced students who, by grade 12, can’t read well enough to flourish at college or take a good job

The following demonstrates the result of the lack of content in our curriculum. I don't remember where I read this, but it's something a current professor says about his incoming students every year. When it comes to history, this is basically all they know:
 * There's all the stuff today
 * Before that there was Hitler
 * Before that was some sort of Game of Thrones thing
 * Nothing before that

 "As a rule," says Charlotte Mason, "things and persons have each one distinctive quality; to see what that is in a flash, and to express it in the fittest word, is a proof of genius, or of the highest culture."

Words fitly spoken are like apples of gold in settings of silver.

Read books that use words like that.  Don't be afraid to try to use words like that yourself. And in the pursuit of knowledge, sometimes, let children be bored, and sometimes, suggest they read a few entries in an old dictionary.  This will not be wasted time.  Knowledge cross pollinates.

------------------------------------------------------

 $5.00- Education for All, a new CM journal, Buy Now!   Feed Your Mind!  This issue contains several articles on handicrafts, outdoor play, nature study and science.
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 $3.00 Five Little Peppers and How They Grew Copywork (grades 2/3, carefully selected with an eye toward finely crafted sentences, lovely bits of writing pleasant to picture in the mind's eye, and practice in copying some of the mechanics of grammar and punctuation typically covered in these years.


  $3.00 Aesop's Fables Copywork for Year One!  Carefully selected with an eye toward well written sentences, memorable scenes, and some practice copying sentences that model the basics of capitalization and punctuation.   Suitable for use with children who have already mastered the strokes and letters for basic penmanship.

Wednesday, December 5, 2018

Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch on Reading Aloud (Hint: Don't Interrupt for Vocab lessons!)

“Don’t stop (I say) to explain that Hebe was (for once) the legitimate daughter of Zeus and, as such, had the privilege to draw wine for the Gods. Don’t even stop, just yet, to explain who the Gods were. Don’t discourse on amber, otherwise ambergris; don’t explain that ‘gris’ in this connection doesn’t mean ‘grease’; don’t trace it through the Arabic into Noah’s Ark; don’t prove its electrical properties by tearing up paper into little bits and attracting them with the mouth-piece of your pipe rubbed on your sleeve. Don’t insist philologically that when every shepherd ‘tells his tale’ he is not relating an anecdote but simply keeping ‘tally’ of his flock. Just go on reading, as well as you can, and be sure that when the children get the thrill of the story, for which you wait, they will be asking more questions, and pertinent ones, than you are able to answer.”—(“On the Art of Reading for Children,” by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch.)
This precisely how Miss Mason approaches reading to children. A tiny bit of preparatory remarks, sufficient to fill a few minutes at most is recommended for books that may need a bit of seasoning to draw the children. However, endless worksheets, long lists of vocabulary words, fill in the blank questions, and even (dare I say this), lapbooks, are simply not necessary. In most cases, they are a distraction from the real work of the mind, which, as I have said before, occurs in the mind. A final and important step in that work of the mind is for the mind of the child to reproduce some of his mental processing for others, to communicate that knowledge. This is narration.
I found the quote at the end of Van Loon’s- The Story of Mankind
It’s in Lecture VII of Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch’s book On The Art of Reading

