Study Guide for English 2 Semester 1 Exam
Part 1 Nonfiction Excerpts from “Letter from a Birmingham Jail”
You may well ask: "Why direct action? Why sit ins, marches and so forth? Isn't negotiation a better path?" You are
quite right in calling for negotiation. Indeed, this is the very purpose of direct action. Nonviolent direct action seeks
to create such a crisis and foster such a tension that a community which has constantly refused to negotiate is
forced to confront the issue. It seeks so to dramatize the issue that it can no longer be ignored. My citing the
creation of tension as part of the work of the nonviolent resister may sound rather shocking. But I must confess
that I am not afraid of the word "tension." I have earnestly opposed violent tension, but there is a type of
constructive, nonviolent tension which is necessary for growth…The purpose of our direct action program is to
create a situation so crisis packed that it will inevitably open the door to negotiation. I therefore concur with you in
your call for negotiation. Too long has our beloved Southland been bogged down in a tragic effort to live in
monologue rather than dialogue.
……….
You express a great deal of anxiety over our willingness to break laws. This is certainly a legitimate concern. Since
we so diligently urge people to obey the Supreme Court's decision of 1954 outlawing segregation in the public
schools, at first glance it may seem rather paradoxical for us consciously to break laws. One may well ask: "How
can you advocate breaking some laws and obeying others?" The answer lies in the fact that there are two types of
laws: just and unjust. I would be the first to advocate obeying just laws. One has not only a legal but a moral
responsibility to obey just laws. Conversely, one has a moral responsibility to disobey unjust laws. I would agree
with St. Augustine that "an unjust law is no law at all."
Let us consider a more concrete example of just and unjust laws. An unjust law is a code that a numerical or power
majority group compels a minority group to obey but does not make binding on itself. This is difference made
legal. By the same token, a just law is a code that a majority compels a minority to follow and that it is willing to
follow itself. This is sameness made legal. Let me give another explanation. A law is unjust if it is inflicted on a
minority that, as a result of being denied the right to vote, had no part in enacting or devising the law. Who can say
that the legislature of Alabama which set up that state's segregation laws was democratically elected? Throughout
Alabama all sorts of devious methods are used to prevent Negroes from becoming registered voters, and there are
some counties in which, even though Negroes constitute a majority of the population, not a single Negro is
registered. Can any law enacted under such circumstances be considered democratically structured?
Sometimes a law is just on its face and unjust in its application. For instance, I have been arrested on a charge of
parading without a permit. Now, there is nothing wrong in having an ordinance which requires a permit for a
parade. But such an ordinance becomes unjust when it is used to maintain segregation and to deny citizens the
First-Amendment privilege of peaceful assembly and protest.
I hope you are able to see the distinction I am trying to point out. In no sense do I advocate evading or defying the
law, as would the rabid segregationist. That would lead to anarchy. One who breaks an unjust law must do so
openly, lovingly, and with a willingness to accept the penalty. I submit that an individual who breaks a law that
conscience tells him is unjust, and who willingly accepts the penalty of imprisonment in order to arouse the
conscience of the community over its injustice, is in reality expressing the highest respect for law.
We should never forget that everything Adolf Hitler did in Germany was "legal" and everything the Hungarian
freedom fighters did in Hungary was "illegal." It was "illegal" to aid and comfort a Jew in Hitler's Germany. Even so,
I am sure that, had I lived in Germany at the time, I would have aided and comforted my Jewish brothers. If today I
lived in a Communist country where certain principles dear to the Christian faith are suppressed, I would openly
advocate disobeying that country's antireligious laws.
……….
If I have said anything in this letter that overstates the truth and indicates an unreasonable impatience, I beg you
to forgive me. If I have said anything that understates the truth and indicates my having a patience that allows me
to settle for anything less than brotherhood, I beg God to forgive me.
I hope this letter finds you strong in the faith. I also hope that circumstances will soon make it possible for me to
meet each of you, not as an integrationist or a civil-rights leader but as a fellow clergyman and a Christian brother.
