“Agatha Christie,” came a girl’s voice from the back of the room.
“James Patterson,” said Jason.
“Sue Grafton,” chimed in someone by the window.
“Excellent examples—Now if I told you the title of this text is Murder at Marplethorp, what genre is it?”
“A Murder Mystery,” a chorus responds.
“Right, this is how the story begins:
The clock on the mantelpiece said ten-thirty, but someone had suggested recently that the clock was wrong. As the figure of the dead woman lay on the bed in the front room, a no less silent figure glided rapidly from the house. The only sounds to be heard were the ticking of the clock and the loud wailing of an infant.2
“So, let’s interpret this opening passage as though, by genre, it’s a murder mystery. Who is the dead woman and how did she die?”
Amy says, “She is the murder victim; somebody killed her.” The entire class agrees.
The teacher’s next question is, “Who is the silent figure gliding from the house?”
Andrew offers, “That is the murderer making his escape. The whole point of the book is to figure out who he is.” Again, universal agreement.
“Next interpretive question—Why is the infant crying?”
Crystal ventures, “The woman was a mother. Her baby was awakened by the violent murder, and, since the mother is dead, she isn’t taking care of her child.” Everybody thinks the same.
“Why is the clock important?”
Travis offers, “The clock is telling us when the woman died. The first fact a detective will want to establish is time of death. For example, every suspect’s alibi depends on it.” Nobody disagrees.
“You are all excellent interpreters of murder mysteries. Have any of you ever read a biography?” Most heads nod. “What does a reader expect from a generic biography?”
Matthew answers, “It’s going to tell the true story of some famous person’s life. The reader tries to see how the person’s life experiences influenced him or her.”
“Exactly. I am now going to read the opening of a biography entitled The Personal History of David Marplethorp:
The clock on the mantelpiece said ten-thirty, but someone had suggested recently that the clock was wrong. As the figure of the dead woman lay on the bed in the front room, a no less silent figure glided rapidly from the house. The only sounds to be heard were the ticking of the clock and the loud wailing of an infant.”
Many smiles reveal that many students are seeing how this line of questioning will go. Dr. Shaw asks the same questions of the same text. “Who is the dead woman and how did she die?”
Rachel, who had read many biographies, answers, “She is the mother of David Marplethorp, and she died in childbirth. Biographies usually begin with a birth.”
“Who is the silent figure gliding from the house?”
Jason thinks it is the grief-stricken midwife, who has failed in her attempt to save the mother. Nodding heads confirm his interpretation.
“Why is the infant crying?”
Rachel again—“The baby is David Marplethorp, and he’s crying for his mother. Losing a mother at birth is an extraordinarily important fact about a childhood. That grief won’t go away; nor will it be easy to identify. It will have a huge influence on his life.”
“That it will. Why is the clock important?”
Rachel, the future nurse, again—“It establishes time of birth.”
“I hope this little exercise will remind you all to pay attention to genre. Now, what genre is The Descent of Inanna?”
Matthew says it’s a myth.
“Correct, Matthew, how did you know?”
“Well, I can see the use of all the mythic conventions listed on our handout from last week. For example, at first I thought it was very unusual and disgusting that the kurgarra and the galatur were made out of the dirt from under the fingernails of Enki. But when I was studying ‘Substance of Creation’ on the handout, I tried to think of why the god would have made them from that. I’ve heard a few people say, ‘He doesn’t like to get his hands dirty.’ I thought perhaps it means the Enki created them to do his hard labor. When I read Atrahsis, I thought I was correct. In that myth it was why the gods created man.”
“Very perceptive, Matthew. Can anyone think of another myth in which we obviously learn about a creature’s purpose or characteristics from the substance of his or her creation?”
Ted reminds the class that the goddess Athena in Greek mythology was created from the brain of Zeus. Therefore, we should assume that she is very smart . . .
Dr. Shaw closes by reminding the class that the reading quiz on Wednesday will be on the Enuma Elish, and that they should refer to the list of mythic conventions as they read.
At 10:50, the bees rise and begin the hourly swarm.
2. Longman, How to Read the Psalms, from Heather Dubrow, Genre.
Chapter 5
And Adam was not deceived, but the woman was deceived . . .
—1 Timothy 2:14
Holly Billingham rises from a desk in Rankin Hall at 10:50. She reels from the cognitive overload produced by her Monday anatomy lecture. Holly makes a beeline across the Avery Mall for the student union where she has staked out the perfect study venue, a little paradise in the midst of her busy days. It’s only the second week of her first semester in college, and she already feels in danger of falling behind. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays she has an hour break between her anatomy lecture and her freshman composition class in Avery Hall. Between those two locations is the solarium, the idyllic place to organize and begin memorizing the complexities of the human body. Above the huge plants and flowing fountains stretches a narrow loft lined with comfortable rocking chairs. The peaceful setting seems to help her get an intellectual grip. She also wonders if Kevin Parsons will be there again.
Last Monday, the very first day of classes, she had been in the rocking chair that she now considered her own. Her anatomy book had been open. He had walked past her and seemed to observe what she was doing. Her first thought of him had been that he was “checking her out,” but she had long forgotten that initial impression. Wednesday, after her second lecture, he had shown up again. He took the rocking chair next to her, introduced himself, and showed her that he had the same anatomy text. He told her that he needed to prepare for Prof. Collins’ twelve o’clock anatomy lecture.
“Really?” she said, “I have Collins at ten.”
He looked surprised and a bit nervous. “That class is a bit frightening for me. I need it for my major, but I’ve never had to memorize so much.”
Holly’s sympathetic response was, “I know what you mean. I’m already feeling swamped. My usual confidence is melting.”
He asked for a summary of the ten o’clock lecture which he assumed would be repeated at noon. The process of telling him back the lecture that she had just heard was precisely what she needed to do. As she summarized for him, she created order of the material in her own mind. In high school she had always avoided group study sessions. She considered them nothing but a waste of time. But this was different; perhaps this kind of study could be really helpful for both of them.