Why YA Literature Matters to Me

As this course comes to an end, I find myself thinking less about the assignments I completed and more about how these experiences will impact the students who walk into my classroom each day. This course has challenged me to think differently about young adult literature, adolescent readers, and the role I play in helping students see themselves and others through books. More importantly, it has reminded me that literacy is not just about reading words on a page. It is about helping students make sense of themselves, their communities, and the world around them.

One of the biggest lessons I am taking away is that YA literature creates opportunities for students to engage with complex issues in meaningful and authentic ways. Through books like Monday's Not Coming, The Black Kids, Messy Perfect, and others, I was reminded that adolescent experiences are far more nuanced than we sometimes acknowledge. These stories address identity, friendship, trauma, family dynamics, social justice, and resilience in ways that invite young people into important conversations. As a teacher in a Title I middle school, I recognize how valuable it is for students to encounter characters and experiences that reflect their realities while also expanding their perspectives.

While this course was incredibly rewarding, I also experienced moments of struggle. One challenge was confronting my own assumptions about what texts belong in the classroom. At times, I found myself wrestling with difficult topics presented in YA literature and considering how to facilitate conversations that are both meaningful and responsive to students' needs. I also struggled with the sheer volume of books and ideas introduced throughout the course because it reminded me of how much I still have to learn. However, those challenges ultimately pushed me to grow. They encouraged me to think critically about text selection, representation, and the importance of creating classroom spaces where students feel safe discussing difficult issues.

Several big ideas will continue to guide my work moving forward. First, student voice matters. Throughout this course, I consistently reflected on the importance of allowing students to connect literature to their own lives, experiences, and questions. Second, representation matters. Students deserve access to books that reflect diverse identities, cultures, and perspectives. Finally, engagement matters. When students see reading as relevant, meaningful, and connected to their lives, they are more likely to develop positive reading identities and lifelong literacy habits.

Another important question posed in this reflection is whether I will be a teacher who reads. My answer is an emphatic YES. This course reinforced that if I expect my students to view reading as valuable, I must model that behavior myself. Being a reading teacher means more than assigning books; it means actively reading, recommending texts, discussing books with students, and demonstrating what it looks like to be a lifelong reader. My Padlet reflections often highlighted the emotional impact certain books had on me, and those experiences reminded me that reading remains a powerful tool for learning, empathy, and personal growth. I want my students to see that reading is not just something we do for school but something that can enrich our lives.

As I look ahead to future coursework, I hope to continue exploring how YA literature can support disciplinary literacy, critical thinking, and culturally responsive teaching. I would like to learn more about facilitating discussions around controversial topics, selecting texts that balance curriculum requirements with student interests, and creating reading experiences that encourage authentic engagement rather than compliance. I am also interested in learning more about how multimodal literacy practices can be integrated alongside YA literature to support diverse learners.

Most of all, I leave this course with a renewed excitement about reading. My "to-be-read" list has grown significantly, but I am particularly eager to continue exploring contemporary YA novels that amplify underrepresented voices and tackle issues relevant to today's adolescents. These are the stories that spark conversations, build empathy, and remind us why literature matters.

Ultimately, this course has strengthened my belief that YA literature belongs at the center of literacy instruction. It has the power to affirm identities, challenge assumptions, inspire critical thinking, and cultivate a love of reading. As I move forward in my teaching career, I hope to create a classroom where books serve as both windows and mirrors, helping students better understand themselves and the world around them. If my students leave my classroom as more thoughtful readers, more empathetic individuals, and more confident voices, then the lessons from this course will have truly mattered.

Building a YA Pedagogy That Honors Readers and Challenges Assumptions

As I continue to develop my understanding of young adult literature pedagogy, I find myself drawn to the ideas that Kittle and Gallagher, Beuhler, and Sarigianides and Petrone place at the center of their work: adolescents deserve meaningful reading experiences that honor their humanity, expand their thinking, and invite them to see themselves as capable readers and thinkers.

