My favorite books to help us reimagine what education could be (for everyone)

Make It Stick was a revelation for me. Never before in one place had I encountered a suite of strategies for “stickier” memories. As a bonus, the book is deliberately organized to make the techniques it describes “sticky” in and of themselves. Learning, simply put, isn’t very useful if what we learn soon becomes inaccessible—and too often, school is set up in a way that makes such an outcome distressingly likely. Make It Stick arms learners with the means to fight back. Spaced retrieval, interleaving, metacognition, the testing effect, desirable difficulties—individual learners will find a host of powerful strategies inside. 

It’s impossible, as a parent, not to marvel at the miracle of learning that occurs in very young children. Indeed, parents have experienced this sense of awe for time immemorial, and some have gone so far as to venture explanations for how it works. John Dewey, the American philosopher and psychologist, argued at the dawn of the twentieth century that children are like young scientists as they go about their day, subtly testing the things and people around them to see how they work. We now know, in no small part due to the work of researchers including The Scientist in the Crib author Alison Gopnik, that Dewey was right. Children are compelled to experiment; what’s more, they make the most of the limited data they produce with a powerful logic invisible to the untrained eye. Parents—but also anyone with a sense of wonder—will find answers to deep mysteries in The Scientist in the Crib. Educators, too, may find themselves asking new questions, such as how best to stoke the flame of curiosity that burns in us from the very beginning. 

There is a cottage industry of historical and analytical books attempting to explain where, exactly, our educational norms, structures, and strictures came from. Many of these are terrific, but Lagemann’s An Elusive Science is the best of the bunch for exploring how nineteenth and twentieth-century scientific research influenced modern educational practice. The author is the source of a line oft-quoted in ed circles: “I have often argued to students, only in part to be perverse, that one cannot understand the history of education in the United States during the twentieth century unless one realizes that Edward L. Thorndike won and John Dewey lost.” This is the book that explicates and explores this almost primordial dichotomy, and how different philosophies of science became aligned with complementary philosophies of educational practice. A piercing, impeccably researched, enjoyable read. 

The Sane Positivist, by Geraldine Jonçich Clifford (née Jonçich), an expansive, out-of-print volume from 1968, was our favorite discovery from my book's research phase. Written in a stylish, old-fashioned present tense, the book is a biography of E. L. Thorndike, a figure who can credibly claim as much influence over the US’s (and much of the world’s) educational path as any other single human being. Even if E. L. Thorndike weren’t an educationist of historic significance, he would still belong in the animal behavior research pantheon, thanks to his immensely important work cataloguing the learning powers of animals (usually, cats he observed escaping from cages).

The author documents this early work and Thorndike’s subsequent leap (which I consider misguided) from animals in cages to humans in classrooms, while giving a deeply sourced and keenly observed account of his personal development. The figure she describes is as complex as any protagonist or villain in American literature, but her real achievement is in the category of scientific explication. Intricate psychological theories, arcane disagreements, and convoluted philosophical threads are clearly explained in her writing. In our analysis, Thorndike and his allies have much to answer for, but Jonçich Clifford deserves nothing but celebration for this work, which should be regarded as a classic of biographical and science writing. 

There has lately been an unfortunate tendency among educational observers and policymakers to reduce the value proposition of higher ed to purely measurable metrics: money spent; time spent; money earned. In this sort of analysis, the hard-nosed science and technology subjects tend to come out on top. Those who would speak for the humanities and arts, meanwhile, make the valid but sometimes unsatisfying point that there are benefits—perhaps less readily measurable but still very real and of significant personal and social value—to softer-edged subjects. The goal of The Evidence Liberal Arts Needs is simple: to correct this asymmetry by measuring what was previously obscure. By the end of this book, readers will be convinced of the true and lasting value of the liberal arts tradition in higher education.