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This review has been accessed times since August 31, 2007

Zuckerman, Laurel. (2007). Sorbonne Confidential (D. Berman, Trans.). Paris: Librairie Arthéme Fayard. Pp. 337     20 Euros     ISBN 978-2-2136-3122-6

Reviewed by Terence A. Beck
University of Puget Sound

August 31, 2007

Laurel Zuckerman is from Arizona. She has lived in France for more than 20 years, speaks fluent French, is a naturalized citizen of France, a mother of children attending French schools, and she holds a degree from one of the most prestigious universities in France. When she lost her job she decided that what she really wanted to do was to teach English in French schools. It seemed simple enough.

Sorbonne Confidential is the fictionalized story of Laurel Zuckerman’s very real experience working to become a teacher of her first language in the highly centralized French system. While the story is a good one, the picture isn’t pretty. Zuckerman skillfully weaves a tale of institutionalized exclusion, of a system accountable only to itself, and of what can happen when ‘objective’ measures become the end-all and be-all of a process. Zuckerman’s book is causing a stir among those concerned with the French educational establishment, and it holds the potential to inform American educators as well.

I encountered Sorbonne Confidential while browsing in an English-language bookstore in Paris. As a teacher-educator I was searching for information about the educational system in France from pre-school through university. The bookstore’s owner recommended a new book on teacher education in France, currently available only in French. While my ability to read French is limited, I was sufficiently motivated by the topic to give Zuckerman’s book a try.

The French believe in equality and equality demands objective measures. Testing, in theory, provides such objective measures and France has gone in for testing in a big way for centuries. Most famous of the French tests is the Baccalauréat, officially created by Napoleon in 1808 and taken today by most French students at the end of high school. Less known outside of France are the CAPES and l’agrégation, exams taken by individuals who wish to work in the French public school system. L’agrégation was first developed in 1766 and was revised in 1885 to today’s form. The CAPES and l’agrégation are the gates through which one must pass to become a secondary teacher in France—the only gates.

Zuckerman includes considerable factual information about the French system of teacher selection in her text. From her text we learn that the l’agrégation d’anglais (for teaching English) is made up of the following: 1. A dissertation hand-written in French during a seven-hour period. 2. A hand-written commentary in English (six hours). 3. A six-hour linguistic composition that includes an emphasis on English phonology and French grammar. 4. A six-hour translation exercise (p. 30).

Only the ‘best’ survive the experience. Zuckerman notes that in 2005, 43,461 candidates sat for l’agrégation and 64,180 sat for the CAPES, representing 37 disciplines. Of those 107,641 candidates, 11,925 received certificates (p. 128). The tests are based on a type of curve that is determined by the number of teaching openings available in France the next year. The almost 12,000 candidates in 2005 who had the highest scores passed the exams and were given certificates, a probation year, and then jobs for life. The almost 96,000 candidates who prepared and sat for the exam but did not ‘pass,’ ended the experience with no certificate and no job. It’s difficult to find stakes higher than these. It is not unusual for candidates to take the texts several years in a row.

As with any high-stakes testing situation, testing drives instruction in the courses offered by the Sorbonne to prepare students to teach English. Classes are conducted solely in French with professors speaking at length while students dutifully record all they say. Speaking English is not emphasized and instruction in pedagogy (beyond that modeled by the lectures of the professors) is completely absent. Argument and original thought are resented by professors and students alike because they steal time from preparation for the all-important test.

Notably absent from this high-stakes exam to be an English teacher are demonstrations of an ability to speak English, to understand spoken English, or any demonstrated ability to operate successfully in a classroom. Through her fiction, Zuckerman argues that such oversights have profound implications for French education and French society. One example is a chart showing French students in 2002 scoring at the bottom in a European Union study of student skills in English (p. 207). A second example is the recounting of a meeting for parents of students attending middle school. The teachers berate the students and outline numerous problems. Zuckerman notes that the teachers do not discuss pedagogical techniques, or ways that the problems they articulate might be addressed (beyond admonishing the students to work harder) (p. 138). Zuckerman suggests that the system of teacher education contributes significantly to situations like these.

The rigorous nature of French testing throughout the system makes for high standards at considerable human cost. Zuckerman notes that in France, 17.4% of children repeat a grade, a number that passes 38.2% in “quartiers défavorisés” [underprivileged neighborhoods]. Over half of the students drop out of university in France after the second year. Many programs have success rates lower than the famous 1 out of 11 of the English teacher exam (p. 136).

But, Sorbonne Confidential is more than a collection of facts and tidbits about the French system of selecting teachers. The book brings a warm and personal touch, viewing the experience through the eyes of an appealing and very human narrator. It is this combination of insider information and statistics, and the intimate personal experience of one of those statistics, that gives the book its power.