One of the ideas that resonates most strongly with me from Kittle and Gallagher is their emphasis on student agency. Their work pushes back against the notion that rigor is found solely in difficult texts. Instead, they suggest that rigor emerges from the thinking students do, the conversations they have, and the connections they make as readers. Students become better readers when they have opportunities to choose books, talk about them with others, and engage in authentic reading experiences. This perspective aligns with what I see in my own classroom. Students are often more willing to tackle complex ideas when they feel ownership over their reading.

Beuhler extends this conversation through his concept of the teacher as a matchmaker. He argues that effective YA teachers develop deep knowledge of literature so they can connect the right book to the right student at the right moment. His example of Jennifer finding a nonfiction book about anxiety for Gemma demonstrates that reading can be more than an academic exercise—it can be a tool for understanding oneself and navigating life's challenges. When teachers intentionally connect students with books that reflect their experiences, interests, or questions, they communicate an important message: your life matters, and your story is worth exploring through literature. 

As an ELA teacher, this idea resonates deeply with me. I have seen students who were disengaged readers suddenly become invested when they found a book that spoke to their experiences. Like Beuhler, I believe that part of our responsibility is helping students discover texts that affirm their identities while also introducing them to perspectives they may never encounter otherwise.

However, I also find myself wrestling with questions about choice and relevance. While Kittle and Gallagher advocate for student choice, I wonder how we ensure that students are not only reading what is familiar and comfortable. Beuhler's discussion of strategic matchmaking offers an important balance. He reminds us that teachers should not simply reinforce students' existing preferences but also guide them toward texts that broaden their perspectives and challenge their assumptions. YA literature should serve as both a mirror and a window. Students need opportunities to see themselves reflected in texts, but they also need opportunities to learn about lives and experiences different from their own. 

This is where Sarigianides and Petrone's Adolescent Lens significantly enriches—and complicates—my thinking about YA pedagogy. Their work challenges readers to examine not just whether adolescents are represented in YA literature, but how they are represented. They argue that YA texts often reinforce common assumptions about adolescence, such as the belief that young people are defined by their age, controlled by hormones, primarily focused on peers, or simply moving toward adulthood rather than existing as meaningful individuals in the present. 

Before reading this chapter, I often approached YA literature through the lens of engagement and representation. If students connected to a book and saw themselves reflected in it, I considered that valuable. Sarigianides and Petrone push me to think more critically. They ask readers to consider what messages texts communicate about youth and whose versions of adolescence are being centered. For example, their discussion of Monster highlights how students may rely on stereotypes about race and adolescence if they are not explicitly taught to interrogate those assumptions. Simply reading a YA text is not enough; students also need opportunities to analyze the cultural messages embedded within it. 

This perspective reminds me that representation alone is insufficient. We must also examine the stories we tell about young people and the ways those stories shape how adolescents understand themselves and how society understands them. As teachers, we have a responsibility to help students question these narratives rather than accept them as truth.

Taken together, these texts have helped me see YA pedagogy as something much richer than simply bringing engaging books into the classroom. Kittle and Gallagher emphasize access, choice, and authentic reading experiences. Beuhler highlights thoughtful matchmaking and purposeful instructional design. Sarigianides and Petrone provide a critical framework that encourages students to analyze the ways adolescence itself is constructed and represented. 

Ultimately, these readings reinforce my belief that YA literature belongs in the classroom. At the same time, they challenge me to become more intentional about how I use it. I want my students to find books that matter to them, but I also want them to question the assumptions those books may carry. I want them to experience literature as both personally meaningful and intellectually challenging. Most importantly, I want them to recognize that their voices, experiences, and perspectives matter.

For me, that is the most powerful takeaway from these authors: effective YA pedagogy is not just about helping students read books. It is about helping them understand themselves, understand others, and develop the critical lens needed to navigate the stories the world tells about youth.

References

Beuhler, J. (2016). Teaching young adult literature today: Insights, considerations, and perspectives for the classroom. Rowman & Littlefield.

