HSC English and The Craft of Writing
Given the need to write discursively in the HSC as part of The Craft of Writing, we have begun introducing students to this slightly hybrid form of writing in Year 10.
The rules are simple: write to engage your audience with a topic, consider more than one perspective, and explore ideas thoughtfully. You can have an opinion, but rather than trying to persuade readers to share it, you should invite them to consider it. It is an offer, not a demand. Students are encouraged to be creative, drawing on their imaginative writing skills to make a topic accessible and engaging. Perhaps most importantly, they are encouraged to let their personal voice shine through.
It is what we in the English department like to call an entertaining ponder; an exploration, a contemplation.
Developing confidence in this form of writing can take time, and experimentation is key.
This term, Year 10 students studied Mark Haddon’s novel The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, using it as a springboard for discursive writing on a range of topics, from pondering whether truth is always the best policy, to exploring society’s response to difference, to considering the human need for control. As part of their exploration, students were required to incorporate an extended metaphor, a personal anecdote, and an intertextual reference or allusion. This could be historical, religious, political or even drawn from popular culture. It provided an opportunity to make connections beyond the text, broadening their discussion and creating greater interest for readers.
As a department, we always enjoy reading the wonderful and varied pieces that emerge from this process.
The following piece, written by Year 10 student Danielle Tsang, was a response to the prompt:
Is the human need for control a strength or a limitation?
Enjoy!
—
The Scenic Route
Humans are strangely uncomfortable with uncertainty. We constantly refresh our pages with test results, we make schedules for weeks we haven’t lived yet, and we check the weather forecast before we go out. In my mother’s case, it’s making sure that the GPS is always on in the car. We crave this certainty, because otherwise, we are reminded of how little we control in our lives. Perhaps that’s why we try to control one another.
It had been a simple suggestion. “Just take the shortcut,” I had said.
“Why?” my mother had replied.
“The GPS literally says it’s faster!”
This had soon rolled into an argument as she brought up how unreliable I am, how every time I think I’m on time for a train, I miss it, how I always feel prepared for an assessment but still fall short, until the red lines of the GPS had mirrored the lines of red lights in front of us as we hit peak Sydney traffic. I had only seen the red lights as a teary blur. At this point I had forgotten we were even arguing about the GPS. It had never about the directions. It had been about control.
The GPS is an interesting invention. It’s a promise of certainty in an uncertain world. It tells you where to turn, predicts future traffic and tells you when you’ll arrive at your destination down to the minute. Maybe that’s what parenting looks like. A child’s navigation system. But when does instruction become a restriction, a limitation?
In the age-old myth, Icarus and Daedalus, Daedalus understood this long before the GPS was invented. He gave his son Icarus everything he could: the wings, the instructions, even the warning not to fly too close to the sun and the sea, but he couldn’t do one thing. Fly for him. The irony is striking. Daedalus did everything within his control for Icarus, but Icarus still fell. Because the one thing a parent must understand is that it’s the child’s life. In some versions of this myth, it’s said that when Icarus fell, he fell laughing. (Perhaps high on the pure joy of freedom.)
This tension between father and son is explored in Mark Haddon’s novel The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. After Judy Boone leaves, Christopher’s father protects him by lying to him. He protects him because he believes he has the experience that Christopher lacks; that he knows what is best for his neurodivergent son. He tells him his mother is dead. And yet, this form of protection means that Christopher had no power over his own knowledge. Lying isn’t the main issue. It’s that someone else has decided for Christopher what he is capable of knowing. Is it any wonder that children often see adults as being dismissive?
Perhaps it’s impossible to understand a parent’s views until you become one. I’m frequently told that a parent’s biggest fear is being unable to prevent something, or to protect their child from something that was completely within their control. But when a child decides to stray off the planned path, to ignore the GPS instructions, who is to blame? Let’s face it, it’s not like children are innocent navigators.
Maybe there’s another reason why parents are so concerned. Their child’s actions reflect how they taught them. When a child makes a mistake or an untimely decision, the first thought may be:
“Where were the parents?”
“Who taught you to behave like this?”
It’s not then unsurprising that parents grip the steering wheel so tightly.
Sometimes control isn’t in the form of a simple command, a set of instructions, a map. It may simply be a voice. In Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray, Lord Henry is a voice in Dorian’s ear. Through simple conversations, he introduces new ideas, concepts and lifestyles of hedonism, beauty and pleasure that set Dorian on a destructive path. But every single one of Dorian’s choices is still his. Perhaps that is what parents struggle with so much. How many choices have they influenced? A passing comment on a career option, an off-hand remark comparing you to family members; these are indirect ways to control and influence decisions. I know, personally, that’s how my biggest fear of wasted potential began.
Perhaps control is neither purely a strength nor purely a limitation. Yes, it allows us certainty in an unpredictable, fast-changing world. But it may also prevent discovery. At the end of the day, a parent can’t live their child’s life. That said, a child still needs a navigation system. Having some semblance of guidance is better than going in blind. The GPS can prevent disaster.
But maybe it’s time to take the scenic route.
