When I want to relieve some of my anxieties, I often think not just of Yana (the student who mastered the English articles in one brief summer), but also of Sonya—another almost ideal student who graduated a few years ago. “Almost,” because I would have loved to hear some of her thoughts in class. Alas, she never raised her hand to say anything—but her writing was superb. Her command of written English was so unusual that I thought she had perhaps lived and studied in an English-speaking country. She had not. When I asked her, it turned out Sonya had gone to a Bulgarian high school very similar to those attended by other Bulgarian (and a few international) students. Yet, she had somehow attained a degree of writing ability very few could achieve. She attributed her own success to having been an avid reader, mostly of fiction.
Perhaps part of the reason I find Sonya’s example so inspiring is that it reflects my own experience. When I was fourteen I went to a Bulgarian high school in which the first year was dedicated mostly to the intensive study of English—the same kind of school Sonya had attended much later. Until that point, I had had zero exposure to English, and the first few tests I completed were pitiful. Later, I was gradually able to move on, acquire a sense of English grammar and syntax, and expand my vocabulary. During my undergraduate education in Bulgaria I continued to take English classes twice a week. Yet, throughout those 10 years in high school and college (interrupted by two years of conscript military service) I did very little writing in English. I was never explicitly taught how to write a paragraph, an essay, any other shorter format, or a research paper in English (or in Bulgarian, for that matter). And the English-based milieu of the internet had not yet materialized. Still, I kept reading widely in English, both fiction and non-fiction on various topics. Then, in my late 20s, I enrolled in the Ph.D. program in political science at Notre Dame.
By all accounts, I should have struggled there. In addition to my lack of training and experience in writing, I had had limited exposure to mainstream American social science. I was mentally preparing for the worst, but was pleasantly surprised. I was able to process the hundreds of pages of assigned readings every week, make sense of the main ideas, and expand rapidly my personal frame of reference. More importantly, it turned out I could write—though, as I already admitted, not as a master stylist. During my first semester, one of my professors (who taught ancient Greek philosophy) found it hard to believe no one was editing my papers. Another professor later noted my written English was more solid than that of most American students in the program. It took me six years to do all the coursework and research, and to finish my dissertation. This, however, is faster than the average in my field, and I was the first one among our cohort of 12 to defend my Ph.D. dissertation.
I wish I could say I was able to accomplish these feats because of some exceptional intellectual ability. My hypothesis, though, is more modest. I suspect I, like Sonya, benefited from being an avid reader from a fairly young age. Incidentally, this was not predetermined in any obvious way. My parents had grown up in a small village and obtained their higher education degrees (in accounting and mechanical engineering) in their 30s, as non-traditional students working full-time. We had only a few nontechnical books at home. Moreover, I spent my first seven years in school in a class of 40 students (of whom only four, including myself, later went on to obtain higher education degrees).
Overall, my family and early educational background would probably be considered “disadvantaged” by American standards. But this did not hold me back. I made frequent trips to the public library in my small hometown, and to the home of an uncle and two older cousins who owned maybe 200 books. My parents were worried that there was no system to my reading. I, nevertheless, persisted. I would reread a favorite book like Raffaello Giovagnoli’s Spartacus (a 19th century Romantic depiction of the Roman gladiators’ revolt) six or seven times, and would frequently revisit favorite passages—a version of the “intensive reading” described by Engelsing (or the slightly weaker form of “deep reading” cherished by Birkerts). At the same time, I spent several hours every day playing freely in the street, as was still common in Bulgaria back in the 1970s—an aspect of childhood whose developmental value has recently received renewed appreciation by experts.1
I found the reading I did outside school assignments profoundly enjoyable—until in high school I reached a point where the experience could give me, quite literally, a high. Later, I experienced this neurosomatic effect even more reliably from reading non-fiction books and feature articles introducing exciting ideas. I sometimes mention this effect of reading half-jokingly to students and they laugh, but I am completely serious.2 It is perhaps this personal experience of combining the joy of reading with educational “attainment” which has cemented my conviction that the road to meaningful reading and solid writing does not pass so much through various exercises in and outside the classroom. I suspect these can achieve only limited results without sustained, intent reading.3
This theory is hardly revolutionary. Even someone like cognitive psychologist Daniel Willingham (who places the usual focus on engaging classroom activities and pedagogical strategies) has concluded it is still essential for teachers to do whatever they can to “get children to read.”4 As psychologists Anne Cunningham and Keith Stanovich have noted, “early success at reading acquisition is one of the keys that unlocks a lifetime of reading habits”—which in their turn can help “to further develop reading comprehension ability in an interlocking positive feedback logic.”5 For better or worse, this is the only road to accumulating the background knowledge needed to process, make sense, and remember new information in any area and as part of an expanding mental matrix. Gaming, role-playing, debating, or other forms of experiential learning can never become such a constantly available tool of lifelong learning and knowledge accumulation.
