Sunday, February 28, 2010

Robert Frost

Robert Frost Guide Questions

1. In Mending Wall, is there an equal balance between the positive and negative interpretations of boundless nature and of wall-making?

2. The speaker of Mending Wall is the one who always begins the wall-mending. Apparently he likes the ritual of making boundaries and seems to prefer walls to non-walls. Frost’s theme is not that the world would be better if every wall were destroyed, every barrier pulled down. Is it that walls, where useful, are much to be desired?

3. In Home Burial, can the different responses of husband and wife to the death of their child be reconciled?

4. In what respects does each speaker in Home Burial follow the logic of his particular character? In what respects do the speakers illustrate a conflict which is conventionally regarded as the psychological difference between the sexes? To what extent is this a poem about communication problems, both verbal and otherwise?

5. Quite apart from conventional sexual roles, to what extent does the conflict in Home Burial appear to be a symbolic drama of sexual incompatibility?

6. Home Burial is also about communication problems, both verbal and otherwise. Discuss the way hands and the shifts in body position convey meaning in the poem.

7. Does The Road Not Taken suggest any definitive way of choosing one road rather than the other? How important is the choice, and how sure can the reader be about the answer?

8. What makes the tone of The Road Not Taken seem to be not mocking but melancholy?

9. Discuss the tone of “I shall be telling this with a sigh / Somewhere ages and ages hence” in The Road Not Taken. How is that tone significant in the poem? Does the sigh indicate regret, and regret at what?

10. In Birches, how can the skill of birch-climbing and swinging seem to stand for all skills, including art?

11. How does Birches make clear Frost’s conviction that the return to reality is the most important thing about skills, including the skills of literary art?

12. Beginning with line 21, Birches becomes nostalgic. What makes it so?

13. How does Birches make clear Frost’s conviction that the return to reality is the most important thing about skills, including the skills of literary art?

14. Discuss the aspects of nature in Design that contribute to a reaction to the poem as “terrifying.”

15. Discuss the quality of the final couplet in Design. Is it adequately suited to epigrammatic and pithy statement?

16. Design ends with three questions. Do they suggest that Frost believed in a good, a bad, or a neutral designer? Or none at all?

17. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening is said to teach that “duty takes precedence over beauty and pleasure.” But is it the primary effect of the poem to teach such a moral lesson?

18. Discuss the argument that important among Frost’s themes in Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening are “those of isolation, of extinction, and of the final limitations of man” ? How valid is the assertion that Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening expresses a death wish—a desire to submerge the self permanently in woods “lovely, dark and deep”?

19. The “luminary clock” in line 12 of Acquainted with the Night has been interpreted as the moon, a star, or as a tower clock with a lighted dial. Which seems more suited to the poem?

20. What is the tone of the final line of Acquainted with the Night?

21. What does West-Running Brook suggest about the possibility of salvation and life after death? What does it suggest about the human need to undertake “contrary resistance” to the stream of life?

22. The parenthetical statements in lines 3 and 19–26 of West-Running Brook have been identified as intrusions by the poet into the dialogue of the farmer and his wife. What purpose do they serve in the poem?

23. Overall, what are the main characteristics of Frost’s poetry, as shown by the assigned poems?

24. .In what ways does Frost’s work provide a contrast to the poetic theories and practices of such other modernists as Eliot?

Naturalist Writers

Naturalist Writers: Guide Questions

Stephen Crane “The Open Boat”

1. Although objectivity is often considered a characteristic of naturalism, Crane’s style clearly varies from that objectivity in his use of irony. Which scenes from the story do you find the most effective in using irony, and how do they do so?

2. Does Crane weaken the naturalistic force of his works by his use of irony? Can the death of Billy be taken as naturalistic irony?

3. Is the second paragraph of The Open Boat a statement by a reliable narrator, or is it a summation of the views of the men in the boat?

4. What do Crane’s alternate close-ups and panoramic vistas suggest about the condition and the importance of man in the universe? What do they show the reader about the true situation of the men in the boat?

5. What is the effect on the reader of the intrusion of the narrator in The Open Boat with the information that “It is fair to say here that there was not a life-saving station within twenty miles in either direction, but the men did not know this fact”? What does it add to the reader's understanding of the situation of the men in the open boat?

6. Notice how Crane’s style often becomes impressionistic rather than strictly realistic. Respond to the story’s impressionistic descriptions that you find most effective, and explain your choices.

7. How does Crane portray Nature in this tale? What commentary, if any, does the story present about the importance of human beings in the natural order?

8. Compare and contrast the expressions of hope and the perceptions of objective reality by the men in the open boat. To what extent are humankind’s insignificance and nature’s indifference the truths that the correspondent comes to understand at the end of The Open Boat?

9. Should the last paragraph of The Open Boat be taken ironically? Were the men simply deluding themselves once more, or if they could now truly become interpreters, what has occurred that has given them the insight they had previously lacked?

Frank Norris: “A Deal in Wheat”

1. In what ways does this story seem an example of literary naturalism? Consider the extent to which characters have or lack free will. To what extent are they dominated by social, political, and economic forces?

2. To what extent is the change in the final section consistent with the naturalism of the rest of the story?

3. In what ways do you find the story serving as a comment upon socioeconomic issues? Who or what seems to be responsible for the suffering of the working man? Can the failure of the wheat farmer and that of the hat factory both be seen as re[resentative of economic injustice within the capitalist system?

4. Discuss the irony of the failure of the “bread line.”

5. Comment on the descriptions of nature in this story. How may they be compared with nature in other stories we’ve read?

6. To what degree is the story’s structure linear or circular? In what ways are the beginning and ending similar or different?

7. How are the various characters manipulating prices in this tale? How is the appearance of the new grain for sale to be explained? What views does the story offer about the capitalist system? (Consider not only the wheat business, but the failure of Lewiston’s brother’s hat factory.)

8. What does this story suggest about human efforts to have significant effects upon their circumstances?

Jack London: “The Law of Life”

1. What elements of London’s naturalism are evident in this story? How does it depict Nature?

2. Why does Koskoosh die? Why does he accept his death so readily and stoically.

3. What is the importance you find in the scene about the death of the moose? How does it relate to the death of Koskoosh?

4. What are the conventional and unconventional religious attitudes in The Law of Life? Comment on the "missionary."

5. Outline the narrative structure of this story. Compare the alternative frames of the fire and Koskoosh's memories.

6. Is the conclusion of the story consistent with what has gone before? Support your answer with references to the story itself.
.
Jack London, “To Build a Fire”

1. Notice this story went through several reprints, including one edition for a juvenile audience. What can you tell about the audience appeal of the story?

2. What is significant about the fact that the main character has no name? Discuss the personality of the man. What are some of the mistakes in judgment that the man makes during the course of the story? What is his fatal flaw? Describe the changes in attitude that he undergoes during the story.