Let us all hope that the dark clouds of racial prejudice will soon pass away and the deep fog of misunderstanding
will be lifted from our fear drenched communities, and in some not too distant tomorrow the radiant stars of love
and brotherhood will shine over our great nation with all their scintillating beauty.
Yours for the cause of Peace and Brotherhood, Martin Luther King, Jr.
Published in:
King, Martin Luther Jr.
1. In which lines does King criticize claims that direct action causes violence? Highlight key words in the line.
a.
b.
2. In which lines does King counter the claim that he should not break the law? Highlight key words in the line.
a.
b.
3. In which lines does King cite another authority to support his claim? Highlight key words in the line.
a.
b.
4. Which lines describe the purpose of civil disobedience? Highlight key words in the line.
a.
b.
c.
5. Which lines provide evidence to support his claim that the current laws in Alabama are unjust? Highlight key
words in the line.
a.
b.
c.
6.King uses the line, “I have been arrested on a charge of parading without a permit” to…
a.
b.
7. King uses the statement, “I must confess that I am not afraid of the word ‘tension’” to…
a.
b.
8. Which lines provides a metaphor to show King’s dream of racial and social equality? Highlight key words in the
line.
a.
b.
9, Which lines best show that King opposes the idea of anarchy? Highlight key words in the line.
a.
b.
10. Which lines shows that King is trying to connect to the religious leaders who are criticizing him? Highlight key
words in the line.
a.
b.
c.
11. Which statements support the theme of justice? Highlight key words in the line.
a.
b.
c.
12. Which statements support the theme of civil disobedience? Highlight key words in the line.
a.
b.
c.
13. The line, “If today I lived in a Communist country where certain principles dear to the Christian faith are
suppressed, I would openly advocate disobeying that country's antireligious laws“, supports themes of…
a.
How do I know?
b.
How do I know?
14. The line--“But such an ordinance becomes unjust when it is used to maintain segregation and to deny citizens
the First-Amendment privilege of peaceful assembly and protest”--supports themes of…
a.
How do I know?
b.
How do I know?
15. “If I have said anything in this letter that overstates the truth and indicates an unreasonable impatience, I beg
you to forgive me. If I have said anything that understates the truth and indicates my having a patience that allows
me to settle for anything less than brotherhood, I beg God to forgive me.”
This statement supports themes of…
a.
How do I know?
b.
How do I know?
Part 2 Nonfiction Excerpt Address to Students at Moscow State University by Ronald Reagan
Directions: Read the following excerpts from Reagan’s speech. Select the best answer for each item.
May 31, 1988
As you know, I've come to Moscow to meet with one of your most distinguished graduates. In this, our
fourth summit, General Secretary Gorbachev and I have spent many hours together, and I feel that
we're getting to know each other well. Our discussions, of course, have been focused primarily on many
of the important issues of the day, issues I want to touch on with you in a few moments. First, I want to
take a little time to talk to you much as I would to any group of university students in the United States. I
want to talk not just of the realities of today, but of the possibilities of tomorrow.
Standing here before a mural of your revolution, I want to talk about a very different revolution that is
taking place right now, quietly sweeping the globe without bloodshed or conflict. Its effects are
peaceful, but they will fundamentally alter our world, shatter old assumptions, and reshape our lives.
It'seasy to underestimatebecause it's not accompanied by banners or fanfare. It's been called the
technological or information revolution, and as its emblem, one might take the tiny silicon chip, no
bigger than a fingerprint. One of these chips has more computing power than a roomful of oldstyle computers.
As part of an exchange program, we now have an exhibition touring your country that shows how
information technology is transforming our lives -replacing manual labor with robots, forecasting weather for farmers, or mapping the genetic code of
DNA for medical researchers.
These microcomputers today aid the design of everything from houses to
cars to spacecraft; they even design better and faster computers. They can translate English into Russian
or enable the blind to read or help Michael Jackson produce on one synthesizer the sounds of a
whole orchestra. Linked by a network of satellites and fiberoptic cables, one individual with a desktop computer and a telephone commands resources unavailable
to the largest governments just a few years ago.
