Card 0 of 116
Adapted from Hung Lou Meng, Book I; or, The Dream of the Red Chamber: A Chinese Novel by Cao Xueqin, (c.1716–1763) (trans. H. Bencraft Joly, 1892–93)
\[At this point in the novel, Tai-yü has left her father’s house and traveled to go live with her grandmother.\]
Lin Tai-yü had often heard her mother recount how different was her grandmother's house from that of other people's; and having seen for herself how \[extravagant\] were already the attendants of the three grades, (sent to wait upon her,) in attire, in their fare, in all their articles of use, "how much more," she thought to herself, "now that I am going to her home, must I be careful at every step, and circumspect at every moment! Nor must I utter one word too many, nor make one step more than is proper, for fear lest I should be ridiculed by any of them!”
. . .
An entrance hall stood in the center, in the middle of which was a door-screen of Ta Li marble, set in an ebony frame. In the \[courtyard\] were five parlors, the frieze of the ceiling of which was all carved, and the pillars ornamented. In the side-rooms were suspended cages, full of parrots of every color, thrushes, and birds of every description.
Three or four \[waiting maids\] forthwith vied with each other in raising the door curtain, while at the same time was heard some one announce: "Miss Lin has arrived."
No sooner had she entered the room, than she espied two servants supporting a venerable lady, with silver-white hair, coming forward to greet her. Convinced that this lady must be her grandmother, she was about to prostrate herself and pay her obeisance, when she was quickly clasped in the arms of her grandmother, who held her close against her bosom; and as she called her "My liver! My flesh!" (My love! My darling!) she began to sob aloud.
The bystanders too, at once, without one exception, melted into tears; and Tai-yü herself found some difficulty in restraining her sobs. Little by little the whole party succeeded in consoling her, and Tai-yü at length paid her obeisance to her grandmother. Her ladyship thereupon pointed them out one by one to Tai-yü. "This," she said, "is the wife of your uncle, your mother's elder brother; this is the wife of your uncle, her second brother; and this is your eldest sister-in-law Chu, the wife of your senior cousin Chu."
Tai-yü bowed to each one of them with folded arms.
"Ask the young ladies in," dowager lady Chia went on to say. "Tell them a guest from afar has just arrived, one who comes for the first time; and that they may not go to their lessons."
Not long after three nurses and five or six waiting-maids were seen ushering in three young ladies. In their head ornaments, jewelry, and dress, the get-up of the three young ladies was identical.
Tai-yü speedily rose to greet them and to exchange salutations. After they had made each other's acquaintance, they all took a seat, whereupon the servants brought the tea. Their conversation was confined to Tai-yü's mother—how she had fallen ill, what doctors had attended her, what medicines had been given her, and how she had been buried and mourned. Dowager lady Chia was naturally again in great anguish.
"Of all my daughters," she remarked, "your mother was the one I loved best, and now in a twinkle, she has passed away, before me too, and I've not been able to so much as see her face. How can this not make my heart sore-stricken?"
And as she gave vent to these feelings, she took Tai-yü's hand in hers, and again gave way to sobs, and it was only after the members of the family had quickly made use of much exhortation and coaxing that they succeeded, little by little, in stopping her tears.
They all perceived that Tai-yü, despite her youthful years and appearance, was ladylike in her deportment and address, and that though with her delicate figure and countenance, she seemed as if unable to bear the very weight of her clothes, she possessed, however, a certain captivating air. And as they readily noticed the symptoms of a weak constitution, they went on in consequence to make inquiries as to what medicines she ordinarily took, and how it was that her complaint had not been cured.
Hardly had she finished \[replying\], when a sound of laughter was heard from the back courtyard. "Here I am too late!" the voice said, "and not in time to receive the distant visitor!"
"Every one of all these people," reflected Tai-yü, "holds her peace and suppresses the very breath of her mouth; and who, I wonder, is this coming in this reckless and rude manner?"
The attire of this person bore no similarity to that of the young ladies. In all her splendor and luster, she looked like a fairy or a goddess. On her person, she wore a tight-sleeved jacket, of dark red flowered satin, covered with hundreds of butterflies, embroidered in gold, interspersed with flowers. Her stature was elegant; her figure graceful; her powdered face like dawning spring, majestic, yet not haughty.
Tai-yü eagerly rose and greeted her. She was just at a loss how to address her, when all her cousins informed Tai-yü, that this was her sister-in-law Lien.
Tai-yü lost no time in returning her smile and saluting her with all propriety, addressing her as "my sister-in-law." \[Lien\] laid hold of Tai-yü's hand, and minutely scrutinized her, for a while, from head to foot, after which she led her back next to dowager lady Chia, where they both took a seat.
Tai-yü nearly makes a social blunder in which of the following underlined paragraphs?
Be careful! More than one paragraph has to do with social blunders in this passage. In Paragraph 1, Tai-yü is worried about potentially making a social blunder and being teased for it when living at her grandmother's residence; however, she does not "nearly make" a social blunder in this paragraph. She is simply worried about making one.
So, does she almost make a social error in Paragraph 4, Paragraph 5, or Paragraph 13?
In Paragraph 5, Tai-yü meets her grandmother, becomes emotional, is consoled by her relatives, and is introduced to them. The passage doesn't mention anything about her nearly making a social error. In Paragraph 13, it is not Tai-yü who makes a social blunder, but her sister-in-law Lien. Tai-yü interprets the fact that Lien shows up late to meet her as rude: (". . . who, I wonder, is this coming in this reckless and rude manner?"). The question is asking about Tai-yü, not Lien, so Paragraph 13 isn't the answer.
The correct answer is that Tai-yü nearly makes as social blunder in Paragraph 4. Here, we are told that Tai-yü thinks an elderly woman with silver-white hair must be her grandmother, and is about to "prostrate herself and pay her obeisance—that is, pay public respect to her as her grandmother—when her actual grandmother embraces her. This fits the question's description of "almost making a social blunder." If Tai-yü had mistaken another woman for her grandmother, it would have been a potentially embarrassing situation for her.
Compare your answer with the correct one above
Adapted from A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens (1843)
Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it, and Scrooge’s name was good upon ’Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail.
Mind! I don’t mean to say that I know, of my own knowledge, what there is particularly dead about a door-nail. I might have been inclined, myself, to regard a coffin-nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade. But the wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile, and my unhallowed hands shall not disturb it, or the country’s done for. You will therefore permit me to repeat, emphatically, that Marley was as dead as a door-nail.
Scrooge knew he was dead? Of course he did. How could it be otherwise? Scrooge and he were partners for I don’t know how many years. Scrooge was his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole residuary legatee, his sole friend, and sole mourner. And even Scrooge was not so dreadfully cut up by the sad event, but that he was an excellent man of business on the very day of the funeral, and solemnized it with an undoubted bargain.
The mention of Marley's funeral brings me back to the point I started from. There is no doubt that Marley was dead. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate. If we were not perfectly convinced that Hamlet's father died before the play began, there would be nothing more remarkable in his taking a stroll at night, in an easterly wind, upon his own ramparts, than there would be in any other middle-aged gentleman rashly turning out after dark in a breezy spot—say Saint Paul's Churchyard for instance—literally to astonish his son's weak mind.
The author foreshadows that what will happen over the course of this story?
Consider the last paragraph of the passage, during which the author compares Marley to Hamlet's Father at length:
The mention of Marley's funeral brings me back to the point I started from. There is no doubt that Marley was dead. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate. If we were not perfectly convinced that Hamlet's Father died before the play began, there would be nothing more remarkable in his taking a stroll at night, in an easterly wind, upon his own ramparts, than there would be in any other middle-aged gentleman rashly turning out after dark in a breezy spot—say Saint Paul's Churchyard for instance—literally to astonish his son's weak mind.
The author suggests that just like the shock of seeing Hamlet's Father appear in Shakespeare's The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark after the character is known to be dead, it's important to understand that Marley is dead—presumably because he is going to play a part in the story in some supernatural, or as the author says, "wonderful," fashion. Only one answer choice involves a supernatural event—Marley's ghost making an appearance to a character. This is the correct answer and indeed what occurs later in the story from which this passage is excerpted.
Compare your answer with the correct one above
Adapted from A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens (1843)
Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it, and Scrooge’s name was good upon ’Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail.
Mind! I don’t mean to say that I know, of my own knowledge, what there is particularly dead about a door-nail. I might have been inclined, myself, to regard a coffin-nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade. But the wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile, and my unhallowed hands shall not disturb it, or the country’s done for. You will therefore permit me to repeat, emphatically, that Marley was as dead as a door-nail.
Scrooge knew he was dead? Of course he did. How could it be otherwise? Scrooge and he were partners for I don’t know how many years. Scrooge was his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole residuary legatee, his sole friend, and sole mourner. And even Scrooge was not so dreadfully cut up by the sad event, but that he was an excellent man of business on the very day of the funeral, and solemnized it with an undoubted bargain.
The mention of Marley's funeral brings me back to the point I started from. There is no doubt that Marley was dead. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate. If we were not perfectly convinced that Hamlet's father died before the play began, there would be nothing more remarkable in his taking a stroll at night, in an easterly wind, upon his own ramparts, than there would be in any other middle-aged gentleman rashly turning out after dark in a breezy spot—say Saint Paul's Churchyard for instance—literally to astonish his son's weak mind.
At one point in this passage, the author alludes to a famous literary work. To which work does he allude?
The author alludes to a famous literary work in the last paragraph of the passage:
The mention of Marley's funeral brings me back to the point I started from. There is no doubt that Marley was dead. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate. If we were not perfectly convinced that Hamlet's father died before the play began, there would be nothing more remarkable in his taking a stroll at night, in an easterly wind, upon his own ramparts, than there would be in any other middle-aged gentleman rashly turning out after dark in a breezy spot—say Saint Paul's Churchyard for instance—literally to astonish his son's weak mind.
Here, the author insists that Marley is dead, and suggests that this information will be crucial to the story he's about to tell. He draws a comparison between Marley and "Hamlet's Father," who "died before the play began," saying that if this weren't the case, "there would be nothing more remarkable in his taking a stroll at night, in an easterly wind, upon his own ramparts . . . literally to astonish his son's weak mind." This is a reference to Shakespeare's The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. Even if you don't aren't familiar with the story this play tells, it's enough for you to notice that the author specifically mentions "Hamlet's Father" to make this connection. At one point in Shakespeare's play, the main character, Hamlet, sees his father's ghost walking on the ramparts of their castle. Hamlet is shocked, and the two have a conversation. The author is alluding to this scene to compare Marley to Hamlet's Father in the sense that we can expect his ghost to show up later in the story.
Compare your answer with the correct one above
Adapted from Hung Lou Meng, Book I; or, The Dream of the Red Chamber: A Chinese Novel by Cao Xueqin, (c.1716–1763) (trans. H. Bencraft Joly, 1892–93)
\[At this point in the novel, Tai-yü has left her father’s house and traveled to go live with her grandmother.\]
Lin Tai-yü had often heard her mother recount how different was her grandmother's house from that of other people's; and having seen for herself how \[extravagant\] were already the attendants of the three grades, (sent to wait upon her,) in attire, in their fare, in all their articles of use, "how much more," she thought to herself, "now that I am going to her home, must I be careful at every step, and circumspect at every moment! Nor must I utter one word too many, nor make one step more than is proper, for fear lest I should be ridiculed by any of them!”
