Book Report - Teacher Man

Angela’s Ashes” is one of those books almost everybody has read. Fortunately, I haven’t, and that’s why I can give the Pulitzer Prize-winning author Frank McCourt an unbiased review of his third autobiographical book, “Teacher Man.” Having seen the movie adaptation of “Angela’s Ashes,” I believed the story too depressing for my taste and shunned the book. “Teacher Man” isn’t much cheerier; our hero (or antihero), Frankie, continues his dismal existence in America, hounded by the usual troubles with women, self-esteem, and direction in life. The difference is the set of schoolyard stories, which bring a breeze of fresh air. Not to dismiss the literary qualities of “Angela’s Ashes” and “ ’Tis,” but tales of a miserable childhood and the problems of life are powerful emotional tools that can too easily be used to manipulate readers.

In a way, “Teacher Man” is an appendix to McCourt’s second installment, “ ’Tis,” which tells the tale of McCourt’s life in America and how he became a teacher. As McCourt wrote in the prologue of “Teacher Man,” he felt that he didn’t give his 30-year teaching career enough exposure in the second book, so he wrote a third one. He also said he thought that teaching secondary school is one of the most underrated professions in America, and therefore penned a new memoir to take readers into New York’s high school classrooms. Whether this is the genuine motivation or a mask for a clever business plan to break one’s own life into three installments and charge readers thrice is for McCourt to know and for us to not care.

Surely you are expecting a saccharine moment that often plagues school-related books and movies, namely the moment when an incorrigible pupil is converted by the mentor who teaches from the heart. No? Good for you, because there is none of that in “Teacher Man.” In fact, McCourt writes of being an unsuccessful teacher for at least half of his career. Unable to discipline the rowdy students in the vocational high school and accused of telling too many stories of his “miserable childhood” in Ireland instead of teaching English, he was troubled by the possibility that he was popular at the prestigious Stuyvesant High School because he gave good grades.

One of those odd-ball teachers whose pedagogical accomplishments were not spectacular, he is the type you still remember from the days driven by exams and the recess bells, 30 years down the road. In “Teacher Man,” McCourt tells the unusual and sometimes eccentric stories of his classrooms spanning three decades, four public New York high schools, and one community college, sprinkled with the intermittent life crises like a lackluster marriage, firing, and unfruitful attempt to earn a doctorate. McCourt does sometimes get carried away and start a seemingly interminable rant about his miserable childhood and personal life, but fortunately manages to get back on track and finish the chapter with a sparkling classroom tale. It is these moments that make this memoir a good read, though occasionally marred by the banal and sometimes too-much-information life stories.

McCourt never focuses on one student, but instead gives all of his students individual voices, and paints an honest portrait behind the closed doors of high school classrooms. These stories happened long ago, but kids will be kids, and we can see ourselves in some of the characters. Although I found some of McCourt’s opinions on the success of his first book, university faculty, and education system here and abroad not so digestible, his accounts of the times he shared with students and his unique teaching methods did leave a savory aftertaste, literally. He once resolved a conflict by eating a sandwich and revived student interest by reading recipes.

I would not bet on “Teacher Man” bringing McCourt a second Pulitzer, but I’ll definitely put it on a reading list. After all, don’t we all secretly hope that one day we, too, will appear in a high school teacher’s memoir?

The temptation to draw broad policy lessons from Pulitzer prize-winner Frank McCourt`s new memoir, Teacher Man, has been irresistible for some readers. Newsweek`s Anna Quindlen, for example, built a column around the book, arguing that “teaching`s the toughest job there is.” Newsday columnist Dennis Duggan sought out McCourt`s views of New York`s new teacher contract. But Teacher Man is, in the end, a memoir—not a policy manifesto.

The book is a series of anecdotes from McCourt`s 30 years of teaching in New York City`s public schools. Because McCourt is a master storyteller, as he demonstrated in Angela`s Ashes and `Tis, these anecdotes are generally captivating, often humorous, and occasionally moving. But the plural of anecdote is not data, and McCourt`s experiences provide only a limited perspective—not a guide for policy. By trying to turn them into one, reviewers overlook the book`s real value.

