In my Patreon community, a fellow educator recently reached out with a growing concern: their district has mandated the exclusive use of Lexile-leveled texts in English classes. That’s right—only texts that align with students’ grade-level Lexile scores are now considered acceptable. The frustration in their message was tangible. Texts that students love, that have sparked… Continue reading The limitations of Lexile scores and what to use as well
In my Patreon community, a fellow educator recently reached out with a growing concern: their district has mandated the exclusive use of Lexile-leveled texts in English classes. That’s right—only texts that align with students’ grade-level Lexile scores are now considered acceptable. The frustration in their message was tangible. Texts that students love, that have sparked rich discussions, and that they’ve built curriculum around are now off-limits because they don’t “fit” the approved band.
I’ve long raised concerns about the over-reliance on Lexile scores. Like many of you, I’ve seen firsthand how these measures, while perhaps well-intentioned, can be wielded in ways that do real harm to reading joy, choice, and depth. So, if you’re facing increasing pressure to center Lexile in your classroom—if you’re trying to navigate a system that keeps narrowing what “counts” as appropriate reading—I hope these thoughts and ideas help.
Limitations of Lexile
Limited Understanding of Text Complexity
Lexile scores are essentially math. They rely on sentence length and word frequency—quantifiable features that can be measured by an algorithm. But we all know that complexity is never just about numbers. A book like Night comes in at a relatively low Lexile level, and yet its themes of loss, isolation, and moral ambiguity leave readers shaken. A text might be “simple” on paper but profound in practice.
Instead, try:
- Use a text complexity triangle (quantitative, qualitative, reader & task) when planning. Bring students into that process—ask, What makes this book challenging? What makes it powerful?
- Encourage student reflection journals or book clubs where kids identify their own “hard” books—not based on Lexile, but on how the text made them think, feel, or struggle.
- Create classroom charts that define complexity through student terms: “Books that made me cry,” “Books I needed to reread,” “Books I’ll never forget.”
Considerations:
- How does Lexile account for the cultural and historical significance of a text?
- What qualities of a book matter most to your students?
- How can we expand students’ definition of what makes something “challenging”?
Exclusion of Inclusive Texts
One of the most heartbreaking outcomes, and oft-overlooked aspects, of Lexile-only policies is the quiet erasure of culturally rich and relevant literature. Books written in vernacular, verse, or translanguaged text often get pegged with a low Lexile, despite their emotional and intellectual heft. That means fewer books by authors of color, fewer windows and mirrors for our students, and fewer moments of deep connection.
Instead, try:
- Curate parallel text sets: pair a high-Lexile nonfiction article with a lower-Lexile but deeply resonant novel or memoir. Let students draw connections between form, voice, and truth.
- Push back by documenting engagement: show how students are thriving with texts “below level” by collecting writing, discussion notes, and self-reflections.
- Use picture books and graphic novels with older readers—these often get dismissed due to low Lexile, yet offer rich analysis opportunities and accessibility.
Considerations:
- What culturally relevant texts are missing from your curriculum because of Lexile?
- How can student voices help you advocate for broader criteria?
- How do we make the case that what students read matters more than how difficult it is to decode?
Narrowing Students’ Reading Choices
If we want kids to love reading, we have to let them choose what they read. That means trusting them with books that fall outside their “band.” Lexile-driven mandates send the opposite message: we don’t trust your choices, your interests, or your readiness. But reading joy isn’t built through constraint. It’s built through access, autonomy, and meaningful support.
Instead, try:
- Build “just-right-for-me” libraries where students classify books based on interest, not level. Include sticky notes with peer reviews and genre tags.
- Hold 1:1 conferences where students reflect on how books make them feel, not just how hard they are to read.
- Share stories of your own reading life: books you loved that were “easy,” books you gave up on, books that changed you. Model complexity in decision-making, not just content.
Considerations:
- What happens when we let students build their own definitions of “good reading”?
- What are the long-term consequences of only offering scaffolds instead of skills?
- How do we teach students to be readers without us?
Ignoring Individual Student Needs
Teaching is about relationships. About knowing the kid who hides behind her hair and always picks dog books. About the one who just discovered he loves horror. About the quiet student who will read 600 pages if you don’t make him write a log. Lexile scores can’t know them—but we can.
Instead, try:
- Use Lexile as one data point—alongside student interviews, running records, self-assessments, and your own observations.
- Let students set reading goals that reflect their identities: “I want to finish my first series,” “I want to read a book by someone like me,” “I want to try nonfiction.”
- Co-create book stacks that mix comfort reads, stretch texts, and “wild cards” just for fun.
Considerations:
- How can we restore the nuance of teaching in a data-driven system?
- What tools do you use to get to know your readers deeply and personally?
- How can you document growth in ways that go beyond numbers?
I’m not anti-data, far from it. But I am against any system that flattens our readers and limits our reach. We deserve better tools. Our students deserve broader definitions. Reading instruction should be built on relationships, curiosity, and choice—not compliance.
So when Lexile threatens to become a gatekeeper, let’s push back. Let’s expand what counts. Let’s keep joy at the center. And let’s keep sharing what works—not just because it sounds good, but because we’ve seen it in action.
I’d love to hear how you are navigating this. What has worked in your district? How are you reframing conversations about levels, choice, and rigor? Let’s keep this conversation going.
