Here's how Jeff explained the exercise last year (here, he's using it on the Tolstoy short story called "Master and Man.")
"On our last day with "Master and Man," we did an exercise called Text Explosion. This writing practice comes from Bard College's Institute for Writing and Thinking. I've been on the faculty there for 27 years, and a lot of the best teaching I've done has grown out of my work with the Institute.
I will explain here, very briefly, how I set it up, in part because I can imagine you doing this with your graduate students:
I asked students to finish the story for homework, to double back and re-read section IX, to select some small part of it (a phrase, a sentence, possibly two) that they found especially powerful. Then I asked them to use that small bit of Tolstoy's language as a springboard into a short piece of writing. They could write into the text (more analytically), out of the text (more personally) or some combination thereof. The next day in class, I read all of section IX out loud. When I got to the part that they had written about, their job was to interrupt me and echo what I had just read from Tolstoy (that would be my cue to pause), and then read their responses. Then I went back into the story, stopping every time they repeated a part of it and followed that with a thought of their own. What happened that day was one of the most profound days I have had in the classroom in nearly 31 years of teaching.
I asked students to send me what they wrote that day, and I finally got it all organized in a document so that you could see it. After we finished the Text Explosion, I asked them to do some reflective writing about what they heard, and I have included that here, too."
Once again, and again, and again, I feel lucky to be in the company of George, Story Club, Jeff and his students. This gives me hope. I mean really, does it get more loving, generous and authentic than this? And via the internet no less. The mind-melting internet that has given us the worst of the worst. Contradictions abound. Love prevails. Happy Holiday, Solstice and Year End to all!
What a miracle, really, to start my day with these lovely and generous comments. I'm grateful for all of them and for this incredible forum where something like this can exist.
On so many days, I witness my students being insightful, eloquent, vulnerable, and wise; it always makes me wish the larger world could see what I see. Thanks, George, for once again shining a light on a few of the many brilliant young voices out there.
Here's a gem from Theodore Roethke that always reminds me of how to be in my classroom:
"There is an academic precept which says: never listen to the young. The reverse should be true: Listen, I say, and listen close, for from them—if they are real and alive—may we hear, however faintly and distortedly—the true whispers of the infinite, the beckoning away from the dreadful, the gray life beating itself against the pitted concrete world."
Thank you, Jeff! And thank you for Roethke’s words, especially “true whispers of the infinite.” May your students’ thoughtful responses to your generous teaching buffer you from the pitted concrete world always.
This is beautiful, Jeff. Thank you for sharing it with all of us via George. And congrats on a well-deserved retirement!
Wondering: Have any of your students over the years responded to the very last line of the story? Molly's slight stumble at the end has always stuck with me. We talk a lot about efficiency around here – about every element advancing the story, etc. – and there seems, to me, to be something beautiful/significant about that stumble. I've never been able to articulate what it is (aside from it being a nice bit of alliteration, and something that throws me off just slightly enough to lodge the ending in my mind). If your students have ever brought it up, I'd love to hear what they think.
Only once. In December of 2014, one of my students, Dean Li, wrote about the final sentence of “Tenth of December.” I didn’t save his comments in my archives, so this isn’t verbatim, but I think it’s close: Molly probably stumbles because she’s shaky, because her eyes are full of tears, and mostly: because she’s looking at Eber with all of her love and concern—and not at the floor in this stranger’s house.
I thought it was a startling insight. I’ve never forgotten it.
Fabulous Jeff! Thanks so much for being a great and sensitive teacher, and for sharing the lovely insights from your students, and for reaching out to share this with George (and therefore with the rest of us). So good! A wonderful end of year gift.
a handful of English teachers who expressed an interest in what I had to write were the most destiny-dream-steering people in my life—the # of lives you've already and will end up changing when these kids inevitably share their work is gonna be a Pretty Big Number
Remarkable writing, guided by a remarkable teacher. Though I was moved by all of the writing, I took note of these words in particular (from Josh): "It reminds me of an idea that we have discussed all year: love is not a concrete action with a simple “how-to” handbook, instead, it varies from person to person, and it is our job to learn how and when each individual needs to be loved." Jeff, what a testament to you and your teaching. "An idea that we have discussed all year..." And that idea is: learning how to love. My heart is so full reading those words. Jeff, I wish you all the best in the next phase of life. You will be sorely missed, I'm quite certain, at your school. I know your students will think of you forever--you who provided "value to all the voices in the room." Happy holidays to you and yours. Time now for me to go read that story myself (for the millionth time).
Oh my goodness! As an older, long-married person reading these comments (about my favorite short story of all), I am in tears reading the beautiful insights of these young persons. Thank you for sharing these words,, Jeff, George, and students.
