Focusing on writing placement at a particular university, the authors analyze the limits of SAT tests as a tool in this process. They then describe the writing program’s adoption of a supplementary measure: a faculty committee’s review of essays by students who may need to be reassigned to a different writing course.

Challenging the thesis of Stanley Fish’s recent book Save the World on Your Own Time, the author argues that political awareness was vital to the development of a productive basic writing pedagogy, and that composition teachers can responsibly work from their own political values in the classroom.

Reviewed is Teaching with Life Writing Texts, edited by Miriam Fuchs and Craig Howes.

Contemporary Chicano codex rhetorics subversively question the alleged superiority of Western writing traditions, while reminding us that Mesoamerican pictographs have been an important—although repressed—part of rhetorical history.

Defining Our Terms - Elizabeth Hodges: Reviewed are Keywords in Creative Writing, by Wendy Bishop and David Starkey, and Power and Identity in the Creative Writing Classroom: The Authority Project, edited by Anna Leahy. The “Sticking” Problem: Locating Creative Writing at Home and Abroad - Sarah E. Harris: Reviewed are Creative Writing Studies: Practice, Research, and Pedagogy, edited by Graeme Harper and Jeri Kroll; Teaching Poetry Writing: A Five-Canon Approach, by Tom C. Hunley; and The Author Is Not Dead, Merely Somewhere Else: Creative Writing Reconceived by Michelene Wandor. Creative Writing for Everyone - Megan Fulwiler: Reviewed is The Practice of Creative Writing: A Guide for Students by Heather Sellers.

Creative writing programs should transform into creative writing studies, a field of scholarly inquiry and research that would have three main strands: pedagogical, historical, and advocacy-oriented. This move would help bridge the gap between literary studies and composition.

Reviewed are "Composition and/or Literature: The End(s) of Education", edited by Linda S. Bergmann and Edith M. Baker, and "Integrating Literature and Writing Instruction: First-Year English, Humanities Core Courses, Seminars", edited by Judith H. Anderson and Christine R. Farris.

The author calls for incorporating into English classes what he calls museum-based pedagogy, arguing that it enables the teaching of multiple literacies: verbal, visual, technological, social, and critical. In part, this pedagogy consists of classroom instruction that enables students to understand the persuasive nature of museum displays—the ways in which digital technology mediates, powerful interests influence, social agents negotiate, and multimodal texts communicate meaning.

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This essay examines Azar Nafisi’s bestselling memoir, Reading Lolita in Tehran (2003), in the context of U.S. book club culture. It argues that the memoir appeals to U.S. audiences by mobilizing a neoliberal rhetoric and a pedagogy of empathy that positions the United States as the geopolitical center of feminist empowerment and human rights.

The author analyzes his experiences teaching literature courses in which he encourages students to research works by people from their hometowns. He argues that relating literature to concepts of “home” makes English classes more accessible to students while also helping them reflect on important issues in ecocriticism.

Toward the end of his life, Donald Murray felt that his approach to writing instruction was no longer appreciated by journals in his field. Nevertheless, his emphasis on encouraging students to surprise themselves through informal writing still has considerable value.

In higher education, issues of in loco parentis have been most often discussed in connection with campus administrative policies. College writing teachers need to reflect, however, on the ways they conceivably exercise parental authority in their own classrooms, through such models as the Stern Father and the Nurturing Mother.

We need to complicate current accounts of critical pedagogy by examining how educational institutions beyond traditional classrooms have served progressive movements. One example was the Sea Island Citizenship Schools. By examining the latter’s history, we also become better aware of how the education-related work of the American civil rights movement encompassed more than the desegregation prompted by the Supreme Court’s 1954 Brown decision.

When evangelical Christian students enter the academy, they often find that its tenets and values conflict with their reliance on the Bible as a source of truth and evidence. A pedagogy of rhetorical dexterity, however, can help construct productive relationships between their religious community of practice and the academy’s.

Focusing on students’ responses to an 1876 writing assignment at Illinois Industrial University (which would ultimately become the University of Illinois), the author analyzes ideological tensions that occurred as the United States found itself revising the pastoral image of the farmer in an increasingly industrial age.

