The traditional model of English teaching has long positioned the literary text—especially the novel—as the central, structuring force of the curriculum. A class begins at page one and proceeds, steadily and dutifully, to the final chapter no matter the cost implications upon time. Along the way, teachers pause to discuss characters, themes, and language, often shaping individual lessons around the immediate demands of the passage at hand. While this approach offers a linear narrative experience, it risks undermining the very thing the subject of English seeks to cultivate: the acquisition and application of critical language. .
At the heart of this issue lies a structural mismatch. The knowledge domain of Literature is not a reflection of the chronological sequence of any given novel. Instead, it is organised around conceptual, analytical, and disciplinary knowledge such as ambiguity, archetypes, genre conventions, genealogies of symbols, and so forth. This domain specific knowledge does not arise neatly in tandem with a text’s unfolding narrative because the domain is not a mirror for story telling. When texts are long and unwieldy, it is easy to slip critical knowledge to be displaced by reading.
The structural mismatch is seen in Language study too, whose knowledge domain is the clarity of meaning from grammar; word classes, sentence forms, phrasal and clausal structures, and the structuring of form. But analysis can often descend into a text focused retrieval task, an empathy exercise or even simply as a springboard to ‘creative writing’. This is less significant because Language style articles are easy to select on length, but the domain-bleed of Literacy into Language lesson is still a meaningful concern.
What is lost when domain-specific knowledge is displaced with textual engagement is the critical thinking that is needed for life.
What priority does the syllabus tell?
If the syllabus (the sequencing, dates and organisation) is derived from the chronological progression of a text, then the literature domain learning objectives must be sequenced to match the occurrences within each chapter or passage. We might call this a text-centered sequencing, in which lessons are driven by the needs of the book, regardless of any examples of domain knowledge. In such a model, the delivery of academic literature becomes reactive, and the reading of the whole book takes priority. This is the dominant model of delivering Literature, but runs the risk of deprioritising the critical, disciplinary learning as something distinct from the text.
This leads to a compromise on two fronts. First, the curriculum of literary learning objectives loses coherence. If students encounter analytical concepts only when they surface incidentally in the text, then the delivery of domain knowledge becomes accidental and not designed. Critical ideas may be introduced too early, revisited inconsistently, or missed entirely. Second, the text itself is compromised, as teachers are forced to prioritise those elements that align with their objectives, often skimming or glossing over others. In effect, neither the integrity of the curriculum nor the integrity of the text is fully preserved.
An alternative approach emerges when we invert this relationship. Rather than allowing the text to dictate the sequence of instruction, we allow the curriculum—the structured sequence of knowledge objectives—to take priority. In this model of domain-centered sequencing, passages are selected deliberately, extracted from across the text (or indeed from multiple texts), because they best exemplify the learning objective at hand. This necessitates abandoning the expectation that a novel must be read in chronological order, at least within classroom time. Instead, the text becomes a resource, a repository of examples through which disciplinary knowledge is evidenced.
We read Literature, on the outcomes of Literacy
This shift demands a clearer distinction between two domains that are often conflated: Literature and Literacy. Literacy encompasses the foundational skills of reading fluency, comprehension, and stamina. Literature, by contrast, is a domain of knowledge: it involves understanding how texts are constructed, how meaning is generated, and how critical frameworks can be applied. When a novel is read in class from beginning to end, the implicit assumption is often that this practice serves both domains simultaneously. Students build reading stamina while also engaging in literary analysis. Students read aloud to facilitate their oracy skills.
However, this assumption deserves scrutiny. Reading stamina is, undoubtedly, an important aspect of literacy development. Yet it is not clear that the English Literature is the correct or appropriate curriculum in which to cultivate it, because the cost of delivering literacy strategies comes at the expense of disciplinary knowledge. Silent reading, independent reading programmes, or targeted literacy interventions may be far more effective in developing fluency and endurance. Meanwhile, valuable lesson time in literature classrooms is consumed by the slow, incremental progression through a text, leaving insufficient space for the explicit teaching of critical concepts.
Disciplines of English; the mission statements
If the primary aim of studying literature is to develop students’ understanding of how texts work, then the question becomes unavoidable: is the reading of a whole novel in class proportionate to that aim? In many cases, the answer is no. The time required to read a novel aloud, or even to guide students through it collectively, is substantial. During this time, opportunities to introduce and practise critical language—terms such as symbolism, irony, narrative voice, or intertextuality—are limited. Students may finish the book, but their grasp of the disciplinary framework remains underdeveloped.
So what is the role of Literature? For academics such as Terry Eagleton, it would be to cultivate a political and ideological awakening. For Elizabeth Eisenstin, it would be to develop a historicity of a medium. For Foucalt, it would be to trace the genealogical lineage of symbols. For Roland Barthes, it would be to understand the connective tissue of meaning that is held within all things. Literature can have many identities, but very few of them would say that Literature is about oracy, proficiency and fluidity. Neither is there an argument that a line by line reading is essential. Literature is a cultural awareness a debate over ambiguity, and is not measured in reading proficiency. For many departments, the mission statement of Literature is to impart a love of reading, but this too is not exactly aligned with criticism (the act of cultural engagement).
Literacy however is measured on those integers of reading age, reading speed and grapheme decoding. Its strategies are in phonics and motor skill. The outcome of Literacy is in improving the communicative abilities of people, in both the written and spoken form. What we learn from the pedagogy of literacy is the importance of reading-age appropriate texts and adapted versions. Tell me which single literary text is easy enough for the weakest reader, and sophisticated enough for the most able? Tell me which print edition is both standard, and dyslexia friendly at the same time? Tell me what reading speed allows for the slowest and fastest readers to have an equitable experience? Constructing Literature outcomes as measured though a literacy skill is ultimately beset with irreconcilable issues of facilitation and inclusion.
