In stage productions such as “The Clean House” and her reimagined version of Greek mythology in “Eurydice,” the playwright Sarah Ruhl has become known for telling stories that provide sharp insights into the inner lives of women.
She affirmed that vision in “100 Essays I Don’t Have Time to Write,” a 2014 book in which she offered a series of brief reflections that often touched on her juggling act as a creative artist, mother, and wife. Many fans also know Ruhl for “Smile,” her wisely observed 2021 memoir about how a profound personal setback challenged her journey toward joy.
She strikes a similar tone in “Lessons From My Teachers,” a collection of essays that is hitting bookstores on the doorstep of summer, when many campuses empty and thoughts of teachers quickly recede. “Lessons From My Teachers” is a timely and lively reminder of what we owe them.
Why We Wrote This
Many of us recall a favorite teacher who instilled a love of learning. Beyond the classroom, we can be open to the experience of learning from others in ordinary, everyday moments.
Ruhl should know, since she’s a teacher, too. She teaches a playwriting class at Yale University called Lessons From My Teachers. “I created the course because I wanted to remind my students that there is no one way to learn how to write a play,” Ruhl tells readers. “I also wanted to honor my own teachers, to pass on what they taught me to the next generation.”
There are lovely stories here about professional educators who made a difference. Shortly after finishing grad school and in desperate need of money, Ruhl found a $500 check slid under her door. Her former teacher Paula Vogel refused repayment, explaining that someone had once helped her when she was in need. Vogel’s only request was that Ruhl help someone else when she was able.
Most of Ruhl’s reminiscences, though, don’t involve heroes of the classroom. She celebrates teaching in the broadest sense – those subtle moments of shared truth that can occur anywhere.
One of the nicest essays in “Lessons” explores Ruhl’s memories of a quaint neighborhood bookstore where, as a child, she deepened her love of reading. She credits the proprietors, two seasoned women named Barbara and Joan, for their genius in anticipating her interests and feeding them. “How does one know,” Ruhl asks, “what to read when one hasn’t read it yet? It is a conundrum for readers and learners going all the way back to Plato, who identified the paradox of learning – how can we know what we do not yet know? When I was a child, Barbara and Joan knew for me.”
Reading “Lessons From My Teachers” feels like listening to a good friend share a few confidences on the fly, though Ruhl has taken care in the crafting of these essays. In an epilogue, she mentions “sending what I wrote to all the teachers I wrote about, the ones who are still living.” This is obviously an author who wanted to get things just right.
Even so, a few of the essays seem shaped by expedience. Ruhl’s piece on her grandfather brims with affection, but she seems hard-pressed to find a compelling lesson from his life that might fit with her book’s theme.
Such occasional lapses are easy enough to overlook in a book that moves so briskly. Most of the essays are no more than a page or two, and readers can comfortably consume them in snippets. The format reminded me of a devotional volume, where small chapters offer short meditations to inspire a few thoughts on the higher things.
This isn’t to say that “Lessons From My Teachers” is solemn or pious. There’s humor here, too, as when Ruhl learns from her glacially ambling dog and toddler the value of slowing down.
It’s not an especially new lesson, but teachers, we’re reminded here, rarely reveal original wisdom. Their biggest gift – and the biggest gift of this book – is reminding us of what we already knew.