Kittle, P., & Gallagher, K. (2018). 180 days: Two teachers and the quest to engage and empower adolescents. Heinemann.

Myers, W. D. (1999). Monster. HarperCollins.

Sarigianides, S. T., Petrone, R., & Lewis, M. A. (2015). The teachings of young adult literature: Using a youth lens to analyze adolescence in YAL. In The youth lens: Analyzing adolescence in literature (Chapter 4).

Book Trailer for "Fighting Words" by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley

 

Rethinking What English Class Can Be Through YA Pedagogy

As I read Buehler's chapters on Teacher as Matchmaker and Tasks That Promote Complexity, Agency, and Autonomy, I found myself reflecting on my own classroom and the type of reading experiences I want my students to have. Many of the ideas aligned with what I already believe about literacy instruction, but they also pushed me to think more critically about how I can move beyond simply helping students enjoy reading and toward helping them develop meaningful reading lives. What stood out most was Buehler's belief that YA literature is not just a way to engage students—it can be the foundation for rigorous, relevant, and transformative learning.

One idea that really challenged my thinking was Buehler's description of the teacher as a matchmaker. I've always believed that students should have access to books that reflect their experiences and interests, but Buehler takes that idea a step further. He argues that teachers need to understand not only what students like to read, but also what they need as readers and as people. The story of Gemma and how reading nonfiction about anxiety helped her better understand herself really resonated with me. It reminded me that sometimes the right book can do more than improve reading skills—it can help students feel seen, understood, and less alone. 

At the same time, this idea raises questions for me. As a middle grades ELA teacher, I wonder how I can build the depth of YA literature knowledge needed to make those meaningful matches for all of my students. Buehler emphasizes that this work requires ongoing reading and learning on the teacher's part, which makes complete sense, but it also feels overwhelming when I think about everything teachers are already balancing, not to mention I teach over 100 students.

Another aspect of YA pedagogy that captured my attention was Buehler's argument that students should not have to choose between personal response and literary analysis. In many ways, that reflects my own experiences as a student. English class often felt divided into two categories: either making personal connections or writing formal essays about literary devices. Buehler challenges that separation by showing how students can do both at the same time. He describes classroom tasks that invite students to act like real readers, reviewers, critics, and participants in literary conversations, rather than simply completing assignments for a grade. 

This approach feels much more authentic to me. One of the things I value most in my own teaching is discussion-based learning and giving students opportunities to think deeply about texts and their connections to the world around them. I was especially intrigued by the examples of students writing book reviews, participating in mock award committees, and exploring publishing trends. These activities require students to analyze texts, but they also give them ownership over their learning and show them that the skills we teach in ELA have real-world applications.

I was also drawn to the examples of Renee Stites and Kellee Moye because they demonstrate what it looks like to connect literacy instruction to students' lives. Their students weren't just reading books; they were exploring issues like disability, culture, empathy, and social justice while practicing analytical thinking and engaging in meaningful conversations. Those examples reminded me of why I believe literature is so powerful. Some of the most impactful learning happens when students see themselves in texts, encounter perspectives different from their own, and wrestle with complex issues in a safe classroom environment. 

What I appreciate most about Buehler's approach is that it doesn't ask teachers to sacrifice rigor. Instead, it expands our definition of rigor. Students can engage in deep analysis while also making personal connections, sharing perspectives, and applying what they learn beyond the classroom. That idea aligns closely with the type of classroom I strive to create—one where students are challenged intellectually but also encouraged to see reading as something meaningful and relevant to their lives. 

Ultimately, these chapters made me reflect on whether my classroom tasks truly promote the complexity, agency, and autonomy that Buehler describes. Are students simply completing assignments, or are they developing the habits and skills of lifelong readers? That question will stay with me moving forward. More than anything, Buehler's vision of YA pedagogy reinforced my belief that the goal of English class is not just to teach literature but to help students use literature to better understand themselves, others, and the world around them. That is the kind of teaching that captures my imagination and continues to shape my growth as an educator. 