3. Discuss the “personality” and role of the dog in the story. In what ways is the dog “smarter” than the man?

4. What is the relationship of man and nature in the story? What is the difference between knowledge and instinct? In what ways might the story be considered naturalistic or Darwinian?

5. Are there religious or anti-religious attitudes evident in To Build a Fire?

6. Discuss the point of view in To Build a Fire. What is the narrator’s attitude toward the protagonist?

7. What mistakes does the narrator make? What is the thematic function of his competence versus his mistakenness?

Thursday, February 25, 2010

Naturalism Guide Questions

Naturalist Writers: Guide Questions

Stephen Crane “The Open Boat”


1. Although objectivity is often considered a characteristic of naturalism, Crane’s style clearly varies from that objectivity in his use of irony. Which scenes from the story do you find the most effective in using irony, and how do they do so?

2. Does Crane weaken the naturalistic force of his works by his use of irony? Can the death of Billy be taken as naturalistic irony?

3. Is the second paragraph of The Open Boat a statement by a reliable narrator, or is it a summation of the views of the men in the boat?

4. What do Crane’s alternate close-ups and panoramic vistas suggest about the condition and the importance of man in the universe? What do they show the reader about the true situation of the men in the boat?

5. What is the effect on the reader of the intrusion of the narrator in The Open Boat with the information that “It is fair to say here that there was not a life-saving station within twenty miles in either direction, but the men did not know this fact”? What does it add to the reader's understanding of the situation of the men in the open boat?

6. Notice how Crane’s style often becomes impressionistic rather than strictly realistic. Respond to the story’s impressionistic descriptions that you find most effective, and explain your choices.

7. How does Crane portray Nature in this tale? What commentary, if any, does the story present about the importance of human beings in the natural order?

8. Compare and contrast the expressions of hope and the perceptions of objective reality by the men in the open boat. To what extent are humankind’s insignificance and nature’s indifference the truths that the correspondent comes to understand at the end of The Open Boat?

9. Should the last paragraph of The Open Boat be taken ironically? Were the men simply deluding themselves once more, or if they could now truly become interpreters, what has occurred that has given them the insight they had previously lacked?

Frank Norris: “A Deal in Wheat”


1. In what ways does this story seem an example of literary naturalism? Consider the extent to which characters have or lack free will. To what extent are they dominated by social, political, and economic forces?

2. To what extent is the change in the final section consistent with the naturalism of the rest of the story?

3. In what ways do you find the story serving as a comment upon socioeconomic issues? Who or what seems to be responsible for the suffering of the working man? Can the failure of the wheat farmer and that of the hat factory both be seen as re[resentative of economic injustice within the capitalist system?

4. Discuss the irony of the failure of the “bread line.”

5. Comment on the descriptions of nature in this story. How may they be compared with nature in other stories we’ve read?

6. To what degree is the story’s structure linear or circular? In what ways are the beginning and ending similar or different?

7. How are the various characters manipulating prices in this tale? How is the appearance of the new grain for sale to be explained? What views does the story offer about the capitalist system? (Consider not only the wheat business, but the failure of Lewiston’s brother’s hat factory.)

8. What does this story suggest about human efforts to have significant effects upon their circumstances?

Jack London: “The Law of Life”


1. What elements of London’s naturalism are evident in this story? How does it depict Nature?

2. Why does Koskoosh die? Why does he accept his death so readily and stoically.

3. What is the importance you find in the scene about the death of the moose? How does it relate to the death of Koskoosh?

4. What are the conventional and unconventional religious attitudes in The Law of Life? Comment on the "missionary."

5. Outline the narrative structure of this story. Compare the alternative frames of the fire and Koskoosh's memories.

6. Is the conclusion of the story consistent with what has gone before? Support your answer with references to the story itself.
.
Jack London, “To Build a Fire”


1. Notice this story went through several reprints, including one edition for a juvenile audience. What can you tell about the audience appeal of the story?

2. What is significant about the fact that the main character has no name? Discuss the personality of the man. What are some of the mistakes in judgment that the man makes during the course of the story? What is his fatal flaw? Describe the changes in attitude that he undergoes during the story.

3. Discuss the “personality” and role of the dog in the story. In what ways is the dog “smarter” than the man?

4. What is the relationship of man and nature in the story? What is the difference between knowledge and instinct? In what ways might the story be considered naturalistic or Darwinian?

5. Are there religious or anti-religious attitudes evident in To Build a Fire?

6. Discuss the point of view in To Build a Fire. What is the narrator’s attitude toward the protagonist?

7. What mistakes does the narrator make? What is the thematic function of his competence versus his mistakenness?

To Build a Fire (Jack London)

DAY had broken cold and gray, exceedingly cold and gray, when the man turned aside from the main Yukon trail and climbed the high earth-bank, where a dim and little traveled trail led eastward through the fat spruce timberland. It was a steep bank, and he paused for breath at the top, excusing the act to himself by looking at his watch. It was nine o'clock. There was no sun nor hint of sun, though there was not a cloud in the sky. It was a clear day, and yet there seemed an intangible pall over the face of things, a subtle gloom that made the day dark, and that was due to the absence of sun. This fact did not worry the man. He was used to the lack of sun. It had been days since he had seen the sun, and he knew that a few more-days must pass before that cheerful orb, due south, would just peep above the sky-line and dip immediately from view.

The man flung a look back along the way he had come. The Yukon lay a mile wide and hidden under three feet of ice. On top of this ice were as many feet of snow. It was all pure white, rolling in gentle, undulations where the ice jams of the freeze-up had formed. North and south, as far as his eye could see, it was unbroken white, save for a dark hairline that curved and twisted from around the spruce-covered island to the south, and that curved and twisted away into the north, where it disappeared behind another spruce-covered island. This dark hair-line was the trail--the main trail--that led south five hundred miles to the Chilcoot Pass, Dyea, and salt water; and that led north seventy miles to Dawson, and still on to the north a thousand miles to Nulato, and finally to St. Michael on Bering Sea, a thousand miles and half a thousand more.

But all this--the mysterious, far-reaching hair-line trail. the absence of sun from the sky, the tremendous cold, and the strangeness and weirdness of it all--made no impression on the man. It was not because he was long used to it. He was a newcomer! in the land, a chechaquo, and this was his first winter. The trouble with him was that he was without imagination. He was quick and alert in the things of life, but only in the things, and not in the significances. Fifty degrees below zero meant eighty-odd degrees of frost. Such fact impressed him as being cold and uncomfortable, and that was all. It did not lead him to meditate upon his frailty as a creature of temperature, and upon man's frailty in general, able only to live within certain narrow limits of heat and cold; and from there on it did not lead him to the conjectural field of immortality and man's place in the universe. Fifty degrees below zero stood forte bite of frost that hurt and that must be guarded against by the use of mittens, ear-flaps, warm moccasins, and thick socks. Fifty degrees below zero was to him just precisely fifty degrees below zero. That there should be anything more to it than that was a thought that never entered his head.