. . .
An entrance hall stood in the center, in the middle of which was a door-screen of Ta Li marble, set in an ebony frame. In the \[courtyard\] were five parlors, the frieze of the ceiling of which was all carved, and the pillars ornamented. In the side-rooms were suspended cages, full of parrots of every color, thrushes, and birds of every description.
Three or four \[waiting maids\] forthwith vied with each other in raising the door curtain, while at the same time was heard some one announce: "Miss Lin has arrived."
No sooner had she entered the room, than she espied two servants supporting a venerable lady, with silver-white hair, coming forward to greet her. Convinced that this lady must be her grandmother, she was about to prostrate herself and pay her obeisance, when she was quickly clasped in the arms of her grandmother, who held her close against her bosom; and as she called her "My liver! My flesh!" (My love! My darling!) she began to sob aloud.
The bystanders too, at once, without one exception, melted into tears; and Tai-yü herself found some difficulty in restraining her sobs. Little by little the whole party succeeded in consoling her, and Tai-yü at length paid her obeisance to her grandmother. Her ladyship thereupon pointed them out one by one to Tai-yü. "This," she said, "is the wife of your uncle, your mother's elder brother; this is the wife of your uncle, her second brother; and this is your eldest sister-in-law Chu, the wife of your senior cousin Chu."
Tai-yü bowed to each one of them with folded arms.
"Ask the young ladies in," dowager lady Chia went on to say. "Tell them a guest from afar has just arrived, one who comes for the first time; and that they may not go to their lessons."
Not long after three nurses and five or six waiting-maids were seen ushering in three young ladies. In their head ornaments, jewelry, and dress, the get-up of the three young ladies was identical.
Tai-yü speedily rose to greet them and to exchange salutations. After they had made each other's acquaintance, they all took a seat, whereupon the servants brought the tea. Their conversation was confined to Tai-yü's mother—how she had fallen ill, what doctors had attended her, what medicines had been given her, and how she had been buried and mourned. Dowager lady Chia was naturally again in great anguish.
"Of all my daughters," she remarked, "your mother was the one I loved best, and now in a twinkle, she has passed away, before me too, and I've not been able to so much as see her face. How can this not make my heart sore-stricken?"
And as she gave vent to these feelings, she took Tai-yü's hand in hers, and again gave way to sobs, and it was only after the members of the family had quickly made use of much exhortation and coaxing that they succeeded, little by little, in stopping her tears.
They all perceived that Tai-yü, despite her youthful years and appearance, was ladylike in her deportment and address, and that though with her delicate figure and countenance, she seemed as if unable to bear the very weight of her clothes, she possessed, however, a certain captivating air. And as they readily noticed the symptoms of a weak constitution, they went on in consequence to make inquiries as to what medicines she ordinarily took, and how it was that her complaint had not been cured.
Hardly had she finished \[replying\], when a sound of laughter was heard from the back courtyard. "Here I am too late!" the voice said, "and not in time to receive the distant visitor!"
"Every one of all these people," reflected Tai-yü, "holds her peace and suppresses the very breath of her mouth; and who, I wonder, is this coming in this reckless and rude manner?"
The attire of this person bore no similarity to that of the young ladies. In all her splendor and luster, she looked like a fairy or a goddess. On her person, she wore a tight-sleeved jacket, of dark red flowered satin, covered with hundreds of butterflies, embroidered in gold, interspersed with flowers. Her stature was elegant; her figure graceful; her powdered face like dawning spring, majestic, yet not haughty.
Tai-yü eagerly rose and greeted her. She was just at a loss how to address her, when all her cousins informed Tai-yü, that this was her sister-in-law Lien.
Tai-yü lost no time in returning her smile and saluting her with all propriety, addressing her as "my sister-in-law." \[Lien\] laid hold of Tai-yü's hand, and minutely scrutinized her, for a while, from head to foot, after which she led her back next to dowager lady Chia, where they both took a seat.
Which of the following excerpts provides evidence that Tai-yü's sister-in-law Lien is concerned with the details of others' appearances, not only her own?
Lien is only introduced at the end of the passage, so this narrows the part of the passage we have to analyze. Let's consider her introduction now. Tai-yü is talking with her relatives who have arrived to meet her on time when Lien is introduced:
Hardly had she finished \[replying\], when a sound of laughter was heard from the back courtyard. "Here I am too late!" the voice said, "and not in time to receive the distant visitor!"
"Every one of all these people," reflected Tai-yü, "holds her peace and suppresses the very breath of her mouth; and who, I wonder, is this coming in this reckless and rude manner?"
The attire of this person bore no similarity to that of the young ladies. In all her splendor and luster, she looked like a fairy or a goddess. On her person, she wore a tight-sleeved jacket, of dark red flowered satin, covered with hundreds of butterflies, embroidered in gold, interspersed with flowers. Her stature was elegant; her figure graceful; her powdered face like dawning spring, majestic, yet not haughty.
Tai-yü eagerly rose and greeted her. She was just at a loss how to address her, when all her cousins informed Tai-yü, that this was her sister-in-law Lien.
Tai-yü lost no time in returning her smile and saluting her with all propriety, addressing her as my sister-in-law. \[She\] laid hold of Tai-yü's hand, and minutely scrutinised her, for a while, from head to foot; after which she led her back next to dowager lady Chia, where they both took a seat.
To answer this question correctly, you need to pay attention to what it is asking specifically. It is not asking for evidence that Lien is concerned with the details of her own appearance: it is asking for evidence that in addition to that, she is concerned with the details of others' appearances. If you misread the question and thought that it was asking for evidence that Lien is concerned with the details of her own appearance, "On her person, she wore a tight-sleeved jacket, of dark red flowered satin, covered with hundreds of butterflies, embroidered in gold, interspersed with flowers." might seem like a potentially correct answer choice, as it describes the details of Lien's appearance and suggests that she has paid attention to these details; however, this is not the correct answer. Neither is the sentence describing Lien's laugh at arriving late to meet Tai-yü, nor is the answer choice describing Lien's stature and face. These have nothing to do with the appearances of others.
The only answer choice that provides evidence that Lien cares about the details of others' appearances is "\[She\] laid hold of Tai-yü's hand, and minutely scrutinised her, for a while, from head to foot; after which she led her back next to dowager lady Chia, where they both took a seat." In this sentence, Lien "minutely scrutiniz\[es\]" Tai-yü; that is, she considers the details of her appearance very carefully. This could serve as evidence supporting the claim that Lien cares about the details of others' appearances.
Compare your answer with the correct one above
Adapted from Hung Lou Meng, Book I; or, The Dream of the Red Chamber: A Chinese Novel by Cao Xueqin, (c.1716–1763) (trans. H. Bencraft Joly, 1892–93)
\[At this point in the novel, Tai-yü has left her father’s house and traveled to go live with her grandmother.\]
Lin Tai-yü had often heard her mother recount how different was her grandmother's house from that of other people's; and having seen for herself how \[extravagant\] were already the attendants of the three grades, (sent to wait upon her,) in attire, in their fare, in all their articles of use, "how much more," she thought to herself, "now that I am going to her home, must I be careful at every step, and circumspect at every moment! Nor must I utter one word too many, nor make one step more than is proper, for fear lest I should be ridiculed by any of them!”
. . .
An entrance hall stood in the center, in the middle of which was a door-screen of Ta Li marble, set in an ebony frame. In the \[courtyard\] were five parlors, the frieze of the ceiling of which was all carved, and the pillars ornamented. In the side-rooms were suspended cages, full of parrots of every color, thrushes, and birds of every description.
Three or four \[waiting maids\] forthwith vied with each other in raising the door curtain, while at the same time was heard some one announce: "Miss Lin has arrived."
No sooner had she entered the room, than she espied two servants supporting a venerable lady, with silver-white hair, coming forward to greet her. Convinced that this lady must be her grandmother, she was about to prostrate herself and pay her obeisance, when she was quickly clasped in the arms of her grandmother, who held her close against her bosom; and as she called her "My liver! My flesh!" (My love! My darling!) she began to sob aloud.
The bystanders too, at once, without one exception, melted into tears; and Tai-yü herself found some difficulty in restraining her sobs. Little by little the whole party succeeded in consoling her, and Tai-yü at length paid her obeisance to her grandmother. Her ladyship thereupon pointed them out one by one to Tai-yü. "This," she said, "is the wife of your uncle, your mother's elder brother; this is the wife of your uncle, her second brother; and this is your eldest sister-in-law Chu, the wife of your senior cousin Chu."
Tai-yü bowed to each one of them with folded arms.
"Ask the young ladies in," dowager lady Chia went on to say. "Tell them a guest from afar has just arrived, one who comes for the first time; and that they may not go to their lessons."
Not long after three nurses and five or six waiting-maids were seen ushering in three young ladies. In their head ornaments, jewelry, and dress, the get-up of the three young ladies was identical.
Tai-yü speedily rose to greet them and to exchange salutations. After they had made each other's acquaintance, they all took a seat, whereupon the servants brought the tea. Their conversation was confined to Tai-yü's mother—how she had fallen ill, what doctors had attended her, what medicines had been given her, and how she had been buried and mourned. Dowager lady Chia was naturally again in great anguish.
"Of all my daughters," she remarked, "your mother was the one I loved best, and now in a twinkle, she has passed away, before me too, and I've not been able to so much as see her face. How can this not make my heart sore-stricken?"
And as she gave vent to these feelings, she took Tai-yü's hand in hers, and again gave way to sobs, and it was only after the members of the family had quickly made use of much exhortation and coaxing that they succeeded, little by little, in stopping her tears.
They all perceived that Tai-yü, despite her youthful years and appearance, was ladylike in her deportment and address, and that though with her delicate figure and countenance, she seemed as if unable to bear the very weight of her clothes, she possessed, however, a certain captivating air. And as they readily noticed the symptoms of a weak constitution, they went on in consequence to make inquiries as to what medicines she ordinarily took, and how it was that her complaint had not been cured.
Hardly had she finished \[replying\], when a sound of laughter was heard from the back courtyard. "Here I am too late!" the voice said, "and not in time to receive the distant visitor!"
"Every one of all these people," reflected Tai-yü, "holds her peace and suppresses the very breath of her mouth; and who, I wonder, is this coming in this reckless and rude manner?"
The attire of this person bore no similarity to that of the young ladies. In all her splendor and luster, she looked like a fairy or a goddess. On her person, she wore a tight-sleeved jacket, of dark red flowered satin, covered with hundreds of butterflies, embroidered in gold, interspersed with flowers. Her stature was elegant; her figure graceful; her powdered face like dawning spring, majestic, yet not haughty.
Tai-yü eagerly rose and greeted her. She was just at a loss how to address her, when all her cousins informed Tai-yü, that this was her sister-in-law Lien.
