近期围绕考试的争论非常多，但占上风的观点是要强化国学而减弱英语。2016年北京中考方案中，语文的总卷面分将从120分增加到150分，英语将从120分减至100分。削弱英语考试的权重，也是其他不少省份的研讨内容。但我认为，所有的这些争论都没有触及我国英语考试及教育的软肋——而这个软肋就是我们的英文教育还是八股文式教育且与实际需求严重脱节。

“教师在课堂上往往是一本教材、一块黑板 、一支粉笔、一台录音机，每篇课文的讲授内容一般都是领读生词、讲解课文、分析语法、做做练习、对对答案，现在学生都有跟教材配套的教师用书，这种八股式的教学方式，早已使他们失去了‘好奇心 ’，他们往往是不爱问、不想问，也不知道如何问，这样的课堂教学其效果能理想吗?”[1]

这种教学效果的不理想在实际工作岗位上就会成为灾难——学过十几年英文的不会用英文表达思想，遑论用英文做研究、出意见了。因此，如果我们学生十几年的英文教育都是在机械地积累单词数量、讲究名词、介词、副词的排列组合、以通过各类考试为英语学习的目标，那么削弱这种英语考试的权重也许是必要的。反言之，如果我们能找到一种或若干种方法以摒弃英文的八股文式教育，做到学以致用，也许到那时我们再反过头来加重英语考试的权重也为时不晚。至于什么方法是最好的，这需要大家一起摸索，但是我们应当以实际需要而非单纯的考试分数为标准。当然我并不是一概否定英文考试的必要性，但以实际需要为导向的英文教育往往是高分高能，而仅以通过考试为目的的英文教育（以及其他教育）往往是高分低能。当然，这还要看考试的试卷是如何出的。如果八股文试卷出得太离题，恐怕高能也得低分——据传，有美国大学生考不过中国英语六级考试的。我也碰到过类似的事情。

我认识这样一个同学，她4到8岁期间在美国读过学前班到小学二年级。回国后在中国学校里读书直到初二，在这期间接受了八股式的英文教育以及八股式的英文考试，成绩虽不错但总不拔尖，还曾经因为写不好八股式英文，被老师指为“文盲”。该同学目前跳一级到了一个中外联办的高中读高一，该学校是美国老师用英文教授绝大多数课程。课程不谓不艰难，但完全脱离了八股文教育。该同学开学不久领到的第一篇“研究论文”是The Exodus（《出埃及记》），研究重点：如果《出埃及记》是虚构的，那么它为什么有那么大的影响力？第二篇文章是续写小说The Crash（《撞车》）——老师给出第一句话，由学生自由发挥续写完成。我手头恰巧有这篇文章在此发给大家以供参考。当然，这篇微型小说还有很大的提升余地——比如有些词前后被反复用了——如果能够用一些同义词来表达则更好。但不管怎样，如果能够用英文写出这样一篇微型小说的中国初中生在八股文教育体制下会被称之为“文盲”，这说明我们真的应当好好地反思一下我们的八股文教育了。

The Crash

Billy careened into Main Street having taken the corner too fast. Tires screeched across the street, raising a scent of burnt rubber. Billy jerked the steering wheel to the right. With a fierce jab, the car bolted rightwards. Traffic around him dodged for safety. Horns blasted, men yelled, children screamed, sirens sped by.

All this noise was blocked out by the walls of Billy’s car. Inside the car hovers an eerie bubble of quietness, filled with the odor of cigarettes and alcohol, and the red hot anger slithering around like serpents waiting to strike.

Billy was fuming with rage of the unfairness he had been treated. He had done nothing wrong. Before his eyes, everything is blurry, enveloped by red. There seemed like a red mist hovering over him, clouding everything else from the world. He could hear a distant pumping, fast and far away, coming from inside his chest. From his skin rose a strange color, damp and dark red, but still yet glistening with beads of sweat that seeped out from his forehead, trickling down into his eyes and mouth. He tasted a scent of blood and salt, flooding his throat and nose with the smell of rust.

He thought of his mother. Oh how much he would want his mother to be here next to him, comforting him, telling him that all was alright and will be fine, the sweet scent of motherhood surrounding him. It was a feeling that seemed so distant now, something that never happened since his mother’s illness.

The sirens seemed closer now. He reached out his right hand, feeling for a bottle of water on the passenger seat. Suddenly he squinted and saw a figure appear out of nowhere on the road before the car. It seemed to be human. Billy jerked on the drivers wheel, with a loud screech, the car jabbed to the left, racing onto the curb and onto the pavement. With a crash, the display window of a store shattered into a million tiny pieces. Billy slammed into the front window of the car. In this split second, he saw the figure turn and smile. It was his mother.

Mother had come after all. She can comfort me, and I can lie in her lap once more.

The police cars screeched to a halt before the accident scene. Billy heard a faint sound in the distance, the red faded inch by inch from his view, replaced by the comforting smell of his mother. He saw his mother, plump and full again, glowing from joy, and not the withered body lying helpless in internal pain in the ward. That’s how his mother should look like, and that’s why he took her life.

He slid into a peaceful darkness of satisfaction. He would now be with his mother again.

The policemen, hovering around the carcass of the car concluded that Billy could not stand the guilt and fear of prison, being under the influence of drugs and alcohol, committed suicide by car.