Tuesday, December 4, 2018

Gladsome, Jocund, Cunning Words

I first came across the word sesquipedlian in a delicious little book about books, Ex Libris, by Anne Fadiman– It makes perfect reading for Doctor’s waiting rooms. Each chapter is a stand alone essay, so you can pick it up and set it down as you need to. It’s a little gem of a book, absolutely must reading for anybody who loves reading- with some caveats.
I don’t necessarily relate to or approve of every single thing she says or believes, and neither will you. A handful of moments may bring a blush to the cheek of a young maiden, and, truth to tell, an old matron like me. Nevertheless, I consider it a happy find.
I first read this book a few years back when my oldest found a copy at a library book-sale. She began reading the first paragraph to me and I knew I needed to own this book. Anne writes about merging her library with her husband’s (they waited until they were married a few years to do this), and how they organized them, and whose copies they kept.  I couldn’t personally relate to this on a specifically personal level.  We used to tell people we had a mixed marriage because of books. My husband brought two books into our marriage- his Bible, and Helter Skelter. Merging our books meant I threw away Helter Skelter and he kept his Bible.   However, I could connect on a deeper level with how Anne and her husband felt about their books, related to them, connected with them, and bonded with specific editions.
This ability to see what she is feeling and connect with it is an indication of a good writer, but Anne isn’t just good. She’s witty. She writes that though they had been a couple for many years, their books remained separate, hers at the north end of their loft apartment, his at the south. They had talked about combining them, so that, for instance, all the Melville titles would be together, but just hadn’t done it. They finally decided to take the plunge, and immediately ran into a snag:
Our reluctance to conjugate our Melvilles was also fueled by some essential differences in our characters. George is a lumper. I am a splitter. His books commingled democratically, united under the all-inclusive flag of Literature. Some were vertical, some horizontal, and some actually placed behind others. Mine were balkanized by nationality and subject matter. Like most people with a high tolerance for clutter, George maintains a basic trust in three-dimensional objects. If he wants something, he believes it will present itself, and therefore it usually does.”
Anne believes that books and other small items are ‘unreliable vagrants,’ and must be kept ‘strictly confined to quarters,’ so they must work out a way to organize their books together. Again, please be forewarned that there are occasional comments, even in that chapter, that may embarrass some readers. For such a gladsome gift of phrasing, I am willing to overlook strong provocation, which, thankfully, she does not offer.
If I was hooked with chapter one, I was practically a raving addict with chapter two. Who could resist a book with an entire chapter about sesquipedalians? (If you could, don’t tell me. I’d rather not know). Sesquipedalians are very long words, and as children Anne and her brother used to compete to see who could find the longest. He won with paradimethylaminobenzaldehyde, which she says they sang to the tune of The Irish Washer Woman (Isaac Asimov did, too, and I’m not sure who did it first).
She writes of her delight in finding, as an adult, a book with twenty words in it she didn’t know, and I got to feel the smug pleasure of delight in knowing three she didn’t (sapoy, grimoire, and camorra), even though I feel sure she’d merely forgotten her Rudyard Kipling for at least one of them.
That book was published first in 1920, and she suggests that in 1920, readers were more educated than they are today, and certainly had richer vocabularies. She quizzed several of her friends and relations and found her 90 year old father knew 12. A friend who knew seven of them reads primarily from works published before 1918. Her brother knew nine, which she credits to his ‘unparalleled advantage of owning no television set,’ as well as his science education (he teaches natural history).