Tai-yü lost no time in returning her smile and saluting her with all propriety, addressing her as "my sister-in-law." \[Lien\] laid hold of Tai-yü's hand, and minutely scrutinized her, for a while, from head to foot, after which she led her back next to dowager lady Chia, where they both took a seat.
What can we infer from the content and placement of the underlined paragraph in the context of the entire passage?
The underlined paragraph is the second paragraph in the passage. In the paragraph that precedes it, the audience is informed about Tai-yü's concern that she will make some sort of social misstep while living at her grandmother's residence. Then, a paragraph break occurs, and the underlined paragraph begins the next section of the text:
An entrance hall stood in the center, in the middle of which was a door-screen of Ta Li marble, set in an ebony frame. In the \[courtyard\] were five parlors, the frieze of the ceiling of which was all carved, and the pillars ornamented. In the side-rooms were suspended cages, full of parrots of every color, thrushes, and birds of every description.
The underlined paragraph provides visual detail about the setting in which the rest of the passage takes place. It mentions several things that are opulent and we can infer would cost a lot of money: a door-screen made of marble and ebony; many parlors with carved ceilings and ornamented pillars, and pet birds.
Nothing about this description allows us to infer that each resident owns exactly one caged bird. While multiple people seem to live at this location, the birds are described in general terms: we don't learn of an exact number of them that we could associate with an exact number of residents, and nothing is mentioned to make this connection without data. It's also not reasonable to infer that the story's location is one where the weather forces people to remain inside, since we are told that the area includes a "courtyard," which is an outdoor area. We also don't learn anything that would support the idea that Tai-yü's grandmother suddenly became very wealthy. While the descriptions of items we can infer are expensive suggest that she is wealthy at the time the passage's events take place, we don't learn anything about her past, so we can't claim that she suddenly became very wealthy; she may have been wealthy all her life.
The only remaining answer choice is the correct one: "This is likely the first time that this setting has been introduced in the story." The paragraph consists of extensive description of the setting, and this description would not be necessary if the reader were already familiar with the details of the location. Furthermore, we know that this is the first time that Tai-yü is visiting this location, and the passage begins by focusing on her as the main character.
Compare your answer with the correct one above
Adapted from Hung Lou Meng, Book I; or, The Dream of the Red Chamber: A Chinese Novel by Cao Xueqin, (c.1716–1763) (trans. H. Bencraft Joly, 1892–93)
\[At this point in the novel, Tai-yü has left her father’s house and traveled to go live with her grandmother.\]
Lin Tai-yü had often heard her mother recount how different was her grandmother's house from that of other people's; and having seen for herself how \[extravagant\] were already the attendants of the three grades, (sent to wait upon her,) in attire, in their fare, in all their articles of use, "how much more," she thought to herself, "now that I am going to her home, must I be careful at every step, and circumspect at every moment! Nor must I utter one word too many, nor make one step more than is proper, for fear lest I should be ridiculed by any of them!”
. . .
An entrance hall stood in the center, in the middle of which was a door-screen of Ta Li marble, set in an ebony frame. In the \[courtyard\] were five parlors, the frieze of the ceiling of which was all carved, and the pillars ornamented. In the side-rooms were suspended cages, full of parrots of every color, thrushes, and birds of every description.
Three or four \[waiting maids\] forthwith vied with each other in raising the door curtain, while at the same time was heard some one announce: "Miss Lin has arrived."
No sooner had she entered the room, than she espied two servants supporting a venerable lady, with silver-white hair, coming forward to greet her. Convinced that this lady must be her grandmother, she was about to prostrate herself and pay her obeisance, when she was quickly clasped in the arms of her grandmother, who held her close against her bosom; and as she called her "My liver! My flesh!" (My love! My darling!) she began to sob aloud.
The bystanders too, at once, without one exception, melted into tears; and Tai-yü herself found some difficulty in restraining her sobs. Little by little the whole party succeeded in consoling her, and Tai-yü at length paid her obeisance to her grandmother. Her ladyship thereupon pointed them out one by one to Tai-yü. "This," she said, "is the wife of your uncle, your mother's elder brother; this is the wife of your uncle, her second brother; and this is your eldest sister-in-law Chu, the wife of your senior cousin Chu."
Tai-yü bowed to each one of them with folded arms.
"Ask the young ladies in," dowager lady Chia went on to say. "Tell them a guest from afar has just arrived, one who comes for the first time; and that they may not go to their lessons."
Not long after three nurses and five or six waiting-maids were seen ushering in three young ladies. In their head ornaments, jewelry, and dress, the get-up of the three young ladies was identical.
Tai-yü speedily rose to greet them and to exchange salutations. After they had made each other's acquaintance, they all took a seat, whereupon the servants brought the tea. Their conversation was confined to Tai-yü's mother—how she had fallen ill, what doctors had attended her, what medicines had been given her, and how she had been buried and mourned. Dowager lady Chia was naturally again in great anguish.
"Of all my daughters," she remarked, "your mother was the one I loved best, and now in a twinkle, she has passed away, before me too, and I've not been able to so much as see her face. How can this not make my heart sore-stricken?"
And as she gave vent to these feelings, she took Tai-yü's hand in hers, and again gave way to sobs, and it was only after the members of the family had quickly made use of much exhortation and coaxing that they succeeded, little by little, in stopping her tears.
They all perceived that Tai-yü, despite her youthful years and appearance, was ladylike in her deportment and address, and that though with her delicate figure and countenance, she seemed as if unable to bear the very weight of her clothes, she possessed, however, a certain captivating air. And as they readily noticed the symptoms of a weak constitution, they went on in consequence to make inquiries as to what medicines she ordinarily took, and how it was that her complaint had not been cured.
Hardly had she finished \[replying\], when a sound of laughter was heard from the back courtyard. "Here I am too late!" the voice said, "and not in time to receive the distant visitor!"
"Every one of all these people," reflected Tai-yü, "holds her peace and suppresses the very breath of her mouth; and who, I wonder, is this coming in this reckless and rude manner?"
The attire of this person bore no similarity to that of the young ladies. In all her splendor and luster, she looked like a fairy or a goddess. On her person, she wore a tight-sleeved jacket, of dark red flowered satin, covered with hundreds of butterflies, embroidered in gold, interspersed with flowers. Her stature was elegant; her figure graceful; her powdered face like dawning spring, majestic, yet not haughty.
Tai-yü eagerly rose and greeted her. She was just at a loss how to address her, when all her cousins informed Tai-yü, that this was her sister-in-law Lien.
Tai-yü lost no time in returning her smile and saluting her with all propriety, addressing her as "my sister-in-law." \[Lien\] laid hold of Tai-yü's hand, and minutely scrutinized her, for a while, from head to foot, after which she led her back next to dowager lady Chia, where they both took a seat.
The first paragraph has which of the following effects on the rest of the passage?
In the first paragraph, we learn that Tai-yü is expecting her grandmother's house to be very different from any house in which she's lived. Seeing how extravagant her grandmother's attendants are prompts Tai-yü to worry about making a social mistake and embarrassing herself in this new milieu. After this paragraph, there is a paragraph break, and then the rest of the paragraph begins. Tai-yü's grandmother's house is described, and then her entrance is announced.
The first paragraph works in a specific way to influence how readers understand the rest of the material that follows after the paragraph break. It does not "\[emphasize\] how Tai-yü initially assumes that her grandmother's house will be similar to her mother's." We learn that Tai-yü assumes the opposite: that her grandmother's house will be very different from other people's. Furthermore, it does not "\[suggest\] that Tai-yü has never before been in a formal social situation that demands good manners, and that she is not aware that her behavior will be judged." She is very aware that her behavior will be judged, to the point where she is concerned about making a social error. Finally, it does not "\[allow\] the reader to infer that Tai-yü is only pretending to be the granddaughter of the woman she is going to visit and is not actually related to her." Nothing in the passage suggests that this is the case.
The correct answer is that the first paragraph "adds tension by informing the audience that Tai-yü is afraid of embarrassing herself at her grandmother's residence before she arrives there." The placement of the paragraph as the first one in the passage allows the reader to understand how Tai-yü is feeling about traveling to live with her grandmother. This insight into her thoughts and feelings in the first paragraph adds another layer of interpretation to the rest of the passage: the reader understands that as Tai-yü interacts with her grandmother and relatives, she is nervous about embarrassing herself.
Compare your answer with the correct one above
Adapted from Hung Lou Meng, Book I; or, The Dream of the Red Chamber: A Chinese Novel by Cao Xueqin, (c.1716–1763) (trans. H. Bencraft Joly, 1892–93)
\[At this point in the novel, Tai-yü has left her father’s house and traveled to go live with her grandmother.\]
Lin Tai-yü had often heard her mother recount how different was her grandmother's house from that of other people's; and having seen for herself how \[extravagant\] were already the attendants of the three grades, (sent to wait upon her,) in attire, in their fare, in all their articles of use, "how much more," she thought to herself, "now that I am going to her home, must I be careful at every step, and circumspect at every moment! Nor must I utter one word too many, nor make one step more than is proper, for fear lest I should be ridiculed by any of them!”
. . .
An entrance hall stood in the center, in the middle of which was a door-screen of Ta Li marble, set in an ebony frame. In the \[courtyard\] were five parlors, the frieze of the ceiling of which was all carved, and the pillars ornamented. In the side-rooms were suspended cages, full of parrots of every color, thrushes, and birds of every description.
Three or four \[waiting maids\] forthwith vied with each other in raising the door curtain, while at the same time was heard some one announce: "Miss Lin has arrived."
No sooner had she entered the room, than she espied two servants supporting a venerable lady, with silver-white hair, coming forward to greet her. Convinced that this lady must be her grandmother, she was about to prostrate herself and pay her obeisance, when she was quickly clasped in the arms of her grandmother, who held her close against her bosom; and as she called her "My liver! My flesh!" (My love! My darling!) she began to sob aloud.
The bystanders too, at once, without one exception, melted into tears; and Tai-yü herself found some difficulty in restraining her sobs. Little by little the whole party succeeded in consoling her, and Tai-yü at length paid her obeisance to her grandmother. Her ladyship thereupon pointed them out one by one to Tai-yü. "This," she said, "is the wife of your uncle, your mother's elder brother; this is the wife of your uncle, her second brother; and this is your eldest sister-in-law Chu, the wife of your senior cousin Chu."
Tai-yü bowed to each one of them with folded arms.
"Ask the young ladies in," dowager lady Chia went on to say. "Tell them a guest from afar has just arrived, one who comes for the first time; and that they may not go to their lessons."
Not long after three nurses and five or six waiting-maids were seen ushering in three young ladies. In their head ornaments, jewelry, and dress, the get-up of the three young ladies was identical.
Tai-yü speedily rose to greet them and to exchange salutations. After they had made each other's acquaintance, they all took a seat, whereupon the servants brought the tea. Their conversation was confined to Tai-yü's mother—how she had fallen ill, what doctors had attended her, what medicines had been given her, and how she had been buried and mourned. Dowager lady Chia was naturally again in great anguish.
