In her teaching, Rounds finds the greatest joy in showing students the intricate details of poetry and prose—the foundational elements that make literature work. She points out that rhythm and rhyme, while often paired, are distinct concepts; that meter is far more complex than a simple syllable count; and that the line itself is the defining feature of a lyric poem. These are the "seeds of creativity," the technical mechanics of the written word. However, Rounds observes that understanding these elements has nothing to do with the act of composing a formal essay. In the current system, however, the two are inextricably linked by what she calls a "writing tax."
The expectation that students must write expertly about texts they are encountering for the first time is, Rounds argues, an unreasonable demand. She likens it to asking a total novice to pass a "drop-the-needle" test on the entirety of classical music after only 15 weeks of study, while simultaneously demanding they learn to play a musical instrument to a professional standard. The pressure to produce "deliverables"—pages of essays that conform to specific academic standards—often gets in the way of the actual learning process. If the pressure to produce these essays were removed, Rounds suggests, there would be no more hand-wringing about whether a student used AI. Educators would have the freedom to drill down into the details of a text, fostering a genuine understanding of literature without the constant anxiety over the authenticity of a written submission.
This perspective stands in contrast to the more traditional, often romanticized views of the English major. Frank Bruni, a prominent opinion contributor for The New York Times, recently wrote a column rhapsodizing about the enduring benefits of studying English. Bruni argued that by majoring in the subject, students would "better understand the seeds of creativity and how they’re made to flower." He described the experience as swimming in a "borderless sea of thoughts beautifully expressed," suggesting that the more a student immerses themselves in great literature, the more expert they will become at "shaping stories" and "persuading." Bruni concluded that he could not imagine a world in which "better communicators aren’t better off."
Rounds, however, questions the vagueness of the term "better communicator." In a modern professional context, does that mean being a more succinct writer of emails, a more entertaining presenter, or a more precise poet? She admits that the definition is no longer clear. While she agrees that understanding the "seeds of creativity" is a valuable pursuit, she maintains that it is fundamentally different from the act of shaping stories or producing written text. While an English department should certainly have the capacity to teach both, Rounds argues that it might take much longer than a single semester to create a positive feedback loop between reading and writing.