References

Buehler, J. (n.d.). YA Pedagogy: Teacher as Matchmaker (Chapter 4). 

Buehler, J. (n.d.). YA Pedagogy: Tasks That Promote Complexity, Agency, and Autonomy (Chapter 5). 

Where Sleeping Girls Lie...Sade Hussein's Alphabet

 

50. Character Alphabet

Monday's Not Coming: A Visual Poem

 

34. Found poem

Taking YA Horror Seriously: What Can Fear Teach Us?

Before this presentation, I have to admit that horror was not a genre I spent much time considering as an educator. I personally detest scary movies and all things horror.  I can remember running out of the movie theater during the movie House of Wax. I also remember my mom having to put cold water on me to wake me up during night terrors...the result of staying up late and watching Freddie Kruguer, Jason and Candy Man (telling my age LOL!) 

While I understood horror's popularity among young people, I was biased because of my own lived experiences, and I often viewed it as a genre students might read independently rather than one that belonged in serious classroom study. However, our speaker, Kacie Cooper, challenged my bias and that assumption right away by arguing that we should not be afraid of YA horror or afraid to implement it in our classrooms. More importantly, she argued that we must take YA horror seriously if we expect students to do the same.

That idea immediately captured my attention because it connects to something I have been wrestling with throughout this course: whose reading interests are valued in schools? Kacie noted that young people are exposed to horror early and that it remains one of the most popular genres among teens and young adults. If students are already engaging with these texts outside of school, why would we ignore them inside the classroom?

One idea that particularly stood out to me was the claim that 'horror is a reflection of popular culture—what we cherish, what we hate, and what we fear'. I had never really considered horror from that perspective before. Instead of seeing monsters, violence, or fear as the primary focus, I began thinking about what those elements represent. Kacie encouraged us to ask, "What is YA horror trying to teach us about our culture?" That question shifted my thinking significantly. Rather than viewing horror as merely entertainment, I started seeing it as a space where cultural anxieties, social expectations, and power dynamics are exposed and examined. This aligns with research suggesting that monsters often function as representations of cultural fears and anxieties and can serve as important tools for examining social values and concerns (Golub & Hayton, 2017).

Another aspect of the presentation that challenged my thinking was the discussion of the "Youth Lens." Throughout this course, I have become increasingly interested in how literature represents adolescents. Kacie explained that adolescence is socially constructed and that many common assumptions about teenagers being rebellious, emotional, or immature are products of society rather than universal truths. The Youth Lens asks us to examine how texts create, reinforce, or challenge these ideas about young people. Petrone et al. (2014) argue that literature often presents a "single-story" of adolescence, positioning young people as incomplete or simply becoming adults rather than recognizing the complexity of their current experiences. This framework encourages readers to question how race, class, gender, ethnicity, and sexuality shape youth experiences and how texts position young people in relation to adult expectations.

This made me think about many of the books we have read this semester. Too often, literature presents adolescence as a predictable stage that follows a single path toward adulthood. Through a Youth Lens, we begin asking different questions: Are young people judged by adult standards? Are they forced into a traditional coming-of-age narrative? How do race, class, gender, ethnicity, and sexuality shape their experiences? Do they conform to or resist social expectations? These questions help move us beyond uncritical readings of YA literature and toward a deeper understanding of how youth are socially constructed (Petrone et al., 2014).

I found myself especially drawn to the connection between YA horror and the Youth Lens. Kacie argued that YA horror is uniquely positioned to explore the ways young people experience power, fear, and vulnerability. Monsters and antagonists often function as metaphors for the real constraints adolescents face in society. Research on YA and children's horror literature suggests that horror elements can provide opportunities for young readers to engage with difficult topics in meaningful ways while developing resilience and critical thinking skills (Antonaros, 2020).

