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Language and Literacy
Just Girls: Hidden Literacies and Life in Junior High
Just Girls is essential reading for teaching, teacher educators, parents, and anyone else interested in literacy learning and the social lives of adolescent girls.
168 pages, Paperback
First published October 28, 1996
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Displaying 1 - 7 of 7 reviews
July 29, 2017
Parts of this book (the Cookies) made me really challenge my assumptions about sociocultural theory. Some kids just genuinely do not want to work in groups for social reasons, academic "stealing", or maybe they are tired of just being "spacers" whose only job is to separate poorly behaved students at the expense of their own learning/teacher attention. Also, I would like to see an updated version. This book was pre-social media and cell phones. While I'm sure the premise of a literary underworld is still there, it would be interesting to see how it manifests itself now.
July 29, 2014
Imagine reading everything written by the teens in Mean Girls.
Every slip of paper, every page of "the book," every text message (there was texting at that point, right?).
Now, imagine building a pedagogy out of what you find.
Sound terrifying? Because Margaret Finders takes a pretty good stab at it, so you don't have to.
In the 1990s, Finders follows the 6th-7th grade transition of five 13-year old girls of wildly different socioeconomic statuses, and thus representing different approaches to education, to socialization, and to literacy.
Tiffany, Angie, and Lauren represent the "Queens," described by their teachers and parents as such because they epitomize tween glamour: they read all the right magazines, they pass the edgy notes, they fight the system juuuuust enough to make everyone want to be them.
On the flipside, Finders also follows Dottie and Cleo, the "Tough Cookies," again described by their teachers and parents as such because they lack the socioeconomic advantages of the Queens, and yet maintain a steady transactional commitment to the education system and authority overall. There's a chapter or three all about them in Literacy with an Attitude: Educating Working-Class Children in Their Own Self-Interest.
Within these two worlds, Finders traces their every conversation, note, graffiti spree, and family dinner, all without passing judgment or reprimanding her would-be students under normal circumstances. Through gaining their trust, she discovers the grounding effects of hidden literacies on adolescent girls during a time when everything is changing; as their class schedules, their friendships, and their bodies change, and as their lives at home morph in anticipation of their supposed teenage stoicism, the Queens and the Cookies turn to their notes between friends, their yearbook signings, and their doodles on the bathroom stalls to gain some sense of control.
The Queens claim friendship through notes, and offer them to Finders to show that despite all the fluctuations in their lives, they have tangible proof of friendship. Their yearbook signatures allude to past events, to great frienships that will last forever (BFF, ILY 4 EVER, etc.). They drop F-bombs to gain power over their teachers, and to claim the freedoms that are so readily offered to them by stand-offish parenting. And most distressingly, they cling to their teen magazines, which they insist are written by teens, for teens, to teach them how to be teens; they do not recognize the adult marketer lurking behind every advertisement.
(I can't fathom what this looks like today: the new middle-schooler must be hit with "teen"-generated content from every technological corner, increasing the stakes yet also further fracturing the teen's sense of the solid, "right" way to be a teen.)
In sharp contrast, the Cookies claim self-reliance over socialization, and cling to literacy as holding the instructions for a life more prosperous than their own. School holds all of the knowledge, dispensed to them in books and essays and other "official" literacy tasks, whereas all of the Reader's Digests, magazines, and novels at their homes (and there is a surprising amount of reading at home) is not actually considered literacy by the Cookies. No notes are passed, and their yearbook signatures are noncommittal, the "Have a Great Summer" I-see-no-point-in-this-task facsimiles of strong adolescent bonds; in their minds, family is first, and everyone else might abandon you as hardship intensifies.
In between these disparate worlds is Finders' thesis, which shocks and nearly offends me: the student-centered, democratic classroom, as it is executed by new teachers and school communities, is ineffective, and will always be ineffective as long as school hierarchies and external forces exist.
This nearly blew my puny mind, until Finders takes a chapter to explain: the student-centered pedagogy is the ideal, but the forces of conformity, of preteens floundering in a new, strange world of middle school, where classes change all the time and adults now seem disinterested in their students, are going to take hold. The Queens and the Cookies expressed interest in literacies beyond the classroom, and even secretly within the classroom, but were unwilling to share them with their peers for fear of being different. For these girls, to accept critical pedagogy is to commit social suicide, and kill the last concept that seems within their control. It's a big leap of faith to ask students to make in the interests of genuine student-centered education. And, with adults taking more and more of a backseat right when they really need them, it's nearly impossible.