"Of all my daughters," she remarked, "your mother was the one I loved best, and now in a twinkle, she has passed away, before me too, and I've not been able to so much as see her face. How can this not make my heart sore-stricken?"
And as she gave vent to these feelings, she took Tai-yü's hand in hers, and again gave way to sobs, and it was only after the members of the family had quickly made use of much exhortation and coaxing that they succeeded, little by little, in stopping her tears.
They all perceived that Tai-yü, despite her youthful years and appearance, was ladylike in her deportment and address, and that though with her delicate figure and countenance, she seemed as if unable to bear the very weight of her clothes, she possessed, however, a certain captivating air. And as they readily noticed the symptoms of a weak constitution, they went on in consequence to make inquiries as to what medicines she ordinarily took, and how it was that her complaint had not been cured.
Hardly had she finished \[replying\], when a sound of laughter was heard from the back courtyard. "Here I am too late!" the voice said, "and not in time to receive the distant visitor!"
"Every one of all these people," reflected Tai-yü, "holds her peace and suppresses the very breath of her mouth; and who, I wonder, is this coming in this reckless and rude manner?"
The attire of this person bore no similarity to that of the young ladies. In all her splendor and luster, she looked like a fairy or a goddess. On her person, she wore a tight-sleeved jacket, of dark red flowered satin, covered with hundreds of butterflies, embroidered in gold, interspersed with flowers. Her stature was elegant; her figure graceful; her powdered face like dawning spring, majestic, yet not haughty.
Tai-yü eagerly rose and greeted her. She was just at a loss how to address her, when all her cousins informed Tai-yü, that this was her sister-in-law Lien.
Tai-yü lost no time in returning her smile and saluting her with all propriety, addressing her as "my sister-in-law." \[Lien\] laid hold of Tai-yü's hand, and minutely scrutinized her, for a while, from head to foot, after which she led her back next to dowager lady Chia, where they both took a seat.
The underlined selection provides evidence that __________ was/were likely an important part of Chinese culture in the era this work portrays.
In the underlined section of the passage, Tai-yü nearly mistakes an older woman for her grandmother, but before she can act on this assumption, her grandmother embraces her. The two cry and are consoled by other relatives. Tai-yü "pays obeisance" to her grandmother—that is, she bows on the ground to show respect., and then Tai-yü's grandmother introduces her to other relatives. Tai-yü bows to each of her relatives as she meets them.
There are no gifts mentioned in the underlines selection (or in the entire passage), so "the presentation of gifts upon first meeting members of one's extended family" is not correct. Since Tai-yü and her grandmother cry upon first meeting one another, "the withholding and control of one's emotions" isn't the best answer choice. We don't see any "public expression of anger in response to bad things happening to one's family" in this selection, either. Both Tai-yü and her grandmother start crying and have to be consoled; nothing about this response suggests anger.
The best answer choice is that the selection provides evidence that "public demonstrations of respect for one's older family members" were likely an important part of Chinese culture in the era this work portrays. In the indicated part of the passage, Tai-yü "pays obeisance" to her grandmother—that is, she pays respect to her grandmother. In addition, she bows to each of her other family members after meeting them. These are public demonstrations of respect directed toward relatives who all seem to be older than Tai-yü.
Compare your answer with the correct one above
Adapted from Hung Lou Meng, Book I; or, The Dream of the Red Chamber: A Chinese Novel by Cao Xueqin, (c.1716–1763) (trans. H. Bencraft Joly, 1892–93)
\[At this point in the novel, Tai-yü has left her father’s house and traveled to go live with her grandmother.\]
Lin Tai-yü had often heard her mother recount how different was her grandmother's house from that of other people's; and having seen for herself how \[extravagant\] were already the attendants of the three grades, (sent to wait upon her,) in attire, in their fare, in all their articles of use, "how much more," she thought to herself, "now that I am going to her home, must I be careful at every step, and circumspect at every moment! Nor must I utter one word too many, nor make one step more than is proper, for fear lest I should be ridiculed by any of them!”
. . .
An entrance hall stood in the center, in the middle of which was a door-screen of Ta Li marble, set in an ebony frame. In the \[courtyard\] were five parlors, the frieze of the ceiling of which was all carved, and the pillars ornamented. In the side-rooms were suspended cages, full of parrots of every color, thrushes, and birds of every description.
Three or four \[waiting maids\] forthwith vied with each other in raising the door curtain, while at the same time was heard some one announce: "Miss Lin has arrived."
No sooner had she entered the room, than she espied two servants supporting a venerable lady, with silver-white hair, coming forward to greet her. Convinced that this lady must be her grandmother, she was about to prostrate herself and pay her obeisance, when she was quickly clasped in the arms of her grandmother, who held her close against her bosom; and as she called her "My liver! My flesh!" (My love! My darling!) she began to sob aloud.
The bystanders too, at once, without one exception, melted into tears; and Tai-yü herself found some difficulty in restraining her sobs. Little by little the whole party succeeded in consoling her, and Tai-yü at length paid her obeisance to her grandmother. Her ladyship thereupon pointed them out one by one to Tai-yü. "This," she said, "is the wife of your uncle, your mother's elder brother; this is the wife of your uncle, her second brother; and this is your eldest sister-in-law Chu, the wife of your senior cousin Chu."
Tai-yü bowed to each one of them with folded arms.
"Ask the young ladies in," dowager lady Chia went on to say. "Tell them a guest from afar has just arrived, one who comes for the first time; and that they may not go to their lessons."
Not long after three nurses and five or six waiting-maids were seen ushering in three young ladies. In their head ornaments, jewelry, and dress, the get-up of the three young ladies was identical.
Tai-yü speedily rose to greet them and to exchange salutations. After they had made each other's acquaintance, they all took a seat, whereupon the servants brought the tea. Their conversation was confined to Tai-yü's mother—how she had fallen ill, what doctors had attended her, what medicines had been given her, and how she had been buried and mourned. Dowager lady Chia was naturally again in great anguish.
"Of all my daughters," she remarked, "your mother was the one I loved best, and now in a twinkle, she has passed away, before me too, and I've not been able to so much as see her face. How can this not make my heart sore-stricken?"
And as she gave vent to these feelings, she took Tai-yü's hand in hers, and again gave way to sobs, and it was only after the members of the family had quickly made use of much exhortation and coaxing that they succeeded, little by little, in stopping her tears.
They all perceived that Tai-yü, despite her youthful years and appearance, was ladylike in her deportment and address, and that though with her delicate figure and countenance, she seemed as if unable to bear the very weight of her clothes, she possessed, however, a certain captivating air. And as they readily noticed the symptoms of a weak constitution, they went on in consequence to make inquiries as to what medicines she ordinarily took, and how it was that her complaint had not been cured.
Hardly had she finished \[replying\], when a sound of laughter was heard from the back courtyard. "Here I am too late!" the voice said, "and not in time to receive the distant visitor!"
"Every one of all these people," reflected Tai-yü, "holds her peace and suppresses the very breath of her mouth; and who, I wonder, is this coming in this reckless and rude manner?"
The attire of this person bore no similarity to that of the young ladies. In all her splendor and luster, she looked like a fairy or a goddess. On her person, she wore a tight-sleeved jacket, of dark red flowered satin, covered with hundreds of butterflies, embroidered in gold, interspersed with flowers. Her stature was elegant; her figure graceful; her powdered face like dawning spring, majestic, yet not haughty.
Tai-yü eagerly rose and greeted her. She was just at a loss how to address her, when all her cousins informed Tai-yü, that this was her sister-in-law Lien.
Tai-yü lost no time in returning her smile and saluting her with all propriety, addressing her as "my sister-in-law." \[Lien\] laid hold of Tai-yü's hand, and minutely scrutinized her, for a while, from head to foot, after which she led her back next to dowager lady Chia, where they both took a seat.
All of the following statements about the passage are true. Which of the following provides the strongest evidence that Tai-yü has never before visited this particular setting?
The answer choices stating that Tai-yü does not dress in as extravagant a manner as her sister-in-law Lien, that she does not become offended when asked about her weak physical condition, and that she thinks Lien is being rude by calling attention to her late arrival do not directly relate to the idea that it is Tai-yü's first time visiting her grandmother's residence. Any of these events could have occurred regardless of this is Tai-yü's first time visiting to her grandmother's residence or she has visited many times before.
The answer choice that provides evidence that this is in fact Tai-yü's first time visiting her grandmother's residence is, "Tai-yü does not recognize the residents who are her relatives, including her grandmother." Since the residence belongs to her grandmother, if Tai-yü had visited the residence before, it is likely that she would have met her grandmother or some of her relatives who live there. As we see in the passage, Tai-yü meets her grandmother and some of her other relatives for the first time. She initially does not recognize them. The fact that Tai-yü does not recognize her grandmother in the passage's setting, her grandmother's residence, serves as evidence suggesting that Tai-yü has never before visited her grandmother's residence.
Compare your answer with the correct one above
Adapted from Hung Lou Meng, Book I; or, The Dream of the Red Chamber: A Chinese Novel by Cao Xueqin, (c.1716–1763) (trans. H. Bencraft Joly, 1892–93)
\[At this point in the novel, Tai-yü has left her father’s house and traveled to go live with her grandmother.\]
Lin Tai-yü had often heard her mother recount how different was her grandmother's house from that of other people's; and having seen for herself how \[extravagant\] were already the attendants of the three grades, (sent to wait upon her,) in attire, in their fare, in all their articles of use, "how much more," she thought to herself, "now that I am going to her home, must I be careful at every step, and circumspect at every moment! Nor must I utter one word too many, nor make one step more than is proper, for fear lest I should be ridiculed by any of them!”
. . .
An entrance hall stood in the center, in the middle of which was a door-screen of Ta Li marble, set in an ebony frame. In the \[courtyard\] were five parlors, the frieze of the ceiling of which was all carved, and the pillars ornamented. In the side-rooms were suspended cages, full of parrots of every color, thrushes, and birds of every description.
Three or four \[waiting maids\] forthwith vied with each other in raising the door curtain, while at the same time was heard some one announce: "Miss Lin has arrived."
No sooner had she entered the room, than she espied two servants supporting a venerable lady, with silver-white hair, coming forward to greet her. Convinced that this lady must be her grandmother, she was about to prostrate herself and pay her obeisance, when she was quickly clasped in the arms of her grandmother, who held her close against her bosom; and as she called her "My liver! My flesh!" (My love! My darling!) she began to sob aloud.
The bystanders too, at once, without one exception, melted into tears; and Tai-yü herself found some difficulty in restraining her sobs. Little by little the whole party succeeded in consoling her, and Tai-yü at length paid her obeisance to her grandmother. Her ladyship thereupon pointed them out one by one to Tai-yü. "This," she said, "is the wife of your uncle, your mother's elder brother; this is the wife of your uncle, her second brother; and this is your eldest sister-in-law Chu, the wife of your senior cousin Chu."
Tai-yü bowed to each one of them with folded arms.
"Ask the young ladies in," dowager lady Chia went on to say. "Tell them a guest from afar has just arrived, one who comes for the first time; and that they may not go to their lessons."