One question from the presentation that has stayed with me is: When is horror harmful, and when is it appropriate? That question feels particularly important for educators. Kacie referenced the debate about whether it is ethical to frighten students for educational purposes. I do not think there is a simple answer, but I do think context matters. Arnzen (2008) argues that horror can serve a transformative educational purpose by disrupting assumptions and challenging readers to think differently. In this sense, fear becomes more than an emotional response; it becomes a tool for inquiry and reflection. Horror becomes productive when it encourages students to think critically about the world around them, question dominant narratives, and analyze the fears and anxieties embedded in culture. (Whew!)

This presentation has also encouraged me to think about student choice and engagement in new ways. If literacy is social and discussion-based, then students' interests' MATTER. Kacie emphasized that reading develops through relationships and meaningful conversations, and horror is clearly a genre many students already enjoy. Rather than dismissing it because it can be uncomfortable or controversial, teachers can use it as an entry point into discussions about identity, power, fear, and social expectations. After all, research on teaching horror suggests that the genre can create powerful opportunities for critical literacy when students are encouraged to analyze what scares us and why (Golub & Hayton, 2017).

Ultimately, this presentation expanded my understanding of what valuable classroom literature can look like and eliminated my bias. While realistic fiction may continue to be my personal preference as a reader, I now recognize that horror offers important opportunities for critical thinking and cultural analysis. More importantly, it reminds me that students' interests matter. If literacy is social and choice-driven, then our classrooms should make space for the genres students are already using to make sense of themselves and the world around them. Kacie also challenged educators to take YA horror seriously because, if we do not value the genre, our students are unlikely to value it either. As educators, we should not be afraid of YA horror. Instead, we should thoughtfully consider what it reveals about society, what it teaches about adolescence, and how it might help students better understand themselves and the world they inhabit.

References

Ahmad, A., & Moreland, S. (Eds.). (2013). Fear and learning: Essays on the pedagogy of horror. McFarland.

Antonaros, C. (2020). You got to know when to scare them: A brief study of the usage of horror elements in YA and children's literature. Magnificat: A Journal of Undergraduate Nonfiction, 91–97.

Arnzen, M. A. (2008). The unlearning: Horror and transformative theory. Transformative Works and Cultures, 1. https://doi.org/10.3983/twc.2008.0113

Cooper, Kacie (2026). YA Horror: Not Fearing Fear, I Fear https://drive.google.com/file/d/151GQFcS-IoMvfjlPBOohu1gZCpYpkfKa/view?usp=sharing

Golub, A., & Hayton, H. R. (Eds.). (2017). Monsters in the classroom: Essays on teaching what scares us. McFarland.

Petrone, R., Sarigianides, S. T., & Lewis, M. A. (2014). The youth lens: Analyzing adolescence/ts in literary texts. Journal of Literacy Research, 46(4), 506–533. https://doi.org/10.1177/1086296X14568864

Looking at Adolescents Through a Different Lens

 Before reading Sarigianides, Petrone, and Lewis, I don't think I had ever really stopped to think about adolescence as something that has been socially constructed. Like many educators, I often thought about adolescence in terms of developmental stages and the characteristics that are commonly associated with teenagers. What stood out to me most in these readings is the idea that many of the assumptions we have about adolescents—being emotional, irrational, peer-obsessed, or rebellious—are not necessarily natural truths but expectations that society has created and reinforced over time. The authors argue that we should ask, "How do texts represent adolescents?" rather than simply accepting those portrayals as reality. 

As I reflected on the books we've read this semester, that question completely changed the way I viewed many of the characters.

One novel that immediately came to mind was The Great Cool Ranch Dorito in the Sky. Before reading about the Youth Lens, I might have described Brett as a teenager struggling with identity, body image, grief, and mental health. While that's true, I now see that his challenges are not simply the result of him being an adolescent. Brett is carrying an incredible amount of emotional weight while trying to cope with his mother's cancer diagnosis, his eating disorder, and feelings of isolation. A Youth Lens helps me recognize that Brett's struggles are connected to real circumstances, not some stereotype of what it means to be a teenager. Instead of seeing him as overly emotional or confused, I see him as a young person navigating situations that would be difficult for anyone. This reminds me of the discussion in the text about Holden Caulfield, where students learned to see him not as whiny but as someone responding to unrealistic social expectations. 