P.P.S. I recently found this interview I did with Deborah Treisman, at The New Yorker, re "Tenth of December," when the story first ran there, for what it's worth:
What a gift, dear Jeff, to your students and now, again this year, to us. These shared writings are such a beautiful reminder that fiction writing can live inside of us, can grow inside of us— can grow us. Blessings on all your future endeavors— and thank you, George, for sharing this with us in the off-hours. Seems somehow a perfect companion to “A Christmas Carol.”
Jeff, you must be a wonderful teacher to elicit such thoughtful responses from your students. And how nice to be reminded that even in the age of social media, stories still speak to young people and help them reflect upon the different forms that a life well lived can take. Like Jeff, I'm also a teacher (I'm at the college level), and it can often be easy--especially, say, when you are wading through piles of final exams (as I am at this moment), which inevitably means reading quite a few rather mediocre exams--to doubt that what one is doing makes any real difference. An example like this is a reassuring reminder that the effort can be worth it!
I'm going to run right out and order the collection in which this story appears. I'm reminded how the opposite can be true, about how for some love sometimes doesn't expand to cover flaws. I heard someone say almost exactly that this month and it made me sad to hear it, to know that this friend had never known the ability to love deeply despite despite despite. Even as I heard the words I knew the opposite is possible. I have a 5th grader and I swear that boy can do no wrong. Not deep down where it counts. Sure, he can drive me crazy sometimes and parenting is exhausting, but that's part of being a father and part of being a son, but the well of love for him is bottomless.
Thank you for exploring these things and I look forward to reading the story.
I'm amazed by your students' responses, Jeff, by their maturity and understanding. Also (again) by Tenth of December, that I didn't feel I could flip through my memory of without a re-reading. What a story! (And what an interesting parallel with Master and Man).
Teaching is by far the most important job in society. And yet, teachers are often underpaid, overworked and under-appreciated. Jeff is a star and a hero.
P.S.
Here's how Jeff explained the exercise last year (here, he's using it on the Tolstoy short story called "Master and Man.")
"On our last day with "Master and Man," we did an exercise called Text Explosion. This writing practice comes from Bard College's Institute for Writing and Thinking. I've been on the faculty there for 27 years, and a lot of the best teaching I've done has grown out of my work with the Institute.
I will explain here, very briefly, how I set it up, in part because I can imagine you doing this with your graduate students:
I asked students to finish the story for homework, to double back and re-read section IX, to select some small part of it (a phrase, a sentence, possibly two) that they found especially powerful. Then I asked them to use that small bit of Tolstoy's language as a springboard into a short piece of writing. They could write into the text (more analytically), out of the text (more personally) or some combination thereof. The next day in class, I read all of section IX out loud. When I got to the part that they had written about, their job was to interrupt me and echo what I had just read from Tolstoy (that would be my cue to pause), and then read their responses. Then I went back into the story, stopping every time they repeated a part of it and followed that with a thought of their own. What happened that day was one of the most profound days I have had in the classroom in nearly 31 years of teaching.
I asked students to send me what they wrote that day, and I finally got it all organized in a document so that you could see it. After we finished the Text Explosion, I asked them to do some reflective writing about what they heard, and I have included that here, too."
What a great exercise. I wish I could take a course like this every semester of my life.
Once again, and again, and again, I feel lucky to be in the company of George, Story Club, Jeff and his students. This gives me hope. I mean really, does it get more loving, generous and authentic than this? And via the internet no less. The mind-melting internet that has given us the worst of the worst. Contradictions abound. Love prevails. Happy Holiday, Solstice and Year End to all!
What a miracle, really, to start my day with these lovely and generous comments. I'm grateful for all of them and for this incredible forum where something like this can exist.
On so many days, I witness my students being insightful, eloquent, vulnerable, and wise; it always makes me wish the larger world could see what I see. Thanks, George, for once again shining a light on a few of the many brilliant young voices out there.
Here's a gem from Theodore Roethke that always reminds me of how to be in my classroom:
"There is an academic precept which says: never listen to the young. The reverse should be true: Listen, I say, and listen close, for from them—if they are real and alive—may we hear, however faintly and distortedly—the true whispers of the infinite, the beckoning away from the dreadful, the gray life beating itself against the pitted concrete world."
Thank you, Jeff! And thank you for Roethke’s words, especially “true whispers of the infinite.” May your students’ thoughtful responses to your generous teaching buffer you from the pitted concrete world always.
This is beautiful, Jeff. Thank you for sharing it with all of us via George. And congrats on a well-deserved retirement!