As he turned to go on, he spat speculatively. There was a sharp, explosive crackle that startled him. He spat again. And again, in the air, before it could fall to the snow, the spittle crackled. He knew that at fifty below spittle crackled on the snow, but this spittle had crackled in the air. Undoubtedly it was colder than fifty below--how much colder he did not know. But the temperature did not matter. He was bound for the old claim on the left fork of Henderson Creek, where the boys were already. They had come over across the divide from the Indian Creek country, while he had come the roundabout way to take; a look at the possibilities of getting out logs in the spring from the islands in the Yukon. He would be in to camp by six o'clock; a bit after dark, it was true, but the boys would be there, a fire would be going, and a hot supper would be ready. As for lunch, he pressed his hand against the protruding bundle under his jacket. It was also under his shirt, wrapped up in a handkerchief and lying against the naked skin. It was the only way to keep the biscuits from freezing. He smiled agreeably to himself as he thought of those biscuits, each cut open and sopped in bacon grease, and each enclosing a generous slice of fried bacon.

He plunged in among the big spruce trees. The trail was faint. A foot of snow had fallen since the last sled had passed over, and he was glad he was without a sled, traveling light. In fact, he carried nothing but the lunch wrapped in the handkerchief. He was surprised, however, at the cold. It certainly was cold, he concluded as he rubbed his numb nose and cheek-bones with his mittened hand. He was a warm-whiskered man, but the hair on his face did not protect the high cheek-bones and the eager nose that thrust itself aggressively into the frosty air.

At the man's heels trotted a dog, a big native husky, the proper wolfdog, gray-coated and without any visible or temperamental difference from its brother, the wild wolf. The animal was depressed by the tremendous cold. It knew that it was no time for traveling. Its instinct told it a truer tale than was told to the man by the man's judgment. In reality, it was not merely colder than fifty below zero; it was colder than sixty below, than seventy below. It was seventy-five below zero. Since the freezing point is thirty-two above zero, it meant that one hundred and seven degrees of frost obtained. The dog did not know anything about thermometers. Possibly in its brain there was no sharp consciousness of a condition of very cold such as was in the man's brain. But the brute had its instinct. It experienced a vague but menacing apprehension that subdued it and made it slink along at the man's heels, and that made it question eagerly every unwonted movement of the man as if expecting him to go into camp or to seek shelter somewhere and build a fire. The dog had learned fire, and it wanted fire, or else to burrow under the snow and cuddle its warmth away from the air.

The frozen moisture of its breathing had settled on its fur in a fine powder of frost, and especially were its jowls, muzzle, and eyelashes whitened by its crystalled breath. The man's red beard and mustache were likewise frosted, but more solidly, the deposit taking the form of ice and increasing with every warm, moist breath he exhaled. Also, the man was chewing tobacco, and the muzzle of ice held his lips so rigidly that he was unable to clear his chin when he expelled the juice. The result was that a crystal beard of the color and solidity of amber was increasing its length on his chin. If he fell down it would shatter itself, like glass, into brittle fragments. But he did not mind the appendage. It was the penalty all tobacco-chewers paid in that country, and he had been out before in two cold snaps. They had not been so cold as this, he knew, but by the spirit thermometer at Sixty Mile he knew they had been registered at fifty below and at fifty-five.

He held on through the level stretch of woods for several miles, crossed a wide flat of rigger-heads, and dropped down a bank to the frozen bed of a small stream. This was Henderson Creek, and he knew he was ten miles from the forks. He looked at his watch. It was ten o'clock. He was making four miles an hour, and he calculated that he would arrive at the forks at half-past twelve. He decided to celebrate that event by eating his lunch there.

The dog dropped in again at his heels, with a tail drooping discouragement, as the man swung along the creek-bed. The furrow of the old sled-trail was plainly visible, but a dozen inches of snow covered the marks of the last runners. In a month no man had come up or down that silent creek. The man held steadily on. He was not much given to thinking, and just then particularly he had nothing to think about save that he would eat lunch at-the forks and that at six o'clock he would be in camp with the boys. There was nobody to talk to; and, had there been, speech would have been impossible because of the ice-muzzle on his mouth. So he continued monotonously to chew tobacco and to increase the length of his amber beard.

Once in a while the thought reiterated itself that it was very cold and that he had never experienced such cold. As he walked along he rubbed his cheek-bones and nose with the back of his mittened hand. He did this automatically, now and again changing hands. But rub as he would, the instant he stopped his cheek-bones went numb, and the following instant the end of his nose went numb. He was sure to frost his cheeks; he knew that, and experienced a pang of regret that he had not devised a nose-strap of the sort Bud wore in cold snaps. Such a strap passed across the cheeks, as well, and saved them. But it didn't matter much, after all. What were frosted cheeks? A bit painful, that was all; they were never serious.

Empty as the man's mind was of thoughts, he was keenly observant, and he noticed the changes in the creek, the curves and bends and timber jams, and always he sharply noted where he placed his feet. Once coming around a bend, he shied abruptly, like a startled horse, curved away from the place where he had been walking, and retreated several paces back along the trail. The creek he knew was frozen clear to the bottom,--no creek could contain water in that arctic winter,--but he knew also that there were springs that bubbled out from the hillsides and ran along under the snow and on top the ice of the creek. He knew that the coldest snaps never froze these springs, and he knew likewise their danger. They were traps. They hid pools of water under the snow that might be three inches deep, or three feet. Sometimes a skin of ice. half an inch thick covered them, and in turn was covered by the snow Sometimes there were alternate layers of water and ice-skin, so that when one broke through he kept on breaking through for a while, sometimes wetting himself to the waist.

That was why he had shied in such panic. He had felt the give under his feet and heard the crackle of a snow-hidden ice-skin. And to get his feet wet in such a temperature meant trouble and danger. At the very least it meant delay, for he would be forced to stop and build a fire, and under its protection to bare his feet while he dried his socks and moccasins. He stood and studied the creek-bed and its banks, and decided that the flow of water came from the right. He reflected a while, rubbing his nose and cheeks, then skirted to the left, stepping gingerly and testing the footing for each step. Once clear of the danger, he took a fresh chew of tobacco and swung along at his four-mile gait.

In the course of the next two hours he came upon several similar traps. Usually the snow above the hidden pools had a sunken, candied appearance that advertised the danger. Once again, however, he had a close call; and once, suspecting danger, he compelled the dog to go on in front. The dog did not want to go. It hung back until the man shoved it forward, and then it went quickly across the white, unbroken surface. Suddenly it broke through, floundered to one side, and got away to firmer footing. It had wet its forefeet and legs, and almost immediately the water that clung to it turned to ice. It made quick efforts to lick the ice off its legs, then dropped down in the snow and began to bite out the ice that had formed between the toes. l his was a matter of instinct. To permit the ice to remain would mean sore feet. It did not know this. It merely obeyed the mysterious prompting that arose from the deep crypts of its being. But the man knew, having achieved a judgment on the subject, and he removed the mitten from his right hand and helped tear out the ice-particles. He did not expose his fingers more than a minute, and was astonished at the swift numbness that smote them. It certainly was cold. He pulled on the mitten hastily, and beat the hand savagely across his chest.

