Before I left high school, I read most of what was then deemed “great” literature. One teacher, whose name eludes me but he was very animated, taught an English class on Shakespeare where we read a dozen of his plays, more than a dozen sonnets, and engaged in lengthy discussions of whether there really was a person named Shakespeare and, if not, who wrote the works under this name.
In the process, there were lessons in critical thinking, but make no mistake, this was about Shakespeare’s content, his words, themes and ideas. It was never said aloud, but a well-educated person read Shakespeare. As I went off to college, I never considered a future in the humanities, but whatever I did, wherever I ended up, I would have a working knowledge of Shakespeare, as well as a list of great English and American writers from Twain to Austen.
These writers are now considered anathema, remnants of our colonialist history of promoting “dead white men,” even if some were women, in the European fashion, at the expense of “others,” whether from darker continents or more relevant to the world occupied by students shut out from elite education. Continue reading →