Wondering: Have any of your students over the years responded to the very last line of the story? Molly's slight stumble at the end has always stuck with me. We talk a lot about efficiency around here – about every element advancing the story, etc. – and there seems, to me, to be something beautiful/significant about that stumble. I've never been able to articulate what it is (aside from it being a nice bit of alliteration, and something that throws me off just slightly enough to lodge the ending in my mind). If your students have ever brought it up, I'd love to hear what they think.
Only once. In December of 2014, one of my students, Dean Li, wrote about the final sentence of “Tenth of December.” I didn’t save his comments in my archives, so this isn’t verbatim, but I think it’s close: Molly probably stumbles because she’s shaky, because her eyes are full of tears, and mostly: because she’s looking at Eber with all of her love and concern—and not at the floor in this stranger’s house.
I thought it was a startling insight. I’ve never forgotten it.
Thank you so much! Your students are so lucky to have you.
Fabulous Jeff! Thanks so much for being a great and sensitive teacher, and for sharing the lovely insights from your students, and for reaching out to share this with George (and therefore with the rest of us). So good! A wonderful end of year gift.
a handful of English teachers who expressed an interest in what I had to write were the most destiny-dream-steering people in my life—the # of lives you've already and will end up changing when these kids inevitably share their work is gonna be a Pretty Big Number
Thanks so much for this, Jeff.
Do you know the writings of Vivian Gussin Paley?
If you don't, I feel sure you would love them.
Remarkable writing, guided by a remarkable teacher. Though I was moved by all of the writing, I took note of these words in particular (from Josh): "It reminds me of an idea that we have discussed all year: love is not a concrete action with a simple “how-to” handbook, instead, it varies from person to person, and it is our job to learn how and when each individual needs to be loved." Jeff, what a testament to you and your teaching. "An idea that we have discussed all year..." And that idea is: learning how to love. My heart is so full reading those words. Jeff, I wish you all the best in the next phase of life. You will be sorely missed, I'm quite certain, at your school. I know your students will think of you forever--you who provided "value to all the voices in the room." Happy holidays to you and yours. Time now for me to go read that story myself (for the millionth time).
Oh my goodness! As an older, long-married person reading these comments (about my favorite short story of all), I am in tears reading the beautiful insights of these young persons. Thank you for sharing these words,, Jeff, George, and students.
P.P.S. I recently found this interview I did with Deborah Treisman, at The New Yorker, re "Tenth of December," when the story first ran there, for what it's worth:
https://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/this-week-in-fiction-george-saunders
“This isn’t the loud courage of hero narratives; it’s the quiet bravery of care.”
What a corker of a sentence!
Mid morning of the 20th here in the South Pacific where terrific words like breakers role from you to me across the wide consistent sea of our love.
What a gift, dear Jeff, to your students and now, again this year, to us. These shared writings are such a beautiful reminder that fiction writing can live inside of us, can grow inside of us— can grow us. Blessings on all your future endeavors— and thank you, George, for sharing this with us in the off-hours. Seems somehow a perfect companion to “A Christmas Carol.”
Jeff, you must be a wonderful teacher to elicit such thoughtful responses from your students. And how nice to be reminded that even in the age of social media, stories still speak to young people and help them reflect upon the different forms that a life well lived can take. Like Jeff, I'm also a teacher (I'm at the college level), and it can often be easy--especially, say, when you are wading through piles of final exams (as I am at this moment), which inevitably means reading quite a few rather mediocre exams--to doubt that what one is doing makes any real difference. An example like this is a reassuring reminder that the effort can be worth it!
Wet eyes. Full heart. The future is bright with such people in it. Beautiful words, yours and theirs.
I'm going to run right out and order the collection in which this story appears. I'm reminded how the opposite can be true, about how for some love sometimes doesn't expand to cover flaws. I heard someone say almost exactly that this month and it made me sad to hear it, to know that this friend had never known the ability to love deeply despite despite despite. Even as I heard the words I knew the opposite is possible. I have a 5th grader and I swear that boy can do no wrong. Not deep down where it counts. Sure, he can drive me crazy sometimes and parenting is exhausting, but that's part of being a father and part of being a son, but the well of love for him is bottomless.
Thank you for exploring these things and I look forward to reading the story.
How lovely. And powerful. Jeff-this makes me (almost)wish I was in high school again so I could be a student in your class.
What a gift now and in the future for those lucky students.
I'm amazed by your students' responses, Jeff, by their maturity and understanding. Also (again) by Tenth of December, that I didn't feel I could flip through my memory of without a re-reading. What a story! (And what an interesting parallel with Master and Man).
Thanks to George, Jeff, and Jeff's students.
Beautiful.
Teaching is by far the most important job in society. And yet, teachers are often underpaid, overworked and under-appreciated. Jeff is a star and a hero.