This Critical Reflection post is for ECI 521, a graduate class at North Carolina State University.
“Life is full of horizonlines. They come in all shapes and sizes—accidents and jobs, people, marriage, and children. Time is the current that pushes us toward the edges of what we know, usually faster than we can cope . . . fear comes from doubt about where those horizonlines lead. I also know that the truths of life, large and small, are what lie beyond each one.” (Doug Ammons, “The Horizonline,” The Laugh of the Water Nymph)
Horizonlines represent looming uncertainty. Unfamiliar–and possibly edgy–books are pregnant with ideas and concepts and formats that are ready to burst into receptive minds. Especially in today’s digital era, thoughts can go viral within seconds of being expressed. This is why the power of the pen scares so many people: because of the unknown extent of the damage/influence of one “new” suggestion. Instead of censoring all unconventional ideas, I recommend examining them and creating or exploring the rationales for their existence.
We need to arm ourselves with the intentions and expected destinations of the ideas we’re investigating through the books we’re teaching. In the Bookhenge, crazymom03 asked why book challenges are taken personally; I think it’s because we feel threatened when someone questions what we’re doing. We have carefully planned our lesson, plotted our objectives, and selected a book that illustrates the essential questions we want to discuss; a book challenge might seem like an affront by a challenger who isn’t confident in our personal or professional competence to have a good reason for the decisions we make.
As a personal exercise, I like the idea of creating a rationale for each book I teach or offer as an alternative reading option. Identifying the issues I plan to examine, the essential questions I hope to instigate, and the concerns I might encounter will help me focus on how my book selection fulfills Common Core Standards. Trying to view my lesson plan through other perspectives might also help me to anticipate hazards and diffuse objections by people who are worried about where the horizonlines might lead.
To scaffold the expansion of students’ horizonlines, I like Caroline’s idea of pairing a potentially-controversial book with an established work of literature, such as using The Fault in Our Stars, by John Green, as a springboard to discuss issues of death, spirituality, and morality in Paradise Lost, by John Milton. The newer book seems like a relevant way to introduce potentially-abstract concepts that are separated from our students’ reality by a few hundred years.
While horizonlines are fraught with uncertainty, they can also be beacons of exploration and adventure, pushing us toward concepts as yet unimagined. Will we equip our students to sail toward their questions, or will we warn them to paddle away?
#bookhenge
w0rdlvr 
You have certainly mastered the art of extended metaphor, Teresa. Love the horizon quote and applaud your wisdom in seeing the text rationale as a way to demonstrate and make public our professionalism — with the added value of learning with and from colleagues and others. A text rationale is not a defense strategy but a professional strategy. I know if I were a parent of a student in your class that I’d be impressed reading what you share about your thoughtful planning. Call it marketing or call it communication — a teacher’s virtual presence can enhance the actual.
btw wanted to share a favorite quote similar to your horizons one: ” . . . then, swing your window open — the one with the good eastern light, the one inside your heart — and watch for wings, edges, new beginnings (Goosebumps Art)