|
Zuckerman, Laurel. (2007). Sorbonne
Confidential (D. Berman,
Trans.). Paris: Librairie Arthéme Fayard. Pp. 337
20 Euros ISBN 978-2-2136-3122-6
|
Reviewed by Terence
A.
Beck
University
of Puget Sound
Laurel Zuckerman is from Arizona.
She has lived in France
for more than 20 years, speaks fluent French, is a naturalized citizen of
France, a mother of children attending French schools, and she holds a degree
from one of the most prestigious universities in France.
When she lost her job she decided that what she really wanted to do was to
teach English in French schools. It seemed simple enough.
Sorbonne
Confidential is
the fictionalized story of Laurel Zuckerman’s very real experience working to
become a teacher of her first language in the highly centralized French system.
While the story is a good one, the picture isn’t pretty. Zuckerman skillfully
weaves a tale of institutionalized exclusion, of a system accountable only to
itself, and of what can happen when ‘objective’ measures become the end-all and
be-all of a process. Zuckerman’s book is causing a stir among those concerned
with the French educational establishment, and it holds the potential to inform
American educators as well.
I encountered Sorbonne Confidential while browsing in an English-language
bookstore in Paris.
As a teacher-educator I was searching for information about the educational
system in France
from pre-school through university. The bookstore’s owner recommended a new
book on teacher education in France,
currently available only in French. While my ability to read French is limited,
I was sufficiently motivated by the topic to give Zuckerman’s book a try.
The French believe in
equality and equality demands objective measures. Testing, in theory, provides
such objective measures and France
has gone in for testing in a big way for centuries. Most famous of the French
tests is the Baccalauréat, officially created by Napoleon in 1808 and taken
today by most French students at the end of high school. Less known outside of France
are the CAPES and
l’agrégation, exams taken by individuals who wish to work in the French public
school system. L’agrégation was first developed in 1766 and was revised in 1885
to today’s form. The CAPES
and l’agrégation are the gates through which one must pass to become a
secondary teacher in France—the
only gates.
Zuckerman includes
considerable factual information about the French system of teacher selection
in her text. From her text we learn that the l’agrégation d’anglais (for
teaching English) is made up of the following: 1. A dissertation hand-written
in French during a seven-hour period. 2. A hand-written commentary in English
(six hours). 3. A six-hour linguistic composition that includes an emphasis on
English phonology and French grammar. 4. A six-hour translation exercise (p.
30).
Only the ‘best’ survive the
experience. Zuckerman notes that in 2005, 43,461 candidates sat for
l’agrégation and 64,180 sat for the CAPES,
representing 37 disciplines. Of those 107,641 candidates, 11,925 received
certificates (p. 128). The tests are based on a type of curve that is
determined by the number of teaching openings available in France
the next year. The almost 12,000 candidates in 2005 who had the highest scores
passed the exams and were given certificates, a probation year, and then jobs
for life. The almost 96,000 candidates who prepared and sat for the exam but
did not ‘pass,’ ended the experience with no certificate and no job. It’s
difficult to find stakes higher than these. It is not unusual for candidates to
take the texts several years in a row.
As with any high-stakes
testing situation, testing drives instruction in the courses offered by the
Sorbonne to prepare students to teach English. Classes are conducted solely in
French with professors speaking at length while students dutifully record all
they say. Speaking English is not emphasized and instruction in pedagogy (beyond
that modeled by the lectures of the professors) is completely absent. Argument
and original thought are resented by professors and students alike because they
steal time from preparation for the all-important test.
Notably absent from this
high-stakes exam to be an English teacher are demonstrations of an ability to
speak English, to understand spoken English, or any demonstrated ability to
operate successfully in a classroom. Through her fiction, Zuckerman argues that
such oversights have profound implications for French education and French
society. One example is a chart showing French students in 2002 scoring at the
bottom in a European Union study of student skills in English (p. 207). A
second example is the recounting of a meeting for parents of students attending
middle school. The teachers berate the students and outline numerous problems.
Zuckerman notes that the teachers do not discuss pedagogical techniques, or
ways that the problems they articulate might be addressed (beyond admonishing
the students to work harder) (p. 138). Zuckerman suggests that thesystem of teacher education contributes
significantly to situations like these.
The rigorous nature of French
testing throughout the system makes for high standards at considerable human
cost. Zuckerman notes that in France, 17.4% of children repeat a grade, a
number that passes 38.2% in “quartiers défavorisés” [underprivileged
neighborhoods]. Over half of the students drop out of university in France
after the second year. Many programs have success rates lower than the famous 1
out of 11 of the English teacher exam (p. 136).
But, Sorbonne Confidential is more than a collection of facts and
tidbits about the French system of selecting teachers. The book brings a warm
and personal touch, viewing the experience through the eyes of an appealing and
very human narrator. It is this combination of insider information and
statistics, and the intimate personal experience of one of those statistics,
that gives the book its power.
With humor Zuckerman takes on
some absurdities of a system that teaches to a written test. In one hilarious
illustration early in the book, Zuckerman’s narrator Alice, translates “pieds
de cochon” as “pig’s feet.” The professor corrects her, pointing out that pig’s
feet are indeed what a pig walks on—the translation is literally correct. But,
in the context in which the term is used, the correct translation is “pig’s
trotters”—the designation you make when such items are served as food. Alice
sets out to prove the professor wrong. She searches her study, she calls her
mother in Arizona, she asks all the native English speakers she knows. She
learns that no English speaker in her small sample has heard of pig’s trotters.