As I mentioned, however, there is insufficient recognition in the pedagogical and neuroeducational literature that the “crisis in education” at all levels largely reflects a crisis of reading and related brain plasticity. Moreover, reading itself is often reduced to a technical “skill.” There is, in fact, much empirical data to demonstrate that this “skill” depends critically on background knowledge, which also helps the absorption of new knowledge.6 Unfortunately, the ability of students and adults to practice this skill and to expand their personal frame of reference (and to derive some satisfaction in the process) has suffered a marked decline.7
I have little doubt that this is, indeed, the heart of the educational conundrum we now face. And I think I know fairly well what it would ideally take to raise a generation of competent and enthusiastic readers. It should all start with healthy development in the womb, breastfeeding, and close bonding with parents.8 To achieve this, parents should be a bit less overwhelmed by work, other responsibilities, multitasking, or stress and insecurity. As psychologist Catherine Steiner-Adair has pointed out, they first and foremost need to come back home unplugged from all their devices—and remain so for prolonged periods of time. This is the only way they can pay undivided attention and connect emotionally to their children.9 It is hard to believe, but almost half of American infants may now be lacking such a vital, in the most literal sense of the word, emotional bond.10
Younger children in particular crave such connection, as if they sense how detrimental parental neglect and detachment can be to their development into individuals with appropriate emotional responses to the people and the world around them.11 From birth, parents should engage in plenty of lively, warm communication with their children. This is something that cannot really be faked since even babies are especially sensitive to the loving attention of caregivers, to the tone of their voices, facial expressions, eye contact, etc.12 When necessary, such parental involvement should be supplemented by forms of childcare which mimic it as closely as possible.
This kind of affectionate communication should not be interrupted frequently by screen-based activities and interactions. Crucially, children should not be given an electronic device (or placed in front of a screen) as a digital pacifier.13 As I already noted, attachment to gadgets can partly become a surrogate for human relations;14 and screens do not seem to evoke the same kind of emotional response as live communication. This is probably the reason why children cannot learn to speak by mostly watching TV or streamed video15; and why “Sesame Street” has not sparked the revolution in reading and learning its creators aimed for16 (though the edutainment it provides has always attracted large audiences—a lasting success which will be more fully monetized on HBO). As psychologist Victoria Dunckley has noted, these problems may only be exacerbated by digital interactivity.17
Crucially, children should be regularly read to, and should hear plenty of exciting stories from a very early age.18 Such stories typically contain more complex vocabulary and syntax than speech directed at children. Moreover, reading usually takes place “in the context of face-time, of skin-to-skin contact, of the hard-to-quantify but essential mix of security and comfort and ritual.”19 This is an experience most toddlers cherish, and they can listen repeatedly to the same age-appropriate tales of speaking animals and dragon-slaying or non-violent heroes. This kind of pre-reading is probably essential for helping most children achieve the cognitive and emotional (and, at rock bottom, neurophysiological) development which would prepare them to master and enjoy reading when the time comes. Regular free and pretend play with other children also seems essential for the ability of children to stay emotionally attuned to their social context and to modulate appropriately their own emotional responses.20
Once children enter school, the role of primary caregivers is largely taken up by teachers. From that point, the exact formula for success becomes much more elusive. Ideally, schooling should perhaps combine methods borrowed from Waldorf, Montessori, Reggio Emilia, and other similar approaches emphasizing “natural” learning and building upon the natural curiosity and developmental potential of children.21 Formal education should probably wait until most children are developmentally prepared for it, maybe around the age of seven—as is done in Waldorf schools and some of the countries whose students excel in the PISA studies. Needless to say, this runs counter to the trend in the United States and many other countries to expose children to a structured curriculum emphasizing abstract mental operations (including reading, writing, and arithmetic) from an ever earlier age.22
Once started, schooling would need to be centered around the gradual development of reading and writing abilities. For better or worse, this is the only kind of training which can integrate different parts of the brain in a way that allows broader empathic attunement and engagement with complex texts, ideas, and larger social issues—providing a path toward open-ended, independent learning.23 As Jane Healy argued at the dawn of mass personal computing, “the most complex neural systems, which pull together abstract language and visual reasoning, develop only if challenging encounters with reading, writing, and verbal reasoning continue during the teenage years.”24 This is an experience that should start in elementary school25 and continue uninterrupted—unless at some point teenage rebellion or chronic dejection demonstrate conclusively its futility.26
Extensive cursive handwriting may be particularly important in this context since it seems to activate the brain in a more beneficial way as compared to print handwriting, and particularly to typing.27 According to a much discussed recent study by psychologists Pam Mueller and Daniel Oppenheimer, students who take notes by hand have better recall and understanding of class material.28 The authors attribute this result to the fact that longhand is slower than typing, so students need to digest and capture the essence of what they hear and see in class—rather than transcribe everything almost verbatim. It could also be the case, though, that the fine motor movements producing handwriting activate the sensorimotor cortex differently—enhancing learning.
