By Alaina DiSalvo
I’ve always loved to read. I started at four years old, and I haven’t stopped since. One of my interests is ancient Greek and Roman history, literature, and religion. I first learned about this world of mythology through the Percy Jackson books when I was in first grade. As any elementary or middle school teacher knows, these books are must-haves. They provide mythological history, adventure stories, insights into complicated family dynamics, and give kids with disabilities like ADHD and dyslexia the knowledge that they’re superheroes.
I saw ancient texts like the Odyssey and the Iliad mentioned throughout the Percy Jackson series, but I never approached them. Outside of Percy Jackson, I’d only heard them mentioned by adults as extreme examples of books that were hard to read. Even when I earned a Bachelor’s Degree in Classical Studies, I was never asked by any of my teachers to read either book in its entirety. After graduating college, I decided to do it myself.
These books were certainly difficult. I had to get through 100+ page introductions before I could even reach the main text. But as I slowly started reading them—annotating pencil in hand, holding up a piece of cardstock underneath each line—I realized something. These books have lasted thousands of years for a reason. They describe fundamental human experiences and ask basic philosophical questions that all people should take some time to consider. The Iliad and the Odyssey were books like any other—not some scary mountain to scale. I had the opportunity to access an excellently concise and clear translation by Emily Wilson. But even if I had been reading an earlier translation, the same principle would apply. These are just stories about people. As a person myself, there is something of great value to be found in these texts.
In my experiences as a student and as an educator, students tend to balk in the face of dense books. Teachers have probably experienced this most often with Shakespeare plays. Like Shakespeare, Homer has valuable lessons and experiences to offer everyone. The key to teaching a text like this is to make it clear to students that this is a story about them. Relatability is the key to empathy, which in turn unlocks comprehension, passion, and success.
When I started reading Percy Jackson in first grade, I saw a kid who reminded me of myself. He lived in New York City, he loved his mother more than anything, he had a complicated home life, and he struggled with maintaining decorum in school. And he was a hero who protected the innocent and defeated monsters. Reading Percy Jackson made me realize that I wasn’t alone—but it also made me realize what I was capable of.
I felt the exact same way when Odysseus played a trick on the Cyclops, when Telemachus burst into frustrated tears during a public speaking event, when Achilles mourned his lost love, when Helen gazed, bewildered, over the top of the Trojan wall.
Don’t write off complicated books. The great ones all have the same emotional core, and that’s all you need to give students an experience they’ll never forget. In the field of education, so many students are taught to believe that their grades are all that matters. This way of thinking contributes to their frustration when approaching dense texts: if they can’t understand something on the first try, are they stupid? Are they going to fail? What will everyone think of them?
The key to approaching dense, old books is to communicate to students the pleasure of the journey. They’re not expected to understand everything on their first try. Exploring the historical context and all the hidden information in the text is half the fun. The question educators must ask themselves is: how can we get students to focus on asking questions instead of worrying about failure?
InquireEd studio 