Sitting on my desk, wedged between The Hobbit and For Whom the Bell Tolls, is a copy of the “Cornell University Edition” of Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five, the recommended reading for all freshmen. I have not read it. I have not opened it. I have barely even looked at it. Although I probably will get around to reading it someday, I have not bothered to carve out some of time for it. Why should I? Nobody else has read it, I don’t need it for any of my classes, and nobody is talking about it.
At the end of the summer, Duke’s recommended summer reading selection made headlines. The choice, Fun Home, raised controversy because of its sexual themes. Some students decided not to read the book, claiming that its depiction of homosexuality violates basic Christian morality, while others asserted that the book’s graphic novel format made the sexual scenes that much more inappropriate.
And it isn’t even required.
Much like here at Cornell, Duke’s summer reading philosophy is that having incoming freshmen read the same book, though not required, will create an intellectual common ground and prompt discussion throughout the opening semester. The Review has already reported on the modification (read: elimination) of Cornell’s reading program. The situation at Duke is probably the best case for its reinstatement.
Every good book rattles some cages. While I haven’t read the book and so can’t speak to its quality or if it’s worthy of its genius grant, I can advocate for it as a learning experience. Any book as thematically loaded as Fun Home is worth reading, even if you fundamentally disagree with it.
Speaking of a fundamental disagreement, one Duke freshman, Brian Grasso, recently published an op-ed piece about why he refused to read Fun Home. He claims that certain verses from Matthew and Paul forbid Christians from viewing pornography, and then goes on to say:
“I think there is an important distinction between images and written words. If the book explored the same themes without sexual images or erotic language, I would have read it. But viewing pictures of sexual acts, regardless of the genders of the people involved, conflict with the inherent sacredness of sex. My beliefs extend to pop culture and even Renaissance art depicting sex.”
As for his views on pornography, he can believe whatever he chooses. He states that he’s open to reading about sexual themes sans “sexual images or erotic language,” but to learn about these subjects without such images or language is to miss the point. This language is essential to understanding the themes: they express the raw and emotional nature central to sexuality.
The point of college is to learn. Although a few of those for whom the weekend starts on Thursday and never really ends may dispute that, it’s the truth. In college, the best learning happens when you challenge your own ideas by considering somebody else’s. By doing this, you learn what aspects of your ideology hold firm and what needs to be changed.
This learning happens through discourse, and in that sense Duke’s reading program has blown Cornell’s out of the water. There has been no discussion of this year’s book, Slaughterhouse-Five. The only time I have heard students talk about it is when they say they haven’t read it. The choice has not made national headlines because there is no controversy, and thus, nothing to talk about.
To see a reading program done right, look no further than Duke. The administrators there had the guts to choose a book they knew would be controversial, and their audacity is rewarded with a student body that is engaged and learning. Though not required, Fun Home is a book that is begging to be read, even if just to see what all the fuss is about.
But here at Cornell, we prefer not to read, not to discuss, and therefore, not to learn.