Other opportunities to practice their fine motor movements, manipulate various objects, engage in artistic activities, simply play, or generally develop their “sensorimotor-perceptual skills” can provide younger students with additional healthy stimulation.29 Such seemingly technical “skills” in fact reflect a process of brain maturation which is essential for higher-order cognitive functioning and engagement at later educational stages. Physical activity (not just sports or fitness, but also dancing) during school hours and adequate sleep can give a much needed boost to this process of overall neurophysiological development and maturation.
Do as I Say…
A much commented OECD study has found that increased use of information technology in the classroom does not improve the performance of students.30 When required to study from e-texts, many students have complained of eyestrain—or what has been dubbed “computer vision syndrome.” They have also showed greater distractibility and worse recall of the material. According to linguist Naomi Baron, such problems may be inherent in the medium itself. Digital texts seem to encourage interruptions and goal-oriented accessing of information (if not outright trivia seeking), or what Baron calls “reading on the prowl”—as opposed to more absorbed “deep reading.”31 About 90 percent of the students she surveyed said they preferred to read for courses from a hard copy. Still, the shift from reading in print to reading from screens is continuing, contributing to what Baron sees as “students’ mounting rejection of long-form reading.”32 Meanwhile, many Silicon Valley “geeks” (some perhaps involved in the digital “disruption” of education) have opted to send their own children to Waldorf and other non-traditional schools that shun electronic devices.33
As far as the subject matter of schooling is concerned, it may require an approach different from the one underlying the Common Core curriculum now adopted by most American states, with its emphasis on decontextualized “skills.” If students do not develop the ability and willingness to engage earnestly with assigned readings, the basic facts and ideas covered in any core curriculum will remain random bits and pieces detached from any broader framework. In most cases, such fragmentary information will not “stick” in the minds of students and they will not develop the ability to process new facts and concepts effectively and independently.34
To facilitate commitment to long-term memory, social and historical developments and personalities should be presented mostly in the form of vivid stories which are intriguing, even exciting. Such narratives should ideally be written by truly gifted writers. They will never be as riveting as the exploits of Harry Potter and his friends or of the young participants in “hunger games” and other thrilling exploits, or as enchanting as the Twilight series. Still, they need to come close, with elements of mystery, suspense, and intrigue. As neuroscientists Charan Ranganath has pointed out, “curiosity recruits the reward system, and … seem[s] to put the brain in a state in which you are more likely to learn and retain information, even if that information is not of particular interest or importance.”35 Such evocative stories should also employ humor, and depict riveting examples of courage, devotion, accomplishment, character building, and justice served.
Dramatized in this way,36 the knowledge schools and teachers seek to impart will have a stronger affective-visceral resonance—an aspect which is crucial for the ability of students to commit to long-term memory those major facts and ideas, and to grasp the overall significance of historical events and larger social trends (like, for example, the first anti-colonial rebellion in Haiti or the partial merger of personal liberty and social control in contemporary societies). A degree of ambiguity, or even confusion, may serve a similar purpose.37 As neuroscientist Matthew Lieberman has argued, to be successful education must fully engage the “social brain”38—and this should not be limited to activities meant to foster experiential learning.
