In my freshman seminar, where we study a range of authors who write about the role of art and artists in society, I require several assigned essays (including outlines and multiple drafts for each of them), give spot quizzes, sponsor an in-class debate, and finish things up with a two-hour final examination of the traditional sort offered in most humanities courses — a couple of long essays and a few short-answer questions. At midterm, however, I like to do something a little out of the ordinary: give an open-book exam. Some colleagues have asked me, straight out, “What’s the point?”

Although the announcement of the open-book exam initially elicits from my students a sigh of relief, they soon realize they’re going to have to study hard for it. I’d wager they end up studying harder and doing a closer reading for my open-book exam than they do for any other kind of reading assignment I give, including regular exams. Best of all, students often end up deeply attached to a book when they study it for an open-book exam.

I base the open-book exam on a single book that we’ve discussed in depth over three or four class meetings. I encourage students to get ready for the exam by writing notes in the margins and on the inside front and back covers. Knowing an open-book exam is looming, most students follow my tip to create their own individualized index by writing topics on Post-its that they then stick onto the sides and tops of the pages of the book. The night before the exam, I offer a one-hour chat session on Blackboard where students can discuss last-minute questions.

Students are not permitted to bring any additional notes to the exam. I announce ahead of time that the exam will consist of a couple of long essay and short essay questions, and that they are not to use direct quotations but instead must include page citations for every point they make.

With just the right dose of fear (it’s an exam, after all), adrenalin kicks in as soon as I hand out the bluebooks. When I survey the room right before they start writing, I see a very impressive sight. There sit the books, lined up on the seminar table, each heavily tabbed with Post-its and each with a severely broken spine.

Faced with an examination that essentially grants an absolute freedom to cheat, and knowing there’s really no excuse for not being able to answer a question, most students decide the only way out is to study really hard. Their books become like journals — covered with their own scrawled insights and organized by notes of their own making. Not having a clue what the exam questions will be, they prepare for the worst — i.e., everything. Not having to memorize anything, they concentrate on synthesis and analysis. And in the process of inscribing marginalia and structuring indices, they end up remembering far more than they ever thought possible.

The open-book exam is best when used sparingly, since much of its power lies in its surprise. Oh, and there’s an additional benefit. Because the professor who gives an open book exam need not worry about cheating, he or she can step outside the room during the exam and use the time to blog about the virtues of the open-book exam.

(Image derived from a photo by Flickr user VoloVale)