Like a chrysalis, we're emerging from the economy of the Industrial Revolution -an economy confined to and limited by the Earth's physical resources -into, as one economist titled his book, "The Economy in Mind," in which there are no bounds on human
imagination and the freedom to create is the most precious natural resource. Think of that little
computer chip. Its value isn't in the sand from which it is made but in the microscopic architecture
designed into it by ingenious human minds. Or take the example of the satellite relaying this broadcast
around the world, which replaces thousands of tons of copper mined from the Earth and molded into
wire. In the new economy, human invention increasingly makes physical resources obsolete. We're
breaking through the material conditions of existence to a world where man creates his own destiny.
Even as we explore the most advanced reaches of science, we're returning to the ageold wisdom of our culture, a wisdom contained in the book of Genesis in the Bible: In the beginning was
the spirit and it was from this spirit that the material abundance of creation issued forth.
But progress is not foreordained. The key is freedom -freedom of thought, freedom of information, freedom of communication. The renowned scientist,
scholar, and founding father of this university, Mikhail Lomonosov, knew that. "It is common knowledge,
" he said, "that the achievements of science are considerable and rapid, particularly once the yoke of
slavery is cast off and replaced by the freedom of philosophy."
You know, one of the first contacts between your country and mine took place between Russian and
American explorers. The Americans were members of Cook's last voyage on an expedition searching for
an Arctic passage; on the island of Unalaska, they came upon the Russians, who took them in, and
together, with the native inhabitants, held a prayer service on the ice.
The explorers of the modern era are the entrepreneurs, men with vision, with the courage to take risks
and faith enough to brave the unknown. These entrepreneurs and their small enterprises are
responsible for almost all the economic growth in the United States. They are the prime movers of the
technological revolution. In fact, one of the largest personal computer firms in the United States was
started by two college students, no older than you, in the garage behind their home.
Some people, even in my own country, look at the riot of experiment that is the free market and see
only waste. What of all the entrepreneurs that fail? Well, many do, particularly the successful ones.
Often several times. And if you ask them the secret of their success, they'll tell you it's all that they
learned in their struggles along the way -- yes, it's what they learned from failing. Like an athlete in
competition, or a scholar in pursuit of the truth, experience is the greatest teacher.
And that's why it's so hard for government planners, no matter how sophisticated, to ever substitute for
millions of individuals working night and day to make their dreams come true.
………
We Americans make no secret of our belief in freedom. In fact, it's something of a national pastime.
Every four years the American people choose a new president, and 1988 is one of those years. At one
point there were 13 major candidates running in the two major parties, not to mention all the others,
including the Socialist and Libertarian candidates -- all trying to get my job.
About 1,000 local television stations, 8,500 radio stations, and 1,700 daily newspapers, each one an
independent, private enterprise, fiercely independent of the government, report on the candidates, grill
them in interviews, and bring them together for debates. In the end, the people vote -- they decide who
will be the next president.
But freedom doesn't begin or end with elections. Go to any American town, to take just an example, and
you'll see dozens of synagogues and mosques -- and you'll see families of every conceivable nationality,
worshipping together.
Go into any schoolroom, and there you will see children being taught the Declaration of Independence,
that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights -- among them life, liberty, and
the pursuit of happiness, that no government can justly deny -- the guarantees in their Constitution for
freedom of speech, freedom of assembly, and freedom of religion.
Go into any courtroom and there will preside an independent judge, beholden to no government power.
There every defendant has the right to a trial by a jury of his peers, usually 12 men and women -common citizens, they are the ones, the only ones, who weigh the evidence and decide on guilt or
innocence. In that court, the accused is innocent until proven guilty, and the word of a policeman, or any
official, has no greater legal standing than the word of the accused.
Go to any university campus, and there you'll find an open, sometimes heated discussion of the
problems in American society and what can be done to correct them. Turn on the television, and you'll
see the legislature conducting the business of government right there before the camera, debating and
voting on the legislation that will become the law of the land. March in any demonstrations, and there
are many of them -- the people's right of assembly is guaranteed in the Constitution and protected by
the police.