Finders does not want to kill the student-centered classroom; she only wants educators to be mindful of the secrets of its students. There are definite needs for difference, for exploration, and for forging stable social bonds outside of the parameters of the collaborative classroom. She asks that I not abandon students to do everything for themselves, all the time, but offer my support and my genuine interest in their lives. Which, I must admit, does not seem like too much to ask.
An interesting premise, and a pedagogical stance that I struggled to accept, but which ultimately feels realistic, even to a starry-eyed teacher-wannabe such as myself.
Buy this title from Powell's Books.
Every slip of paper, every page of "the book," every text message (there was texting at that point, right?).
Now, imagine building a pedagogy out of what you find.
Sound terrifying? Because Margaret Finders takes a pretty good stab at it, so you don't have to.
In the 1990s, Finders follows the 6th-7th grade transition of five 13-year old girls of wildly different socioeconomic statuses, and thus representing different approaches to education, to socialization, and to literacy.
Tiffany, Angie, and Lauren represent the "Queens," described by their teachers and parents as such because they epitomize tween glamour: they read all the right magazines, they pass the edgy notes, they fight the system juuuuust enough to make everyone want to be them.
On the flipside, Finders also follows Dottie and Cleo, the "Tough Cookies," again described by their teachers and parents as such because they lack the socioeconomic advantages of the Queens, and yet maintain a steady transactional commitment to the education system and authority overall. There's a chapter or three all about them in Literacy with an Attitude: Educating Working-Class Children in Their Own Self-Interest.
Within these two worlds, Finders traces their every conversation, note, graffiti spree, and family dinner, all without passing judgment or reprimanding her would-be students under normal circumstances. Through gaining their trust, she discovers the grounding effects of hidden literacies on adolescent girls during a time when everything is changing; as their class schedules, their friendships, and their bodies change, and as their lives at home morph in anticipation of their supposed teenage stoicism, the Queens and the Cookies turn to their notes between friends, their yearbook signings, and their doodles on the bathroom stalls to gain some sense of control.
The Queens claim friendship through notes, and offer them to Finders to show that despite all the fluctuations in their lives, they have tangible proof of friendship. Their yearbook signatures allude to past events, to great frienships that will last forever (BFF, ILY 4 EVER, etc.). They drop F-bombs to gain power over their teachers, and to claim the freedoms that are so readily offered to them by stand-offish parenting. And most distressingly, they cling to their teen magazines, which they insist are written by teens, for teens, to teach them how to be teens; they do not recognize the adult marketer lurking behind every advertisement.
(I can't fathom what this looks like today: the new middle-schooler must be hit with "teen"-generated content from every technological corner, increasing the stakes yet also further fracturing the teen's sense of the solid, "right" way to be a teen.)
In sharp contrast, the Cookies claim self-reliance over socialization, and cling to literacy as holding the instructions for a life more prosperous than their own. School holds all of the knowledge, dispensed to them in books and essays and other "official" literacy tasks, whereas all of the Reader's Digests, magazines, and novels at their homes (and there is a surprising amount of reading at home) is not actually considered literacy by the Cookies. No notes are passed, and their yearbook signatures are noncommittal, the "Have a Great Summer" I-see-no-point-in-this-task facsimiles of strong adolescent bonds; in their minds, family is first, and everyone else might abandon you as hardship intensifies.
In between these disparate worlds is Finders' thesis, which shocks and nearly offends me: the student-centered, democratic classroom, as it is executed by new teachers and school communities, is ineffective, and will always be ineffective as long as school hierarchies and external forces exist.
This nearly blew my puny mind, until Finders takes a chapter to explain: the student-centered pedagogy is the ideal, but the forces of conformity, of preteens floundering in a new, strange world of middle school, where classes change all the time and adults now seem disinterested in their students, are going to take hold. The Queens and the Cookies expressed interest in literacies beyond the classroom, and even secretly within the classroom, but were unwilling to share them with their peers for fear of being different. For these girls, to accept critical pedagogy is to commit social suicide, and kill the last concept that seems within their control. It's a big leap of faith to ask students to make in the interests of genuine student-centered education. And, with adults taking more and more of a backseat right when they really need them, it's nearly impossible.