Not long after three nurses and five or six waiting-maids were seen ushering in three young ladies. In their head ornaments, jewelry, and dress, the get-up of the three young ladies was identical.
Tai-yü speedily rose to greet them and to exchange salutations. After they had made each other's acquaintance, they all took a seat, whereupon the servants brought the tea. Their conversation was confined to Tai-yü's mother—how she had fallen ill, what doctors had attended her, what medicines had been given her, and how she had been buried and mourned. Dowager lady Chia was naturally again in great anguish.
"Of all my daughters," she remarked, "your mother was the one I loved best, and now in a twinkle, she has passed away, before me too, and I've not been able to so much as see her face. How can this not make my heart sore-stricken?"
And as she gave vent to these feelings, she took Tai-yü's hand in hers, and again gave way to sobs, and it was only after the members of the family had quickly made use of much exhortation and coaxing that they succeeded, little by little, in stopping her tears.
They all perceived that Tai-yü, despite her youthful years and appearance, was ladylike in her deportment and address, and that though with her delicate figure and countenance, she seemed as if unable to bear the very weight of her clothes, she possessed, however, a certain captivating air. And as they readily noticed the symptoms of a weak constitution, they went on in consequence to make inquiries as to what medicines she ordinarily took, and how it was that her complaint had not been cured.
Hardly had she finished \[replying\], when a sound of laughter was heard from the back courtyard. "Here I am too late!" the voice said, "and not in time to receive the distant visitor!"
"Every one of all these people," reflected Tai-yü, "holds her peace and suppresses the very breath of her mouth; and who, I wonder, is this coming in this reckless and rude manner?"
The attire of this person bore no similarity to that of the young ladies. In all her splendor and luster, she looked like a fairy or a goddess. On her person, she wore a tight-sleeved jacket, of dark red flowered satin, covered with hundreds of butterflies, embroidered in gold, interspersed with flowers. Her stature was elegant; her figure graceful; her powdered face like dawning spring, majestic, yet not haughty.
Tai-yü eagerly rose and greeted her. She was just at a loss how to address her, when all her cousins informed Tai-yü, that this was her sister-in-law Lien.
Tai-yü lost no time in returning her smile and saluting her with all propriety, addressing her as "my sister-in-law." \[Lien\] laid hold of Tai-yü's hand, and minutely scrutinized her, for a while, from head to foot, after which she led her back next to dowager lady Chia, where they both took a seat.
Considering what we learn in the passage, which of the following is most likely the reason Tai-yü has come to live at her grandmother's house?
Only one of the answer choices is supported by information in the passage. Nothing is said about Tai-yü's father, so, "Her father has recently died" can't be the correct answer. We learn that Tai-yü has a peristent physical condition that leaves her weak. ("And as they readily noticed the symptoms of a weak constitution, they went on in consequence to make inquiries as to what medicines she ordinarily took, and how it was that her complaint had not been cured.") So, it wouldn't make sense for Tai-yü to come live with her grandmother in order to live in "a place that will require taxing physical exercise." That wouldn't make sense given what we learn about the character, and there nothing in the passage suggests that Tai-yü will be expected to perform taxing physical exercise. "She is ill, and her grandmother is a renowned physician" may initially seem like the correct answer choice, because we do learn that Tai-yü has a persistent physical condition, so we could say that she is ill; however, we learn nothing that suggests that her grandmother is a renowned physician, so this isn't the correct answer.
The correct answer is that given the presented answer choices, it makes the most sense if Tai-yü has most likely come to live at her grandmother's house because "her mother has recently died." Evidence in support of this reading is present throughout the passage: Tai-yü and her grandmother start crying when they first meet, and Tai-yü's mother's death is the topic of conversation at tea, which causes her grandmother to start crying again. The fact that the passage contains evidence supporting this answer choice makes it the correct answer.
Compare your answer with the correct one above
Adapted from Hung Lou Meng, Book I; or, The Dream of the Red Chamber: A Chinese Novel by Cao Xueqin, (c.1716–1763) (trans. H. Bencraft Joly, 1892–93)
\[At this point in the novel, Tai-yü has left her father’s house and traveled to go live with her grandmother.\]
Lin Tai-yü had often heard her mother recount how different was her grandmother's house from that of other people's; and having seen for herself how \[extravagant\] were already the attendants of the three grades, (sent to wait upon her,) in attire, in their fare, in all their articles of use, "how much more," she thought to herself, "now that I am going to her home, must I be careful at every step, and circumspect at every moment! Nor must I utter one word too many, nor make one step more than is proper, for fear lest I should be ridiculed by any of them!”
. . .
An entrance hall stood in the center, in the middle of which was a door-screen of Ta Li marble, set in an ebony frame. In the \[courtyard\] were five parlors, the frieze of the ceiling of which was all carved, and the pillars ornamented. In the side-rooms were suspended cages, full of parrots of every color, thrushes, and birds of every description.
Three or four \[waiting maids\] forthwith vied with each other in raising the door curtain, while at the same time was heard some one announce: "Miss Lin has arrived."
No sooner had she entered the room, than she espied two servants supporting a venerable lady, with silver-white hair, coming forward to greet her. Convinced that this lady must be her grandmother, she was about to prostrate herself and pay her obeisance, when she was quickly clasped in the arms of her grandmother, who held her close against her bosom; and as she called her "My liver! My flesh!" (My love! My darling!) she began to sob aloud.
The bystanders too, at once, without one exception, melted into tears; and Tai-yü herself found some difficulty in restraining her sobs. Little by little the whole party succeeded in consoling her, and Tai-yü at length paid her obeisance to her grandmother. Her ladyship thereupon pointed them out one by one to Tai-yü. "This," she said, "is the wife of your uncle, your mother's elder brother; this is the wife of your uncle, her second brother; and this is your eldest sister-in-law Chu, the wife of your senior cousin Chu."
Tai-yü bowed to each one of them with folded arms.
"Ask the young ladies in," dowager lady Chia went on to say. "Tell them a guest from afar has just arrived, one who comes for the first time; and that they may not go to their lessons."
Not long after three nurses and five or six waiting-maids were seen ushering in three young ladies. In their head ornaments, jewelry, and dress, the get-up of the three young ladies was identical.
Tai-yü speedily rose to greet them and to exchange salutations. After they had made each other's acquaintance, they all took a seat, whereupon the servants brought the tea. Their conversation was confined to Tai-yü's mother—how she had fallen ill, what doctors had attended her, what medicines had been given her, and how she had been buried and mourned. Dowager lady Chia was naturally again in great anguish.
"Of all my daughters," she remarked, "your mother was the one I loved best, and now in a twinkle, she has passed away, before me too, and I've not been able to so much as see her face. How can this not make my heart sore-stricken?"
And as she gave vent to these feelings, she took Tai-yü's hand in hers, and again gave way to sobs, and it was only after the members of the family had quickly made use of much exhortation and coaxing that they succeeded, little by little, in stopping her tears.
They all perceived that Tai-yü, despite her youthful years and appearance, was ladylike in her deportment and address, and that though with her delicate figure and countenance, she seemed as if unable to bear the very weight of her clothes, she possessed, however, a certain captivating air. And as they readily noticed the symptoms of a weak constitution, they went on in consequence to make inquiries as to what medicines she ordinarily took, and how it was that her complaint had not been cured.
Hardly had she finished \[replying\], when a sound of laughter was heard from the back courtyard. "Here I am too late!" the voice said, "and not in time to receive the distant visitor!"
"Every one of all these people," reflected Tai-yü, "holds her peace and suppresses the very breath of her mouth; and who, I wonder, is this coming in this reckless and rude manner?"
The attire of this person bore no similarity to that of the young ladies. In all her splendor and luster, she looked like a fairy or a goddess. On her person, she wore a tight-sleeved jacket, of dark red flowered satin, covered with hundreds of butterflies, embroidered in gold, interspersed with flowers. Her stature was elegant; her figure graceful; her powdered face like dawning spring, majestic, yet not haughty.
Tai-yü eagerly rose and greeted her. She was just at a loss how to address her, when all her cousins informed Tai-yü, that this was her sister-in-law Lien.
Tai-yü lost no time in returning her smile and saluting her with all propriety, addressing her as "my sister-in-law." \[Lien\] laid hold of Tai-yü's hand, and minutely scrutinized her, for a while, from head to foot, after which she led her back next to dowager lady Chia, where they both took a seat.
Based on the way in which the bolded and underlined word "obeisance" is used in the fourth and fifth paragraphs, it is closest in meaning to which of the following?
It's ok if you don't know what the word "obeisance" means when you first read this question. Your prior knowledge of the word's meaning isn't what the question is testing. Instead, it is testing whether you can figure out what "obeisance" has to mean based on the specific way in which it is used in the passage. In order to figure this out, you'll need to use context clues. "Context" refers to the specific situation in which something is interpreted or located. In this case, the "context" of a word is its surrounding sentences and paragraphs.
The paragraph in which "obeisance" is first used appears just after Tai-yü is announced:
No sooner had she entered the room, than she espied two servants supporting a venerable lady, with silver-white hair, coming forward to greet her. Convinced that this lady must be her grandmother, she was about to prostrate herself and pay her obeisance, when she was quickly clasped in the arms of her grandmother, who held her close against her bosom; and as she called her "My liver! My flesh!" (My love! My darling!) she began to sob aloud.
The bystanders too, at once, without one exception, melted into tears; and Tai-yü herself found some difficulty in restraining her sobs. Little by little the whole party succeeded in consoling her, and Tai-yü at length paid her obeisance to her grandmother. Her ladyship thereupon pointed them out one by one to Tai-yü. "This," she said, "is the wife of your uncle, your mother's elder brother; this is the wife of your uncle, her second brother; and this is your eldest sister-in-law Chu, the wife of your senior cousin Chu."
Tai-yü bowed to each one of them with folded arms.
Even seeing how the word is used in the sentence, you may be able to come up with several potentially correct answers on your own; however, only four answer choices are presented to you. It's your job to pick out which one of those potential meanings makes sense as the meaning of the word. Nothing in the passage mentions anything about Tai-yü carrying any money with her; plus, we can infer that since Tai-yü mistakes another woman for her grandmother initially, she does not know her. It would be somewhat unlikely that she owes her grandmother money when she has never met her. Based on this evidence, "obeisance" probably does not mean "a debt of tangible money." Similarly, no context is provided that would support the answer choice "a bill charged to an entire family."
"A favor" could potentially make sense as a meaning of obeisance in this sentence if it were more specific. As is, nothing is mentioned about Tai-yü doing her grandmother a favor; in addition, this is highly unlikely, as it seems the two of them are meeting for the first time in the passage.
This leaves us with one remaining answer choice: "respects." Note the specific sentence in which "obeisance" is first used:
Convinced that this lady must be her grandmother, she was about to prostrate herself and pay her obeisance, when she was quickly clasped in the arms of her grandmother . . .