And yet the dictionary proves the professor correct—if you eat them, they’re
trotters.
The candidates preparing for
the test see the mismatch between what they are being asked to do and the job
for which they are preparing. Consider this response of a fellow student to
Alice’s complaint that courses designed to get students past l’agrégation fail
to prepare candidates to teach English.
Aucun de ses cours n'a de rapport avec l'enseignement, did-elle, ni à
l'université ni à lycée. C'est un concours, c'est tout. Le seuls talents
d'enseignant que nous aurons, c'est nous qui devrons les développer. Tu sais cela, n'est-ce pas? p.
67.
[None of the courses has any
relationship with teaching, she said, neither with the university nor with high
school. It is a contest, that's all. The only talents of a teacher that we will
have, are those we develop on our own. You know that's true, right?] p. 67 (All
translations (and translation errors) are the reviewer’s.)
As the test looms, tensions increase
between English-speaking and French-speaking students who must compete against
one another for a few precious spots. English-speaking students become
frustrated and angry because they spend most of their time trying to perfect
their French in order to teach English. When they challenge a professor, he
responds that he holds English-speakers to the same high standards as native
French-speakers so they won’t be mocked by their students in French schools. Native
English-speakers cry discrimination and point out that many of the native
French-speaking students doing so well in the program are unable to actually
speak English. Native French-speakers respond that English-speakers have an
unfair advantage in this regard and that what the English-speakers want is a
form of positive (reverse) discrimination. Zuckerman presents a picture that
blames no one. Rather, she communicates that it is the system that creates
wary, almost adversarial relationships between almost everyone involved. Consider
this description of a student in the classroom late in the process:
Il avait le regard déterminé des petits animaux condamnés mais courageux,
une souris des champs défendant sa nichée face à un faucon.
[He had the determined look of all
condemned but courageous small animals--a field mouse defending its brood
against a falcon.] p. 144.
But, the greatest barrier facing
Alice is the nature of the dissertation. A “dissertation cartésienne” must be
written in the haughtiest form of French. Rules are ancient, precise, and
exacting and practically impossible for someone to master who did not grow up
speaking and hearing and reading and writing very formal French. It is the
dissertation with its impossibly archaic demands, that works to weed out those
without the necessary cultural capital from teaching English in French
schools--most notably, intelligent and experienced native speakers of English. The
codes are too complex, the distinctions too subtle. The dissertation cartésienne
rewards those who are adept at giving to authority what authority demands. Native
English speakers experience repeated failures despite intense motivation and
effort.
In theory, this single,
objective test removes the subjective criteria and people so often blamed for
keeping outsiders away. In reality, the criteria themselves are infused with
discrimination and are more effective at excluding the non-native speaker than
the most ardent subscriber to the principle of “France for the French” could
ever be.
While Sorbonne Confidential seems intended to provide a critique
of the French system of teacher education, it has messages for an American
audience as well. The book illustrates how objective measures can be far from
objective—a concept often difficult to see when looking only at one’s own
context. It illustrates how rigor by itself can distract, exclude, and
alienate. By taking on an institution that began before the American
Revolution, the book demonstrates how systems can develop around programs, allowing
them to self-perpetuate without regard for their impact on schools and society.
At some level, the book is also an argument for the power and importance of
teacher education and of the need for systems that care more about creating
good teachers than objectively assigning scores.
Sorbonne
Confidential is
likely to be of interest to teacher educators both in France and in the United
States. It could be useful in teacher preparation classes as a way into
discussions of cultural capital, high-stakes testing, and the unintended
consequences of systems designed with the best of intentions. The book might
also be useful as a text in a second-year or third-year French language and
culture course.
Clearly, the largest issue
around Sorbonne Confidential is that it is currently available only
in French, making its appeal to an American audience limited. The book was
originally written in English and the possibility remains that Zuckerman will
find an American or British publisher who recognizes the enormous potential of
the text. Because the book is currently available only in French, it is
appropriate here to consider the level of the writing and the accessibility of
the French.
Sorbonne
Confidential was
translated from American English into French by Daniel Berman. It is a novel,
not an academic text. Berman’s translation is remarkably clear and easy to
follow for native English speakers. Missing are the long and involved sentences
that so often leave me lost and scratching my head when I read in French. The
French is not for beginners, but neither does it require advanced training to
understand this important and entertaining tale.
About the
Reviewer
Terence Beck is an Associate
Professor at the University of Puget Sound in Tacoma Washington. There he
specializes in Curriculum for Democracy, working with pre-service teachers in
both general secondary teaching methodology and curriculum and instruction for
the social studies. Dr. Beck teaches other courses at the university concerned
with race, gender, class, and sexuality in U.S. schools and society. His
research interests include classroom discourse (particularly around student
questions), democratic citizenship education, and the comparative analysis of
schooling in France and the United States. He constantly wishes his French
language skills were stronger.
Copyright is retained by the first
or sole author, who grants right of first publication to the Education Review.
Editors: Gene V Glass, Kate Corby, Gustavo Fischman
