Why Literature? The Case for Huckleberry Finn by HomeschoolMagazine


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									Why Literature? The Case for Huckleberry Finn
By Adam Andrews

Parents often ask my wife Missy and me why we give classic literature such a prominent
place in our curriculum. We live in a math/science world, after all. I think it’s fitting that my
answer usually takes the form of a story . . .


When I was a boy, I loved Mark Twain’s Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. I read it a dozen
times. In my imagination, I camped on Jackson’s Island a thousand nights, glided down the
Mississippi on a thousand log rafts, and outwitted crooks in a thousand daring escapes. The
atmosphere of the book was intoxicating to me—it seemed that Huck lived the ultimate
summer vacation, and I wanted to live it with him. One summer I even convinced my
friends to help me build a raft and float it down the little river that ran past our house.
Supplied with sack lunches, straw hats, and fishing poles, we spent a glorious vacation
reenacting Huck’s adventures.

It would not be an overstatement to say that I entered Huck’s world in my mind’s eye and
lived his story in my heart. I recreated all its details as faithfully as I could. This was no
English assignment; this was an adventure. I was not doing the work of a literary critic or
even the work of a student; I wasn’t working at all. Absorbing Twain’s book wholeheartedly,
without preconceptions, without designs of judgment or evaluation, I was reading to
experience, the way a hungry man eats. I wanted to see through Huck’s eyes, to be in his
world—and I did, and I was.

In his wonderful book An Experiment in Criticism, C. S. Lewis says that this is one of the
great powers of literature, a power that it shares with only a handful of art forms: the ability
to multiply our experience, to draw us into foreign worlds and allow us to experience them
from the safety of our own. “My own eyes are not enough for me,” Lewis says. “I will see
through those of others.”1 I would not have put it in those words as a boy, but I remember
feeling that hunger for a broader experience.

As I grew up, I never stopped reading Twain’s novel. Every few years I went back and
relived my old pleasures—and as I did, I noticed that the story had more to say to me each
time. Huck’s world seemed to grow with me, to mature as I matured. I began to understand
that Twain’s boyhood adventure story was merely the setting for a deeper, darker tale.
Huck’s relationship with the slave Jim and the terrible choices it involved fell on me as
powerfully now as the sunny atmosphere of the Mississippi valley had before. I moved
gradually from a sensory experience of the story to a mental grasp of Twain’s theme and
purpose. Twain had hooked me by the heart as a boy—as I grew up, he began to engage
my mind and make a claim on my opinions.

This is not to say that the sensory, setting-related pleasures passed away. On the contrary,
they matured right along with me. I began to notice Twain’s wry, ironic wit in lines that had
gone right over my head as a boy. I laughed out loud now, instead of just reading in wide-
eyed wonder. I discovered that Twain was not only a master at weaving an atmospheric
spell; he was also hilarious.

But I began to notice as well that behind the humor was a bitterness that had been invisible
to me before, an argumentative stance toward his characters and their foibles. As I grasped
Twain’s theme, I heard his voice more clearly and realized that he had written Huck Finn to
grapple with a problem—to identify something deeply wrong with American society and to
assign blame for it. He was making a case and asking me to take his side. As I learned my
own mind, I found that I could not agree wholeheartedly with every point he made, much as
I loved his characters and their story. But perhaps because of that love, the grown-up in me
spent as much time and energy thinking about Twain’s argument as the child in me had
spent reveling in his story. I was drawn irresistibly into a kind of discussion with Mark Twain
in my own mind and heart, and found myself contributing to that discussion, drawing on my
own ideas and experience.

Mortimer Adler once described Western civilization as a “Great Conversation” about ideas,
carried on between thoughtful people down through the ages. The Great Conversation
includes contributions from everyone who has ever puzzled over the good life, human
nature, the existence of God, or any other transcendent question. I came to realize that
Huck Finn was Mark Twain’s contribution to this Great Conversation, and that my own
responses were mine. By embracing his story in my heart, mastering it in my mind, and
interacting with its themes, I was participating in a culture-wide, history-long search for

Lewis suggests that this search is what makes us fully human. “In reading great literature,”
he says, “I become a thousand men and yet remain myself. . . . I see with a myriad eyes,
but it is still I who see. . . . I transcend myself; and am never more myself than when I

This is the glory of literature: it makes the Great Conversation possible across the ages,
between men and women from different worlds. It allows us to see with the eyes of others.

I put literature at the center of the curriculum for my own children because I want them to
“see with myriad eyes.” I want books like Huck Finn to hook them by the heart and engage
their minds. I want them to imbibe the classics as children so that as mature thinkers, they
will be able to contribute to the Great Conversation.

Besides, we have a river that runs past our house, and I haven’t built a raft in a long time .

Adam Andrews is the Director of the Center for Literary Education and a homeschooling
father of six. Adam earned his B.A. from Hillsdale College and is a Ph.D. candidate at the
University of Washington. He and his wife Missy are the authors of Teaching the
Classics, the popular reading and literature curriculum. They teach their children at home
in Rice, Washington. For more information, visit www.centerforlit.com.

Copyright 2012, used with permission. All rights reserved by author. Originally appeared in
the February 2012 issue of The Old Schoolhouse® Magazine, the family education
magazine. Read the magazine free at www.TOSMagazine.com or read it on the go and
download the free TOS apps to read the magazine on your Kindle Fire or Apple or Android

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