Look at what precedes "pay her obeisance": "she was about to prostrate herself." "Prostrate" means flatten oneself on the ground to show respect. If "pay\[ing\] her obeisance" involves "prostrat\[ing\] herself," then "obeisance" likely means something like "respects." This answer choice gains additional support in that we are told that Tai-yü bows to each of her relatives upon meeting them. ("Tai-yü bowed to each one of them (with folded arms).") This scene seems to be entirely about the formal paying of respects, making "respects" the correct answer choice. Indeed, "obeisance" means respect or homage.
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Adapted from A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens (1843)
Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it, and Scrooge’s name was good upon ’Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail.
Mind! I don’t mean to say that I know, of my own knowledge, what there is particularly dead about a door-nail. I might have been inclined, myself, to regard a coffin-nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade. But the wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile, and my unhallowed hands shall not disturb it, or the country’s done for. You will therefore permit me to repeat, emphatically, that Marley was as dead as a door-nail.
Scrooge knew he was dead? Of course he did. How could it be otherwise? Scrooge and he were partners for I don’t know how many years. Scrooge was his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole residuary legatee, his sole friend, and sole mourner. And even Scrooge was not so dreadfully cut up by the sad event, but that he was an excellent man of business on the very day of the funeral, and solemnized it with an undoubted bargain.
The mention of Marley's funeral brings me back to the point I started from. There is no doubt that Marley was dead. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate. If we were not perfectly convinced that Hamlet's father died before the play began, there would be nothing more remarkable in his taking a stroll at night, in an easterly wind, upon his own ramparts, than there would be in any other middle-aged gentleman rashly turning out after dark in a breezy spot—say Saint Paul's Churchyard for instance—literally to astonish his son's weak mind.
In which of the passage's paragraphs is the narrator's particular voice and perspective most apparent?
This passage is presented in first-person perspective from the point-of-view of a narrator who uses the pronoun "I." The narrator's particular voice and perspective is conveyed throughout the passage, but most strongly in the second paragraph, where he follows a tangent about the use of the phrase "dead as a door-nail" at the end of the first paragraph.
Mind! I don’t mean to say that I know, of my own knowledge, what there is particularly dead about a door-nail. I might have been inclined, myself, to regard a coffin-nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade. But the wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile, and my unhallowed hands shall not disturb it, or the country’s done for. You will therefore permit me to repeat, emphatically, that Marley was as dead as a door-nail.
This tangent emphasizes the narrator's authorial perspective, in that he is discussing the reasons behind his use of the phrase "dead as a door-nail" and not some other phrase, despite his thoughts on the phrase. ("I might have been inclined, myself, to regard a coffin-nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade"). Because the second paragraph focuses on the narrator's perspective and reasoning behind his use of a certain phrase, the correct answer is that it is the second paragraph in which the narrator's particular voice and perspective are most apparent.
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Adapted from A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens (1843)
Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it, and Scrooge’s name was good upon ’Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail.
Mind! I don’t mean to say that I know, of my own knowledge, what there is particularly dead about a door-nail. I might have been inclined, myself, to regard a coffin-nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade. But the wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile, and my unhallowed hands shall not disturb it, or the country’s done for. You will therefore permit me to repeat, emphatically, that Marley was as dead as a door-nail.
Scrooge knew he was dead? Of course he did. How could it be otherwise? Scrooge and he were partners for I don’t know how many years. Scrooge was his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole residuary legatee, his sole friend, and sole mourner. And even Scrooge was not so dreadfully cut up by the sad event, but that he was an excellent man of business on the very day of the funeral, and solemnized it with an undoubted bargain.
The mention of Marley's funeral brings me back to the point I started from. There is no doubt that Marley was dead. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate. If we were not perfectly convinced that Hamlet's father died before the play began, there would be nothing more remarkable in his taking a stroll at night, in an easterly wind, upon his own ramparts, than there would be in any other middle-aged gentleman rashly turning out after dark in a breezy spot—say Saint Paul's Churchyard for instance—literally to astonish his son's weak mind.
Which of the following does NOT accurately describe the effect(s) of the author's choice and sequence of words in the underlined sentence?
The author has chosen with case the order in which he presents various descriptors in the indicated sentence:
Scrooge and he were partners for I don’t know how many years. Scrooge was his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole residuary legatee, his sole friend, and sole mourner. And even Scrooge was not so dreadfully cut up by the sad event, but that he was an excellent man of business on the very day of the funeral, and solemnized it with an undoubted bargain.
To make this question more complex, three of its answer choices are true statements about the effect of the author's choice and sequence of words, and it's your job to pick out the one answer choice that is not correct. Let's consider each of them:
"The sequence of the underlined sentence, at the end of the sentence, redirects the reader's attention to Marley's death." - This is true. The author concludes the repetition of "his sole _____" noun phrases with "sole mourner," which redirects the reader to consider Marley's death. This acts as a transition into the next sentence, which describes how Scrooge reacted to Marley's death. This statement is true, so this answer choice isn't the correct one.
"The author's word choice suggests that Scrooge and Marley were involved in business, legal, and/or financial pursuits together." - This statement is also true. The author uses terms like "executor," "administrator," "assign," and "residuary legatee." This very specific language conveys to the reader that Scrooge and Marley were involved in business, legal, and/or financial pursuits together.
"The repetition emphasizes the fact that Scrooge was one of the only people, if not the only person Marley was moderately close to." - This is another accurate statement. Scrooge's roles in relation to Marley span from legal and business jargon terms to his only friend as well as his only mourner. The author's choice to present this information in the form of a repeating list emphasized the word "sole," and conveys that Scrooge was one of the only people if not the only person Marley was moderately close to.
"The order in which the sentence presents its options suggests that Scrooge valued his role as Marley's sole assign more than his status as Marley's sole residuary legatee." - This answer choice is not accurate, so it is the correct answer. The sentence states that Scrooge was Marley's "sole mourner" at the end, whereas it states his business associations first. Scrooge's status as Marley's "sole mourner" is emphasized because it appears at the end of the sentence, and Scrooge's status as Marley's friend is emphasized because it does not employ jargon like the four preceding phrases do; however, nothing about the sentence order suggests that Scrooge values one of the roles related with jargon above any of the other roles related with jargon.
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Adapted from John Keats' "Ode on a Grecian Urn" (1819)
Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
And, happy melodist, unwearied,
For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love! more happy, happy love!
For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
For ever panting, and for ever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.
Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.
O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
"Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."
On what kind of artistic work is this poem based?
This is a very general question that interrogates your basic understanding of the text, and your particular awareness of the artistic focus of the poem.
The answer to this question is, essentially, to be found in the title. An "Urn" is a piece of pottery; the trick of this question was in the answer choices, which gave you opportunities to doubt yourself and become confused by the author's surrounding rhetoric.
The second stanza directly discusses music, BUT it does so in a general, hypothetical way. "Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard/ are sweeter," is a general statement that the author believes to be true in theory, he is not, at that time, listening to music. The area of discussion here is the nature of live music and interaction vs captured and reproduced art, like the ancient urn the author is looking at.
While the author does discuss an image, extensively, the image is painted onto a piece of property. This key distinction is highlighted in the final stanza, when the author turns his attention to the permanence of the artistic object, referring to it as something that "when old age shall this generation waste, \[...\] shall remain." Pottery is a permanent artistic object (unless it breaks), it's solid, lasting nature is a key aspect, this is not true of paintings. The images are not merely painted, but forged into a solid, "cold" shape. "Painting" was a tempting choice, but one that excluded a key aspect of the poem's treatment of artistic permanence and the "cold pastoral."
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Passage adapted from Gulliver's Travels by Jonathan Swift (1726)
About four hours after we began our journey, I awaked by a very ridiculous accident; for the carriage being stopped a while, to adjust something that was out of order, two or three of the young natives had the curiosity to see how I looked when I was asleep; they climbed up into the engine, and advancing very softly to my face, one of them, an officer in the guards, put the sharp end of his half–pike a good way up into my left nostril, which tickled my nose like a straw, and made me sneeze violently; whereupon they stole off unperceived, and it was three weeks before I knew the cause of my waking so suddenly. We made a long march the remaining part of the day, and, rested at night with five hundred guards on each side of me, half with torches, and half with bows and arrows, ready to shoot me if I should offer to stir. The next morning at sun–rise we continued our march, and arrived within two hundred yards of the city gates about noon. The emperor, and all his court, came out to meet us; but his great officers would by no means suffer his majesty to endanger his person by mounting on my body.
At the place where the carriage stopped there stood an ancient temple, esteemed to be the largest in the whole kingdom; which, having been polluted some years before by an unnatural murder, was, according to the zeal of those people, looked upon as profane, and therefore had been applied to common use, and all the ornaments and furniture carried away. In this edifice it was determined I should lodge. The great gate fronting to the north was about four feet high, and almost two feet wide, through which I could easily creep. On each side of the gate was a small window, not above six inches from the ground: into that on the left side, the king's smith conveyed fourscore and eleven chains, like those that hang to a lady's watch in Europe, and almost as large, which were locked to my left leg with six–and–thirty padlocks. Over against this temple, on the other side of the great highway, at twenty feet distance, there was a turret at least five feet high. Here the emperor ascended, with many principal lords of his court, to have an opportunity of viewing me, as I was told, for I could not see them. It was reckoned that above a hundred thousand inhabitants came out of the town upon the same errand; and, in spite of my guards, I believe there could not be fewer than ten thousand at several times, who mounted my body by the help of ladders. But a proclamation was soon issued, to forbid it upon pain of death. When the workmen found it was impossible for me to break loose, they cut all the strings that bound me; whereupon I rose up, with as melancholy a disposition as ever I had in my life. But the noise and astonishment of the people, at seeing me rise and walk, are not to be expressed. The chains that held my left leg were about two yards long, and gave me not only the liberty of walking backwards and forwards in a semicircle, but, being fixed within four inches of the gate, allowed me to creep in, and lie at my full length in the temple.
When I found myself on my feet, I looked about me, and must confess I never beheld a more entertaining prospect. The country around appeared like a continued garden, and the enclosed fields, which were generally forty feet square, resembled so many beds of flowers. These fields were intermingled with woods of half a stang, and the tallest trees, as I could judge, appeared to be seven feet high. I viewed the town on my left hand, which looked like the painted scene of a city in a theatre.
I had been for some hours extremely pressed by the necessities of nature; which was no wonder, it being almost two days since I had last disburdened myself. I was under great difficulties between urgency and shame. The best expedient I could think of, was to creep into my house, which I accordingly did; and shutting the gate after me, I went as far as the length of my chain would suffer, and discharged my body of that uneasy load. But this was the only time I was ever guilty of so uncleanly an action; for which I cannot but hope the candid reader will give some allowance, after he has maturely and impartially considered my case, and the distress I was in. From this time my constant practice was, as soon as I rose, to perform that business in open air, at the full extent of my chain; and due care was taken every morning before company came, that the offensive matter should be carried off in wheel–barrows, by two servants appointed for that purpose. I would not have dwelt so long upon a circumstance that, perhaps, at first sight, may appear not very momentous, if I had not thought it necessary to justify my character, in point of cleanliness, to the world; which, I am told, some of my maligners have been pleased, upon this and other occasions, to call in question.