At twelve o'clock the day was at its brightest. Yet the sun was too; far south an its winter journey to clear the horizon. The bulge of the earth intervened between it arid Henderson Creek, where the man walked under a clear sky at noon and cast no shadow. At half-past twelve, to the minute, he arrived at the forks of the creek. He was. pleased at the speed he had made. If he kept it up, he would certainly be with the boys by six. He unbuttoned his jacket and shirt and drew forth his lunch. The action consumed no more than a quarter of a minute, yet in that brief moment the numbness laid hold of the exposed fingers. He did not put the mitten on, but, instead struck the fingers a dozen sharp smashes against his leg. Then he sat down on a snow-covered log to eat. The sting that followed upon the striking of his fingers against his leg ceased so quickly that he was startled. He had had no chance to take a bite of biscuit. He struck the fingers repeatedly and returned them to the mitten, baring the other hand for the purpose of eating, He tried to take a mouthful, but the ice-muzzle prevented. He had forgotten to build a fire and thaw out. He chuckled at his foolishness, and as he chuckled he noted the numbness creeping into the exposed fingers. Also, he noted that the stinging which had first come to his toes when he sat down was already passing away. He wandered whether the toes were warm or numb. He moved them inside the moccasins and decided that they were numb.

He pulled the mitten on hurriedly and stood up. He was a bit frightened. He stamped up and down until the stinging returned into the feet. It certainly was cold, was his thought. That man from Sulphur Creek had spoken the truth when telling how cold it sometimes got in the country. And he had laughed at him at the time! That showed one must not be too sure of things. There was no mistake about it, it was cold. He strode up and down, stamping his feet and threshing his arms, until reassured by the returning warmth. Then he got out matches and proceeded to make a fire. From the undergrowth, where high water of the previous spring had lodged a supply of seasoned twigs, he got his firewood. Working carefully from a small beginning, he soon had a roaring fire, over which he thawed the ice from his face and in the protection of which he ate his biscuits. For the moment the cold space was outwitted. The dog took satisfaction in the fire, stretching out close enough for warmth and far enough away to escape being singed.

When the man had finished, be filled his pipe and took his comfortable time over a smoke. Then he pulled on his mittens, settled the ear-flaps of his cap firmly about his ears, and took the creek trail up the left fork. The dog was disappointed and yearned back toward the fire. This man did not know cold. Possibly all the generations of his ancestry had been ignorant of cold of real cold, of cold one hundred and seven degrees below freezing point. But the dog knew; all its ancestry knew, and it had inherited the knowledge. And it knew that it was not good to walk abroad in such fearful cold. It was the time to lie snug in a hole in the snow and wait for a curtain of cloud to be drawn across the face of outer space whence this cold came. On the other hand, there was no keen intimacy between the dog and the man. The one was the toil-slave of the other, and the only caresses it had ever received were the caresses of the whiplash and of harsh and menacing throat-sounds that threatened the whiplash. So, the dog made no effort to communicate its apprehension to the man. It was not concerned in the welfare of the man, it was for its own sake that it yearned back toward the fire. But the man whistled, and spoke to it with the sound of whiplashes and the dog swung in at the man's heel and followed after.

The man took a chew of tobacco and proceeded to start a new amber beard. Also, his moist breath quickly powdered with white his mustache, eyebrows, and lashes. There did not seem to be so many springs on the left fork of the Henderson, and for half an hour the man saw no signs of any. And then it happened. At a place where there were no signs, where the soft, unbroken snow seemed to advertise solidity beneath, tee man broke through. It was not deep. He wet himself halfway to the knees before he floundered out to the firm crust.

He was angry, and cursed his luck aloud. He had hoped to get into camp with the boys at six o'clock, and this would delay him an hour, for he would have to build a fire and dry out his foot-gear. This was imperative at that low temperature--he knew that much; and he turned aside to the bank, which he climbed. On top, tangled in the underbrush about the trunks of several small spruce trees, was a high-water deposit of dry firewood--sticks and twigs, principally, but also larger portions of seasoned branches and fine, dry, last-year's grasses. He threw down several large pieces on top of the snow. This served for a foundation and prevented the young flame from drowning itself in the snow it otherwise would melt. The flame he got by touching a match to a small shred of birch bark that he took from his pocket. This burned even more readily than paper. Placing it on the foundation, he fed the young flame with wisps of dry grass and with the tiniest dry twigs.

He worked slowly and carefully, keenly aware of his danger. Gradually, as the flame grew stronger, he increased the size of the twigs with which he fed it. He squatted in the snow, pulling the twigs out from their entanglement in the brush and feeding directly to the flame. He knew there must be no failure. When it is seventy-five below zero, a man must not fail in his first attempt to build a fire--that is, if his feet are wet. If his feet are dry, and he fails, he can run along the trail for half a mile and restore his circulation. But the circulation of wet and freezing feet cannot be restored by running when it is seventy-five below. No matter how fast he runs, the wet feet will freeze the harder.

All this the man knew. The old-timer on Sulphur Creek had told him about it the previous fall, and now he was appreciating the advice. Already all sensation had gone out of his feet. To build the fire he had been forced to remove his mittens, and the fingers had quickly gone numb. His pace of four miles an hour had kept his heart pumping blood to the surface of his body and to all the extremities. But the instant he stopped, the action of the pump eased down. The cold of space smote the unprotected tip of the planet, and he, being on that unprotected tip, received the full force of the blow. The blood of his body recoiled before it. The blood was alive, like the dog, and like the dog it wanted to hide away and cover itself up from the fearful cold. So long as he walked four miles an hour, he pumped that blood, willy-nilly, to the surface; but now it ebbed away and sank down into the recesses of his body. The extremities were the first to feel its absence. His wet feet froze the faster, and his exposed fingers numbed the faster, though they had not yet begun to freeze. Nose and cheeks were already freezing, while the skin of all his body chilled as it lost its blood.

But he was safe. Toes and nose and cheeks would be only touched by the frost, for the fire was beginning to burn with strength. He was feeding it with twigs the size of his finger. In another minute he would be able to feed it with branches the size of his wrier, and then he could remove his wet toot-gear, and, while it dried, he could keep his naked feet warm by the fire, rubbing them at first, of course, with snow. The fire was a success. He was safe. He remembered the advice of the old timer on Sulphur Creek, and smiled. The old-timer had been very serious in laying down the law that no man must travel alone in the Klondike after fifty below. Well, here he was; he had had the accident; he was alone; and he had saved himself. Those old-timers were rather womanish, some of them, he thought. All a man had to do was to keep his head, and he was all right. Any man who was a man could travel alone. But it was surprising, the rapidity with which his cheeks and nose were freezing. And he had not thought his fingers could go lifeless in so short a time. Lifeless they were, for he could scarcely make them move together to grip a twig, and they seemed remote from his body and from him. When he touched a twig, he had to look and see whether or not he had hold of it. The wires were pretty well down between him and his finger-ends.