This chapter demonstrated a lovely example of the wonder of connections, whereby the more you know, the more you CAN know because you find that there are connections between things that you never knew about- and indeed, could not discover unless you were open to learning things whether or not you can see a utilitarian value to them- an English professor guessed that Mephitic must mean foul-smelling because he’d seen it used in Milton’s Paradise Lost to describe the smell of hell. Her brother guessed it was a bad smell because he knew the ” scientific name for the striped skunk is Mephitis mephitis, which means stinky stinky.” And so we strike another blow against the ‘why do we need to know this’ fallacy.=)
Knowledge cross-pollinates. The more you know, the more you can know, which is another good reason to read those old books (if we needed a reason. We are book addicts, so we don’t need a reason. You may call it an excuse or a rationalization if you prefer).
Anne asked her friends and family if they thought we knew more or fewer words now than a few decades ago. A comic (who I can’t imagine I’d find very funny), knew none of the 20 on her list yet insisted we know more words today. He said, “I bet we know at least as many, the new vocabulary of the Internet alone has easily made up for everything we’ve lost from nineteenth century literature.”
Anne found that idea mephitic and so do I.
A playwright who knew only one suggested, “We know fewer words, and the ones we know are less beautiful. …the words we’ve lost tend to be connotative, and the ones we’ve gained tend to be denotative. I’ve never seen modem used in a poem.”
Charlotte Mason was lamenting this impoverished vocabulary a hundred years ago:
We are in a bad way for epithets: there are hardly more than a dozen
current amongst us; and of these one person has seldom more than one or two in
everyday use. A cup of tea, a dress, a picture, a book, a person, — is “nice,”
“perfect,” “delicious,” “delightful,” “jolly,” according to the speaker; not at
all according to the thing spoken of. Adverbs help a little; a thing may
be “nice,” “how nice!” or “too awfully nice!” but the help is rather in the way
of force than of variety. J. finds all agreeable things “too awfully nice!”
while B. finds the same things only “nice” As a rule, things and persons have
each one distinctive quality; to see what that is in a flash, and to express it
in the fittest word, is a proof of genius, or of the highest culture.
… Little children often surprise and amuse their elders by the fitness
and elegance of their phraseology. We have only to foster this power of theirs,
to put good words in their way, to treat the perpetual use of “jolly” or
“delicious” as rather idiotic, and we are not only fitting our children to shine
in society, but doing some thing to conserve the treasures of the beautiful
mother- tongue of our inheritance. It might be worthwhile to hunt up good strong
Saxon epithets for everyday use from the writers of the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries. Milton alone affords a treasure-trove. In the hymn
beginning, “Let us with a gladsome mind,” there are half-a-dozen adjectives used
with original force; perhaps half-a-dozen peculiar to that hymn, in their use if
not in their form. We cannot go about talking of the “golden-tressed sun”; that
is too good for us; but to get “gladsome” into our common speech is worth an
effort. “Happy-making” again, in the wonderful _Ode to Time,_ — could we have a fitter word for our best occasions?
Formation of Character, by Charlotte Mason, pages 217, 218
Random thoughts: I think of this passage every time I or somebody I know uses the word ‘cool.’
Miss Mason misquoted the title of Milton’s poem, it is ‘On Time,’ something I shall never be.
I cannot count half a dozen adjectives of the sort she suggests in Gladsome Mind.
I find more here in L’Allegro, one of my favorite of Milton’s poems.
Where Miss Mason lists five adjectives all too drearily common in every day use, I can only think of one word in several variations- cool, super-cool, way cool, so cool, and uber-cool. Such an impoverished language must denote a poverty of mind, methinks, including mine own.

