Every English teacher has experienced that moment where a perplexed student raises a hand and says, “Miss, are you sure Shakespeare did this on purpose?”
When textual analysis is a key element of our pedagogy, we tread a fine line between straightforward explanation and subtext. Blur that line with the difference between inference and interpretation, while maintaining the idea that it’s all about personal response (“What? So I can just write anything, Miss?”), and we enter a tangled maze.
And of course, we’re supposed to be instilling a love of literature, not simply dissecting it and clumsily reassembling it to show the value a language feature adds to a text.
The trouble is, unlike other types of writing we expect students to undertake - letters, stories, speeches, articles - beyond exemplar exam papers, there are few accessible, real-life examples of textual analysis that might just have been written for the fun of it.
When I recently picked up Ian Leslie’s book about John Lennon and Paul McCartney’s creative partnership, John and Paul: A Love Story in Songs, I felt I had a key, even if I wasn’t quite sure what door it might unlock.
I read the chapter on Hey Jude with my top set Year 10. They write well, but - as they are 15 and are new to this - are reluctant to commit themselves to an interpretation. We laid aside our Macbeth studies and listened instead to Paul McCartney’s heartfelt tones, before the rest of The Beatles (and eventually the world) joined in.
Teaching textual analysis at GCSE
I struck lucky. Recently, I’ve had to explain who Muhammad Ali and Madonna are, and I wasn’t entirely sure my class’s cultural capital extended as far back as 1968. But The Beatles are as resonant as Shakespeare, and they all recognised the song.
Exploring Hey Jude, I trod a familiar path to analysis: a brief contextual run down; read (and listen to) the text; a discussion of students’ impressions of the song - mood, tone, how do we know?; selection of quotations; and wider sharing.
Then I introduced an extract from Leslie’s book. The students identified where Leslie offers a personal response, tying it to the text.
We examined where he describes sound. I have found that while students identify sonic methods readily, they struggle to break them down and explore how they can contribute meaning. Leslie’s deconstruction of the three-syllable “Re-mem-ber” in contrast with “the min-u-te”, and examining how these rhythms sound different and what the difference adds, was enlightening for them.
The class selected phrases from Leslie’s text as models for their own writing. Leslie introduces the whole song in a couple of elegant sentences: “Hey Jude begins with… It ends in…” And yes, of course I model these types of sentence structures myself, but isn’t it great to see someone who isn’t doing this to pass an exam employ the same analytical methods?
Leslie’s words about McCartney’s intentions, “whether this is advice to a child…or a friend…or himself…” open a nuanced discussion about alternative interpretation. As readers, we don’t always know why a writer has created something or whether our reading was their initial intention - and that’s OK, so long as we can build an argument to justify our thoughts.
Expressing personal responses
Following our exploration of Leslie’s analysis, I asked students to analyse Macbeth’s final soliloquy. They immediately showed greater confidence in expressing their personal responses. One student wrote about Shakespeare’s “blunt use of unfinished lines”, concisely combining reference and critical response.
Above all, there was a much clearer exploration of sound. Some described the toneless repetition of “tomorrow…” as an expression of Macbeth’s despair and much was made of the deadening effect of alliteration in “dusty death”.
Overall, students seemed more assured in taking that necessary step back to explore the start and the end of the soliloquy and the references to the beginning and end of the play.
Most importantly, reading another critic’s analysis gave the students permission to assert an opinion. It showed them how analysis can enrich understanding and shed light on meaning, raising the status of critical writing in their eyes. Rather than seeing it as just an “exam” exercise, they understood it as genuine discourse - and that was heartening to see.
Sarah Ledger is an English teacher and pastoral leader teaching in a secondary school in Cumbria
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