All of which counted for little. There was the fire, snapping and crackling and promising life with every dancing flame. He started to untie his moccasins. They were coated with ice; the thick German socks were like sheaths of iron halfway to the knees; and the moccasin strings were like rods of steel all twisted and knotted as by some conflagration. For a moment he tugged with his numb fingers, then, realizing the folly of it, he drew his sheath-knife.

But before he could cut the strings, it happened. It was his own fault or, rather, his mistake. He should not have built the fire under the spruce tree. He should have built it in the open. But it had been easier to pull the twigs from the brush and drop them directly on the fire. Now the tree under which he had done this carried a weight of snow on its boughs. No wind had blown for weeks, and each bough was fully freighted. Each time he had pulled a twig he had communicated a slight agitation to the tree--an imperceptible agitation, so far as he was concerned, but an agitation sufficient to bring about the disaster. High up in the tree one bough capsized its load of snow. This fell on the boughs beneath, capsizing them. This process continued, spreading out and involving the whole tree. It grew like an avalanche, and it descended without warning upon the man and the fire, and the fire was blotted out! Where it had burned was a mantle of fresh and disordered snow.

The man was shocked. It was as though he had just heard his own sentence of death. For a moment he sat and stared at the spot where the fire had been. Then he grew very calm. Perhaps the old-timer on Sulphur Creek was right. If he had only had a trail-mate he would have been in no danger now. The trail-mate could have built the fire. Well, it was up to him to build the fire over again, and this second time there must be no failure. Even if he succeeded, he would most likely lose some toes His feet must be badly frozen by now, and there would be some time before the second fire Was ready.

Such were his thoughts, but he did not sit and think them. He was busy all the time they were passing through his mind. He made a new foundation for a fire, this time in the open, where no treacherous tree could blot it out. Next, he gathered dry grasses and tiny twigs from the high-water flotsam. He could not bring his fingers together to pull them out, but he was able to gather them by the handful. In this way he got many rotten twigs and bits of green moss that were undesirable, but it was the best he could do. He worked methodically, even collecting an armful of the larger branches to be used later when the fire gathered strength. And all the while the dog sat and watched him, a certain yearning wistfulness in its eyes, for it looked upon him as the fire-provider, and the fire was slow in coming.

When all was ready, the man reached in his pocket for a second piece of birch bark. He knew the bark was there, and, though he could not feel it with his fingers, he could hear its crisp rustling as he fumbled for it. Try as he would, he could not clutch hold of it. And all the time in his consciousness, was the knowledge that each instant his feet were freezing. This thought tended to put him in a panic, but he fought against it and kept calm. He pulled on his mittens with his teeth, and threshed his arms back and forth, beating his hands with all his might against his sides. He did this sitting down, and he stood up to do it; and all the while the do,g sat in the snow, its wolf-brush of a tail curled around warmly over its forefeet, its sharp wolf-ears pricked forward intently as it watched the man And the man, as he beat and threshed with his arms and hands, felt a great surge of envy as he regarded the creature that was warm ant secure in its natural covering.

After a time he was aware of the first far-away signals of sensation in his beaten fingers. The faint tingling grew stronger till it evolved into a stinging ache that was excruciating, but which the man hailed with satisfaction. He stripped the mitten from his right hand and fetched forth the birch bark. The exposed fingers were quickly going numb again. Next he brought out his bunch of sulphur matches. But the tremendous cold had already driven the life out of his fingers. In his effort to separate one match from the others, the whole bunch fell in the snow. He tried to pick it out of the snow, but failed. The dead fingers could neither touch nor clutch. He was very careful. He drove the thought of his freezing feet, and nose, and cheeks, out of his mind, devoting his whole soul to the matches. He watched, using the sense of vision in place of that of touch, and when he saw his fingers on each side the bunch, he dosed them--that is, he willed to close them, for the wires were down, and the fingers did not obey. He pulled the mitten on the right hand and beat it fiercely against his knee. Then. with both mittened hands, he scooped the bunch of matches, along with much snow, into his lap. Yet he was no better off.

After some manipulation he managed to get the bunch between the heels of his mittened hands. In this fashion he carried it to his mouth. The ice crackled and snapped when by a violent effort he opened his mouth. He drew the lower jaw in, curled the upper lip out of the way, and scraped the bunch with his upper teeth in order to separate a match. He succeeded in getting one, which he dropped on his lap. He was no better off. He could not pick it up. Then he devised a way. He picked it up in his teeth and scratched it on his leg. Twenty times he scratched before he succeeded in lighting it. As it flamed he held it with his teeth to the birch bark. But the burning brimstone went up his nostrils and into his lungs, causing him to cough spasmodically. The match fell into the snow and went out.

The old-timer an Sulphur Creek was right, he thought in the moment of controlled despair that ensued after fifty below, a man should travel with a partner. He beat his hands, but failed in exciting any sensation. Suddenly he bared both hands, removing the mittens with his teeth. He caught the whole bunch between the heels of his hands. His arm muscles not being frozen enabled him to press the hand-heels tightly against the matches. Then he scratched the bunch along his leg It flared into flame, seventy sulphur matches at once! There was no wind to blow them out He kept his head to one side to escape the strangling fumes, and held the blazing bunch to the birth bark. As he so held it, he became aware of sensation in his hand. His flesh was burning. He could smell it. Deep down below the surface he could feel it. The sensation developed into pain that grew acute. And still he endured, it holding the flame of the matches clumsily to the bark that would not light readily because his own burning hands were in the way, absorbing most of the flame.

At last, when he could endure no more, he jerked his hands apart. The blazing matches fell sizzling into the snow, but the birch bark was alight. He began laying dry grasses and the tiniest twigs on the flame. He could not pick and choose, for he had to lift the fuel between the heels of his hands. Small pieces of rotten wood and green moss clung to the twigs, and he bit them off as well as he could with his teeth. He cherished the flame carefully and awkwardly. It meant life, and it must not perish. The withdrawal of blood from the surface of his body now made him begin to shiver, and he grew more awkward. A large piece of green moss fell squarely on the little fire. He tried to poke it out with his fingers, but his shivering frame made him poke too far and he disrupted the nucleus of the little fire, the burning grasses and tiny twigs separating and scattering. He tried to poke them together again, but in spite of the tenseness of the effort, his shivering got away with him, and the twigs were hopelessly scattered. Each twig gushed a puff of smoke and went out. The fire-provider had failed. As he looked apathetically about him, his eyes chanced on the dog, sitting across the ruins of the fire from him, in the snow, making restless, hunching movements, slightly lifting one forefoot and then the other, shifting its weight back and forth on them with wistful eagerness.