But freedom is more even than this: Freedom is the right to question, and change the established way of
doing things. It is the continuing revolution of the marketplace. It is the understanding that allows us to
recognize shortcomings and seek solutions. It is the right to put forth an idea, scoffed at by the experts,
and watch it catch fire among the people. It is the right to stick - to dream - to follow your dream, or
stick to your conscience, even if you're the only one in a sea of doubters.
Freedom is the recognition that no single person, no single authority of government has a monopoly on
the truth, but that every individual life is infinitely precious, that every one of us put on this world has
been put there for a reason and has something to offer.
…….
But I hope you know I go on about these things not simply to extol the virtues of my own country but to
speak to the true greatness of the heart and soul of your land. Who, after all, needs to tell the land of
Dostoyevski about the quest for truth, the home of Kandinski and Scriabin about imagination, the rich
and noble culture of the Uzbek man of letters Alisher Navoi about beauty and heart? The great culture
of your diverse land speaks with a glowing passion to all humanity. Let me cite one of the most eloquent
contemporary passages on human freedom. It comes, not from the literature of America, but from this
country, from one of the greatest writers of the 20th century, Boris Pasternak, in the novel "Dr. Zhivago.
" He writes: "I think that if the beast who sleeps in man could be held down by threats -any kind of threat, whether of jail or of retribution after death -then the highest emblem of humanity would be the lion tamer in the circus with his whip, not the
prophet who sacrificed himself. But this is just the point -what has for centuries raised man above the beast is not the cudgel, but an inward music -the irresistible power of unarmed truth."
Study Questions:
16. At the beginning of the excerpt (sentence one), the "one of your most distinguished
graduates" refers to ______________________________
17. Reagan's primary purpose in the first paragraph of the excerpt seems to be
a.
b.
18. We can infer that the "mural of your revolution" Reagan is referring to in paragraph two is
probably a mural of ____________________________________________.
19. What is NOT true about the modern revolution as Reagan describes it?
a.
b.
20. Reagan probably quotes Mikhail Lomonosov in paragraph five to _____________.
a.
b.
21. The idea that forms the transition between paragraphs five and six is _____________.
22. In this speech, Reagan implies that the enemy of a healthy, successful society is
_________________.
23. What would be an appropriate title for the excerpt's second half?
a.
b.
24. What is Reagan’s purpose in the last paragraph of the excerpt?
a.
b.
25. What is the intended tone of Reagan's speech? How do you know?
26. In which line does Reagan imply criticism of the Soviet Union?
a.
b.
27. Which statements support the theme of “The American Dream”?
a.
b.
28. Which statements support the theme of progress?
a.
b.
29. Reagan refers to Soviet thinkers in the last paragraph in order to ________________.
Nonfiction Excerpts “Walking with the Wind” by John Lewis
There was no question we would continue, no debate, no protest from any of the adults. We knew that
sooner or later the stakes would be raised. It was a natural step in the process, a step we had practiced
and prepared for. Our workshops had been like little laboratories in human behavior and response to
nonviolent protest. Now we were seeing real humans respond in almost exactly the ways Jim Lawson
had taught us they would. The danger waiting for us this day was to be expected, which didn't mean I
wasn't a little bit nervous. But by now I was so committed deep inside to the sureness and sanctity of
the nonviolent way, and I was so calmed by the sense that the Spirit of History was with us, that the
butterflies were gone by the time we left the church and headed downtown.
To the five stores we'd already struck, we added a sixth target this day -- Cain-Sloan. As we walked en
masse toward the Arcade, we faced the typical taunts we'd come to expect from white onlookers,
mostly teenagers. But this time there was some pushing and shoving, which was new, and which the
police, who were in sight along the way, did nothing to stop. I learned later that after we'd passed
through the Arcade, a black teenager who worked at one of the stores there and had nothing to do with
our group was badly beaten by some of those young white toughs. It was sickening to hear that.
As soon as my group entered our target store, Woolworth's, we were confronted with a group of young
white men shouting, "Go home, n---!" and "Get back to Africa!" They jabbed us as we passed and chided
us for not fighting back. "What's the matter? You chicken?" they teased, trying to force the situation
into terms they were comfortable with -- fists and fighting.