I am not sure to what extent this approach can apply in the teaching of math and science, other than adapt what educators like Bill Nye the Science Guy and actor Alan Alda have done outside the classroom.39 In any case, there may be a need to rethink whether most middle and high school students should be expected to master highly abstract theories and mental operations. As neuroscientist Guy Claxton has quipped, “there is no good reason for inflicting trigonometry on everyone.”40
It is now common for students at all levels to be asked to act out historical or literary plots in class. I am not sure what this achieves other than making the classes less tedious and leaving student with some lively recollections of the performance itself. I believe empathic understanding, the expansion of personal mental horizons, and textually-scaffolded learning in general are better served by a level of dramatization in the text itself. My favorite example is a story Benjamin Barber uses to illustrate the threat consumerism may pose to human liberty—a hidden danger whose comprehension is linked to a peculiar understanding of “liberty” itself:
In thinking about modernity and modern capitalism, Max Weber spoke a century ago about an iron cage. Consumerism brings to mind a different cage. There is a fiendishly simple method of trapping monkeys in Africa that suggests the paradoxes which confront liberty in this era of consumerism. A small box containing a large nut is affixed to a well-anchored post. The nut can be accessed only through a single, small hole in the box designed to accommodate an outstretched monkey’s grasping paw. Easy to reach in, but when the monkey clasps the nut, impossible to get out. Of course, it is immediately evident to everyone (except the monkey) that all the monkey must do to free itself is let go of its prize. Clever hunters have discovered, however, that they can secure their prey hours or even days later because the monkey—driven by desire—will not release the nut, even until death. Is the monkey free or not?41
This story, whether true or fictional, never fails to trigger a lively classroom exchange. Dalrymple’s mock defense of cannibalism42 has worked similarly well—while also alerting students of the need to develop their sense of the language.
All these stories should be collected in physical books which are not overloaded with bulleted lists, tables, and charts—so they are not brimming with “visual noise.” Such books should not be overly dry and schematic either, introducing instead any “content” in rich, metaphorical language. They should also be beautifully designed, impressively illustrated, printed on glossy paper, and bound in materials whose texture and feel enhances the overall substantive/tactile sensation. Such instructional “materials” would help provoke a stronger emotional response in young learners compared to the typical bland textbook bent on systematizing knowledge, to say nothing of laptop and tablet screens and “interactive” educational software (or “smart” boards and even desks in the classroom43).
The internet and screens cannot really be kept out of schools. But their use should never come to dominate the classroom and the out-of-class experiences of students at any level. Role-playing computer games, live simulations, and various forms of experiential learning should not crowd out reading and writing either. These are likely to produce stronger biographical memories of the activities involved as opposed to cumulative knowledge of significant events and ideas.44 There is, in fact, some research which suggests that learning is more productive when it takes effort and deliberate concentration on sometimes unenjoyable tasks.45 As psychiatrist Norman Doidge has concluded, “some teaching techniques abandoned back in the sixties as too rigid [including the dreaded rote memorization] may be worth bringing back”46—to the extent, perhaps, that these are still a realistic and beneficial option for most students. In any case, schools should ideally provide a temporary sanctuary from the pull of the internet, “social media,” and gaming to which most students dedicate so much of their “free” time.47
Reading-centered learning should ideally start in elementary school, and continue through undergraduate education. In the process, the responsibility for engagement with increasingly complex texts should be shifted only gradually onto students. They could thus develop progressively their ability to understand and reason with increasingly abstract concepts. Along the way, they could build an expanding personal frame of reference to which they would be able to associate new information. This level of cognitive development is key for the “transfer” of knowledge—the ability of students to apply knowledge and broad principles acquired in one context to other contexts and issues (for example, apply Isaiah Berlin’s “two concepts of liberty” to the way Hobbes, Burke, or Mill understood that central idea; or realize that contemporary forms of individualism and self-absorption can be seen as a realization of some of Tocqueville’s worst fears).
Achieving such a level of conceptual thinking is not really possible without extensive, yet sufficiently intense and attentive reading. So it should come as little surprise that far too many students cannot, under current circumstances, reach sufficient educational maturity. Jean Piaget observed that in early adolescence children should normally reach a point when they can operate with abstract concepts.48 This is the time when a final growth spurt, followed by the pruning of superfluous neural connections, helps establish a relatively stable architecture in the human brain. The latter then becomes the basis for further gradual neural modification and, in the best of circumstances, more complex and emotionally attuned thinking. It can be partly modified courtesy of brain plasticity, but can hardly be reshaped completely—and may be susceptible to many unhealthy influences later in life.
