It's rare to find a book that speaks directly to you--a book that seems to narrate your own life for you, as you're living it. For me, one of those books is "Someday This Pain Will Be Useful to You." (Let's stop pretending I don't see, in that narrator, a carbon copy of myself.)
Another is: "Ms. Hempel Chronicles," which I write about again and again, because it's just that good.
This, to me, is required reading for anyone who is ambivalent about the teaching profession (and that's maybe all teachers, secretly or not-so-secretly).
There's so much I admire about this bold second novel, and here's the main thing: Sarah Shun-Lien Bynum does not feel constrained by the tyranny of linear narrative. She doesn't need to tell us when Ms. Hempel met her boyfriend, or when the engagement was officially ended. She doesn't need to recall the exact moment when Ms. Hempel handed in her letter of resignation. As far as I recall, the death of the father isn't described in detail.
Instead, Shun-Lien Bynum pinpoints seemingly small moments. These moments are actually turning points (though the protagonist may not realize this, as she is living through the moments). Ms. Hempel remembers being an eccentric high-school student and submitting a logically-questionable English essay--and the teacher didn't like it. And Ms. Hempel discovers that her father has waded through and annotated the teacher's annotations, and reassigned a grade: "A-plus." (It seems maybe sentimental as I describe it, but it doesn't feel that way on the page. It's also a moving defense of quirkiness, something many schools seem determined to remove from all students. And it captures Ms. Hempel's bond with her father, and her aching w/r/t her loss, better than a conventional funeral scene might.)
Ms. Hempel returning home for the holidays, "assisting" with her little sister's college application essay. The younger sister has an interest in stage tech, and she has expressed it clumsily in an essay draft. Ms. Hempel reads through and invents a narrative about studying the less-glamorous cats in "Cats," and seeing in those third-tier cats a depiction of life as a stage technician, "life in the wings." In Ms. Hempel's telling, the little sister feels moved and ennobled by her seemingly not-glamorous calling. (Or something like that.) There's a problem, though: This isn't actually what has happened to the sister. It's far too tidy. Ms. Hempel has committed the same error other teachers have committed before her: She has tried to make her "student" into something smoother, more digestible, than the thing she really is. (A memorable portrait of being smack in the middle of your imperious twenties--becoming, to your own horror, a bossy, unimaginative teacher.)
Ms. Hempel observers a woman who has fled teaching; she has gone off and lived in a yurt somewhere remote. This ex-teacher seems reborn; she trails glory and freedom. Her skin is rosy; she is joyously pregnant. (Of course, her life isn't what it seems, and she feels perverse regret about leaving the hell-pit that is a teaching career. This painful, confusing ambivalence is expressed when she attacks a colleague's third-graders' ancient Egypt posters. There are spelling errors on these posters, and they are on display in the hallway!!! Unforgettable. "Yurt" ranks as the strongest story in "Ms. Hempel.")
Ms. Hempel knows, or senses, that her dying engagement has reached its end when she catches a colleague mid-kiss--and is impressed, mainly, that this colleague has "made a decision." (Indecisiveness! How I cringe to remember my own twenties, when I would cower next to my terrible boyfriend, in bed, and wonder aloud if we would ever pursue marriage, and then stare at the ceiling through the long, ensuing, evasive silence.)
Ms. Hempel surveying her small students, noticing danger, charisma, striking weirdness, inventive laziness, hope.
Ms. Hempel deciding that some things in the world really do matter, and one of those things is Tobias Wolff's "This Boy's Life." (The thrill of defending this book and its "vulgar" language in the presence of a frightened, judgmental parent. A hint of the adult Ms. Hempel will become. And a moment familiar to just about any teacher--finding oneself through a bizarre sparring match with a close-minded, and also maybe sympathetic, parent.)
This book isn't a portrait of passionate teaching. Ms. Hempel isn't great at her job, and she tells us this within the first five or six paragraphs. What the book does so well is: to capture the sensation of being stuck, or semi-stuck, in liminal space. Stuck between adolescence and adulthood. Stuck between a familiar community and a desire to be something new. Stuck between being partnered and being on one's own. Stuck between the land of responsible behavior and the land of freedom. It's a book about yearning, so it feels universal. The teaching stuff is almost disposable; Ms. Hempel could be a well-digger, or a paralegal. (That said, I love the teaching stuff.)
