I’ll not dwell here on the importance of narration.
That has been done very well by many others more eloquent and
much more expert than I. Here's a wonderful article by Maryellen St. Cyr.
Assuming that we agree on the importance of narration as an indispensable learning tool, what about the child who is completely frustrated by it?
I agree with Charlotte Mason’s description of the art of narration:
“Narrating is an art, like poetry-making or painting, because it is there, in every child's mind, waiting to be discovered, and is not the result of any process of disciplinary education. A creative fiat calls it forth.”
But, I have to disagree with her on this point:
"Let him narrate; and the child narrates, fluently, copiously, in ordered sequence, with fit and graphic details, with a just choice of words, without verbosity or tautology, so soon as he can speak with ease."
No, I cannot say that this has been true for both of the children at my house. In fact, almost everyone I know who has tried to put Charlotte Mason’s ideas into practice has at least one bright, lovely child who really struggles with narration.
Here is what I’ve learned so far:
One child at my house narrates all day long. This chap has been a prolific writer and artist since learning to hold a pencil. He can (and does!) chat throughout the duration of our daily two-mile walk. In fact, he often finds it difficult to stop talking long enough to brush his teeth at bedtime! Whenever we read a story, he “paints” a picture in his mind like a large sweeping mural. It is very easy, then, for this chatty guy to describe, or “narrate” upon, this large “brain mural” with vivid detail. He often charms me with some wonderful little additions that he has added to the story with his own mental paintbrush. Creative narration, for him, is like breathing. You want a graphic novel version of D’Aulaires’ Greek Myths? Sure, no problem.
In the other extreme, my daughter is quiet (probably because she cannot get a word in edgewise with all the chatty people around her). She’s intelligent, patient, mathematically and musically inclined, craft-ily dexterous, loves to play thinking games, and makes lists "just for the fun of it". It appears that she favors a left-brain (hemisphere) thinking style; her list-making hobby is a big clue here. So, what happens after a delicious tale filled with vivid imagery and new ideas is read to (or by) such a thinker? When asked to narrate, she would simply say, “I can’t.” Or, she would give a vague, terse answer clouded by genuine frustration.
That used to be so puzzling to me. Surely such a bright child, who had comprehended and focused her attention on the story, should be able to narrate. Why was it impossible to retell it from her own unique perspective? Obviously she wanted to, but was unable to put her thoughts into words.
Finally, F-I-N-A-L-L-Y (I can be so very dense sometimes…Moo...) it dawned on me:
She was thinking in “list format”, rather than in images.
Imagine the mind of a “list maker”: She is intent upon the story, listening carefully and mentally making a long, detailed list of characters and their attributes, actions, conversations, surroundings, etc. And every time the author changes the scene just a tiny bit, this child makes a new list in her mind-- until she has made list, upon list, upon list of all of the changing elements in the story. When asked for a narration after just a few minutes of reading, she already has an enormous pile of lists in her brain! Our poor student doesn’t know where to begin to analyze and condense this huge heap of lists into one quick little narration.
DANGER: LEFT BRAIN OVERLOAD!!!!
Do you recognize this thinking style… this bright, but verbally frustrated child? Did Charlotte Mason have students like this? Surely, she must have.
I came upon this in Vol. 6:
"Now a passage to be memorised requires much conning, much repetition, and meanwhile the learners are 'thinking' about other matters, that is, the mind is not at work in the act of memorising. To read a passage with full attention and to tell it afterwards has a curiously different effect. M. Bergson makes the happy distinction between word memory and mind memory, which, once the force of it is realised, should bring about sweeping changes in our methods of education.
Trusting to mind memory we visualise the scene, are convinced by the arguments, take pleasure in the turn the sentences and frame our own upon them; in that particular passage or chapter has been received us and become a part of us just as literally as was yesterday's dinner; nay, more so, for yesterday's dinner is of little account tomorrow; but several months, perhaps hence, we shall be able to narrate the passage we had, so to say, consumed and grown upon with all the vividness, detail and accuracy of the first telling. All powers of the mind which we call faculties have brought into play in dealing with the intellectual matter thus afforded; so we may not ask questions to help the child to reason, paint fancy pictures to help him to imagine, draw out moral lessons to quicken his conscience. These things take place as involuntarily as processes of digestion." pp. 173-174.
“We must visualize the scene.” Yes! This is what unlocks the key to narration for my analytical child. We have found this to be enormously helpful, and it’s so very simple. Before a reading, I remind her to picture the scene as we read. We pause just before the “picture” begins to change, and I ask her to tell me what she sees in her mind’s eye…just the way she sees it, emphasizing what matters to her--
to narrate with joy and detail. What a difference this has made.
WE MUST TREAD CAREFULLY
The child’s “mental picture” may be a little fuzzy at first. But be patient with your child, and her imagination can be exercised and strengthened in a gentle and playful way. Slowly, you can work up to longer readings, but please do not require narration of “X” number of paragraphs or pages just because you’ve read that “by age eight or nine, part or all of a short chapter can be narrated…” or some such rule of thumb. It is not necessarily true! How I wish that I had ignored such advice years ago.
Another very unhelpful bit of advice is: to read just one sentence to a reluctant narrator then ask her to narrate only that one sentence (with the eventual goal of working up to longer passages). I really don't recommend doing a silly exercise like this with a child of normal intelligence unless you want her to feel condescended to. I can hear Charlotte admonishing us, “The child is not a parrot!” This tactic can be confusing to the analytical child who might get the mistaken idea that narration means repeating the story word-for-word. I think it works much better to be aware of the “mental picture” as it’s being painted, and then to stop and tell about it just before it begins to change significantly.
As you read together, silently imagine the scene along with your child. If you are brave, take a turn being the narrator--- it’s not as easy as you might think!
I hope this might be helpful to parents who are struggling, and I’d love to hear how others have helped their reluctant narrators.
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