There is an odd and discouraging notion that it's somehow elitist, snooty, to know and use 'big' words. Reject it. Don't use words just to show off or make somebody feel small- but do we really know real people in real life who do that? Often the larger words are more evocative and clearer about what we mean. Don't be afraid of them. Use them and use them well.
For those interested, here are a few of the other lovely new words Anne Fadimen used to add to your treasure trove:
Calineries
cajoleries
diapason
adapertile
perllan
paludal
apozemical
alcalde
agathodemon
kakodemon
goetic
sapoy
subadar
aspergill
opopanax
monophysite
cupellation
adytum
Don’t you just want to smack your lips over them?
No? Sigh. I know, I know. I am a word geek.

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 $3.00 Five Little Peppers and How They Grew Copywork (grades 2/3, carefully selected with an eye toward finely crafted sentences, lovely bits of writing pleasant to picture in the mind's eye, and practice in copying some of the mechanics of grammar and punctuation typically covered in these years.


  $3.00 Aesop's Fables Copywork for Year One!  Carefully selected with an eye toward well written sentences, memorable scenes, and some practice copying sentences that model the basics of capitalization and punctuation.   Suitable for use with children who have already mastered the strokes and letters for basic penmanship.

Monday, December 3, 2018

Children's Literature the Law of the Right Vocabulary

Nancy Bond is the author of several books, but the one we know is her first, The String in the Harp. Set in Wales, it’s an eery but compelling fantasy with time travel elements. The Time-travel element is unusual in that characters can witness some events from the past, but they cannot participate or interact, like ghosts, only they haven’t died; they haven’t even been born.
One of the main characters has found an ancient harp-key that at times seems to open a window into the past- but this is fraying the fabric of both past and present. Peter, the main character, must find a way to return the object to its rightful owner. My fourth daughter may have summed it up when she said, “It was weird, but I read it twice.”
Those uncomfortable with anything smacking of magic or fantasy won’t like this one, and I would recommend looking for it at your library before buying it. I did enjoy it and we have a copy on our bookshelves. We picked up ours at a used booksale.
There is an interview with her here. Budding writers will find it interesting because she talks about the craft of writing.There is a tantalizing reference or two to Charlotte Guest’s retelling of the Mabinogion, as well as the books of Rosemary Sutcliffe and TH White’s Once and Future King.
I found myself more and more interested in Bond and her ideas about writing and how she goes about it, and then I was brought up with a jolt by this:
If I were to write for younger children, I think I would have to be very aware of the kind of language and number of words I use. I deliberately chose to write for older children because I didn’t want to think about such matters. I just wanted to write a story.
It’s true, she would have to be very aware of the ‘number of words’ she used if she was writing a book for younger children to read themselves and she wished a publisher to accept that title. But isn’t that sad? It reminded me of this quote from Phyllis McGinley’s Sixpence in Her Shoe (a book every reading mother should have on her shelves):
From the first nursery rhyme to the last Arthurian legend, they [children] should have what even their elders do not often get in a story- accomplished style, honest motivation, characters proficiently drawn.
And while those qualities can be found here if one searches, the mass of the writing is limp, listless, unoriginal, mediocre, and humdrum. Plots are insipid or mechanical. Too many pictures smother the story. And even when the writing lifts itself above accepted ‘juvenile standards, its vigor is drained away by that leech among publishing structures- the Law of the Right Vocabulary….
Emphasis mine. Mrs. McGinley then tells a charming story about the day her 5 year old daughter was home from school ill and confined to bed. To while away the time her mother began to read to her. She merely picked up the closest book to hand, and it was The Wind in the Willows. Even Mrs. McGinley began to have misgivings, she says:
“Look dear,” I said, “preparing to shut the pages, these are awfully hard words. I think the book is too old for you.”
The patient was not only firm, she was distraught. “I don’t care,” she cried. “I don’t care if it’s too hard for me. I don’t care if I can’t understand the words. I just want to hear that story.”
And so she read on, and her daughter absolutely loved it.
I wonder how many fine writers of the same caliber as Nancy Bond have been dissuaded from writing for younger children because they believe they would have to count words and syllables and measure them out with a parsimonious and cheeseparing hand.

It's a tragedy we cannot even measure.

Sunday, December 2, 2018

Sesquipedalians and Children

sesquipedalian: Long, multi-syllabic word.