Approached on its own terms—as a portal into one man`s experiences—Teacher Man has much to offer readers interested in public education. With his trademark simple, straightforward language, McCourt excels at pulling readers into the situation. On his first day teaching, when he must establish his authority before 34 teenagers, readers can almost smell the tension in the room. When McCourt chaperones 29 boisterous future beauticians on a theater trip, readers share his nervous dread of the girls` next move, even while choking back laughter. For readers who have never taught in a public school, like me, McCourt`s book may be as close as we can come to knowing how it feels to stand before a class of hormonally-amped high-school students.

Dozens of students appear throughout the book, some over pages, most for just a few sentences. Yet, like a skilled artist drawing a figure in impossibly few strokes, McCourt renders them all vividly in few lines. Some reviewers have complained Teacher Man lacks the in-depth characterizations of McCourt`s previous books. But McCourt`s sketchbook characterizations in Teacher Man are actually an appropriate reflection of his isolation as a classroom teacher. And the most compelling students—Orthodox future farmer Bob Stein, for example, or troubled enigma Kevin Dunne—stick in the reader`s head, as they surely must have McCourt`s.

What really makes this book interesting, though, is McCourt`s personal journey over the years he chronicles. From a lost, insecure young man, hobbled by the emotional legacy of events described in his earlier books, McCourt becomes an adult who is, while still acutely cognizant of his flaws, sufficiently at peace with himself to dare undertake the writing of Angela`s Ashes, the book that would win him a Pulitzer Prize. Teacher Man is particularly compelling—and comforting—to young people at the start of their careers, who will find much to recognize in his descriptions of feeling adrift, in over his head, and skeptical of ever finding the meaning or recognition he craves. Chill out, McCourt seems to be saying, you don`t have to have all the answers now, it took me 30 years to become comfortable with myself.

McCourt`s personal growth is reflected in his development as a teacher. At the start of the book, he seems overwhelmed by his students. “Instead of teaching,” he writes, “I told stories. Anything to keep them quiet and in their seats.” The young McCourt often comes across as defensive and defeated by the challenges his students bring to the classroom, as well as the personal demons that remain from his impoverished upbringing in Limerick, Ireland. He lacks the sense of self-efficacy Teach for America famously seeks in applicants. McCourt knows many of the students he`s teaching aren`t being well-served, by him or the system. But he`s just trying to get by. Later in the book, however, affirmed by his hiring at the highly-regarded Stuyvesant High School, freed by its supportive environment, and challenged to teach creative writing, McCourt begins to find his confidence in the classroom—and his life outside it.

McCourt`s story, particularly the attitude of futility he frequently expresses in response to the challenges his students face, can be frustrating to readers who believe schools must do a better job of educating disadvantaged young people. But because his story reminds us what hard work improving student learning really is, it`s all the more important for such readers to hear. Like it or not, McCourt`s resignation to his students` poor performance echoes that of much of today`s education community. Many reviewers have praised McCourt`s creativity in devising assignments, such as asking students to write excuse notes as an exercise. But is this really the most we should expect of poor and working-class high-schoolers? Would the reviewers be happy if this were all teachers assigned their children?

The response to this anecdote illustrates one of the hazards of trying to draw policy implications from memoir: The genre locks readers so tightly into the personal experiences and emotions of a single author that readers lose broader perspective. And the emotional landscape of Teacher Man is necessarily bounded by McCourt`s own biases, insecurities, and experiences. A reader would draw entirely different conclusions from, say, Wendy Kopp`s One Day, All Children or Rafe Esquith`s There Are No Shortcuts.

This is not a criticism of McCourt`s book. A memoir`s greatest strength is its ability to draw readers intimately into an author`s interior world. That is why policymakers may be one audience for whom Teacher Man is most valuable, even though it is not a guide to policymaking. Education policy debates are awash in a sea of cheap, false emotion and rhetoric: Partisans on all sides sentimentalize children and demonize opponents in the service of a particular agenda. In this environment, McCourt`s honest discussion of his varied feelings about his students and teaching—and the real emotional response he elicits from readers—is a breath of fresh air.

also schonmal vielen dank für die antworten =)wenn jemand noch was weiß --> melden =)