I found myself thinking similarly about Cassie in Messy Perfect. Cassie spends so much of the novel trying to be what everyone expects her to be—the perfect student, daughter, and Catholic teenager. Through a Youth Lens, her story becomes less about a teenager "finding herself" and more about a young person pushing back against social expectations that limit who she can be. The authors explain that adolescents are often positioned as people who are still becoming rather than people whose experiences matter in the present. Cassie's journey challenged that idea for me because her experiences, struggles, and decisions are meaningful right now, not just as preparation for adulthood. 

As I think back to other books we've read, I see similar patterns. In Look Both Ways, the characters are not simply focused on peers or typical adolescent concerns. Many of them are dealing with illness, family responsibilities, fear, and personal challenges. In Fighting Words, Della and Suki are carrying trauma and navigating foster care while trying to reclaim their voices. In Monday's Not Coming, Claudia's determination to find her missing friend highlights how often society ignores certain young people. These characters challenge the stereotypes that adolescents are self-centered or incapable of serious thought. Instead, they demonstrate resilience, empathy, courage, and agency.

What I appreciate most about the Youth Lens is that it amplifies adolescents' humanity. The readings point out that society often portrays young people through deficit perspectives—as irresponsible, immature, or irrational. When we apply a Youth Lens, we begin questioning those assumptions. We look at what pressures young people are facing, how institutions shape their experiences, and whose versions of adolescence are being represented. 

For me, this has definitely complicated my thinking as a teacher. I've always valued young adult literature because it provides representation, builds empathy, and helps students see themselves in texts. However, these readings pushed me to think about YA literature on another level. It's not enough to ask whether students can relate to a character. I also need to consider what messages the text is communicating about adolescence itself.

As teachers, we are not just teaching books; we are teaching ideas about young people. Sarigianides, Petrone, and Lewis remind us that YA literature can either reinforce stereotypes about adolescents or challenge them. That realization has made me think more carefully about the conversations I facilitate in my classroom. I want my students to question how youth are represented in literature and in society. I want them to see that many of the labels placed on adolescents are not universal truths but social expectations they can challenge and resist. 

Ultimately, these readings reinforced something I have learned throughout this course: adolescents are far more complex than the stereotypes that often define them. The books we've read consistently show young people demonstrating resilience, compassion, courage, and critical thinking. As a middle grades ELA teacher, I think the Youth Lens helps me honor those complexities and better understand both the literature I teach and the students sitting in front of me every day.

References

Sarigianides, S. T. (n.d.). Teaching canonic high school literature through a youth lens: Reading adolescence in The Catcher in the Rye. 

Sarigianides, S. T., Petrone, R., & Lewis, M. A. (n.d.). The teaching/s of young adult literature: Using a youth lens to analyze adolescence in YAL.

Trusting Readers in a Scripted World: Wrestling with Independent Reading, Conferring, and Trust

 As I read Scoggin and Schneewind's Trusting Readers, I found myself inspired, challenged, and honestly a little frustrated—not because I disagree with their vision, but because their vision highlights the realities of the classrooms many of us currently work in. Their argument that independent reading should be built around "time, choice, talk, and teacher support" is compelling because it centers students as readers rather than simply recipients of instruction (Scoggin & Schneewind, 2021). At the same time, their approach complicates many of the realities I face as a middle school ELA teacher.

Let me step on my "soapbox" for a few:

One of the biggest tensions for me is time. The authors argue that independent reading should be a protected part of the school day because "students need and deserve long stretches of time to lose themselves and find themselves in books" (Scoggin & Schneewind, 2021). In theory, I completely agree. However, I immediately found myself asking: Where does that time come from? Unlike the classrooms described in the text, my school does not have a designated independent reading block. Our curriculum is tightly paced, standards-driven, and often scripted. While the authors suggest that teachers should "prioritize independent reading when planning by putting it into your plans first, not last" (Scoggin & Schneewind, 2021), that feels much easier said than done when every minute of a 50-minute class period is already spoken for.