I fear the overall process of brain maturation which underlies productive social and cognitive engagement can be more easily derailed by various noxious influences than most experts allow. These are mostly related to sensory overstimulation49—which could even interfere with the pruning of inessential synapses and the neurophysiological optimization achieved through that process. Unhealthy influences also include, however, other forms of chronic overtaxing of attention (including visual overstimulation, frequent switching of attention and multitasking), as well as demand for repeated analytic operations from an early age.50
Among all these activities, the continuous excitement and overstimulation provided by moving images, virtual self-expression, accessing online social trivia, and various digital micro-pellets dispensed by websites, games, apps, or other programs are particularly hard to resist. Even online reading may not be very far removed in its effects on young brains. According to some researchers, reading from a screen is less cognitively demanding, and apparently evokes a weaker emotional response than reading from a physical page.51 Apparently, digital reading also predisposes readers to focus on concrete details rather than get the overall gist of a text.52 Unlike reading from a real page, online reading involves a lot of searching, clicking, scrolling, page loading, micro-decision-making (where to go or not go next), as well as less frequent blinking. These all contribute to reduced activation of the intuitive network in the brain which is involved in implicit learning, social and more holistic understanding, and a broader sense of existential grounding.
Deep, immersive reading from a physical page can in fact be inherently “interactive” if the reader is truly engaged with the text—in a way that calling up, viewing or scrolling down digital pages can hardly be. It yields stronger cognitive and emotional attunement, and deeper comprehension of complex texts and ideas. It also creates a mental representation involving the same neural networks that would be activated by similar situations in real life—and can thus facilitate the development of these networks, and of empathy.53 For most readers, these effects are strongest when they read good fiction, and much weaker with formulaic fiction and most non-fiction. In any case, reading from a real page seems qualitatively different from “screading.” The latter appears to be more distracted, casual, and aloof—a diminished form of reading which lulls the brain and can hardly produce intense affective engagement with the text.54
A Bibliophile’s Confession
Writer William Giraldi provides a memorable description of his obsessive, unending love affair with books. He offers some memorable quotes emphasizing the physical aspects of such a relationship:
There is no true love without some sensuality. One is not happy in books unless one loves to caress them.
—Anatole France
Thick tomes have traveled with me for thousands of kilometers across the face of Europe and have returned with their secrets unviolated.
—Aldous Huxley
The physical presence of this book, so substantial, so fresh, the edges so trim, the type so tasty, reawakens in me, like a Proustian talisman, the emotions I experienced when, in my youth, I ordered it.
—John Updike (recalling a book on Japanese history)
Giraldi also refers to a striking confession by 19th-century physician and poet Oliver Wendell Holmes:
I must have my literary harem … where my favorites await my moments of leisure and pleasure,—my scarce and precious editions, my luxurious typographical masterpieces; my Delilahs that take my head in their lap.; the books I love because they are fair to look upon.
Giraldi believs this need for a sensual relationship with bound books can never be satisfied by a digital device—a conviction I fully share.55
As reading specialist Anne Mangen has pointed out, “materiality matters,” and this goes well beyond the sense of touch.56 This is a crucial point. It seems the human brain can, indeed, distinguish between the real and the virtual. Imaging studies have demonstrated that, for example, print ads tend to evoke a stronger affective response in the brain compared to their virtual counterparts.57 When exposed to objects or products, and to images of those, the brain also tends to favor the “real thing.” We may be tempted to think that if this is the case, maybe we can trust our brains to habitually prefer the real world to virtual reality, and unfailingly sense the difference. Unfortunately, the human brain can be easily duped. For example, the stronger affective response to a real object over its virtual reproduction is eliminated by simply putting the item behind glass.58 More disturbingly, an untrained brain will almost invariably react with stronger excitation to the stream of electronic overstimulation which triggers the strongest release of dopamine—but provokes little emotional response to anything beyond the visual stream itself; until even that excitement becomes blunted.