In Sixpence in her Shoe, Mrs. Mcginley tells of an adventure a childrens’ author she knows had at her publishers. She spotted a copy editor with a syllabus in one hand and a manuscript he was hastily revising for a new children’s book in the other. The lady author asked, “Don’t tell me there’s a censorship problem in juveniles?”
The editor said certainly there was:
“We have to be very careful. Here is a book intended for children from six to nine. And this paper contains all the words that six-to-nine-year-olds are supposed to be able to understand. I have to take out all the big words not on the list and put in little ones.”
The lady author decided she was done writing for the childrens’ market, and thus the children lost another champion and were left with cardboard instead of bread. McGinley points out that nobody wants to take the credit for this binding of children’s minds as tightly as ever a Chinese girl’s foot was bound:
But the fact remains that somebody has set up as a gospel the rule that odd words, long words, interesting words, grown-up words must be as precisely sifted out from a book for, say, five-year-olds as chaff from wheat or profanity from a television program….
‘Read-it-yourself’ books now come cleverly planned around a vocabulary of three hundred fifty words or thereabouts, and the fact that they are often clever and occasionally brilliantly ingenious does not alter their crippling formula.
Just as there are no longer any delightful playgrounds with heartpounding slides and monkey bars, and children must ride bikes swaddled from head to toe in padding, helmets, and denim and it’s a very bad mother who lets her children so much as bump their head when they’re learning to walk (hello, world, I am one of those very bad mothers), we want to protect their minds from being challenged, stretches, or overworked, and so we end up with the sort of maimed existence Charlotte Mason deplored and that I saw evidenced a few weeks ago when a perfectly ‘normal’ American public schooled teen told me she’d did not know what a continent was and had never heard of Portugal and where was Europe anyway? Whew. I do get incensed at this stuff. These kids have been, are being, continue to be, defrauded. What about their parents? Their parents were cheated of an education themselves maimed by whole language, new math, and worse, and their parents before them suffered through the debilitating results of the Committee of 27 as far back as 1918. As Richard Mitchell pointed out:
They concluded, in other words, that precious few schoolchildren were capable of the pursuit of knowledge and the exercise of the mind in the cause of judgment. That, of course, turned out to be the most momentous self-fulfilling prophecy of our century. It is also a splendid example of the muddled thought out of which established educational practice derives its theories. The proposals of the Eliot report are deemed elitist because they presume that most schoolchildren are generally capable of the mastery of subject matter and intellectual skill; the proposals of the Commission on the Reorganization of Secondary Education, on the other hand, are “democratic” in presuming that most schoolchildren are not capable of such things and should stick to homemaking and the manual arts.
Phyllis McGinley did not know where the dilution of children’s intellectual food started, but she saw the deplorable results:
Are children never to climb? Must they be saved from all the healthy bumps and bruises of exploration? I suppose the theory drifted down from textbooks, those teacher’s college-tested readers which are the common and insipid fare of elementary schools. Like many bad things, they were inspired by good intentions. Children, said the educationalists, must be gently led along the path to learning, seduced not prodded. So a vocabulary must be acquired in standard stages and according to procedures formed in a laboratory and stamped out by IBM machines. Probably modern textbooks are placider than… the theological treatises on which little Pilgrims used to sharpen their wits, but they cater only to the average or below-average mind. The genuine reading child is not an average person and he wants, even at six or seven or eight,gourmet fare. Yet so prophylactic has the whole business become that the good sap of invention is being squeezed out of both storybooks and schoolbooks. In cutting down the weeds we have also cut down the flowers.
And we have done more than smother word discovery; we have deleted magic and fantasy from children’s lives. Most modern textbooks try to appeal to the young by talking about what they already know- their everyday activities….
There follows a long but delicious passage where Mrs. Mcginley compares a boring story in a second grade reader with a delightfully melodramatic tale from McGuffey’s second reader and points out how much more exciting children will find the McGuffey story. She says that if they are stuck with the typical drivel found in readers of her time, the children will look for excitement in their comic books and remain ‘only half-literate all their lives. They will be unable to spell out a message unless it is accompanied by a picture.’
There follows another long and equally delicious passage where she deplores the fact that illustrations and toys masquerading as books now lead the children’s picture-book market, which would be splendid, she says, if the goal of ‘reading were the formation of a taste for good art’ rather than whetting the child’s ‘appetite for literature.’ She has a better idea:
If ever I had time and courage enough, I’d write a children’s book stuck plum pudding rich with great jawbreakers of words. I would use ‘egregious’. I would work in ‘monstriferous’. I would use ‘sepicolous’ and ‘ubiquitous’ and ‘antidisestablishmentarianism’ and nictate and supernumerary and ‘internecine’ and a hundred glorious others. And I think children would get the joke and flock to it- if, that is, the story were good enough. They are a braver generation than we suppose.
This probably explains the popularity of the Lemony Snicket books, and they weren’t even all that good. Our children deserve much better from us. Don’t keep them away from the older books because they are too hard, too old-fashioned, too difficult. These are not defects. Don’t dumb down your vocabulary so that they will understand you- they understand better than we think and are more capable than we assume. Don’t fear the sesquipedalians.
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See sidebar for purchasing options if you are in the Philippines.
 $5.00- Education for All, a new CM journal, Buy Now!   Feed Your Mind!  This issue contains several articles on handicrafts, outdoor play, nature study and science.

New! 
 $3.00 Five Little Peppers and How They Grew Copywork (grades 2/3, carefully selected with an eye toward finely crafted sentences, lovely bits of writing pleasant to picture in the mind's eye, and practice in copying some of the mechanics of grammar and punctuation typically covered in these years.
  $3.00 Aesop's Fables Copywork for Year One!  Carefully selected with an eye toward well written sentences, memorable scenes, and some practice copying sentences that model the basics of capitalization and punctuation.   Suitable for use with children who have already mastered the strokes and letters for basic penmanship.