Yet this challenge is exactly what makes the book powerful. The authors push me to reconsider whether I have accepted the current structure as immovable. They write, "When time for independent reading is not protected, a greater value is being placed on mastery of curriculum than on developing vibrant independent reading lives" (Scoggin & Schneewind, 2021). That statement made me uncomfortable because there is truth in it. Even when I value independent reading, my schedule does not always reflect that value.

Another question the text raises for me concerns students who are not yet proficient readers. Scoggin and Schneewind repeatedly state that "we trust that all students are readers" (Scoggin & Schneewind, 2021). I appreciate this asset-based perspective because it pushes against deficit thinking. However, I also work with students whose decoding, fluency, and comprehension skills are significantly below grade level. How do we balance honoring student choice and agency while also ensuring students receive the targeted interventions they need?

I appreciated the story of Marquis because it addressed this concern directly. Rather than forcing him away from his beloved superhero books, his teacher honored his interests while simultaneously providing foundational literacy instruction. The authors explain that "while we trust our students to take the lead, we trust ourselves to find spaces of possibility within that work to grow our students as readers" (Scoggin & Schneewind, 2021). This example reminded me that student choice and skill development do not have to be competing priorities.

The discussion of implicit bias also challenged me. The authors argue that educators have a responsibility to acknowledge "how these biases influence their understandings of children and their experiences" (Scoggin & Schneewind, 2021). This raises another important question for me: How do I ethically acknowledge my own biases when working with readers? It is easy to make assumptions based on reading levels, engagement, behavior, or perceived motivation. The text reminds me that students bring complex reading identities into our classrooms and that my job is to listen before I judge. That idea is echoed later when the authors encourage teachers to stop "listening for" mistakes and instead start "listening to" students as they make meaning from texts (Scoggin & Schneewind, 2021). That shift in mindset feels both powerful and necessary.

The chapters on conferring particularly captured my imagination. I have often viewed conferencing as another task on an already overwhelming teacher to-do list. However, the authors frame conferring as relationship building rather than accountability. They argue that "significant learning cannot happen without significant relationships" and describe conferences as opportunities to understand students' identities, intentions, and strengths (Scoggin & Schneewind, 2021). I was especially drawn to their emphasis on strengths-based feedback and process-oriented questions. Instead of asking students for the "right" answer, teachers ask questions such as, "What are you paying attention to as you read?" or "What are you wondering about?" (Scoggin & Schneewind, 2021).

Still, I wonder how to make conferring motivating for students rather than something they perceive as another assignment. Perhaps the answer lies in the authors' insistence that students should help drive the conversation. When students create their own "what-if" questions and reading intentions, the conference becomes something done with them rather than to them.

What captured my imagination most was the possibility of designing the "perfect" class period—a 50-minute lesson that somehow includes required curriculum, independent reading, meaningful conferring, discussion, and book talks. I am not sure I have figured out how to make that vision a reality, but Scoggin and Schneewind convinced me that it is worth striving toward. Their approach asks teachers to imagine what school could look like if trust became the foundation for instructional decisions.

Ultimately, Trusting Readers is not English class as I experienced it growing up, nor is it what I commonly see in many classrooms today. Instead, it presents an aspirational vision of literacy instruction centered on agency, relationships, and joy. While I leave the reading with more questions than answers, I also leave with a renewed commitment to finding small ways to weave independent reading, authentic talk, and student-driven conferring into my classroom. As the authors ask, "What is the best that could happen if you trusted yourself, your students, and the power of independent reading?" (Scoggin & Schneewind, 2021). That question is one I will continue thinking about long after finishing this text...and as I begin pre-planning and working in my PLC. 

Reference:

Scoggin, J., & Schneewind, H. (2021). Trusting readers: Powerful practices for independent reading. Heinemann