Bell Jar Z.0

Shot from the series ‘Master of None,’ 2015.

I’ve taught Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar many times in several courses: American literature, major authors, women’s literature, and the American 1950s. Most are brimming with English majors. During my class discussions in the late 1990s, a few students would identify with protagonist Esther Greenwood’s mental health struggles. By the time I was teaching the novel to older Millennials, a sizable group of students was finding Esther’s academic performance anxiety parallel to their own. Theirs was the first test-test-test generation: scores on an expanded array of standardized tests would affect public K-12 school funding. Esther sweated her grades to maintain her scholarship at an elite private college. My students fretted over feeling responsible if a teacher got terminated because of their school’s test scores. I sensed that Plath’s most famous character was becoming more mainstream.

Mentimeter graphic from my Spring 2024 GenEd class

This year I taught The Bell Jar to General Education students for the first time; most were freshmen and none were Humanities majors. A few had heard of Sylvia Plath, yet none seemed to have read her writing. The course was on the American 1950s and campus life, featuring literature by Plath, John Cheever, Gwendolyn Brooks, Flannery O’Connor, James Baldwin, and Sloan Wilson. We also watched  Fifties family sitcoms and Rebel Without a Cause. For parsing postwar campus life, we did a deep dive into student publications in our University Archives. The weeks on Plath were my first in which students didn’t bring up the writer’s life. They were more interested in Esther’s campus life–finding much of her story highly relevant to their own. For them The Bell Jar was primarily a coming-of-age story, as well as a story about 1950s gender roles for women. Very few students thought it centered on breakdown and recovery–a consensus view from their Millennial predecessors. Mental illness and mental healthcare are everyday things now, and Plath’s protagonist strikes them as more normative than outlier. People are marrying later, and more of my students come from two-career households.

Peyton Howey, Faux Fifties Ad inspired by ‘The Bell Jar.’ 2024.

In their final papers on how their lives would change if they attended college in the 1950s, several students wrote that they couldn’t help but see themselves in Esther Greenwood–whether or not their gender, race, or ethnicity matched hers. My hunch is that these factors have brought about Bell Jar Z.0:

Fear of Failure. Being over-tested surely highlighted the fear of failure my students see in Esther–and sometimes in themselves. When I was in high school in the 1970s, I didn’t have the pressures of getting top grades to qualify for a free state tuition deal. I did feel a responsibility to do well because of my parents’ investment in my college education. But a high GPA wouldn’t save them money. In The Bell Jar, Esther felt the pressures of a practically perfect opportunity: a private school scholarship + a top summer internship in New York. She also bore the burden of her mother’s palpable disappointment in her setbacks.

Isolation and Expectations. Like all my recent students, this year’s GenEd students were isolated during a formative period of their education, separated from their peers and support networks through remote pandemic learning. For GenZ this happened during middle and/or high school. Several students’ papers mentioned how Esther’s isolation as an aspiring young woman and a newcomer to city prompted them to consider how they would be isolated as 1950s college students–as the only members of their demographic in their classes or majors, as first-generation college students, as international students. They can relate to the suffocation of circumstances and social expectations. I was struck by one student’s response that The Bell Jar was fundamentally about loneliness.

Fig Trees, FOMO & Futures. Most of these students saw themselves in Esther’s fig tree analogy: picking the fruit from one branch meant foregoing the others. They could identify with the paralysis of indecision that could leave them with an empty tree and unfulfilled ambitions. While the term FOMO (fear of missing out) was coined a decade ago, it started spreading through social media in 2010–when GenZ was coming of age. Facing more migratory job markets and anticipating more career changes than their predecessors, this generation is moving beyond binary models of career paths as they embrace less binary models of gender roles. Instead of regretting roads not taken, they tend to envision more than one future for themselves.

Unmoored from the facts of (and fixations on) Plath’s life, more GenZ students are beginning to make her novel their own story. Sixty years after its publication, The Bell Jar may be finding the wider audience it has waited for all along. – MB

Student work used by permission.

Teaching with Trash: American Poetry & Personal Trash Piles

 

 

assembled trash items
Riley Fraunfelter, Personal Trash Pile

What impressions does a pile of discarded items reveal about your community? How might one or more of these items tell a story about a person (real or imagined)? How does arranging and photographing 5 items of trash highlight their aesthetic dimensions? 

These are the questions I gave my undergraduate students for my most outlier assignment yet: Personal Trash Pile Brainstorming. I was looking for something hands-on for this semester’s course Modern American Poetry: Cities. I wanted to get these Gen Z students out in our Gainesville community now that they’d left their Zoom squares and returned to campus spaces. I wanted to engage them through our mutual interest in sustainability–including sustainable Humanities. And I wanted to find a more tactile means of attuning students to the details and dynamics of poems. After all, Wallace Stevens wrote a poem called The Man on the Dump.

I had a hunch that thinking about trash would push students to think more about the language in poems, the diction. Just think of the word hoard: debris, detritus, dregs, garbage, litter, refuse, rubbish, scrap, waste, and yes, trash. The garbage can really pile up in American city poems. I also had a hunch that making and reflecting on Personal Trash Piles would give students a keener eye for the experimental city films we were watching. How might arranging garbage attune students to the art of assemblage on the page and screen?

