The Anthropocene Reviewed - Analysis with Heart & Rubric!

The following is a review of one of my classroom library books. I have also used the book for instruction.

When it comes to AI, I happen to share the opinion of Nick Cage: "it's inhumane!" It's also inhuman. And kind of boring, really. And not always correct. I'd give it two stars out of five. That said, it poses enough of a significant threat to what I do, teaching young people how to write well, that I have been thinking about what separates us from the machines, because I maintain that while AI is intelligent, it is not smart. People are smart. I suppose I'm talking about wisdom, but it’s something else. People are universes of experience and insight capable of weaving narratives that are a mix of academic insight, conventional wisdom, and personal anecdotes. This is what I've been trying to inspire my students to do with their writing. AI can't do it, which is what brings me to John Green's book The Anthropocene Reviewed. This book does it, and by "it" I mean it creates writing about a human-centered planet by weaving academic and conventional wisdom, often even "self-knowledge" and personal insights, as well as the historical anecdotes that make his Crash Courses such a joy, into smart narratives about life on earth. 

To introduce students to his writing, I start with his essay on Diet Dr Pepper. If you like you could use the podcast readings. From there, we develop a rubric outlining what a "John Green style" review would entail. They are called "reviews" because John Green models them after his book reviews, and they ultimately end with a rating out of five starts that ostensibly makes perfect sense. I maintain that they are human analysis essays because each one is an "argument in which you study the parts of something... to understand how it works, what it means, or why it's significant." (from Beherens and Rosen's Writing and Reading Across the Curriculum, 12th ed.). 

 First we read the Diet Dr Pepper essay and discuss. Next, we brainstorm topics. From there, we write. I decided to try and write one too. I think John Green would approve of it. I will include it at the end of this post. 
What I am coming to believe, more and more, with each year of teaching experience, is that if English composition is going to remain a relevant course of study, we must evolve by teaching our students to write what only they can write. We don't need more Wikipedia pages on a topic. What we need is writing that is ostensibly human, and we need to really honor the writing process as a way by which we discover not only information about the world we live in, but also who we are as people. 

Here's my own attempt at a John Green essay.