We weren't playing by those rules, of course, and that infuriated them even further. No sooner did we
take our seats at the upstairs counter than some of these young men began pushing the group at the
downstairs restaurant off their stools, shoving them against the counter, punching them.
We immediately went down to join our brothers and sisters, taking seats of our own. I was hit in the
ribs, not too hard, but enough to knock me over. Down the way I could see one of the white men
stubbing a lit cigarette against the back of a guy in our group, though I couldn't tell who it was in the
swirl of the action.
I got back on my stool and sat there, not saying a word. The others did the same. Violence does beget
violence, but the opposite is just as true. Hitting someone who does not hit back can last only so long.
Fury spends itself pretty quickly when there's no fury facing it. We could see in the mirror on the wall in
front of us the crowd gathered at our backs. They continued trying to egg us on, but the beating
subsided.
At the same time, we would learn later, the same thing was happening in the other stores. Yellow
mustard was squeezed onto the head of one black male student in Kress's while the crowd hooted and
laughed. Ketchup was poured down the shirt of another. Paul LaPrad, being white, attracted particularly
brutal attention over at McClellan's. He was pulled off his stool, beaten and kicked by a group of young
whites with the word "Chattanooga" written on their jackets -- a reference to recent white-on-black
attacks in that city that had followed a series of sit-ins there.
Study Questions
30. Which statements best support the theme of civil disobedience?
a.
b.
c.
31. Which statements best support the theme of nonviolent action?
a.
b.
c.
32. The statement, “Fury spends itself pretty quickly when there's no fury facing it”, best supports the
theme of ______________________________________.
33. The statement, “They continued trying to egg us on, but the beating subsided”, best supports the
theme of_______________________________________.
Part 4 Nonfiction Excerpts “I Am Malala”
In this exclusive excerpt from her autobiography, I Am Malala, young activist Malala Yousafzai recounts
the day she was shot by the Taliban.
In a country that’s seen more than its share of violence, the fate of one teenager might not seem to
count for much. But somehow Malala Yousafzai of Pakistan has managed to become an international
inspiration. She was only 11 when she took on the Taliban, demanding that girls be given full access to
school. Her campaign led to a blog for the BBC, a New York Times documentary, and a Pakistani peace
prize. But all that was only a prelude to even more extraordinary events. Last October, Taliban assassins
attacked Malala, then 15, on her way home from school, shooting her in the head. Here, Malala
describes that day and offers her hopes for the future.
Tuesday, Oct. 9, 2012, wasn’t the best of days to start with, as it was the middle of exams—though as a
bookish girl I didn’t mind them as much as some of my classmates did. That morning we arrived in the
narrow mud lane off Haji Baba Road in our usual procession of brightly painted rickshaws sputtering
diesel fumes, each one crammed with five or six girls. Since the time of the Taliban, our school has had
no sign and the ornamented brass door in a white wall gives no hint of what lies beyond.
For us girls, that doorway was like a magical entrance to our own special world. As we skipped through,
we cast off our head scarves and ran helter-skelter up the steps. At the top of the steps was an open
courtyard with doors to all the classrooms. We dumped our backpacks in our rooms, then gathered for
assembly under the sky, our backs to the mountains.
The school was founded by my father before I was born, and on the wall above us, “Khushal School” was
painted proudly in red and white letters. We went to school six mornings a week, and as I was in Year 9,
my classes were spent chanting chemical equations or studying Urdu grammar, writing stories in English
with morals like “Haste makes waste” or drawing diagrams of blood circulation—most of my classmates
wanted to be doctors. It’s hard to imagine that anyone would see that as a threat. Yet outside the school
lay not only the noise and craziness of Mingora, the main city of the province of Swat, but also those,
like the Taliban, who think girls should not go to school.
Because it was exam time, school started at 9 instead of 8 that morning, which was good, as I don’t like
getting up and can sleep through the crows of the roosters and the prayer calls of the muezzin.
