The Right-Click Synonym Trick Problem is One of Miscommunication, Not Stupidity

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(at least in high school.)

We’ve all done it before—sometimes an elusive word is on the tip of the tongue, but we can’t seem to come up with it. So, we type in a similar word, right-click, and hope the synonym list jogs our memory. The right correct appropriate word pops up, the writer’s-block crisis is averted, and we’re on our way. Good times. Sometimes, though, the synonym doesn’t quite fit, or is the wrong word altogether.

Clive Thompson writes about a more obtuse use of the right-click synonym trick (keep the rhymes comin’, Stallings) on his blog CollisionDetection. Read the article, then come back.

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This problem came up often when I was tutoring in college. A student would hand me a paper arguing that “Reading Frankenstein is otiose because their is a movie that says the same thing.” When I would ask why he used that particular word (“otiose,” not “their”—that was a different discussion), the reply would invariably be “big words=better grade.” When I pressed further, his line of thinking became clear:

  • The teacher and experienced readers (“smart kids,” he said) use big words;
  • The teacher grades the papers and the experienced readers get good grades;
  • Therefore, big words=good grades.

Of course, this is not the whole picture. (It’s not even a complete syllogism.) The problem here is not about “big words.” The problem is about a miscommunication between teachers and students, and the result is the student missing the forest for the trees.

English classes aren’t about learning “big words” or the difference between synecdoche and metonymy—English classes are about learning to communicate. A larger vocabulary certainly helps us communicate more precisely, but it is terrifying to imagine the classes that my college friend took in high school. What was the emphasis of those courses?

I picked up The Best American Nonrequired Reading: 2006 the other day. Under a chapter entitled “Best American Answers to the Question ‘What Do You Believe is True Even Though You Cannot Prove It?’” (Best. Chapter. Title. Ever.), Alison Gopnik, a psychologist from the University of California, Berkeley, wrote this:

I believe, but cannot prove, that babies and young children are more conscious, more vividly aware, of their external world and internal life than adults are….

As adults, when we need to learn something new—say when we learn to skydive, or work out a new scientific idea, or even deal with a new computer—we become vividly, even painfully conscious of what we are doing; we need, as we say, to pay attention.

This hyperawareness is something we teachers often forget. When an experienced reader picks up a story, he or she reads through the lens of past books. The experienced reader draws from the richness of the word “wicked” chosen over “bad,” knows which details to focus on, and brings forth similar situations in other stories (for more on this, check out Thomas C. Foster’s book How to Read Literature Like a Professor). The inexperienced reader does not have this lens, and so is overwhelmed by all details, is sidetracked by unfamiliar words or syntax, and misses the point of the story. For them, reading Frankenstein is like reading a BabelFish translation of a Chinese poem—the basic idea comes across, but barely, and only with a tremendous amount of concentration on the words themselves, rather than the message they contain.

The simplest solution I can give to inexperienced readers is, of course, read. Books like How to Read Literature Like a Professor and other reading guides (Sparknotes, etc.) offer glimpses of the great stories available, but reading the study guides is like watching the commentary of a great movie without watching the movie itself. It may be enlightening, but it isn’t exactly entertainment. Teachers, remember, when we ask an inexperienced reader to explain a symbol, we are asking him or her to solve a Rubik’s cube while driving for the first time.

I’m wondering:

  • Most students can explain the tone of a song, but struggle with the tone of a poem. Why?
  • Does it matter what a story is about as long as the text is challenging?
  • What is the difference between playing video games and reading? Control of plot?
  • Does this disconnect between the actual and perceived purpose occur in other subjects?

What do you guys think?

 

Source trail for this post:

RSS link to Neatorama article linked to Thompson’s article.

RSS link to dy/dan (one of my favorite teacher blogs) linked to Revealing Errors, which had a post on a similar problem.

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