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January 20th, 2012
No, I'm not writing the band. That wouldn't be relevant. Awesome. But not relevant. Actually, what I'm going for today involves taking English syllabus classes and offering up some less popular – yet still fully viable – alternatives. Because I don't want the comments section to overflow with discussions about how dare I dilute the importance of these tried and true literary works, probably I should burn my master's in English, etc., I have to issue a disclaimer about how…no. No, I'm not. There's room enough on campus for all these reads, because each one offers up something special to the world. I'm arguing for diversification, but not at the expense of downplaying more ubiquitous novels.
1984 by George Orwell —-> We by Yevgeny Zamyatin. Both unapologetic takedowns of totalitarianism, but We actually came long before its now-iconic British counterpart. Yevgeny Zamyatin did not singlehandedly launch the dystopian genre, of course, though he certainly solidified many of its familiar tropes early.
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee —-> Oranges are Not the Only Fruit by Jeanette Winterson. As long as there's -isms, there will always be -ists. As long as there's -ists, To Kill a Mockingbird will always hold relevance. With LGBTQIA rights at the forefront of civil rights these days, Jeanette Winterson's coming-of-age story about a young lesbian trapped amongst Pentecostals will also resonate with contemporary audiences.
Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë —-> The Awakening by Kate Chopin. Few, if any, similarities exist between these books, but The Awakening can be considered a reasonable enough antidote for English teachers uncomfortable with teaching young women that men who lock their mentally ill wives in the attic make the most AMAZING husbands. Try one of the forerunners of feminist literature instead.
The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald —-> The Mambo Kings Play Songs of Love by Oscar Hijuelos. Inevitably, students will end up encountering the whole "degradation of the American Dream" thing, and The Great Gatsby always seems to be the only book anyone ever reads about the theme. Oscar Hijuelos' oft-overlooked Pulitzer winner covers similar territory through the experiences of two Cuban immigrant brothers.
Dracula by Bram Stoker —-> Carmilla by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu. Carmilla predates Dracula by a whole quarter-century, but good luck finding anyone other than devoted horror fans who know of its existence. Kind of sad, really, as – similar the We example above – the novella is responsible for launching the entire vampire genre. Which, in case you haven't noticed, is kind of a thing that's huge right now.
A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole —-> The Brief, Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Díaz. I know, I know. I'm shocked that I'd suggest anything could replace the world's most perfect novel as well, but…I did. While Oscar Wao is far more pleasant than Ignatius Reilly (and his supporting cast stands as a little less larger-than-life), as an isolated protagonist many awkward young people will still find him a kindred spirit. Not to mention the fact that the Dominican Republic could easily be considered as much of a character as New Orleans is in A Confederacy of Dunces.
Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger —-> The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky. The Perks of Being a Wallflower updated some of J.D. Salinger's bildungsroman themes with a more sympathetic central character and grunge-era aesthetic. If nothing else, at least the book might get high school kids interested in listening to The Smiths, which is never a bad thing.
The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka —-> Geek Love by Katherine Dunn. While not fully interchangeable, Katherine Dunn's eloquent devotion to the grotesque and existential family drama could prove a gripping enough replacement for the cockroachy mainstay. Despite its rich texture and alternately beautiful and nauseating narrative, Geek Love rarely appears in English classes for dissection.
Night by Eli Wiesel —-> Maus by Art Spiegelman. When teaching Holocaust literature, both books offer up necessary glimpses into how the horrific genocide ripped apart families and forever altered survivors' psychology. As the only Pulitzer-winning graphic novel, Maus simultaneously educates readers about history while standing as an excellent example of the medium's potential. An ambassador of sorts.
Catch-22 by Joseph Heller —-> Gravity's Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon. Look. I was an English teacher for all of one semester. I understand completely the temptation to sometimes go full bore sadist on your students. If absurdist musings set during World War II happen to be a thing with you, why not break their little brains by throwing some Pynchon their way? Sure, they'll gripe constantly, but by god they'll walk out of class having learned something. Possibly. Maybe.