Language must also function in a manner akin to Modern Foreign Languages, or even Computing, where syntax and conformity to rules is mandated. These rules of language are the priority.
Conflating the outcomes is to fail in delineating between the distinct domains of English; the knowledge of Literature or Language, and the skill of Literacy.
A proposed solution
This brings us to a provocative but necessary consideration: does the study of Literature require reading a text in its entirety, in its original printed form, within the classroom? We routinely encounter texts that do not meet the stereotype of literature as a-novel-to-read. Film versions of novels, stage productions of plays, and audio performances all constitute legitimate engagements with literature. Indeed, in the case of drama, the written text is arguably not designed with a reading audience in mind; plays are crafted for performance, intended to be experienced by a theatre audience. They are all suitable forms of Literature, suggesting that the reading experience is not the defining characteristic of Literature. Literature as a material text is not simply a book, to be read from cover to cover but a story being passed between people. Literature as a discipline of knowledge is the study of this transmission. The outcomes of learning aligned with ‘transmission’ or ‘narrative’ require very different syllabus.
Focusing now on Literature:
Imagine starting a unit with watching a three minute crash course guide. Then engaging with a 10 minute narrative summary. And then a two hour film adaptation. We’re two or three lessons into a syllabus and have already experienced the story three times. The accompanying lessons can then be designed around a selection of passages that are significant to the academic domain of Literature – these passages can be adapted in length and print to facilitate the needs of individual learners. Passages as a form of textual engagement will require recall to the introduction summary lessons.
These adaptations offer a compelling advantage in the educational context: efficiency. A novel that might take weeks to read in class can be understood narratively in the space of a few lessons. A Shakespeare play can be grasped far more rapidly when seen performed than when painstakingly decoded line by line. This compression of narrative time frees up a precious resource: lesson time itself. Time that would have been spent on the mechanics of reading can be reallocated to the explicit teaching and practice of critical language.
Of course, this is not to suggest that adaptations are equivalent in every respect to their source texts. Nuances of language, stylistic features, and authorial choices may be transformed or lost in the process. Yet if the goal is to equip students with the tools of analysis, then these differences can themselves become objects of study. Comparing a passage from the novel with its filmic counterpart, or analysing how a stage production interprets a scene, can deepen students’ understanding of form, medium, and interpretation. In this way, adaptations do not diminish literary study; they can enrich it.
What emerges, then, is a potential mission statement for the design of the English curriculum: to displace the duration spent on consuming literary texts as a literacy strategy with the intentional delivery of domain-specific critical knowledge. This requires a principled delineation between Literacy, Language, and Literature as distinct (though interrelated) domains. Literacy focuses on the mechanics of reading and writing; Language encompasses grammar, vocabulary, and usage; Literature concerns the analysis of texts and the application of critical frameworks.
Within this framework, the literary text is repositioned. It is no longer the central activity around which everything else is focused, but the material upon which disciplinary methodologies are enacted. The emphasis shifts from “covering” the text to “using” the text, and it might be that only through curated passages can the syllabus have enough capacity to deliver the methodologies of Literature.
This shift has significant implications for pedagogy. Lesson planning becomes more intentional, as teachers select passages that best illustrate the concept being taught, rather than those that happen to come next in the narrative. Assessment can be more precisely aligned with learning objectives, focusing on students’ ability to apply critical language rather than their recall of plot. Differentiation becomes more manageable, as all students engage with the same carefully chosen materials, rather than struggling through extended sections of text at varying levels of comprehension.
Nevertheless, it is important to acknowledge the potential risks of this approach. One might argue that removing the experience of sustained reading diminishes students’ relationship with literature. There is, after all, something valuable in inhabiting a text over time, in following the development of characters and themes across the arc of a narrative. This immersive experience can foster a deeper emotional and imaginative engagement, which should not be dismissed lightly.
Yet this is not an argument against passage-based delivery, but for reconsidering where and how whole-text reading occurs. Independent reading, homework, or dedicated reading programmes can provide opportunities for sustained engagement, without encroaching on the time needed for disciplinary instruction. In the classroom, where time is finite and expertise is concentrated, the priority should be on what teachers are uniquely positioned to provide: the explicit teaching of critical language and analytical frameworks.
And what of literacy? If we move away from the domain-bleed of Literacy into Literature, we might be accused of replacing the importance of existing skills objectives with the knowledge objective; or that some students cannot access Literature until their Literacy levels have been developed. Actually, we usually have time allocated for Literacy already in the form of library lessons. It is here that students can work with teachers to ensure they are accessing a reading-age appropriate text; to measure the quantity of reading being done; to spend time reading aloud and checking comprehension; and to engage parents in the continuation of reading and literacy growth. This does mean that Literacy is sequestered into a much smaller pocket of the syllabus, and it might be that lower ability groups have a reduced Language and Literature timetable to accommodate more Literacy time. But the importance is in distinguishing between the domains and resisting the allure of a simple, blended curriculum.
Final word
Ultimately, the question is one of balance and purpose. If the English curriculum is to be more than a series of reading exercises, then it must foreground the knowledge and skills that define the discipline. The literary text, while indispensable, should not eclipse the language through which it is understood. When we define reading a book as the critical experience, we risk leaving students with a completed narrative but an incomplete education. By reorienting our approach—by prioritising critical language and using texts strategically—we can ensure that students do not merely read literature, but learn how to think about it.
Forthcoming articles will be looking at specific examples of how lessons fail to delineate between different domains, damaging outcomes.