Increasingly, autistic students are attending college, posing new challenges to writing instructors. In particular, such students may have trouble imagining readers’ responses to their texts. Developing an appropriate pedagogy for these students may involve revisiting composition studies’ tradition of cognitive research, while not abandoning more recent constructivist theories.

“Crash” is a means for classes to explore the complicated interpersonal, social, and political legacies of the civil rights movement. Nevertheless, it is important for students to examine how, on the subject of racism, the movie blurs the distinction between individual moral choices and larger institutional practices.

Many graduate creative writing programs depend on “star” faculty who have been hired more because of their professional reputation as writers than because of their commitment to teaching. As a result, such programs often fail to provide reflection on teaching that would truly serve their students. One step toward alleviating this problem is to offer undergraduate courses that enable creative writing graduate students to team-teach with regular faculty.

Students in college writing courses need to understand world issues, including the oppressive effects of the global economy. But their teachers need to give them a sense of agency and authority, rather than simply telling them what political positions to take. One example of a writing assignment that might engage as well as inform students involves analyzing Parade magazine’s annual list of the world’s worst dictators.

English faculty in community colleges feel pressured to make their composition courses acceptable for transfer to four-year schools. In particular, many of them feel obligated to emphasize academic research and argument at the expense of literature. But community college students will benefit from first-year courses that address a wide range of discourse by integrating literary study with writing instruction.

Drawing on students’ literacy autobiographies, this article critiques the premise that academic discourse and working-class identity are not only static but also in complete opposition. The author argues for a more performative theory of class, a theory that would, she explains, recognize that academic discourse creates social class distinctions through processes that can be critiqued and reshaped.

The author suggests that English-only classrooms are not only the implicit goal of much language policy in the United States, but also assumed to be already the case, an ironic situation in light of composition’s historical role as “containing” language differences in U.S. higher education. He suggests that the myth of linguistic homogeneity has serious implications not only for international second-language writers in U.S. classrooms but also for resident second-language writers and for native speakers of unprivileged varieties of English, and that rather than simply abandon the placement practices that have worked to contain—but also to support—multilingual writers, composition teachers need to reimagine the composition classroom as the multilingual space that it is, where the presence of language differences is the default.

The author suggests that models positioning the multilingual writer as passively conditioned by “interference” from his or her first language, as well as more correlative models of the interrelationships of multiple languages in writing, need to be revised. Analyzing works written to different audiences, in different contexts, and in different languages by a prominent Sri Lankan intellectual, the author instead suggests a way of understanding multilingual writing as a process engaged in multiple contexts of communication, and multilingual writers as agentive rather than passive, shuttling creatively among languages, discourses, and identities to achieve their communicative and rhetorical objectives.

The essays gathered in this special issue of College English participate in an emerging movement within composition studies representing, and responding to, changes in, and changing perceptions of, language(s), English(es), students, and the relations of all these to one another. This movement critiques the tacit policy of “English Only” dominating composition scholarship and pursues teaching and research that resist that policy. It draws attention to the fact that within much composition teaching and scholarship, both the context of writing and writing itself are imaged to be monolingual: the “norm” assumed, in other words, is a monolingual, native-English-speaking writer writing only in English to an audience of English-only readers (Horner and Trimbur). This tacit policy of monolingualism manifests itself in other ways as well: the institutional divides separating most composition programs and courses from ESL programs and courses, including courses in “ESL composition,” and separating composition courses from courses that involve students in writing in any language other than English; the nearly complete absence in composition textbook “readers” of writings by anyone other than North American and British writers whose first language is English (even translations of texts written in languages other than English are rare); the insistence in composition textbooks on standardizing students’ English, and their neglect of competing standards and definitions of English; and the neglect in histories of composition of writing in languages other than English. Such practices define composition as composing in, and only in, an English that has a fixed standard that students

The author uses the example of a text a student was not allowed to display on his course website to explore how and why institutional ideologies particular to the historical development of composition and creative writing—especially when viewed in conjunction with current copyright law—render students’ multimedia compositions illegitimate. He suggests that the ideological apparatuses of writing instruction and the legal statutes of U.S. culture at large combine to radically restrict the production and circulation of students’ multimedia texts and inhibit students’ power as writers.

