“Sometimes, the curtains are just blue.”
This familiar sentiment among English students asserts that English teachers read too far into potential symbolism, asserts that oftentimes, authors aren’t being purposeful with their symbolism (the infamous blue curtains, for example.)
However staunchly defended this position is, it is often touted by students who only aim to blow off their book report on The Great Gatsby. I used to feel this way too – whether it stemmed from some contrarian instinct within me or simply a misunderstanding of symbolic language, I can’t say.
So, when my AP Language and Composition class started our intro to the rhetorical analysis unit, I was, at the very least, uncomfortable supposing that my interpretation of any given work of rhetoric was anywhere close to the author’s intended meaning. We began the unit with the analysis of songs, film, and art. I was particularly confused by the film analysis we were meant to do – I couldn’t wrap my head around the idea that cinematography could really mean something.
It was during an analysis of Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho that I realized how much my own analysis was truly lacking. Whilst I was trying to make sense of long shots, or score choices, I was completely blind to Hitchcock’s true intentions. The repeated visual motifs of the film, the use of lighting to signify good and evil, the angle of the camera to represent power dynamics between the characters… all relatively simple filmmaking techniques that I had missed out on, in my refusal to look beyond the surface.
As my second trimester of AP Lang came to a close, our class was once again tasked with an analytical assignment: The ever-notorious symbolism of The Great Gatsby. We were split into groups, and assigned a motif to take note of and analyze throughout our reading. The exact details aren’t important, what is is that this time around, I decided to challenge myself. I would go beyond “This passage shows that Gatsby is wealthy,” and really try to dig deeper. And I did! While not a mind-blowing hot new take on an American classic, my analysis finally surpassed the surface-level statements I had been making during my first trimester.
Eventually, the curriculum of AP Lang moved past literary analysis, and onto more practical things that we would need to know for the AP exam. However, what I had learned stuck with me. When I sat watching a movie with my parents at home, I couldn’t help but regress into an intolerable “Film Bro,” making notes to myself about the visual language of the film, and how that alludes to its real meaning. When I picked up Wuthering Heights from my boss’ book collection, I began to wonder why exactly Brontë brought up dogs at every opportunity. I no longer felt that I was either reading into things, or overstepping my bounds as an audience member by analyzing a piece of art. Instead, I felt that my perspective had real value, and added to my understanding of a work, rather than muddying it.
I attribute a lot of student’s unwillingness to engage analytically with a piece of art to a skepticism towards the school system, or a lack of confidence in one’s own convictions. A curriculum that emphasizes rhetorical analysis, I’ve found, can truly help students build self confidence in their writing and media consumption. My message to any current english students, who feel the same way as me is this: Maybe try just a little harder on that Great Gatbsy book report.
