Let me be real with you—teaching the literary canon is kind of uncomfortable on an existential level. As a teacher, I’m caught between two powerful forces: on one hand, I know my students need the cultural currency that comes with reading books like The Great Gatsby and Lord of the Flies. On the other hand, I want the texts we read in class to reflect who they are, where they come from, and the rich diversity of their experiences. Oh. And be interesting to them so they will actually read them; that’s kind of a “thing.” It’s a tough balance, and I often find myself wondering if I’m doing it right.
The Canon: A Double-Edged Sword
There’s no denying it—some books are considered “essential reading” in our society. If you want to be seen as well-read, if you want to be able to drop references and sound like you know your stuff, you’ve got to be familiar with the classics. And don’t even get me started on knowing when OTHER people low-key drop a reference to suss out who’s smart and who isn’t—a dirty trick, but it happens. I get that. I want my students to have access to that world, to feel confident in any conversation, and to hold their own when someone starts talking about Of Mice and Men or Lord of the Flies. Not having read these books can make them feel left out, like they’re missing a secret code that everyone else seems to know. You can hear all about how I make sure every kid can read the canon in my earlier blog post about why adapted literature is a necessary accommodation for SPED and ELL.
But here’s where it gets tricky: these books, as important as they are, often don’t speak to the realities of my students’ lives. They don’t see themselves in the characters, the settings, or the struggles. I work in a building that is growing more diverse every year. I teach standard ELA, not honors, so my diversity is perhaps higher than that of honors and AP classes (which is its own problem that we are working to fix). And that matters. Because while I want them to gain the cultural currency that comes with knowing the canon, I also want them to know that their own stories are just as valuable.
If you want to get really philosophical about it…who gets to decide what “important literature” even IS, anyway? The canon is the canon because the white men who did the publishing chose stories (also written by white men) that resonated with THEM. That is how the canon became the canon in the first place. As the world changes, what does that mean for the canon? Just pondering it is a freaking Pandora’s box.
The Cultural Currency Dilemma
Teaching the canon feels like a trade-off. I know my students need to be able to talk about these classic novels—like it or not, they’re part of the “smart person” toolkit. But I also know that if all we ever read are these old, predominantly white, male-authored texts, we’re sending a message that their own cultural backgrounds aren’t as important. That’s a message I can’t stand behind…but yet, by continuing to refer to the canon as The Canon, isn’t that what I’m doing…? Ooof. The headache worsens.
When we read The Great Gatsby or Lord of the Flies, I try to make it clear why these books have stuck around. I explain that these are the texts people expect you to know, the ones that get referenced in movies, TV shows, and yes, even job interviews. But I also make it clear that this isn’t the whole picture. I make space for discussions about why we read these books and who gets to decide what’s “essential.”
Balancing Act: Respecting the Canon, Honoring Their Stories
It’s a balancing act, for sure. I want my students to feel equipped to step into any room and hold their own, to drop a reference to Of Mice and Men and know they’ll be understood. But I also want them to know that their experiences, their voices, and their stories matter just as much as any character in a dusty old novel. That’s why, alongside the canon, I make sure we’re reading authors who look like them, who come from where they come from, and who tell the kinds of stories that resonate with their lives.
In my classroom, we do both. We read The Great Gatsby because it’s part of the cultural currency they’ll need to navigate the world. But we also read contemporary authors who speak to their experiences directly, who show them that their stories are just as worthy of study, discussion, and respect. How I’ll find the time to do this effectively and still have time for standardized testing, homecoming week, senior skip day, and spirit week is a mystery, but I will persevere.
It’s a Conundrum That Doesn’t Have a Quick Fix
Teaching the canon isn’t just about ticking off boxes on a curriculum—it’s about giving my students the tools they need to succeed in a world that sometimes feels like it wasn’t built for them. But it’s also about reminding them that they have every right to shape that world, to tell their own stories, and to demand that those stories be heard.
So yes, we’ll read The Great Gatsby, and yes, we’ll talk about Lord of the Flies. But we’ll do it with an understanding that these are just pieces of a much larger puzzle. Because in the end, I want my students to leave my classroom knowing they have the cultural currency to succeed—and the confidence to know that their own voices matter, too.
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