Reading this book in the middle of my teaching career was like finding a lifeline. I felt understood. This was therapy between two covers. It was also a form of inspiration.
Another is: "Ms. Hempel Chronicles," which I write about again and again, because it's just that good.
This, to me, is required reading for anyone who is ambivalent about the teaching profession (and that's maybe all teachers, secretly or not-so-secretly).
There's so much I admire about this bold second novel, and here's the main thing: Sarah Shun-Lien Bynum does not feel constrained by the tyranny of linear narrative. She doesn't need to tell us when Ms. Hempel met her boyfriend, or when the engagement was officially ended. She doesn't need to recall the exact moment when Ms. Hempel handed in her letter of resignation. As far as I recall, the death of the father isn't described in detail.
Instead, Shun-Lien Bynum pinpoints seemingly small moments. These moments are actually turning points (though the protagonist may not realize this, as she is living through the moments). Ms. Hempel remembers being an eccentric high-school student and submitting a logically-questionable English essay--and the teacher didn't like it. And Ms. Hempel discovers that her father has waded through and annotated the teacher's annotations, and reassigned a grade: "A-plus." (It seems maybe sentimental as I describe it, but it doesn't feel that way on the page. It's also a moving defense of quirkiness, something many schools seem determined to remove from all students. And it captures Ms. Hempel's bond with her father, and her aching w/r/t her loss, better than a conventional funeral scene might.)
Ms. Hempel returning home for the holidays, "assisting" with her little sister's college application essay. The younger sister has an interest in stage tech, and she has expressed it clumsily in an essay draft. Ms. Hempel reads through and invents a narrative about studying the less-glamorous cats in "Cats," and seeing in those third-tier cats a depiction of life as a stage technician, "life in the wings." In Ms. Hempel's telling, the little sister feels moved and ennobled by her seemingly not-glamorous calling. (Or something like that.) There's a problem, though: This isn't actually what has happened to the sister. It's far too tidy. Ms. Hempel has committed the same error other teachers have committed before her: She has tried to make her "student" into something smoother, more digestible, than the thing she really is. (A memorable portrait of being smack in the middle of your imperious twenties--becoming, to your own horror, a bossy, unimaginative teacher.)
Ms. Hempel observers a woman who has fled teaching; she has gone off and lived in a yurt somewhere remote. This ex-teacher seems reborn; she trails glory and freedom. Her skin is rosy; she is joyously pregnant. (Of course, her life isn't what it seems, and she feels perverse regret about leaving the hell-pit that is a teaching career. This painful, confusing ambivalence is expressed when she attacks a colleague's third-graders' ancient Egypt posters. There are spelling errors on these posters, and they are on display in the hallway!!! Unforgettable. "Yurt" ranks as the strongest story in "Ms. Hempel.")
Ms. Hempel knows, or senses, that her dying engagement has reached its end when she catches a colleague mid-kiss--and is impressed, mainly, that this colleague has "made a decision." (Indecisiveness! How I cringe to remember my own twenties, when I would cower next to my terrible boyfriend, in bed, and wonder aloud if we would ever pursue marriage, and then stare at the ceiling through the long, ensuing, evasive silence.)
Ms. Hempel surveying her small students, noticing danger, charisma, striking weirdness, inventive laziness, hope.
Ms. Hempel deciding that some things in the world really do matter, and one of those things is Tobias Wolff's "This Boy's Life." (The thrill of defending this book and its "vulgar" language in the presence of a frightened, judgmental parent. A hint of the adult Ms. Hempel will become. And a moment familiar to just about any teacher--finding oneself through a bizarre sparring match with a close-minded, and also maybe sympathetic, parent.)
This book isn't a portrait of passionate teaching. Ms. Hempel isn't great at her job, and she tells us this within the first five or six paragraphs. What the book does so well is: to capture the sensation of being stuck, or semi-stuck, in liminal space. Stuck between adolescence and adulthood. Stuck between a familiar community and a desire to be something new. Stuck between being partnered and being on one's own. Stuck between the land of responsible behavior and the land of freedom. It's a book about yearning, so it feels universal. The teaching stuff is almost disposable; Ms. Hempel could be a well-digger, or a paralegal. (That said, I love the teaching stuff.)
Reading this book in the middle of my teaching career was like finding a lifeline. I felt understood. This was therapy between two covers. It was also a form of inspiration.
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