I’m about to order ten sets of books for my class. I can’t believe the list I get to choose from, it’s like I’m ordering for middle school in the 1920s. Count of Monte Cristo, oh my. I call one of my students over who I trust to help me.
“Anita, what do you think of Oliver Twist? It has pickpockets. Or Robin Hood? He stole from the rich and gave to the poor.” I read down the list on the web site. There’s Mark Twain, lots of truancy, or my favorite, Treasure Island, the glorification of all things pirate. “How about this one, Anita? The Scarlet Letter. You think my crew would like a book about adultery?”
“Maybe, Ms. P.”
I’d love my students to read these books and clearly the themes would resonate for them, but they wouldn’t get past the first page — the antiquated language, the formal English. When some of my students are reading books like Thugs and the Women Who Love Them and Chicken Soup for the Prisoner’s Soul, dare I order Silas Marner?


