By Ed Eschler, Consultant
As I sit to write this, I am suddenly very aware of the expected format of the book review: an initial paragraph where John Warner is introduced as an award winning author and professor at Charleston College; a paragraph or two discussing his exploration of writing education, his personal writing philosophy, and his pedagogical advice; and finally a conclusion where I discuss that, while his primary audience is educators and policymakers, this is a book worth the time of anyone serious about understanding the gap between what we are taught about writing and the actual practice of writing. Do I follow that format because it helps me convey an idea I feel is important to express, or am I mimicking what I have been told good writing looks like instead of actually writing something good?
This dilemma is the core of Why They Can’t Write. Warner’s stated answer to the book’s title is “They’re doing what we’ve trained them to do: that’s the problem.” Parts one and two are expansions of this statement, a detailed historical dissection of writing education and assessment. The educational system in the United States has become more and more reliant on standardized testing, making it the key metric by which student writing is evaluated. Unfortunately, the need for efficient grading has made us reward writing that fits easily evaluated forms instead of writing that communicates. We have fallen victim to Campbell’s Law: “The more any quantitative social indicator is used for social decision making . . . the more apt it will be to distort and corrupt the social processes it is meant to monitor.” Teaching students how to twist their writing into a five-paragraph essay instead of how to choose the best structure to meaningfully convey an idea is a symptom of this disease.
Sections three and four are where Warner proposes and supports his solution. Part of the problem with how we train students to write is reliance on “folklore” about how writing instruction should be done. He argues against popular wisdom, like focusing on grammar or prioritizing grit over informed decision making (a point he exemplifies with Will Smith’s determination to make After Earth). He advocates writing instruction that emphasizes writing as a social act. Collating a body of evidence from education scholars, he shows that when writing instruction focuses on meaningful communication and students are given the freedom to make choices—and mistakes—they demonstrate a growth not shown in those who pour “academic” words like plethora or myriad into tightly structured forms in pursuit of an A. He also shows how many desirable traits like grammatical proficiency and research skills tend to sort themselves out if the emphasis of instruction is on that social act.
The book is written to several groups. Writing instructors are probably the best served, with extensive discussions of pedagogy and example assignments he personally uses to promote the ideas the book covers. Policy makers and educational administrators might feel chastised at points, but there is ample evidence to support Warner’s critiques and so they would be wise to listen. More relevant to our discussion is the final audience, writers. Should we as graduate writers read Why They Can’t Write?
I think it depends on where you are personally on your writing journey. If you are just returning to graduate school and haven’t done much writing since your undergrad, the first half of this book will introduce you to the difference in the sort of assessment-focused writing you may have the most experience with and the idea/communication-focused writing you will be expected to do in graduate school. In that way the book is almost therapy, helping you to understand where certain bad habits might come from and forming a foundation you can built future good habits upon. The book is also worthwhile for writers who enjoy reading books about writing and expanding their general philosophy about the nature of writing itself.
Who it is less useful for is a practiced writer who is looking for concrete advice. If you have done any amount of quality professional or graduate-level writing, odds are you have already learned the lessons this book teaches. The history and philosophy are well-written and interesting, but not necessary to improve your writing. You’ll be better served by one of the other books we recommend on this blog.
Why They Can’t Write is not the sort of book we normally discuss here. It does not primarily speak to writers, which tends to be our focus. However, the ideas it presents about the writing process are important for graduate students who want to be successful writers to understand, even if you will never teach a writing course or form education policy. If you already understand those ideas, then you can pass this book by. But if you’re not sure why you can’t write, John Warner has a few ideas he’d like to communicate.