By D. W. St. John
After anguish the best of private tragedies, Dai O’Connel isn't any longerwilling to lie. A headstrong Welshman 20 years in an Oregon lecture room, herefuses both to reduce criteria or to enforce the feel-good nonsense of OutcomeBased Curriculum, and therefore is concentrated for dismissal.Sent to record his failings is Solange Gonsalvás, Oregon’s youngest assistantsuperintendent. recognized either for breathtaking acceptance and her commitment tothe task, she is relentless in pursuit of incompetent lecturers. Deeply believing she will be able to make the district’s faculties larger, whereas being affected by her personal inspiration of what institution may be, Solange reveals O’Connel in no way as she anticipated. Principled, convinced, first-class at what he does, Dai isn't the type of instructor Solange forces from the classroom—but greater than competence is at stake.District politicos call for O'Connel's ouster, and if Solange wishes the pinnacle job,she needs to take his. Bewildered via the serious charm she feels for the fellow, Solange needs to make a choice from ruining an exceptional teacher's profession and furthering her personal, a profession for which she's sacrificed every little thing.
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Additional resources for A Terrible Beauty
Seeing Solange, she puffed up like a rouged toad. “Mr. O’Connel,” Lovejoy began in her most reasonable voice, “Mrs. Noble is concerned that her son, Dusty, received an F on his first quarter grade report. ” O’Connel held up his hand. ” “Mr. O’Connel, as a professional… ” She looked at Solange as she pronounced the word, as if to say she used the word with reservations. ” She spoke as if he were a child, making it plain what she thought of him. The woman was trying to impress her, Solange realized with distaste.
Myrtle peered up through thick glasses and smiled, drawing out an arm’s length of yarn from the bag at her feet. “Well, well,” she bellowed, “what a nice surprise, we don’t see you much any more. ” Solange sat, leaning over to hug her. “Oh, Myrtle, I miss you. ” Myrtle hugged her back, then pushed her away playfully with a big flabby arm. “Oh, stop it, now,” she said, blushing. “I wouldn’t last a week around all those bigwigs. ” Solange cocked her head, smiling. ” How she’d missed this lovely old woman.
Suddenly came a flash of blue-white and a rattling, rumbling, booming of such power that she hid herself against him, secure in the smell of his sweat. Against the swollen bruise of dark cloud wheeled specks of dazzling white. Around and around they hurtled under the heavy ceiling of cloud. He raised a black arm. “There, see the gulls, they’re not 33 afraid. ” So many words had tired him. He said nothing more. Solange faced the cracking sky, doing her best to be brave. She loved him that day so hard it scalded her heart.