I slept in the room at the front of our house. The only furniture was a bed and a cabinet that I had
bought with the money I’d been given as an award for campaigning for peace in our valley and the right
for girls to go to school. On some shelves were the gold-colored plastic cups and trophies I had won for
coming first in my class. There were a few times I had not come out on top—both times I was beaten by
my class rival, Malka-e-Noor. I was determined it would not happen again.
The school was not far from my home and I used to walk, but since the start of the last year I had been
going with other girls in a rickshaw and coming home by bus. It was a journey of five minutes along the
stinky stream, past the giant billboard for Dr. Humayun’s Hair Transplant Institute, where we joked that
one of our bald male teachers must have gone when he suddenly started to sprout hair. I liked riding the
bus because I didn’t get as sweaty as when I walked, and I could chat with my friends and gossip with
Usman Ali, the driver, whom we called Bhai Jan, or “brother.” He made us all laugh with his crazy stories.
I had started taking the bus because my mother worried about me walking on my own. We had been
getting threats all year. Some were in the newspapers, and some were messages passed on by people. I
was more concerned the Taliban would target my father, as he was always speaking out against them.
His friend and fellow campaigner Zahid Khan had been shot in the face in August on his way to prayers.
Our street could not be reached by car. I would get off the bus on the road below, go through an iron
gate and up a flight of steps. Sometimes I’d imagine that a terrorist might jump out and shoot me on
those steps. I wondered what I would do. Maybe I’d take off my shoes and hit him. But then I’d think
that if I did that, there would be no difference between me and a terrorist. It would be better to plead,
“Okay, shoot me, but first listen to me. What you are doing is wrong. I’m not against you personally. I
just want every girl to go to school.”
I wasn’t scared, but I had started making sure the gate was locked at night and asking God what happens
when you die. I told my best friend, Moniba, everything. We’d lived on the same street when we were
little and had been friends since primary school. We shared Justin Bieber songs and Twilight movies, the
best face-lightening creams. Moniba always knew if something was wrong. “Don’t worry,” I told her.
“The Taliban have never come for a small girl.”
When our bus was called, we ran down the school steps. The bus was actually a white Toyota truck with
three parallel benches. It was cramped with 20 girls and three teachers. I was sitting on the left between
Moniba and a girl named Shazia Ramzan, all of us holding our exam folders to our chests.
Inside the bus it was hot and sticky. In the back, where we sat, there were no windows, just plastic
sheeting, which was too yellowed to see through. All we could see out the back was a little stamp of
open sky and glimpses of the sun, a yellow orb floating in the dust that streamed over everything.
Then we suddenly stopped. A young bearded man had stepped into the road. “Is this the Khushal School
bus?” he asked our driver. Usman Bhai Jan thought this was a stupid question, as the name was painted
on the side. “Yes,” he said.
“I need information about some children,” said the man. “You should go to the office,” said Usman Bhai
Jan. As he was speaking, another young man approached the back of the van.
“Look, it’s one of those journalists coming to ask for an interview,” said Moniba. Since I’d started
speaking at events with my father, journalists often came, though not like this, in the road.
The man was wearing a peaked cap and had a handkerchief over his nose and mouth. Then he swung
himself onto the tailboard and leaned in over us. “Who is Malala?” he demanded.
No one said anything, but several of the girls looked at me. I was the only girl with my face uncovered.
That’s when he lifted up a black pistol. Some of the girls screamed. Moniba tells me I squeezed her
hand.
My friends say he fired three shots. The first went through my left eye socket and out under my left
shoulder. I slumped forward onto Moniba, blood coming from my left ear, so the other two bullets hit
the girls next to me. One bullet went into Shazia’s left hand. The third went through her left shoulder
and into the upper right arm of Kainat Riaz.
My friends later told me the gunman’s hand was shaking as he fired.
In the year since that fateful day, Malala has undergone a recovery that is nothing short of miraculous.