The sight of the dog put a wild idea into his head. He remembered the tale of the man, caught in a blizzard, who killed a steer and crawled inside the carcass, and so was saved. He would kill the dog and bury his hands in the warm body until the numbness went out of them. Then he could build another fire. He spoke to the dog, calling it to him; but in his voice was a strange note of fear that frightened the animal, who had never known the man to speak in such way before. Something was the matter, and its suspicious nature sensed danger--it knew not what danger, but somewhere, somehow, in its brain arose an apprehension of the man. It flattened its ears down at the sound of the man's voice, and its restless, hunching movements and the liftings and shiftings of its forefeet became more pronounced; but it would not come to the man. He got on his hands and knees and crawled toward the dog. This unusual posture again excited suspicion, and the animal sidled mincingly away.

The man sat up in the snow for a moment and struggled for calmness. Then he pulled on his mittens, by means of his teeth, and got upon his feet. He glanced down at first in order to assure himself that he was really standing up, for the absence of sensation in his feet left him unrelated to the earth. His erect position in itself started to drive the webs of suspicion from the dog's mind; and when he spoke peremptorily, with the sound of whiplashes in his voice, the dog rendered its customary allegiance and came to him. As it came within reaching distance, the man lost his control. His arms flashed out to the dog, and he experienced genuine surprise when he discovered that his hands could not clutch, that there was neither bend nor feeling in the fingers. He had forgotten for the moment that they were frozen and that they were freezing more and more. All this happened quickly, and before the animal could get away, he encircled its body with his arms. He sat down in the snow, and in this fashion held the dog, while it snarled and whined and struggled.

But it was all he could do, hold its body encircled in his arms and sit there. He realized that he could not kill the dog. There was no way to do it. With his helpless hands he could neither draw nor hold his sheath knife nor throttle the animal. He released it, and it plunged wildly away, with tail between its legs, and still snarling. It halted forty feet away and surveyed him curiously, with ears sharply pricked forward. The man looked down at his hands in order to locate them, and found them hanging on the ends of his arms. It struck him as curious that one should have to use his eyes in order to find out where his hands were. He began threshing his arms back and forth, beating the mittened hands against his sides. He did this for five minutes, violently, and his heart pumped enough blood up to the surface to put a stop to his shivering. But no sensation was aroused in the hands. He had an impression that they hung like weights on the ends of his arms, but when he tried to run the impression down, he could not find it.

A certain fear of death, dull and oppressive, came to him. This fear quickly became poignant as he realized that it was no longer a mere matter of freezing his fingers and toes, or of losing his hands and feet, but that it was a matter of life and death with the chances against him. This threw him into a panic, and he turned and ran up the creek-bed along the old, dim trail. The dog joined in behind and kept up with him. He ran blindly, without intention, in fear such as he had never known in his life. Slowly, as he plowed and floundered through the snow, he began to see things again, the banks of the creek, the old timber-jams, the leafless aspens, and the sky. The running made him feel better. He did not shiver. Maybe, if he ran on, his feet would thaw out; and, anyway, if he ran far enough, he would reach camp and the boys. Without doubt he would lose some fingers and toes and some of his face; but the boys would take care of him, and save the rest of him when he got there. And at the same time there was another thought in his mind that said he would never get to the camp and the boys; that it was too many miles away, that the freezing had too great a start on him, and that he would soon be stiff and dead. This thought he kept in the background and refused to consider. Sometimes it pushed itself forward and demanded to be heard, but he thrust it back and strove to think of other things.

It struck him as curious that he could run at all on feet so frozen that he could not feel them when they struck the earth and took the weigh. of his body. He seemed to himself to skim along above the surface, and to have no connection with the earth. Somewhere he had once seen a winged Mercury, and he wondered if Mercury felt as he felt when skimming over the earth.

His theory of running until he reached camp and the boys had one flaw in it: he lacked the endurance. Several times he stumbled, and finally he tottered, crumpled up, and fell. When he tried to rise, he failed. He must sit and rest, he decided, and next time he would merely walk and keep on going. As he sat and regained his breath, he noted that he was feeling quite warm and comfortable He was not shivering, and it even seemed that a warm glow had come to his chest and trunk. And yet, when he touched his nose or cheeks, there was no sensation. Running would not thaw them out. Nor would it thaw out his hands and feet. Then the thought came to him that the frozen portions of his body must be extending. He tried to keep this thought down, to forget it, to think of something else; he was aware of the panicky feeling that it caused, and he was afraid of the panic. But the thought asserted itself, and persisted, until it produced a vision of his body totally frozen. This was too much, and he made another wild run along the trail. Once he slowed down to a walk, but the thought of the freezing extending itself made him run again.

And all the time the dog ran with him, at his heels. When he fell down a second time, it curled its tad! over its forefeet and sat in front of him, facing him, curiously eager and intent The warmth and security of the animal angered him, and he cursed it till it flattened down its ears appealingly. This time the shivering came more quickly upon the man. He was losing in his battle with the frost. It was creeping into his body from all sides. The thought of it drove him on, but he ran no more than a hundred feet, when he staggered and pitched headlong. It was his last panic. When he had recovered his breath and control, he sat up and entertained in his mind the conception of meeting death with dignity. However, the conception did not come to him in such terms. His idea of it was that he had been making a fool of himself, running around like a chicken with its head cut off--such was the simile that occurred to him. Well, he was bound to freeze anyway, and he might as well take it decently. With this new-found peace of mind came the first glimmerings of drowsiness. A good idea, he thought, to sleep off to death. It was like salting an anaesthetic. Freezing was not so bad as people thought. There were lots worse ways to die.

He pictured the boys finding his body next day. Suddenly he found himself with them, coming along the trail and looking for himself. And, still with them, he came around a turn in the trail and found himself lying in the snow. He did not belong with himself any more, for even then he was out of himself, standing with the boys and looking at himself in the snow. It certainly was cold, was his thought. When he got back to the States he could tell the folks what real cold was He drifted on from this to a vision of the old-timer on Sulphur Creek He could see him quite clearly, warm and comfortable, and smoking a pipe.

"You were right, old hoss; you were right," the man mumbled to the old-timer of Sulphur Creek.

Then the man drowsed off into what seemed to him the most comfortable and satisfying sleep he had ever known. The dog sat facing him and waiting. The brief day drew to a close in a long, slow twilight. There were no signs of a fire to be made, and, besides, never in the dog's experience had it known a man to sit like that in the snow and make no fire. As the twilight drew on, its eager yearning for the fire mastered it, and with a great lifting and shifting of forefeet, it whined softly, then flattened its ears down in anticipation of being chidden by the man. But the man remained silent. Later, the dog whined loudly. And still later it crept close to the man and caught the scent of death. This made the animal bristle and back away. A little longer it delayed, howling under the stars that leaped and danced and shone brightly in the cold sky. Then it turned and trotted up the trail in the direction of the camp it knew, where were the other food-providers and fire-providers.