What is the purpose of the bolded and underlined section of the text?
Here, you're being asked to analyze a highlighted paragraph of the text, and being asked to account not only for the purpose of that text, but also the manner in which it attempts to fulfill that purpose.
The best thing to do in order to answer this question is to read the paragraph over again very carefully, and decide for yourself what is happening, and what noteworthy narrative or literary techniques are being used. So, the main thing you should notice in this sentence is that it is descriptive, and that this description is rendered from the narrator's perspective. Thus, the nature and description of the visual details with which we are presented are both revealing of the setting and the narrator's relationship to that setting. The key here is the underlying thread of new-ness and wonder the narrator brings to his surroundings, suggested by word choice and phrase choices like: "I never beheld a more entertaining prospect." The long description of the town from the narrator's perspective serves to highlight his foreigners in the environment.
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Adapted from John Keats' "Ode on a Grecian Urn" (1819)
Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
And, happy melodist, unwearied,
For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love! more happy, happy love!
For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
For ever panting, and for ever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.
Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.
O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
"Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."
Which of the following rhetorical tools appears in the first stanza of the poem?
In reading passages and analyzing them, it extremely important to be aware of and capable of identifying then rhetorical tools that the author chooses to use in order to make their point. Remember, even non-informational texts like works of poetry or fiction will have a central point they are trying to make, and will employ the tools of rhetoric to make them.
First, let's start by making sure that we understand each of the given terms and if all of those terms are: A) real terms, and if they are B) applicable or logical terms for this text. After we've done this, we can then read the passage carefully, searching our remaining answer options in the text itself.
A "syllogism" is a structured logical argument in which a larger truth is logically applied to a particular situation. An example of a syllogism is as follows: "All Canadians are attractive. I am a Canadian, therefore I am attractive." So, is there any reason, in theory, that a syllogism could not be a major tool used in this passage? No, there isn't, we'll have to look through the passage to see if there are any syllogisms and how major a role they play if they are present.
An "analogy" is a comparison between two things, generally made in order to reveal a fundamental structural similarity. For instance, I could use an analogy about dogs who, having lived in one household their whole lives, are transplanted to a new home as an analogy for my experience as a Canadian relocating to the United States. Again, there is no reason to believe, out of hand, that this structure could not be a major one in the passage.
"Rhetorical questions" are questions whose intention is to make a point or support an argument, rather than to gain information or answers from the addressee. An example of this would be asking a child if it was nice of them to knock over a planter after the child had just done so. Here, you're trying to make the point that their actions were, in fact, not nice, you're not earnestly asking if vandalism is a kind gesture.
Right away, having read the passage you should have noted the abundant use of question marks in the first stanza of this poem; the last four lines all end in questions, and two of those lines contain two questions each! Now, are these questions sincere or are they rhetorical? (See what I did there?) Are we supposed to think that the speaker is really just asking us "what men or gods are these? What maidens loth?...What wild ecstasy?" or is he merely trying to convey a sense of wonder and curiosity by using this rhetorical tool?
The pure abundance of questions and their fairly straightforward rhetorical function makes "rhetorical questions" a safe (and correct) choice, even before you re-read the passage and see that the other options do not appear!
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Adapted from John Keats' "Ode on a Grecian Urn" (1819)
Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
And, happy melodist, unwearied,
For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love! more happy, happy love!
For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
For ever panting, and for ever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.
Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.
O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
"Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."
In this poem, the "Grecian Urn" in question is being used as a(n) __________________.
This question asks you to evaluate the aesthetic use of a work of art in the poem. When a work of literature discusses or uses as its subject another work of art it is called an "ekphrastic" work of art; this passage is a prime example of ekphrastic poetry.
So, what specific use is Keats making of the Grecian Urn in question? Let's go through our answers one by one.
The first and most obvious answer to eliminate is the one that claims that the urn is being used as an "object of derision." This just does not, in any way, relate to the tone of the poem, and it's enthusiastic, romantic treatment of the work of art, or the artistic principles it is being used to represent.
The idea of the vase being used as a "metaphor for death" does not make sense in the context of the poem's discussion of the "for ever" artistic permanence of the piece of pottery, which is said to specifically outlast mortal beings.
The artistic source here is Classical (from Ancient Greece), not Christian.
This leaves us with the correct answer, and the answer that is directly supported by the tone and content of the poem. The vase is acting as a useful springboard for a deeper, farther reaching consideration of permanence in the context of art. The point of the poem is not to directly analyze the vase in an academic manner, but to vault the author into a poetic, romantic treatment of the themes he believes the piece embodies.
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Adapted from Edgar Allen Poe’s The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym (1838)
Upon my return to the United States a few months ago, after the extraordinary series of adventure in the South Seas and elsewhere, of which an account is given in the following pages, accident threw me into the society of several gentlemen in Richmond, Va., who felt deep interest in all matters relating to the regions I had visited, and who were constantly urging it upon me, as a duty, to give my narrative to the public. I had several reasons, however, for declining to do so, some of which were of a nature altogether private, and concern no person but myself; others not so much so.
One consideration which deterred me was that, having kept no journal during a greater portion of the time in which I was absent, I feared I should not be able to write, from mere memory, a statement so minute and connected as to have the appearance of that truth it would really possess, barring only the natural and unavoidable exaggeration to which all of us are prone when detailing events which have had powerful influence in exciting the imaginative faculties.
Another reason was, that the incidents to be narrated were of a nature so positively marvellous that, unsupported as my assertions must necessarily be (except by the evidence of a single individual, and he a half-breed Indian), I could only hope for belief among my family, and those of my friends who have had reason, through life, to put faith in my veracity-the probability being that the public at large would regard what I should put forth as merely an impudent and ingenious fiction. A distrust in my own abilities as a writer was, nevertheless, one of the principal causes which prevented me from complying with the suggestions of my advisers.
Among those gentlemen in Virginia who expressed the greatest interest in my statement, more particularly in regard to that portion of it which related to the Antarctic Ocean, was Mr. Poe, lately editor of the "Southern Literary Messenger," a monthly magazine, published by Mr. Thomas W. White, in the city of Richmond. He strongly advised me, among others, to prepare at once a full account of what I had seen and undergone, and trust to the shrewdness and common-sense of the public-insisting, with great plausibility, that however roughly, as regards mere authorship, my book should be got up, its very uncouthness, if there were any, would give it all the better chance of being received as truth.
Notwithstanding this representation, I did not make up my mind to do as he suggested. He afterward proposed (finding that I would not stir in the matter) that I should allow him to draw up, in his own words, a narrative of the earlier portion of my adventures, from facts afforded by myself, publishing it in the "Southern Messenger" under the garb of fiction. To this, perceiving no objection, I consented, stipulating only that my real name should be retained. Two numbers of the pretended fiction appeared, consequently, in the "Messenger" for January and February (1837), and, in order that it might certainly be regarded as fiction, the name of Mr. Poe was affixed to the articles in the table of contents of the magazine.
The manner in which this ruse was received has induced me at length to undertake a regular compilation and publication of the adventures in question; for I found that, in spite of the air of fable which had been so ingeniously thrown around that portion of my statement which appeared in the "Messenger" (without altering or distorting a single fact), the public were still not at all disposed to receive it as fable, and several letters were sent to Mr. P.'s address, distinctly expressing a conviction to the contrary. I thence concluded that the facts of my narrative would prove of such a nature as to carry with them sufficient evidence of their own authenticity, and that I had consequently little to fear on the score of popular incredulity.
This exposé being made, it will be seen at once how much of what follows I claim to be my own writing; and it will also be understood that no fact is misrepresented in the first few pages which were written by Mr. Poe. Even to those readers who have not seen the "Messenger," it will be unnecessary to point out where his portion ends and my own commences; the difference in point of style will be readily perceived.
-A.G Pym
Within the passage, Edgar Allen Poe's 1838 publication in the "Southern Literary Messenger" is figured as ________________.
This passage centers on the publication of a story in the 1838 edition of the "Southern Literary Messenger," which has caused the author to provide his current writing, clarifying events and putting his own name on his own true story. Given its immense importance to the overall content of the passage, it certainly behooves us to understand the nature of this document!
So, let's start at the beginning: Pym is the "I" in this passage, and is thus the narrator. He begins by asserting that he had an "extraordinary series of adventures in the South Seas and elsewhere." Let's stop and re-emphasize this: Pym is definitively stating that these adventures happened to him, they are real, non-fictional events that he asserts occurred.
Right off the bat we can eliminate the option that claims Poe stole a fictional story from Pym, according to Pym he has no fictional stories to share.
Moving on, things get a bit muddled, as Pym tells us that he was pressured by numerous high-ranking members of Richmond society to publish a non-fictional account of his travels. Pym for a long time refused, believing some of the events to be of a "private nature" and "of concern to person but \[himself\]," and the rest of it to be so fantastic that the "veracity" may be doubted by readers. Finally, Poe, the editor of the "Southern Literary Messenger," convinced Pym to publish the true account as fiction, so as to assuage Pym's fears of being thought a liar. Ultimately, however, Pym claims that Poe stole his story and published it as fiction under Poe's own name.
This is where the answer is found, we need look no further in the passage, and we may become confused if we do (as Pym goes on to detail the story's reception once it was published).
We are now aware that, according to the logic of the passage, the story published in the 1838 editions of the Messenger was Pym's true account being passed off as Poe's fiction.
Compare your answer with the correct one above
Passage adapted from Gulliver's Travels by Jonathan Swift (1726)
About four hours after we began our journey, I awaked by a very ridiculous accident; for the carriage being stopped a while, to adjust something that was out of order, two or three of the young natives had the curiosity to see how I looked when I was asleep; they climbed up into the engine, and advancing very softly to my face, one of them, an officer in the guards, put the sharp end of his half–pike a good way up into my left nostril, which tickled my nose like a straw, and made me sneeze violently; whereupon they stole off unperceived, and it was three weeks before I knew the cause of my waking so suddenly. We made a long march the remaining part of the day, and, rested at night with five hundred guards on each side of me, half with torches, and half with bows and arrows, ready to shoot me if I should offer to stir. The next morning at sun–rise we continued our march, and arrived within two hundred yards of the city gates about noon. The emperor, and all his court, came out to meet us; but his great officers would by no means suffer his majesty to endanger his person by mounting on my body.
At the place where the carriage stopped there stood an ancient temple, esteemed to be the largest in the whole kingdom; which, having been polluted some years before by an unnatural murder, was, according to the zeal of those people, looked upon as profane, and therefore had been applied to common use, and all the ornaments and furniture carried away. In this edifice it was determined I should lodge. The great gate fronting to the north was about four feet high, and almost two feet wide, through which I could easily creep. On each side of the gate was a small window, not above six inches from the ground: into that on the left side, the king's smith conveyed fourscore and eleven chains, like those that hang to a lady's watch in Europe, and almost as large, which were locked to my left leg with six–and–thirty padlocks. Over against this temple, on the other side of the great highway, at twenty feet distance, there was a turret at least five feet high. Here the emperor ascended, with many principal lords of his court, to have an opportunity of viewing me, as I was told, for I could not see them. It was reckoned that above a hundred thousand inhabitants came out of the town upon the same errand; and, in spite of my guards, I believe there could not be fewer than ten thousand at several times, who mounted my body by the help of ladders. But a proclamation was soon issued, to forbid it upon pain of death. When the workmen found it was impossible for me to break loose, they cut all the strings that bound me; whereupon I rose up, with as melancholy a disposition as ever I had in my life. But the noise and astonishment of the people, at seeing me rise and walk, are not to be expressed. The chains that held my left leg were about two yards long, and gave me not only the liberty of walking backwards and forwards in a semicircle, but, being fixed within four inches of the gate, allowed me to creep in, and lie at my full length in the temple.