Old-fashioned reading may now seem superfluous as it is being replaced by new “literacies” and multitasking aptitudes better suited to the digital age. Incidentally, the development of the kind of abstract reasoning Piaget posited and traditional literacy once facilitated was not a strict necessity for most of the illiterate herders Luria once observed. This form of thinking, however, has become essential for our ability to function as competent, relatively adjusted members of the highly complex, informationally and technologically saturated societies of today. Unfortunately, spending half or more of their waking hours calling up and scrolling down mostly trivial bits of information and images may not help the majority of students climb over the developmental threshold once described by Piaget—particularly when practiced from a very young age. If the kind of brain maturation which underlies more sophisticated thinking is stalled during the adolescent years, it is much harder to achieve once students move to the post-secondary educational level. This may be the main reason accounting for the “limited learning” Arum and Roksa found across American college campuses,59 and the fact that professors teaching upper-level courses cannot assume that most students bring along much accumulated knowledge and conceptual thinking.
Those who do scale the heights of abstract reasoning, on the other hand, face a different challenge. Their thinking can become overly detached and mechanical—and they would not even know it.60 Incidentally, there is something the two groups share. They may both find it difficult to truly benefit from liberal arts education with its emphasis on developing some specialized knowledge within a sophisticated yet integrated perspective of the social and natural worlds.
According to a study cited by Daniel Willingham, only 30 percent of American college students were able to see the analogy between two similar problems, each described in a single paragraph, which had an obviously similar “deep structure.”61 Another study has found that approximately half of graduating American high school seniors can be classified as “concrete active learners.” They prefer direct, immediate, sensory information and experiences; have difficulties with reading, writing, and conceptualization; and are dependent on immediate mental gratification and step-by-step guidance from instructors.62 Unsurprisingly, analogy questions which had long been part of the SAT exam generated many complaints—and in 2005 were removed (ostensibly to make room for an essay—which has now become optional).63 As Arum’s and Roksa’s findings perhaps indicate, college students who experience such difficulties would struggle to develop a more sophisticated mode of thinking.64
Piaget is often maligned for his old-fashioned emphasis on abstract reasoning (which might have reflected the overly algorithmic nature of his own thinking processes). These criticisms may, indeed, have a point. Recent research in neuroscience has demonstrated that thinking needs to be infused with appropriate affective and visceral attunement through the proper connectivity and recruitment of the brain’s intuitive network. Otherwise, individuals could hardly have sound judgment and make responsible choices in their daily lives and in positions of authority.65 Both the minimum of conceptualization which is required for knowledge acquisition and transfer and the keen affective and visceral attunement needed for responsible social functioning require a certain neural substrate.
This neurophysiological foundation cannot be developed without absorbed reading; which, at a later stage, could beget more reading as increasingly sophisticated thinking and the background knowledge or frame of reference associated with it make new topics relevant and interesting.66 As a beneficial side effect, such a virtuous circle could help students become more selective in accessing information and rationing interactions over the internet, and in their overall use of digital devices. They might then be able to set clear priorities and adopt the “information diet” David Shenk once recommended as a strategy for cutting through the thickening “data smog” which threatens to engulf us all. Before children and adolescents reach such maturity, it must fall upon parents and guardians to institute an “electronic fast” to help “reset” their charges’ brains and partly restore their neurophysiological sensitivities.67
Meanwhile, the overall sidetracking of neurosomatic development I have described might explain why most high school and college students struggle with very similar cognitive difficulties; why observations made for one level of education can generally be applied to the other; and why the majority of college students apparently show either no or very limited gains in learning as they go through four years of “higher education.”68 If I wanted to be provocative, I could suggest a telling analogy. Teaching college students who have not made the age-appropriate cognitive leap Piaget described can sometimes feel similar to the experience of some anthropologists. These well-intentioned, committed scholars have sometimes spent years trying to teach members of indigenous communities which have not developed the concept of numbers (and have words in their language only for “one,” “two,” and “many”) to count to 10. In some cases, they failed since their “students” lacked the mental (and neurophysiological) apparatus needed to engage in the required abstract operations.69
Even under the best of circumstances, some students will still fall behind, come to detest school,70 seek electronic stimulation, and even be admired as “cool” by their peers who perceive their lack of interest in old-fashioned reading as a challenge to outdated norms and adult authority. For such students, or students with recognized learning disabilities, it may turn out that digital, screen-mediated and interactive content accompanied by exciting classroom activities provides an indispensible learning experience which can keep them engaged. But this kind of technologically upgraded education should not be forced upon students who have the potential and can develop the desire to become earnest and engaged readers.