An Un-recommendation

I have a problem of getting too involved with books. As an English major, I have high expectations for the story and the storyteller to be insightful, didactic, and at the very least, grammatically correct. I also have the problem of needing to finish every book I start, no matter how terrible, to be sure I understand its exact level of horror. As a teacher and an English major, I have even higher expectations that books about or for teachers are honest and helpful. I’ve come to realize that these two may be a lethal combination. There are not many teacher books that are well-written, worth-reading, and honest representations of the school institution. I will note a few exceptions just to show how well-versed I am in education literacy – Lisa Delpit, Herb Kohl, and Jonathan Kozol have all been instrumental in my teaching beliefs and even if I don’t believe everything they say, I can recognize them to be important members participating in the arena of education literacy. I cannot say the same for Rafe Esquith’s 2003 book There Are No Shortcuts. This book was recommended to me by a friend saying that though Rafe (as his students call him) has some extreme practices she wouldn’t encourage me to take up, she thought it would be inspiring for me as I entered the classroom. Let me tell you, the only other situation in which I yell in frustration at the media is when John Stossel reports on education issues, well and the whole No Child Left Behind fiasco, but to some extent I just tune that nonsense right out. This man is not only insane, (as in admitting to going $30,000 in debt for classroom supplies and sleeping only 4 hours a night) he also proves himself highly vindictive and hypocritical within his own writing. He creates pseudonyms for co-workers that are childish and insulting: Miss Busy-as-a-Bee, Miss Plug, and Mr. Helpless. He becomes so distraught by a former student talking negatively about him with her middle school peers that he refuses to write her a recommendation saying, “I told her my arm and shoulder were too sore to write a letter for her – they were strained from the knives I had been trying to pull out of my back.” Yet after reporting stories like these he claims Atticus Finch to be his hero for his integrity and morality. I’m fairly certain, fictional though he was, Atticus would never have titled someone “Mr. Helpless.”

But the thing that bothers me most about this book is that very few people agree with my analysis of it. My search on Google for more ammunition against Rafe was futile. My only solace is the few reviews on online bookstores hiding between high praise and lists of friends and family for whom the book should be a gift. So I came to you my blog-reading friends to make my case. You don’t have to agree, but at least I got it out. Just like Atticus.