With humor Zuckerman takes on some absurdities of a system that teaches to a written test. In one hilarious illustration early in the book, Zuckerman’s narrator Alice, translates “pieds de cochon” as “pig’s feet.” The professor corrects her, pointing out that pig’s feet are indeed what a pig walks on—the translation is literally correct. But, in the context in which the term is used, the correct translation is “pig’s trotters”—the designation you make when such items are served as food. Alice sets out to prove the professor wrong. She searches her study, she calls her mother in Arizona, she asks all the native English speakers she knows. She learns that no English speaker in her small sample has heard of pig’s trotters. And yet the dictionary proves the professor correct—if you eat them, they’re trotters.

The candidates preparing for the test see the mismatch between what they are being asked to do and the job for which they are preparing. Consider this response of a fellow student to Alice’s complaint that courses designed to get students past l’agrégation fail to prepare candidates to teach English.

Aucun de ses cours n'a de rapport avec l'enseignement, did-elle, ni à l'université ni à lycée. C'est un concours, c'est tout. Le seuls talents d'enseignant que nous aurons, c'est nous qui devrons les développer. Tu sais cela, n'est-ce pas? p. 67.

[None of the courses has any relationship with teaching, she said, neither with the university nor with high school. It is a contest, that's all. The only talents of a teacher that we will have, are those we develop on our own. You know that's true, right?] p. 67 (All translations (and translation errors) are the reviewer’s.)

As the test looms, tensions increase between English-speaking and French-speaking students who must compete against one another for a few precious spots. English-speaking students become frustrated and angry because they spend most of their time trying to perfect their French in order to teach English. When they challenge a professor, he responds that he holds English-speakers to the same high standards as native French-speakers so they won’t be mocked by their students in French schools. Native English-speakers cry discrimination and point out that many of the native French-speaking students doing so well in the program are unable to actually speak English. Native French-speakers respond that English-speakers have an unfair advantage in this regard and that what the English-speakers want is a form of positive (reverse) discrimination. Zuckerman presents a picture that blames no one. Rather, she communicates that it is the system that creates wary, almost adversarial relationships between almost everyone involved. Consider this description of a student in the classroom late in the process:

Il avait le regard déterminé des petits animaux condamnés mais courageux, une souris des champs défendant sa nichée face à un faucon.

[He had the determined look of all condemned but courageous small animals--a field mouse defending its brood against a falcon.] p. 144.

But, the greatest barrier facing Alice is the nature of the dissertation. A “dissertation cartésienne” must be written in the haughtiest form of French. Rules are ancient, precise, and exacting and practically impossible for someone to master who did not grow up speaking and hearing and reading and writing very formal French. It is the dissertation with its impossibly archaic demands, that works to weed out those without the necessary cultural capital from teaching English in French schools--most notably, intelligent and experienced native speakers of English. The codes are too complex, the distinctions too subtle. The dissertation cartésienne rewards those who are adept at giving to authority what authority demands. Native English speakers experience repeated failures despite intense motivation and effort.

In theory, this single, objective test removes the subjective criteria and people so often blamed for keeping outsiders away. In reality, the criteria themselves are infused with discrimination and are more effective at excluding the non-native speaker than the most ardent subscriber to the principle of “France for the French” could ever be.

While Sorbonne Confidential seems intended to provide a critique of the French system of teacher education, it has messages for an American audience as well. The book illustrates how objective measures can be far from objective—a concept often difficult to see when looking only at one’s own context. It illustrates how rigor by itself can distract, exclude, and alienate. By taking on an institution that began before the American Revolution, the book demonstrates how systems can develop around programs, allowing them to self-perpetuate without regard for their impact on schools and society. At some level, the book is also an argument for the power and importance of teacher education and of the need for systems that care more about creating good teachers than objectively assigning scores.

Sorbonne Confidential is likely to be of interest to teacher educators both in France and in the United States. It could be useful in teacher preparation classes as a way into discussions of cultural capital, high-stakes testing, and the unintended consequences of systems designed with the best of intentions. The book might also be useful as a text in a second-year or third-year French language and culture course.

Clearly, the largest issue around Sorbonne Confidential is that it is currently available only in French, making its appeal to an American audience limited. The book was originally written in English and the possibility remains that Zuckerman will find an American or British publisher who recognizes the enormous potential of the text. Because the book is currently available only in French, it is appropriate here to consider the level of the writing and the accessibility of the French.

Sorbonne Confidential was translated from American English into French by Daniel Berman. It is a novel, not an academic text. Berman’s translation is remarkably clear and easy to follow for native English speakers. Missing are the long and involved sentences that so often leave me lost and scratching my head when I read in French. The French is not for beginners, but neither does it require advanced training to understand this important and entertaining tale.

About the Reviewer

Terence Beck is an Associate Professor at the University of Puget Sound in Tacoma Washington. There he specializes in Curriculum for Democracy, working with pre-service teachers in both general secondary teaching methodology and curriculum and instruction for the social studies. Dr. Beck teaches other courses at the university concerned with race, gender, class, and sexuality in U.S. schools and society. His research interests include classroom discourse (particularly around student questions), democratic citizenship education, and the comparative analysis of schooling in France and the United States. He constantly wishes his French language skills were stronger.

Copyright is retained by the first or sole author, who grants right of first publication to the Education Review.

Editors: Gene V Glass, Kate Corby, Gustavo Fischman

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