Reviewed are anniversary reissues of Writing without Teachers, by Peter Elbow; Pedagogy of the Oppressed, by Paulo Freire; and A Writer Teaches Writing, by Donald M. Murray.

The author reads five volumes of College English with attention to the extent to which authors account for issues of systemic difference in their writing—both in their representations of themselves as authors and in their representations of others—as one means to explore how (indeed whether) we have begun to transcend normativity in our disciplinary conversation and to identify problems in the way we deal with difference. He concludes by exploring how pedagogy and practice that deal substantively with difference are by nature transformative.

The author argues that the new journal Young Scholars in Writing: Undergraduate Research in Writing and Rhetoric offers access to student writing outside of the pedagogical apparatus that has historically accompanied the publication of such writing, and in the process challenges composition’s standard practice of citing students by first name only. Young Scholars in Writing, as representative of the disciplinary shift from a conception of writing as verb to writing as noun, compels composition studies to consider the affective aspect of citation, which often goes unremarked.

The author argues for rethinking the longstanding division between critical pedagogy and liberation theology in the academy. After examining both the historical reasons that contribute to the split and the implications that result, the author demonstrates how key tenets of the prophetic tradition of liberation theology could enrich the critical classroom.

An instructor and her student offer complementary perspectives on what happened in a classroom in which reading Toni Morrison opened up nearly intractable resistances to a making and sharing of knowledge in which no one was allowed to take refuge in what Catherine Fox calls “whiteliness” and assume a position outside of others’ knowing while asking those same others to assume the “burden of representation.” Complicating our notion of progressive pedagogy and our assumption that we know what progress looks like, the article suggests, in Jones’s words, “both education’s gifts and its limitations.

An instructor and her student offer complementary perspectives on what happened in a classroom in which reading Toni Morrison opened up nearly intractable resistances to a making and sharing of knowledge in which no one was allowed to take refuge in what Catherine Fox calls “whiteliness” and assume a position outside of others’ knowing while asking those same others to assume the “burden of representation.” Complicating our notion of progressive pedagogy and our assumption that we know what progress looks like, the article suggests, in Jones’s words, “both education’s gifts and its limitations.”

I 'm glad we don't know whether Chaucer raped one of my brightest students exclaimed, because if he did, I couldn't like And I want to like him if I'm going to read him. The student was responding to my lesson on Chaucer's biography. Within the scope of my upper-level undergraduate Chaucer course, I include pertinent information about his participation in fourteenth-century English social and political life, and I thought it worthwhile to mention that, according to court documents, Cecily Chaumpaigne in 1380 released Geoffrey Chaucer from omnimodas acciones tam de raptu meo tam [sic] de aliqua alia re velcausa-'actions of whatever kind either concerning my rape or any other matter' (Howard 317). I explained to the class that no certain interpretation of this inscrutable event exists. Because raptus could refer to either a kidnapping or a rape, medievalists can do little more than conjecture about the events that transpired between Chaucer and Cecily Chaumpaigne.' My student seized this ambiguity and therein found sufficient wiggle room in her reaction to Chaucer that she could continue to enjoy his literature without having to commit herself to liking the works of a rapist. For her, the potential ethical ramifications of aligning a personal affection for Chaucer and his literature with her contemporary social and political beliefs were alleviated by a welcome gap in historical knowledge. As happens so frequently in the classroom, we moved beyond this moment, but my student's words stuck with me uncomfortably. What if Chaucer had indeed been a rapist? How would I encourage my students to negotiate the difficult readerly terrain of enjoying great literature written by bad people? Other literature professors face similar uncomfortable moments with, for example, Malory's rape, Spenser's violent diatribes against the Irish, Byron's incest, Yeats's and Pound's Fascist sympa-

The author considers cases of literary figures whose ethics might make readers uncomfortable—Geoffrey Chaucer’s possible rape of a young woman, Flannery O’Connor’s possible racism—and argues that, even though postmodernism has “killed” the author as an object of critical inquiry, careful attention to questions of authorial and readerly ethics can still play an important role in both our students’ development as critical and engaged readers and our own.

