goodreads review: World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War

World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War, Max Brooks
Acquired: Gift from Cameron

 

This was a gift last Christmas, and I read it just in time for Halloween. I was really impressed with this so-called oral history of the zombie war: it’s immersing and touching, embracing the “human factor” along an oft-traversed horror terrain. Like all good zombie films, it embraces the flexibility of the living dead to encompass multiple metaphors. The most predominate metaphor in World War Z is the pervasive xenophobia and bureaucracy of the day that keeps us from any sort of true progress. Ulysses it is not, but it is certainly a cut above typical horror fare. 

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teaching week 3, pt. 1: “we eat lunch with your other class. they talk crap about you.”

As I sat down to begin today’s entry, I took a bite out of my pizza from the SUB. Reminder: bring own lunch from now own. 

My lesson plans for the day  came together at 9 AM this morning. Class, I should mention, begins at 9:30. It was a weird in-between day: they were assigned all the pre-writing for their essay last time, and their polished draft is due on Thursday. I couldn’t really cover new material today; it seemed intellectually irresponsible. Surprisingly, I was actually pleased with what we covered in class, and I was calmer than I’ve ever been. Moral of the story: preparation is a fickle mistress. 

To emphasize that what we’re doing in class might actually be worth a damn (and to convince myself of the same thing), I started off with a post from the Much Hallowed Language Log — a post I would never have seen if puttering around on the internet wasn’t the most pronounced side-effect of my fatal allergy to productivity. We talked a bit about thinking critically (5 minutes) and I made them write about it (10 minutes). Add that to the Writing Center presentation (thanks, Mollie and Cameron!) and that’s 20 minutes down. 50 minutes to go. 

For my first class, making them write a journal at 9:30 in the morning is tantamount to making them breakfast on a beloved childhood pet: only a sick, perverted mind could concoct an act of such profound distaste. Eyes were rolling so emphatically, I thought I might have wandered off into a Romero film.

Just like that. Minus most of the gore.

In my second class, it was the next exercise that affronted their sense of decency.  As I called roll, I had them tell me their thesis sentence. In my first class, the reaction amounted to, “Oh.” In the second section, cries of disbelief — and a few tragic wails — filled the air. But guess what? I’m an English teacher: our life force is fueled by topic sentences. I demand theses! So, they read their thesis statements, and we discussed how to make them better. For example, your thesis statement should be about what your essay is going to be about. Learning is fun. 

After reading the previous paragraph, this next bit should come as no surprise. I decided to review the rhetorical situation: specifically, the rhetorical situation for this essay. When I asked who their audience was, the class correctly responded “You.” When I asked them what that meant, one student incorrectly responded, “Use sarcasm.” Well. Maybe.

After the uproar asking them to do a modicum of work caused, I pointed out how well my 9:30 class had taken the news. Captain Latin: “Yes. But that class has no personality.” Me: “What? You don’t know them!” Girl I Previously Thought Was Not Capable of This: “We eat lunch with your other class. They’re boring, and they talk crap about you all the time.” She was kidding. I think.

Just in case, I let them out 20 minutes early. 

 

 

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