Sunday, February 21, 2010

Data Form

Student Data and Contact Information Sheet

Please circle the appropriate response or PRINT answers in English, depending on the item.


Name___________________________________________ Date________________________

How to reach you: E-mail_______________________________________________

Circle course English Language A6 Business English A6 Business English A8

1. For how many years (including 2010) have you studied English?

2. What other countries have you lived in or visited for 5-29 days (less than a month)?




3. What other countries have you lived in or visited for 30 days or more (one month or longer)?



4. Have you formally studied English in an English-speaking country for 30 days or more? Yes No

5. Does any member of your household (including you) use English as a native speaker? Yes No

6 What computer and internet skills do you have? Circle all that apply.)

E-mail Web Browsing Blogging Social Networking Website Development

I have my own website (List URL below): None, but I know what a computer looks like


7. Do you have regular access to a computer for word processing? Yes No

8. Do you have regular access to a computer with broadband internet access? Yes No

9. List THREE things that you think I, as your teacher and as a visiting professor, should know about you.




Answer the following writing sample on a separate sheet of paper. BE SURE to put your name on the paper: (I won’t evaluate this for points, although I will note if you have done it in my class participation records.)

We talked at the first class session about what we might be able to accomplish by the end of this class, and I’ll consider your comments as a class when I plan my portion of this course for the rest of the semester. But I’d also like to know what you think as an individual. In a paragraph or so, tell me 1-3 things you would like to gain from this course by the end of the semester and explain your answer.

Saturday, February 20, 2010

Course Credit in America

Course Credit in America: Practices of a U.S. College
Gerald Siegel, Ph.D.
Professor of English, York College of Pennsylvania, U.S.A.
Visiting Professor, Spring 2010, FON University, Skopje, Macedonia


The credit system at many American colleges and universities, including my home institution, York College of Pennsylvania, while it resembles in some ways the transferable credit models being developed in Europe under the Bologna Process, is longstanding and distinct from recent European developments. The system described here reflects York’s practices and represents the most common U.S. model, used by institutions with an academic year of two semesters (although many such schools also offer additional summer and special sessions). The credit system can vary for institutions using what is called a quarter system, in which students complete three terms annually with fewer courses per term. The description here applies to undergraduate courses.

The basis of the credit system is the semester hour, a measure of scheduled classroom hours. A class which meets for 3 academic hours each week of the semester (usually 13-15 weeks long) would receive 3 “semester hours” of credit—in other words, 3 credits. An academic hour at York College is 50 minutes long, and most daytime classes meet three times weekly for an hour or twice weekly for 1.5 hours.

Most classes receive 3 credits; some requiring more time, such as laboratory courses in the sciences, may receive 4 credits, while others, such as applied music lessons or physical education, get 0.5 or 1. Some specialized offerings (e.g., internships, practica, and student teaching) may be calculated on a different basis. Where a year or more of study may be needed for a particular subject, the student simply takes a series of one-semester courses which are in sequence because all but the first have prerequisites. For example, Spanish II can be taken only after one has either passed or demonstrated the abilities of Spanish I, and so on for Spanish III and IV. (In the case of foreign languages, completion of a certain number of courses in the language during secondary school is most often the reason for placement at a particular level.)

This credit system does not take into account course difficulty or the amount of time required from students outside of class. The difficulty level is usually shown by the course number, which begins with 100’s and goes up to 400’s. (Higher numbers than these usually designate graduate courses.) For example, SPN101 would designate a beginning Spanish courses, while LIT313 designates an advanced literature course (in the English Literary Studies program). In general, professors expect 2-3 hours preparation by students (usually in advance) for each hour of class; the higher the course number, the greater the amount of out-of-class work expected.

A typical student workload for a given course then might typically involve 9-12 hours per week. Actual class hours, however, tend to be lower than in a Macedonian institution, typically 5-6 courses (15-18 semester hours of credit) per week for each semester.

Graduation after completing the degree depends not upon the years spent at York, but upon the credits earned, and some of those credits may have been transferred to York from other institutions. As a minimum, York College requires 124 credits passed and a grade point average of 2.0 (on a 4-point scale) for graduation. The credits must be distributed in a certain manner, and individual departments and majors may impose their own course, distribution, and grade point average requirements, so not everyone qualifies by simply meeting those minimums.

Simply being scheduled for a course is only the start, naturally, since each student must pass the course successfully. That means different things to different professors, but in general involves both formative (in-course) and summative (course-end) assessment. While theoretically a professor could simply lecture and then give a course-end examination or require a single course-end research paper, I have never met an American professor who did this, and anyone who did would likely be advised strongly to change his or her procedures. Some will count a number activities, such as class attendance and participation, essays and/or research papers, talks, service projects, quizzes, and periodic tests; others (a decreasing minority) prefer to use simply a midterm examination and a final examination.

The assessment measures used and the weight of each item depend entirely upon the professor (although his or her chairperson may discuss those measures with the professor, especially if the evaluation method seems extreme and student evaluations of the course have raised questions). While assessment techniques would require a separate discussion, a few comments about examinations may be useful. First, there is no institutional requirement that a professor give any examination, and some don’t; there is a one-week examination period each semester, however, and professors are expected to use this time in a meaningful way. If there is an examination, it is an integral part of the course and typically determines 50% or less of the grade. Second, the assessment procedures for the course need to be made clear to the students on the syllabus at the start of the course. And finally, once the examination, if any, has been given, and the exam week has ended, there is no retaking of the examination at a later time in order to pass the course. (Students who do poorly may choose to re-take the entire course in an attempt to earn a higher grade, and the highest grade earned counts.)

Once a student has completed and received credit for a course, that course normally will be accepted by another institution. The most common reason for a student to do this is his or her having been accepted by and transferred to another institution. For example, a student from the York area may have begun his studies at a university in a different state and found that the costs of living away from home were too high to afford. If he transfers permanently to York College, most or all of his credits will transfer to York College (subject to certain conditions). A student may also decide to study at another school for a limited period of time, but to remain officially a student at her home institution. Examples include “semester abroad” programs or summer courses taken near home by a student whose family residence is away from York. In such cases, she would obtain advance permission (and perhaps even assistance) to take the course, and again the credits would transfer back to York.

In the highly decentralized American higher education system, the decision about whether to accept specific credits for transfer rests with the student’s home institution. For most credit transfers, both schools must be regionally accredited institutions: that is, approved by one of several groups that on a 10-year timetable visit schools and assess institutional quality. In addition, transfer credits are typically only accepted if the student has earned a grade of “C” (or “2” on a 4-point scale), and only the credits transfer, not the actual grade. At York, for example, the Admissions Office (sometimes in consultation with department chairs) makes the decisions about acceptance and about how those credits will be applied to the student’s academic program.

