I should probably talk about Blau again this week, but I am still thinking about Sonny’s Blues, which I’d never read before.

For much of the story, I was focused more on checking to see how much was left than I was on relating to it in any way or enjoying it. Reaching the end, though, I found a very powerful (visceral?) connection to the character of Sonny and I was reminded of how golden it can be when we manage to produce a piece of writing that truly resonates with our students. You see, ever since I was in elementary school, I’ve been a singer. I participated in all the usual stuff – musicals, choir, even a cappella groups. It was during my seven years of voice training, while I was living in Manhattan, that I truly discovered my calling, however, and that is cabaret.

I’m not talking about strippers on a pole, of course. I’m talking about the kind of cabaret that is best performed at 2am on a Wednesday night in small Manhattan bar. I’m talking about Gershwin and Strayhorn and Kern. I’m talking about music that you love so much that you don’t care you are drunk and singing to only five other hardcore Porter fans and that you still have to get up at 4:30 am and catch a flight to Cleveland (where you will present an advertising concept to the Nestle client in a beige-carpeted boardroom). When I try to describe this type of degenerative lifestyle and this brand of obsession to those who have not experienced it, it is nearly impossible to find adequate words. If the love of your own particular brand of music is not powerful enough to make you desert productive work, hometown, and creature comforts for a life of nearly certain poverty and excess, then you are lucky. I was lucky. People in the business always say, “only live the life of an actor/dancer/singer if there is nothing else you can do.” It is a hard slog, indeed.

So Sonny’s Blues ended up speaking to me in such a way that I am still thinking about it a week later, despite the lackluster start. Of course, students cannot always read texts that are mirrors. That would be restrictive. But how can I keep finding stories that contain even a shard of that mirror? To see the immigrant experience in an immigrant of another nationality, for example (per Linkon). Or to spot the abusive father (?) in Roethke. I am still trying to figure out why I think reading Victorian British literature is important, but I return again to Jane Eyre and ponder what relatable element exists there. Dead parents? Overly critical teachers? Disenfranchisement? I’m reaching. How do you, then, teach a work that may contain nothing recognizable to your students and still make it memorable? I confess, without the ending of Sonny’s Blues and the music connection, I’d have quickly forgotten the story and moved on.

Here’s to hitting the sweet spot, anyhow. My job is to pick the right material – and I think my views on that topic are evolving.