The bullet narrowly missed her brain, and doctors at Queen Elizabeth Hospital in Birmingham, England,
where she was brought in a medically induced coma six days after the attack, marveled that she was
able to stand within a week of her arrival. Malala underwent multiple surgeries and spent nearly three
months in the hospital (which specializes in treating wounded soldiers), though mercifully it was found
she had suffered no major permanent neurological damage. The ordeal did, however, solidify her will: “It
feels like this life is not my life. It’s a second life. People have prayed to God to spare me and I was spared
for a reason—to use my life for helping people.”
Courtesy of: Parade Publications
Study Questions
34. “Since the time of the Taliban, our school has had no sign and the ornamented brass door in a white
wall gives no hint of what lies beyond.”
In this line, Malala seeks to:
35. “For us girls, that doorway was like a magical entrance to our own special world.”
Which of the following best describes the intended tone of this line?
36. “We went to school six mornings a week, and as I was in Year 9, my classes were spent chanting
chemical equations or studying Urdu grammar, writing stories in English with morals like ‘Haste makes
waste’ or drawing diagrams of blood circulation—most of my classmates wanted to be doctors.”
In this line, Malala seeks to:
37. “Yet outside the school lay not only the noise and craziness of Mingora, the main city of the
province of Swat, but also those, like the Taliban, who think girls should not go to school.”
Which of the following best describes the intended tone of this line?
38. “Yet outside the school lay not only the noise and craziness of Mingora, the main city of the province
of Swat, but also those, like the Taliban, who think girls should not go to school”
In this line, Malala seeks to:
39. “The only furniture was a bed and a cabinet that I had bought with the money I’d been given as an
award for campaigning for peace in our valley and the right for girls to go to school.”
Which of the following best describes the intended tone of this line?
40. “ I liked riding the bus because I didn’t get as sweaty as when I walked, and I could chat with my
friends and gossip…”
In this line, Malala seeks to:
41. “His friend and fellow campaigner Zahid Khan had been shot in the face in August on his way to
prayers.”
In this line, Malala seeks to:
42. “Maybe I’d take off my shoes and hit him. But then I’d think that if I did that, there would be no
difference between me and a terrorist. It would be better to plead, ‘Okay, shoot me, but first listen to
me. What you are doing is wrong. I’m not against you personally. I just want every girl to go to school.’”
In this section, Malala seeks to:
43. “It feels like this life is not my life. It’s a second life. People have prayed to God to spare me and I
was spared for a reason—to use my life for helping people.”
Which of the following best describes the intended tone of this statement?
Part 5 Fiction—Characterization in “Lord of the Flies”
Directions: Read the following excerpts from “Lord of the Flies”. Select the best answer for each item.
Lord of the Flies, by William Golding
From Chapter 1
"Isn't there a ship, then?"
Inside the floating cloak he was tall, thin, and bony; and his hair was red beneath the black
cap. His face was crumpled and freckled, and ugly without silliness. Out of this face stared
two light blue eyes, frustrated now, and turning, or ready to turn, to anger.
"Isn't there a man here?"
Ralph spoke to his back.
"No. We're having a meeting. Come and join in."
The group of cloaked boys began to scatter from close line. The tall boy shouted at them.
"Choir! Stand still!"
Wearily obedient, the choir huddled into line and stood there swaying in the sun. None the
less, some began to protest faintly.
"But, Merridew. Please, Merridew . . . can't we?"
Then one of the boys flopped on his face in the sand and the line broke up. They heaved the
fallen boy to the platform and let him lie. Merridew, his eyes staring, made the best of a bad
job.
"All right then. Sit down. Let him alone."
"But Merridew."
"He's always throwing a faint," said Merridew. "He did in Gib.; and Addis; and at matins over
the precentor."
This last piece of shop brought sniggers from the choir, who perched like black birds on the
criss-cross trunks and examined Ralph with interest. Piggy asked no names. He was
intimidated by this uniformed superiority and the offhand authority in Merridew's voice. He
shrank to the other side of Ralph and busied himself with his glasses.
Merridew turned to Ralph.
"Aren't there any grownups?"
"No."
Merridew sat down on a trunk and looked round the circle.
"Then we'll have to look after ourselves."
Secure on the other side of Ralph, Piggy spoke timidly.
"That's why Ralph made a meeting. So as we can decide what to do. We've heard names.
