If Shakespeare Submitted an Essay Today, He’d Fail His Own Exam: Why We’re Teaching Literature All Wrong

 

Let’s be honest: The crisis in literature isn’t about the death of the novel, the rise of TikTok, or even the latest AI chatbot spitting out essays in seconds. The real problem? It’s how we teach literature—and what we’re teaching for. The curriculum is a fossil, the canon a walled garden, and both are pushing students away from the very skills they’ll need to survive in a world where thinking for yourself is a revolutionary act.

Why Your Syllabus Pushes Students Away

Educators, I’m talking to you. You love books. You want your students to love them, too. But here’s the gut punch: Most syllabi are graveyards of memorization, not playgrounds for ideas. We’ve all seen it—students hunched over, reciting plot points and critical terms, but missing the thrill of wrestling with big, messy questions. The canon, that sacred list of “important” works, is a walled garden that keeps out voices who don’t fit the mold. Whose stories are we ignoring? Whose lives are we erasing?

If you’re still teaching literature as a game of “guess what the author meant,” you’re not preparing students for the world. You’re preparing them for trivia night.

What You’re Not Getting From Your Degree

Students, let’s cut through the noise. You’re told to read Shakespeare, memorize themes, and write essays that sound like everyone else’s. But what are you actually getting from this degree? If your classes are just about regurgitating the “right” answers, you’re missing out on the real power of the humanities: learning to analyze, empathize, and communicate—skills that matter in every job, every relationship, every act of citizenship.

Memorization isn’t critical thinking. It’s cognitive offloading—letting someone else (or something else) do the heavy lifting. When AI can write a passable essay in seconds, what’s the point of parroting old arguments? The world doesn’t need more copy-paste thinkers. It needs people who can spot bias, challenge assumptions, and build bridges between cultures.

Why ‘Soft Skills’ Are Actually Power Skills

Cultural critics, let’s retire the phrase “soft skills.” Analysis, empathy, and communication aren’t soft—they’re power skills. They’re the difference between following the algorithm and questioning it. They’re what keep us human in a world obsessed with efficiency and automation.

Let’s not kid ourselves: The workforce isn’t looking for walking encyclopedias. Employers want people who can read between the lines, understand different perspectives, and explain complex ideas in plain language. These are the skills that literature—taught right—should ignite.

Decolonize the Canon: Whose Voices Are Missing?

Here’s the uncomfortable truth: The canon is a walled garden, and the gatekeepers have been asleep at the wheel. For too long, we’ve treated a narrow slice of Western literature as the gold standard, while silencing writers from the margins. Decolonizing the curriculum isn’t just about adding a few new names to the reading list. It’s about tearing down the walls and letting in the wild, unruly voices that challenge our assumptions and expand our horizons.

If your syllabus doesn’t make students uncomfortable—doesn’t force them to confront unfamiliar worlds and ideas—you’re not doing your job. Literature should unsettle us. It should make us question who we are and who we might become.

The Real Crisis: Outsourcing Our Minds

Let’s zoom out. We’re living in an age where AI can write, summarize, and even “interpret” literature. The temptation to let machines do our thinking is real. But every time we outsource our curiosity, our judgment, our creativity, we lose a little bit of what makes us human. The curriculum is a fossil not just because it’s old, but because it’s become a relic of passive learning in an age that demands active, critical engagement.

We’ve all seen students (and, let’s be honest, some teachers) rely on SparkNotes, AI summaries, or algorithmic recommendations. But if we keep letting the machines do the thinking, we’ll end up with a generation of readers who can’t tell Shakespeare from a chatbot—or, worse, who don’t care.

So What Do We Do?

Stop treating literature like a museum exhibit and start treating it like a laboratory. Let students argue. Let them bring in voices from outside the canon. Let them write essays that don’t just answer questions, but ask better ones. Make the classroom a space for risk, for rebellion, for real thinking.

We don’t need to throw out the classics. We need to read them alongside the voices they tried to drown out. We need to teach students how to use AI as a tool, not a crutch. We need to remind ourselves—and our students—that the most important skill isn’t memorizing what someone else thought, but daring to think for yourself.

Because if Shakespeare submitted an essay today, he’d probably fail his own exam. And maybe that’s exactly the revolution we need.