When I found myself on my feet, I looked about me, and must confess I never beheld a more entertaining prospect. The country around appeared like a continued garden, and the enclosed fields, which were generally forty feet square, resembled so many beds of flowers. These fields were intermingled with woods of half a stang, and the tallest trees, as I could judge, appeared to be seven feet high. I viewed the town on my left hand, which looked like the painted scene of a city in a theatre.
I had been for some hours extremely pressed by the necessities of nature; which was no wonder, it being almost two days since I had last disburdened myself. I was under great difficulties between urgency and shame. The best expedient I could think of, was to creep into my house, which I accordingly did; and shutting the gate after me, I went as far as the length of my chain would suffer, and discharged my body of that uneasy load. But this was the only time I was ever guilty of so uncleanly an action; for which I cannot but hope the candid reader will give some allowance, after he has maturely and impartially considered my case, and the distress I was in. From this time my constant practice was, as soon as I rose, to perform that business in open air, at the full extent of my chain; and due care was taken every morning before company came, that the offensive matter should be carried off in wheel–barrows, by two servants appointed for that purpose. I would not have dwelt so long upon a circumstance that, perhaps, at first sight, may appear not very momentous, if I had not thought it necessary to justify my character, in point of cleanliness, to the world; which, I am told, some of my maligners have been pleased, upon this and other occasions, to call in question.
Based on the content of the passage, which of the following statements about the narrator is true?
To solve this question, you must act like a textual detective, combing through the passage looking for clues, whether they be direct or indirect. Since three of our 4 answer options pertain to the narrator's size or relative size, a key clue to look for in order to solve this question is the use of any specific measurements in the passage. The first significant time that measurements are given is in the second paragraph of the passage. Here the narrator remarks on the "edifice" in which his captors choose to keep him. The entrance of this "edifice" referred to as a "great gate fronting to the north," but curiously, this supposedly "great" (meaning large in this context) is only "about four feet high, and almost two feet wide." Immediately thereafter we receive a direct hint as to the narrator's own size as he tells us that he could "easily creep" through this gate. Meaning, he can fit through it, and does so easily, but is forced to "creep" to do so. This means that our narrator is probably about the size of a normal, adult male (of the 18th century, when people were, on average, slightly smaller than they are today), and it allows us to eliminate one of our options, since we know he isn't a giant.
Two of our other options query the narrator's size in relation to the natives with whom he is staying. So, how big are they? The size of the building is another hint, as it was built by the natives, and is thus reflective of what their notion of a "great" structure is. That structure is small relative to a normal human man, with a turret of only "five feet," in addition to there being windows that "not above six inches from the ground." Also, it bears noting that one of the officers has "put the sharp-end of his half-pike (a war instrument) a good way into \[the narrator's\] nostril." A human-sized half-pike put up a man's nose would kill him. It certainly seems, especially by the time the narrator is looking over the entire city just from standing, that the natives are extremely tiny relative to the narrator. And lo and behold, the answer that he is relatively large compared to the natives is available.
While he is being held captive, there is no indication in the passage that the narrator has committed any crime.
Compare your answer with the correct one above
Adapted from Edgar Allen Poe’s The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym (1838)
Upon my return to the United States a few months ago, after the extraordinary series of adventure in the South Seas and elsewhere, of which an account is given in the following pages, accident threw me into the society of several gentlemen in Richmond, Va., who felt deep interest in all matters relating to the regions I had visited, and who were constantly urging it upon me, as a duty, to give my narrative to the public. I had several reasons, however, for declining to do so, some of which were of a nature altogether private, and concern no person but myself; others not so much so.
One consideration which deterred me was that, having kept no journal during a greater portion of the time in which I was absent, I feared I should not be able to write, from mere memory, a statement so minute and connected as to have the appearance of that truth it would really possess, barring only the natural and unavoidable exaggeration to which all of us are prone when detailing events which have had powerful influence in exciting the imaginative faculties.
Another reason was, that the incidents to be narrated were of a nature so positively marvellous that, unsupported as my assertions must necessarily be (except by the evidence of a single individual, and he a half-breed Indian), I could only hope for belief among my family, and those of my friends who have had reason, through life, to put faith in my veracity-the probability being that the public at large would regard what I should put forth as merely an impudent and ingenious fiction. A distrust in my own abilities as a writer was, nevertheless, one of the principal causes which prevented me from complying with the suggestions of my advisers.
Among those gentlemen in Virginia who expressed the greatest interest in my statement, more particularly in regard to that portion of it which related to the Antarctic Ocean, was Mr. Poe, lately editor of the "Southern Literary Messenger," a monthly magazine, published by Mr. Thomas W. White, in the city of Richmond. He strongly advised me, among others, to prepare at once a full account of what I had seen and undergone, and trust to the shrewdness and common-sense of the public-insisting, with great plausibility, that however roughly, as regards mere authorship, my book should be got up, its very uncouthness, if there were any, would give it all the better chance of being received as truth.
Notwithstanding this representation, I did not make up my mind to do as he suggested. He afterward proposed (finding that I would not stir in the matter) that I should allow him to draw up, in his own words, a narrative of the earlier portion of my adventures, from facts afforded by myself, publishing it in the "Southern Messenger" under the garb of fiction. To this, perceiving no objection, I consented, stipulating only that my real name should be retained. Two numbers of the pretended fiction appeared, consequently, in the "Messenger" for January and February (1837), and, in order that it might certainly be regarded as fiction, the name of Mr. Poe was affixed to the articles in the table of contents of the magazine.
The manner in which this ruse was received has induced me at length to undertake a regular compilation and publication of the adventures in question; for I found that, in spite of the air of fable which had been so ingeniously thrown around that portion of my statement which appeared in the "Messenger" (without altering or distorting a single fact), the public were still not at all disposed to receive it as fable, and several letters were sent to Mr. P.'s address, distinctly expressing a conviction to the contrary. I thence concluded that the facts of my narrative would prove of such a nature as to carry with them sufficient evidence of their own authenticity, and that I had consequently little to fear on the score of popular incredulity.
This exposé being made, it will be seen at once how much of what follows I claim to be my own writing; and it will also be understood that no fact is misrepresented in the first few pages which were written by Mr. Poe. Even to those readers who have not seen the "Messenger," it will be unnecessary to point out where his portion ends and my own commences; the difference in point of style will be readily perceived.
-A.G Pym
Within the logic of the passage, Edgar Allen Poe functions as _______________.
This question queries your fundamental understanding of the internal narrative logic of a work of fiction. In real life, Edgar Allen Poe is the author of this piece, and it is a work of fiction. Within the logic of the piece, however, the character of Arthur Gordon Pym is functioning as the narrator and author of the work, while Poe functions as a character within that work. This can be a bit confusing, but think about it: the passage is written in the first person, and Edgar Allen Poe is referred to in the third person; he cannot be the narrator.
So, the only question left for us here is to ascertain how Poe is characterized. The answer is to be found in the 5th paragraph, which firmly establishes that Pym believes that Poe betrayed their agreement by putting his own name on the account of seafaring adventures. Poe is thus a character with whom the narrator has had a dispute.
Compare your answer with the correct one above
Passage adapted from Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1798)
There passed a weary time. Each throat
Was parched, and glazed each eye.
A weary time! a weary time!
How glazed each weary eye,
When looking westward, I beheld
A something in the sky.
At first it seemed a little speck,
And then it seemed a mist:
It moved and moved, and took at last
A certain shape, I wist.
A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist!
And still it neared and neared:
As if it dodged a water-sprite,
It plunged and tacked and veered.
With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
We could not laugh nor wail;
Through utter drought all dumb we stood!
I bit my arm, I sucked the blood,
And cried, A sail! a sail!
With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
Agape they heard me call:
Gramercy! they for joy did grin,
And all at once their breath drew in,
As they were drinking all.
See! see! (I cried) she tacks no more!
Hither to work us weal;
Without a breeze, without a tide,
She steadies with upright keel!
The western wave was all a-flame
The day was well nigh done!
Almost upon the western wave
Rested the broad bright Sun;
When that strange shape drove suddenly
Betwixt us and the Sun.
And straight the Sun was flecked with bars,
(Heaven's Mother send us grace!)
As if through a dungeon-grate he peered,
With broad and burning face.
Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud)
How fast she nears and nears!
Are those her sails that glance in the Sun,
Like restless gossameres!
Are those her ribs through which the Sun
Did peer, as through a grate?
And is that Woman all her crew?
Is that a DEATH? and are there two?
Is DEATH that woman's mate?
Her lips were red, her looks were free,
Her locks were yellow as gold:
Her skin was as white as leprosy,
The Night-Mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she,
Who thicks man's blood with cold.
The naked hulk alongside came,
And the twain were casting dice;
"The game is done! I've won! I've won!"
Quoth she, and whistles thrice.
The Sun's rim dips; the stars rush out:
At one stride comes the dark;
With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea.
Off shot the spectre-bark.
Introducing the figure of "LIFE IN DEATH" as a far-off "speck" the author _____________.
The given in this question is that the figure of "LIFE IN DEATH" is first identified as a far-off "speck," before gradually coming into the full view of the crew. Before we jump too far into this question, let's make sure we understand all of the terms used in our potential answer choices.
To begin a narrative "in media res" is to start that narrative in the middle of the action, with no exposition. An example of an in media res opening is: "A shot rang out. The door slammed. A girl screamed." We don't know which girl, nor even which door, but already we've heard a shot!
Dramatic irony occurs when the audience is aware of something that the characters are not. Thus, when we watch the characters acting obliviously to knowledge we, the audience, have it creates dramatic irony. For instance, if one knows that Romeo and Juliet are doomed to die at the end of the play, all of their actions throughout the play create dramatic irony, as they are acting without that knowledge.
Narrative tension can be roughly defined as suspense. It is tension created by the withholding of information from the audience.
The passage does NOT begin in media res, as the very first thing that happens is waiting ("pass\[ing\] a weary time")! Nor is dramatic irony created, as the audience is equally in the dark about what the far-off speck is as are the characters. So, the question we must settle now is simple. Does starting the figure of "LIFE IN DEATH" as an obscure far-away object that must be guessed at before finally being revealed create narrative tension, or not?
The answer is that it does. Because the object is obscure to the narrator, the other characters, and the audience, a feeling of suspense is created as we, and the characters, must guess as the object slowly approaches, rather than knowing exactly what the object is the whole time.
Compare your answer with the correct one above