Seconding Johnathon Mauk’s call in these pages for greater attention to the politics of space, and extending it to the increasingly ubiquitous realities of virtual space, the author argues that course-management software systems such as Blackboard naturalize certain constructions of subjectivity for us and our students in ways inimical to our pedagogical goals. He argues that we and our students should not only be critically attentive to such constructions but should also wherever possible develop our own local, discipline-specific spaces in resistance to the homogenization of space and subjectivity they represent.

The author offers a local, institutional microhistory of the work of William Leonidas Mayo, a figure who both exemplifies and complicates some of our more recent concepts of student-centered pedagogy, both to enrich our understanding of our disciplinary history and to illuminate trends in English studies of continuing interest to contemporary teachers and scholars.

Reviewed are Teaching Writing with Computers: An Introduction, edited by Pamela Takayoshi and Brian A. Huot, and Silicon Literacies: Communication, Innovation and Education in the Electronic Age, edited by Ilana Snyder.

instruction and service-learning over the last few years. Studies in the midto late nineties described courses and institutional arrangements and began to explore the ramifications for composition and English studies (Schutz and Gere; Herzberg; Peck, Flower, and Higgins). Linda Adler-Kassner and her colleagues edited an influential volume in 1997 that signaled the arrival of this new approach as a major pedagogical movement, and in 2000 Tom Deans's Writing Partnerships gave us a basic framework for thinking about the cooperative relationship between students and the organizations they encounter in these courses. More recent work has focused on how community-based learning can be sustained over time through faculty research (Cushman), how to address the gap between community and academic discourses (Chaden, Graves, Jolliffe, and Vandenberg), and what contradictions we must struggle with in intercultural inquiry (Flower), each study highlighting strategies for respecting the needs and abilities of participating community partners. In a crucial step toward establishing the institutional structures necessary for sustained partnership, Jeffrey T. Grabill and Lynde Lewis Gaillet have urged us to focus on the interface between writing programs and community partners. The need for a balanced and nonexploitive relationship in community-based learning asserts itself insistently in our discussions of this approach, and clearly at this stage writing program administrators must become much more active in developing institutional models that promise true mutual benefits for postsecondary schools and their off

Recognizing that critical thinking is enhanced by an engagement with diversity, the author illustrates how race can usefully be addressed in a predominantly white classroom through a local pedagogy that respects and addresses the complexities of students’ often contradictory experiences of race, rather than essentializing whiteness or identifying it only with white privilege.

The author explores his vexation with David Bartholomae’s “Inventing the University” in terms of its assumptions about class. He suggests that it both negates his own experience as a member of the working class and of the pedagogy he employs as a teacher of writing with middle-class students, given its insistence on mimicry of a dominant discourse that involves a betrayal of self for both working-class and middle-class learners of academic discourse.

Challenging views of working-class white students that either displace all white racism onto them or, at best, see them as having exchanged class consciousness for race privilege, the author argues for a critical race pedagogy that includes a more complex image of poor and working-class whites. She argues for both deconstructive pedagogies that can expose the role of language in maintaining racist and classist structures and reconstructive pedagogies that can provide students with the rhetorical tools for employing language transformatively.

The essay considers how teachers might perform emotional engagements that students find authentic and valuable within scenes of literacy instruction, suggesting that instructors’ “acting” of affect might be needed to forestall the tendency for instructors either to retain a position outside the affect generated in the classroom and merely “manage” the affective work done by students, or to impose their own affective commitments on students’ inquiry. Such a pedagogy might enable students, and particularly working-class students, to locate their own affectively structured experiences of class within more integrated understandings of social structures and identity formation.

