In a book to be published on January 5, the teacher publishes a very personal test in which she examines her daily practice at the heart of the class. A book that shows a happy teacher in his job. Here are some extracts.
by mara goyet
Teacher of history-geography in college for twenty-five years, Mara Goyet continues the writing of her big saga on the college. After Colleges de France (Fayard, 2003), Tomb for the College (Flammarion, 2008) and Collège Brutal (Flammarion, 2012), the teacher publishes a much more personal book where she tells page after page her happiness to teach. At a time when the teaching profession is no longer dreaming and no longer full, it examines its daily practice in the heart of the class. In Fin Prof. Can we reconcile with the college?, Who seems to Robert Laffont (234 pages, 19.90 euros) on January 5, she shows the hidden side of the profession, analyzing in turn how the episode of COVVI-19 then L ‘Samuel Paty assassination profoundly changed the school. By the way, it helps to understand how recent reforms have moved the teachers from the school reactor, diverting their eyes from the place where every day occurs the small miracle of the transmission: the class. It is to finish teacher … that we offer the good sheets.
Dénis
“It’s good to lie.” The sentence falls like a cleaver. She was pronounced by someone my age who, from an academic and editorial point of view, has perfectly succeeded. I was explaining to him how much to be a college professor filled me, how much I loved this job and found my place there.
He does not believe me insinc or installer; It’s worse than that: I am, in his eyes, in denial. For him, I obviously have a shit job, a job that almost no one wishes to do, and yet I am happy. A kind of professional Stockholm syndrome probably allowed me to convince myself that I was flourishing.
No, no, no, I love this job. But a doubt creeps into my mind.
years later. During a meal, I am asked what I like in teaching. I dispense, a little strangely, from the obligatory lyrical passage on transmission, youth, culture, chestnut trees in the courtyard and the sound of the bell. I evoke the austerity, the repetitive dimension of school years, a form of harshness, humility and deductible. To get along, you might think that I am a high mountain guide, a nun in a most remote abbey or a member of a SM soft survivalist club. I look at my commensals and I read in their eyes of disbelief.
I understand them. My reasons for satisfaction are not convincing. At the same time, teaching is not taking a little tour in a classroom, being moved and leaving, rich in unique, magnificent or cataclysmic moments. It is lasting. Years. With adolescents who could be your little brothers and sisters, then your children, then your grandchildren. This long time can lead to exhaustion, boredom, bitterness or shortness of breath. I tried to love him. I am not sure I have tamed it but, at least, I wanted to confront it and make it, rather than a secondary dimension or a regrettable drawback of the profession, an essential data. (…)
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