Exit Tickets

As a long-time book reviewer who has seen many “teacher-in-the-inner-city” tropes come and go, I approached Kenneth Chanko’s debut novel, Exit Tickets, with a mix of curiosity and a healthy dose of professional skepticism. At 45, I’ve learned that the most profound stories aren’t found in the grand, sweeping gestures of heroism, but in the quiet, often messy “in-between” moments of human connection.

The novel introduces us to Martin Jordanowski, or “Mr. J,” a twenty-five-year-old from Indiana who finds himself teaching at a school in Manhattan that is far from the posh Upper East Side image he initially imagined. Chanko, drawing from his own decade of experience in New York City public schools, avoids the “savior” archetype entirely. Instead, he gives us a protagonist who is often in over his head, struggling with classroom management and his own personal ghosts.

One of the book’s most compelling themes is the performance of authority vs. the reality of connection. The titular “exit tickets,” a pedagogical tool meant to assess learning, become a poignant symbol of the disconnect between administrative “best practices” and the actual needs of the students. For students like Kandra McKissick, a bright yet guarded girl who forms a complex bond with Mr. J, the formal education system often feels like a series of boxes to check that have nothing to do with her life.

The relationship between Mr. J and Kandra serves as the novel’s emotional anchor, exploring themes of vulnerability and the search for identity. Kandra uses her journal to express a voice that the school’s rigid structure doesn’t accommodate, while Mr. J finds in her a reminder of why he chose this path, even as he navigates the professional risks of their friendship.

Chanko also masterfully weaves in the theme of escapism. Whether it’s Mr. J fleeing his small-town roots in Osceola, Indiana, or students like Shay seeking status and power within the school walls, everyone is trying to find a way out or a way through. The book doesn’t shy away from the harsh realities—the “thickness” of the air in a basement classroom, the vice-like grip of the gym teacher, and the looming presence of Big Henry, the paraprofessional who keeps a fragile peace.

Mindful and grounded, Exit Tickets resonates because it feels lived-in. It reminds us that education isn’t just about mastery of a curriculum; as Will Durant is quoted in the book, it’s a “progressive discovery of our own ignorance.” For anyone who has ever sat at a desk, on either side, this is a professional and deeply personal must-read.