Finders does not want to kill the student-centered classroom; she only wants educators to be mindful of the secrets of its students. There are definite needs for difference, for exploration, and for forging stable social bonds outside of the parameters of the collaborative classroom. She asks that I not abandon students to do everything for themselves, all the time, but offer my support and my genuine interest in their lives. Which, I must admit, does not seem like too much to ask.
An interesting premise, and a pedagogical stance that I struggled to accept, but which ultimately feels realistic, even to a starry-eyed teacher-wannabe such as myself.
Buy this title from Powell's Books.
April 28, 2018
I read this for a university class. I found it moderately interesting, much more interesting than a textbook. Finders did very impressive work but it is still very outdated--I guess my rating is more a reflection of why on earth the professor assigned this book in 2018. Great example of an ethnography that happened within one's national culture instead of with a foreign country or something.
September 16, 2022
I was assigned this book in a fascinating class about how what young women read and write influence who they are. Appropriately, that’s what this book is about, as Finders takes the role of the anthropologist and follows the lives of two groups of seventh grade girls in the late 90s.
I struggled to stay focused on this one. Her chapters on the girls writing practices prompted me to reflect on my own middle school experiences instead of reading about these ones. There lacked a cohesive link between each chapter and the thesis statement. The middle chapters were more a list of what the girls wrote and read rather than any opinion about it. I initially figured that was part of the “distant observer” format, but the last chapter was full of educational theory that I initially found difficult to connect to the previous chapters. When I finally did hear the thesis statement, there was less of a feeling of resolution than, “Oh...okay” That lack of connection would’ve given me a B in my college classes.
However, I did agree with her beliefs on literacy education. She insisted that allowing dissenting opinions over strict text readings was the most influential way these classes can make their students (regardless of gender) become active readers. I’m genuinely disappointed that her ideas weren’t a part of my literacy education 13 years after this book’s publication.
I also enjoyed critically thinking about my reading practices when I was the age of the girls she interviews. This was when I read Tiger Beat magazine and joined a fantastic book club that turned me into a 39 clues fan. I attempted to draw my own comics and write plays and scribble hearts randomly on my math homework. One of the best things about the class where I got this book was how everything young girls wrote and read was given value instead of being brushed aside for its femininity.
That’s why I kept this book to finish. Even if the construction is flawed, the thesis deserves credit. Here’s to the hope it gets more attention in the years to come.
I struggled to stay focused on this one. Her chapters on the girls writing practices prompted me to reflect on my own middle school experiences instead of reading about these ones. There lacked a cohesive link between each chapter and the thesis statement. The middle chapters were more a list of what the girls wrote and read rather than any opinion about it. I initially figured that was part of the “distant observer” format, but the last chapter was full of educational theory that I initially found difficult to connect to the previous chapters. When I finally did hear the thesis statement, there was less of a feeling of resolution than, “Oh...okay” That lack of connection would’ve given me a B in my college classes.
However, I did agree with her beliefs on literacy education. She insisted that allowing dissenting opinions over strict text readings was the most influential way these classes can make their students (regardless of gender) become active readers. I’m genuinely disappointed that her ideas weren’t a part of my literacy education 13 years after this book’s publication.
I also enjoyed critically thinking about my reading practices when I was the age of the girls she interviews. This was when I read Tiger Beat magazine and joined a fantastic book club that turned me into a 39 clues fan. I attempted to draw my own comics and write plays and scribble hearts randomly on my math homework. One of the best things about the class where I got this book was how everything young girls wrote and read was given value instead of being brushed aside for its femininity.
That’s why I kept this book to finish. Even if the construction is flawed, the thesis deserves credit. Here’s to the hope it gets more attention in the years to come.
February 22, 2015
For me this is a re-read. I find it insightful regarding middle school girls. It would be great if some one or team could conduct similar research addressing the literacy needs of minority and inner city middle school girls. It would be very beneficial to school communities.
March 1, 2015
Useful and illuminating, especially for a teacher who's never been an adolescent girl before...
March 31, 2009
a published diss from my department. really engaging, fun research.
Displaying 1 - 7 of 7 reviews