m ecently reprinted in Cross-Talk in Comp Theory, David Bartholomae's the University is now a recognized classic in the field of composition theory. I admired the article, when I first read it over twenty years ago, as a telling criticism of writing as process. I also found it vexing, and still do. I use my vexation with Inventing as a catalyst for rumination on my social trajectory. My vexation is intimately related my passage from the working the middle class. I read Inventing as the negation both of my own educational experience as a member of the working class and of the pedagogy I employ as a teacher of writing with middle-class students. It is a tribute the power of Inventing, now seen as an early example of social constructionism, that I am not the only person more recently vexed by it. Thomas Newkirk and Nancy Welch are also. I use their particular responses Inventing as a way define my own. Newkirk points more my problem with the implications of Inventing for my view of education: making the move into university discourse is not simply a matter of inventing but also of uprooting. Welch points more my problem with Inventing as implying a narrative of academic socialization distinctly different from the socializing process I underwent. At the core of Inventing is Bartholomae's analysis of the function of the commonplace in student writing. He illustrates his claims through reference short student writings produced in response a prompt on creativity. One student writes, Creativity me, means being free express yourself in a way that is unique you (148). Bartholomae comments that with his use of to me the student appropriates a commonplace as his own. Further, this act of appropriation constitutes his as a writer (149). Bartholomae argues that one's authority as an academic

The author suggests that attending to the publishing history of Larsen’s novel and the resulting indeterminacy of its ending(s) offers a concrete example of a materially oriented pedagogy that can illuminate the racial politics behind textual production and its relation to particular historical and cultural moments. He suggests that such a pedagogy offers both another way of understanding the textual contingency emphasized in contemporary theory and a way of further opening up questions of textuality and meaning for students.

ind the gap."The prerecorded caution on the London tube aims to protect fast-moving travelers from falling as they leave the train.That caution has metaphorical resonance for those of us who require students to go public with their writing and those of us who assess student writing, which is to say, all of us.Requiring students to make their writing public has become a given in many composition classrooms, while assessing student writing-in our overlapping roles as readers, graders, teachers, scholars, and administrators-has become the high-speed train of our professional work, hurtling us forward, sometimes without enough time to consider where we're going.Whether we mandate these activities (requiring students to exchange drafts), have them mandated (designing an assessment plan for our program) or, as in most cases, negotiate the ever-contested space between the two, these activities share the assumption that they are performed for the common educational good.Taken together, these three works ask us to reexamine our assumptions about assessing student writing, requiring students to make their writing public, and theo-Bet h K al i k off is assistant professor of writing studies in the Interdisciplinary Arts and SciencesProgram at the University of Washington, Tacoma.

This essay suggests that Harrison’s representation of father–daughter incest in The Kiss draws on literary elements of two seemingly distinct genres, memoir and fairy tale, to tell a story of violence and violation in the white middle–class family. Through memoir, it argues, Harrison revises the moral and behavioral edicts that cultural narratives, especially traditional fairy tales dealing with father–daughter incest, seek to impose.

El s Kathryn Harrison points out, one of America's most popular misconceptions, especially in the white middle-class family, is that father-daughter incest is a rare occurrence. The crime of incest often goes unreported and unpunished in part because of a silence around it. While exact figures are hard to pin down, current data suggest that anywhere from one in four to one in three girls experiences sexual abuse at the hands of fathers or surrogate fathers. In the 1980s scholars such asJudith Herman and Diana Russell provided data that suggested incest was at least as prevalent in white middleand upper-middleclass homes as it was elsewhere.2 Far from confirming that incest only happens in certain homes, this research suggests that the sexual abuse of daughters is a ubiquitous practice that cuts across racial and class lines. Nonetheless, familiar narratives of incest construct the white middle-class family as a nurturing unit in which the rapacious father is an impossible character. In particular, these narratives often relegate incest to the homes of cultural others or attempt to dismiss a daughter's first-person account of sexual violation as fantasy (Doane and Hodges 2; Wilson). In 1997, Kathryn Harrison published her controversial memoir about fatherdaughter incest, The Kiss, a book that disturbed the silence around and as-

The authors argue for a structural revolution in English studies that builds on the epistemological ground shared by those in composition and literature. Their confederative “English studies” model integrates work in literature, discourse, language studies, and the larger culture with rhetoric and writing instruction horizontally, not hierarchically.

The author reopens the vexed question of the use of literature in first–ear composition courses to suggest that reading and writing about literature can empower students to construct their own interpretations of cultural artifacts rather than deferring to canonical knowledge. Using his students’ work with Poe’s “Annabel Lee” as an example, he shows how such a practice can work if it places the work in a context appropriate to the literacies of first–year students and privileges the knowledge they bring with them to the academy.