That's Johnny. Those two--they're twins, Sam 'n Eric. Which is Eric--? You? No--you're Sam--"
"I'm Sam--"
"'n I'm Eric."
"We'd better all have names," said Ralph, "so I'm Ralph."
"We got most names," said Piggy. "Got 'em just now."
"Kids' names," said Merridew. "Why should I be Jack? I'm Merridew."
Ralph turned to him quickly. This was the voice of one who knew his own mind.
"Then," went on Piggy, "that boy--I forget--"
"You're talking too much," said Jack Merridew. "Shut up, Fatty."
Laughter arose.
"He's not Fatty," cried Ralph, "his real name's Piggy!"
"Piggy!"
"Piggy!"
"Oh, Piggy!"
A storm of laughter arose and even the tiniest child joined in. For the moment the boys were a
closed circuit of sympathy with Piggy outside: he went very pink, bowed his head and cleaned
his glasses again.
Finally the laughter died away and the naming continued. There was Maurice, next in size
among the choir boys to Jack, but broad and grinning all the time. There was a slight, furtive
boy whom no one knew, who kept to himself with an inner intensity of avoidance and secrecy.
He muttered that his name was Roger and was silent again. Bill, Robert, Harold, Henry; the
choir boy who had fainted sat up against a palm trunk, smiled pallidly at Ralph and said that
his name was Simon.
Jack spoke.
"We've got to decide about being rescued."
There was a buzz. One of the small boys, Henry, said that he wanted to go home.
"Shut up," said Ralph absently. He lifted the conch. "Seems to me we ought to have a chief to
decide things."
"A chief! A chief!"
"I ought to be chief," said Jack with simple arrogance, "because I'm chapter chorister and
head boy. I can sing C sharp."
Another buzz.
"Well then," said Jack, "I--"
He hesitated. The dark boy, Roger, stirred at last and spoke up.
"Let's have a vote."
"Yes!"
"Vote for chief!"
"Let's vote--"
This toy of voting was almost as pleasing as the conch. Jack started to protest but the clamor
changed from the general wish for a chief to an election by acclaim of Ralph himself. None of
the boys could have found good reason for this; what intelligence had been shown was
traceable to Piggy while the most obvious leader was Jack. But there was a stillness about
Ralph as he sat that marked him out: there was his size, and attractive appearance; and most
obscurely, yet most powerfully, there was the conch. The being that had blown that, had sat
waiting for them on the platform with the delicate thing balanced on his knees, was set apart.
"Him with the shell."
"Ralph! Ralph!"
"Let him be chief with the trumpet-thing."
Ralph raised a hand for silence.
"All right. Who wants Jack for chief?"
With dreary obedience the choir raised their hands.
"Who wants me?"
Every hand outside the choir except Piggy's was raised immediately. Then Piggy, too, raised
his hand grudgingly into the air.
Ralph counted.
"I'm chief then."
The circle of boys broke into applause. Even the choir applauded; and the freckles on Jack's
face disappeared under a blush of mortification. He started up, then changed his mind and sat
down again while the air rang. Ralph looked at him, eager to offer something.
"The choir belongs to you, of course."
"They could be the army--"
"Or hunters--"
"They could be--"
The suffusion drained away from Jack's face.
*
The three boys walked briskly on the sand. The tide was low and there was a strip of
weed-strewn beach that was almost as firm as a road. A kind of glamour was spread over
them and the scene and they were conscious of the glamour and made happy by it. They
turned to each other, laughing excitedly, talking, not listening. The air was bright. Ralph, faced
by the task of translating all this into an explanation, stood on his head and fell over. When
they had done laughing, Simon stroked Ralph's arm shyly; and they had to laugh again.
"Come on," said Jack presently, "we're explorers."
44. Describe Jack’s physical appearance, thoughts, feelings, emotions, and actions.
45. Describe Piggy’s physical appearance, thoughts, speech, emotions, and actions.
46. “With dreary obedience the choir raised their hands.”
What does this passage imply about the choirboys?
47. Ralph is elected the leader primarily because _____________.