The Olympic Plate 

In his “Ode to Sport,” Pierre de Coubertin wonders, “What good are muscles, what is the point of feeling strong and agile, and why work to improve one’s agility and strength, unless it is in order to dare?” In 1889, Coubertin began the work that dared to rekindle the modern Olympic tradition from the Greeks. A Frenchman, he would have decided to base the competition upon the metric system, the accepted European system of measurement. This is why the weights in my basement, well, two plates, are considered curiosities. These plates are curiosities because they weigh 50 pounds each. The typical modern plate weighs 45 pounds. Why is this? It’s due to the metric system; 45 lbs is 20 kg. The 50-pound plates in my basement are not Olympic plates. They are old and of indeterminate origin. There is no stamping of any kind on them, and they are solid cast iron, making them difficult to handle: no grooves or holes. The only hole, the one that accommodates the barbell, is 1” in diameter; therefore, these plates would not fit an Olympic barbell. This is about as fascinating as the weights in my basement get. However, what is truly fascinating is Coubertin’s question: what is the point of developing muscles unless it is in “order to dare.” 
I may be tempted to reason, “Well, since my plates are not Olympic, this question does not apply to me.” This would be obtuse because, of course, the question applies to me. This question applies to anyone developing any skill, I dare say.What good is getting good at something if not for pushing boundaries, breaking established records, and maybe rules? Picasso inspired us to "learn the rules like a pro, so you can break them like an artist," while Frank Zappa logically concluded that progress is not possible unless we deviate from the norm. Are these the definition of daring? Before we delve deeper into this question of exercise and its implications, let’s focus on “Ode to Sport.” 
The poem won a gold medal in 1912, and its very existence gives credence to the spirit of the Olympics: the triumvirate of mind, body, and spirit. There were once Olympian categories for music, art, literature, and more from 1912 to 1948 (“What Is the History behind the Olympic Art Competition?|1st Art Gallery”). The abandonment of juried art competitions is due to many factors, the simplest being Wikipedia’s: “because artists were considered to be professionals, while Olympic athletes were required to be amateurs.” I find this a poor excuse. First, the push to involve American professional athletes in Olympic sports began way back in 1968. Secondly, I  tend to define the word amateur the way Michael Chabon defines it in “The Amateur Family” as anyone who is not afraid to disclose what holds them in a vulnerable state of wonderment. By this definition, an artist is fundamentally an amateur, but I digress. The Cultural Olympiad is said to have taken the place of juried art competition but seems to have fizzled out, while all of the modern glory (and medals!) lies with the athletes, not the artists. This separation, sequestering off endeavors of the mind, some would argue soul, from those of the body, is reflected in our greater society to a certain and, I dare say, disastrous effect. Indeed, the modern athletic mantra of “Just Do It” implies that there should be no thinking involved. 
    Why do thoughts persist when I’m pressing those 50 lb plates? Despite the loud music, the mirrors, despite the visceral pain in the muscles, the thoughts persist. And they’re going to circle, inevitably like water circles a drain, the question, “What does it mean to be daring?” Ultimately, “Am I daring?” Lifting is an exercise that we use to pump ourselves up, bodily, yes, but also mentally. The interior monologue of a weightlifter is just as vital as nutrition and routine. “Am I daring?” I rarely think of these words specifically, but most of my thoughts are born from this simple premise. “Do I look big?” or “Will my sons be proud?” Our muscular idols are daring. Whether smoking a stogie wherever he wants or killing the Predator, Arnold Schwarzenegger is an obvious icon of daring. But Arnold wasn’t my first icon of daring. It was my great-grandfather Frank. 
    As legend has it, my great-grandfather left Austria on the brink of World War I after receiving a letter from the Kaiser to fight for the motherland. And he would have been a good fighter. His biceps were so large, according to family mythology, that my great-grandmother had to sew extra fabric into his sleeves to accommodate them. When he eventually settled in Ohio, he loaded pig iron into boxcars at Ohio Brass at twice the rate of ordinary men. The facts that point to his superior strength invest his stories with “daring” the way a bright light invests the air with motes of dust. But he dared not to fight in the war. Instead, he dared to board a ship and pass the equator to work in Brazil for a period of time as a lumberjack. There is at least one story in which he and his lumberjack cohorts corner a local criminal in a cave. At this point, the notorious baddie (in my mind, a Curly Bill type) pulls his revolver. “Go ahead,” my great-grandfather supposedly said, gripping his axe. “You only have six bullets, and there are seven of us. When you’re out of ammo, the last guy among us will chop you into tiny pieces.” Is there anything more daring than staring down the barrel of a gun with the words “Do your worst”?...than bringing an axe to a gunfight… and winning?         
    I imagine my grandfather, the original John Skarl, a prize-fighter turned policeman, started lifting those 50lb plates to have biceps as large as his father's and to manicure his daring into a “prudent, well-considered audacity.” My best illustration of this phrase is my grandfather’s philosophy of nailing speeders. Rather than engage in the daring of a high-speed vehicle pursuit, my grandfather would scan the license plate, find the offender's address, and go park in their driveway. Talk about prudent, well-considered audacity! 
    I consider my own father, who aspired to be as strong as my grandfather. Who dared to become a public school teacher even though his father never graduated high school. For over thirty years he dared to prioritize the need for education in a post-industrial town that was declining fast. He exercised the prudent, well-considered audacity to adopt my sister and me.  
    Am I daring? As far as I know, there are no artists in my family, and I aspire to create 
meaningful, lasting art. I also aspire to have 18-inch biceps, which is a daring combination in a society that does not often place the artist and the athlete in the same competitive ring. Do I exercise my muscles and mind with a prudent, well-considered audacity? I think I do, but I suppose it’s not for me to judge. Like all important judgments, time and posterity will do its work. I do know one thing. When I am too old or unwell to lift those 50-pound plates, I hope to pass them on to my boys. And I hope, in their lives, they are inspired to dare. To express a prudent, well-considered audacity. To know it is not our muscles alone that matter. It’s what we do with them. To consider the stories of Austrian Oaks and Brazilian lumberjacks, but also to acknowledge the words of Eudora Welty, “A sheltered life can be a daring life as well. For all serious daring starts from within.” To seek a life that is an expression of their entire selves.
I give weight plates, whether they be Olympic or not, three stars. 

Works Cited

View. “Ode to Sport by Pierre de Coubertin.” Poetry in Surrey Libraries, Poetry in Surrey Libraries, 19     Sept. 2020, npdsurrey.wordpress.com/2020/09/19/ode-to-sport-by-pierre-de-            

    coubertin/#:~:text=O%20Sport%2C%20you%20are%20Progress,without%20compromising%20his        %20good%20health. Accessed 11 Oct. 2023.‌

“What Is the History behind the Olympic Art Competition?|1st Art Gallery.” 1st-Art-Gallery.com, 2023,     www.1st-art-gallery.com/article/the-Introduction-of-olympic-art-competition/. Accessed 10 Oct.         

    2023.

Postscript: I was inspired to first read and then use John Green's book by a student. Thank you for inspiring me!