5 items of trash
Sophia Medina, Personal Trash Pile
Adelyn Richgels, Personal Trash Pile

 

 

I brainstormed this assignment with Paige Glotzer at The Repurpose Project, Gainesville’s creative reuse center. An urban historian, Professor Glotzer was also putting the final touches on Spring classes. We like to talk about cities, we like to brainstorm, and turns out we like to talk trash. I’ve collaborated with Repurpose Project before, so I knew where the trashiest trash resided–in the Candy Shoppe where most items were plastic and would have gone to the landfill. I gave each student $2.00 to purchase 5 different items from this part of the building, and these instructions:

  1. Arrange your 5 items as a personal trash pile.
  2. Photograph your trash pile.
  3. Write 75-100 words each on the 3 brainstorming prompts at the beginning of this post.
  4. Submit your photo and brainstorming.

Parsing their adopted community through collective trash piles at Repurpose Project (and creating their own), the class perceived Gainesville as collegiate and sporty, as a synergy of work and play, as a home for artists and creative thinkers where imaginations run wild, as Madison Engler put it. The accumulated medical items in the city’s trash also reflected sustained illnesses, addiction, and other difficulties. In the thumbnails of stories the trash could tell, a mother bakes snacks for her kids’ sports teams. A child returns from school, proudly handing a parent the artwork they made in class. Someone cleans out a departed family member’s house and finds their childhood board games, discarding those with missing pieces. A graduating student sorts through memorabilia of their collegiate years, unable to take it all with them. Brainstorming with trash, students’ writing merged analytical, creative, and philosophical writing in varied and unpredictable ways.

trash items on the floor
Darwin Tortorella, Personal Trash Pile

As I’d hoped, the Personal Trash Pile Brainstorming Exercise also invigorated students’ writing for the Close Reading Paper on a contemporary poem that featured trash. In fact, we reinvented the close reading paper. And we’ve developed our own concept of the personal trash pile to complement perspectives on urban spaces and city walking that we’ve learned from Michel de Certeau, Gaston Bachelard, Anne Friedberg, Laura Elkin, and Louis Kahn. But I’ll write about that another time. -MB

SOURCES

All student images and quotations used by permission.

trash items on a windowsill
Madison Engler, Personal Trash Pile

Hearing the Whole Choir in Your Classroom

I’ve recently assumed an administrative position that involves mentoring over 100 graduate teaching assistants. They include new and seasoned instructors. They include MFA and PhD students who teach a range of materials from creative writing and literature to critical theory and media studies. Each week I offer them teaching tips through email. Here’s my latest post, which invokes choral singing to think about classroom dynamics:

Many of us like to use small-group work in our classes for a number of reasons: it helps more introverted students participate, it allows the class to consider multiple questions simultaneously, it conserves some of the teacher’s energy. In this mode, the teacher becomes a facilitator. Yet leading the class is also important:  it focuses your students’ collective energies. And your students get to hear more of their peers’ opinions, not just the individual group leaders’. It’s good to be the conductor, too!

Here’s what Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy” sounds like when the Alto part gets emphasized:

And here’s what it sounds like with a Full Choir:

https://youtu.be/_i224xsGmv4

Taking on the conductor’s role in the classroom can be daunting sometimes. As you know, a full-class discussion can move in directions you didn’t anticipate. But it’s good to hear the whole choir in our classrooms, even if we don’t conduct it every session. These tips can help:

  • Mentally count to 10 when you ask a question. It takes longer for a roomful of people to process something than for 3-5 people sitting together.
  • If you’re still getting blank faces, break down your question. Sometimes we’re not aware of how complicated our discussion questions really are.
  • If you stacked up more questions than you can cover in conductor mode, try throwing out 2 short ones together, asking students to respond to one or both.
  • Don’t be afraid to scratch a question and try a new one.
  • If several students raise their hands at once, queue them All up first. Then call on them one-by-one.

So go ahead and grab your baton in your classroom. Instead of working individual parts, you’ll hear the whole choir.  –MB

Which Teaching Persona Are You?

Here’s a conversation starter I tried out for new TA Orientation, co-sponsored by UF English and the University Writing Program. Feel free to play along! Whichever teaching persona you are–or most decidedly aren’t–have a great Fall semester.

Which Teaching Persona Are You?

  • Mr. Feeny, Boy Meets World. You care deeply about your students, yet you’re convinced that pop culture and technology are ruining education. Bring back Gutenberg’s generation!
  • Ms. Norbury, Mean Girls. You’re hip and empathetic, and you’re a pusher. You might get too involved in your students’ emotional entanglements. Make sure you have a life, too! But hey, you’re Tina Fey.
  • Mr. Garvey, Key & Peele. You know that class begins with Roll Call, and you’re not going to make that boring. No way. You do things Your way no matter what, keeping it real. Present!
  • Ms. Halsey, Bad Teacher. Rules? really? And boundaries? What boundaries? Ratemyprofessors.com doesn’t have enough chili peppers for you. Have you thought about a different career choice?
  • Professor Sandiford, Art School Confidential. Theory head? High-concept artist? You dazzle with your brain waves, and pique with your critique. Some students will wilt when you deconstruct their work. It’s hard being John Malkovich.
  • Professor Snape, Harry Potter. You’re a master at your craft, and your first loyalty is to your profession. Students annoy you when they don’t follow your rules. They may hate you, but you’re really doing this for their own good. Your snark tops Sandiford’s.
  • Professor Sprout, Harry Potter. You think hands-on teaching is best, even if it’s hard to keep your hands on those mandrakes. You really know your stuff, so you can get away with a little mischief in your class.
  • Professor Trelawney, Harry Potter. You’re a free spirit, and you’re in touch with the spirits. You go your Own way even if others don’t respect what you’re teaching–or wearing. Organizational skills are a challenge.
  • Mr. Finn, School of Rock. You could have been a rock star, so you tried teaching instead. You live through your students with your students, pushing them in new directions. You’d rather give out gold stars than grades.

–MB