For many courses, schools have similar coverage and requirements. Thus, for example, a three-credit course in “American Literature I” usually transfers directly as our “LIT281 American Literature to 1885” and fits directly into a number of programs just as if the course were taken at York. However, we don’t teach Macedonian in our department, so a course in Macedonian language might be transferred simply as “Elective Foreign Language.” Some courses, while clearly appropriate for a school like York, might not fit any of our departments or programs; a course in “Antarctic Exploration Internship” might be transferred simply as “Free Elective.” Finally, some courses that are irrelevant to York’s goals and mission would not get transfer credit at all; a course from a 2-year technical institute in “Woodworking Shop” would be likely to fall into this category.

What about courses from Macedonia? The traditional courses of the past would probably be evaluated on a case-by-case basis, and applicants might be asked to supply a course syllabus and possibly a catalog description (the same sort of requests that might be made of a U.S. student who submitted a course unfamiliar to the Admissions personnel). However, the use of transferable credits by European institutions in the coming years should help this process.

Transferred credits, whatever the source, don’t necessarily affect the specific requirements for a degree or major (academic program); those requirements must still be met, and I have served as an adviser for many transfer students who bring with them simply a number of elective credits of different sorts that are simply extras that don’t advance them in their programs. Nevertheless, in general, the use of the credit system and the transferability of those credits provide flexibility for students in the U.S.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

American Literature Guide Q--Chopin

KATE CHOPIN: THE AWAKENING (Guide Questions)

1. Comment on Chopin’s effectiveness in use of local color elements. Do you think the novel goes beyond mere local color?

2. Discuss the relative effectiveness of Chopin’s characterization. Consider (although you are not limited to discussion of) Edna, Mr. Pontellier, Robert, Alcee Arobin, Dr. Mandelet, Mlle. Reisz, Mme. Lebrun, , Mme. Ratignole. Are the characters individualized or stereotyped?

3. To what extent do you find Chopin aware of and sensitive to the role of women in 19th century society? In Creole society? In society in general? Is she accurate, or does she seem to overstate her case? (One critic has suggested she depicts French, rather than American, society.)

4. Consider Edna in relation to her society--especially as a study in conflicts and contrasts. Is she the creature of her society? Can she—or does she—rise above that society? Does she establish her personal freedom—albeit at the cost of her life? Is the suicide a victory for society? (Several other questions will also examine this topic.)

5. How effective do you find Chopin’s use of imagery and symbolism to reinforce her themes? (Consider, for example, the use of sea imagery at the beginning and end of the novel—or, for that matter, throughout the work.)

6. Discuss Edna’s isolation throughout the novel. (Margaret Culley, a critic, describes the novel thus: “The Awakening, an existential novel about solitude, is distinguished from most such fiction by its female protagonist. Because of her sex, Edna Pontellier experiences not only dread in the face of solitude, but also delight. As a woman, she has had so little sense of a self alone that her new-found solitude suggests entirely new arenas and modes of activity. Solitude also brings a confrontation with the ultimate solitude—death. What we feel most keenly about Edna is her remoteness from those about her. . . And her solitude is underscored by the dramatic action of the novel as the significant persons in her life repeatedly leave her alone.”)

7. Critic Larzer Ziff views the novel as a study in identity: “The Awakening was the most important piece of fiction about the sexual life of a woman written to date in America, and the first fully to face the fact that marriage, whether in point of fact it closed the range of a woman’s sexual experiences or not, was but an episode in her continuous growth. It did not attack the institution of the family as the automatic equivalent of feminine self-fulfillment, and . . . raised the question of what woman was to do with the freedom she struggled toward.” Comment.

8. If you are familiar with them, consider The Awakening in relation to other realist/naturalist works of the period, such as Daisy Miller, Maggie, A Girl of the Streets, Sister Carrie, or Looking Backward (only for the treatment of women)/

9. Consider the idea of the wife as politically, socially, and legally dependent of the husband and the prevailing belief that the woman's first duty was not to herself but to her family and her home. Was there an equivalent idea that the man's first duty was to his family and his home?

10. Discuss the author's "editorializing" in Chapters VI and VII.

11. What is revealed in the author's references to Edna's "obedience" to "contradictory impulses" and her "habitual reserve"?

12. To what extent does The Awakening seem dated? To what extent does it seem contemporary?

13. Does the novel support the contention that Chopin revealed a greater interest in universal psychological truths than in the superficialities of local color?

14. With respect to the Mademoiselle Reisz and Adele Ratignolle as competing role models, to which is Edna initially more attracted? Is Edna’s divided loyalty to both Mademoiselle Reisz and to Adele Ratignolle a sign of some genuine division in her character? Does some such irreconcilable division cause Edna's flight from life at the end of the novel?

15. React to the following, as a characterization of Edna, from George Arms, "Kate Chopin's The Awakening in the Perspective of Her Literary Career," Essays on American Literature, ed. Clarence Ghodes (1967) 217-218: “Edna appears not so much as a woman who is aware of the opposition of two ideas [conformity and independence] but rather as one who drifts....” Is the novel about a woman adrift?

16. Discuss Edna's physical passion (Chapter XXVIII), her seduction (Chapter XXXII), and the compensatory attention she lavishes on her children (Chapter XXXII) when she violates conventional codes of married conduct.

17, How convincing is Chopin's portrait of Edna as a woman moved to overwhelming passion by the power of music?

18, In Chapter XXXVII, Edna leaves Robert, despite his pleas, and then she prolongs her absence unnecessarily. Upon her return home, Robert has gone. What could account for Edna's action?

19. How valid is the suggestion that Edna was in love with a romantic dream rather than the real thing? Compare her affair with Arobin. Do Edna's responses suggest that she separated her physical passion from her romantic ideals?

20. The ending of the novel has been described as sentimental, as evasive, as realistic, and as inconclusive. Discuss these contrasting judgments:

a. The conclusion of the novel is a failure because it is evasive.

b. Edna accurately assesses her life. She sees that she does not want her former life of wife and mother, and she knows she cannot have her "awakened" life. Therefore she purposely chooses no life.

9. Consider the idea of the wife as politically, socially, and legally dependent of the husband and the prevailing belief that the woman's first duty was not to herself but to her family and her home. Was there an equivalent idea that the man's first duty was to his family and his home?

10. Discuss the author's "editorializing" in Chapters VI and VII.

11. What is revealed in the author's references to Edna's "obedience" to "contradictory impulses" and her "habitual reserve"?

12. To what extent does The Awakening seem dated? To what extent does it seem contemporary?

13. Does the novel support the contention that Chopin revealed a greater interest in universal psychological truths than in the superficialities of local color?

14. With respect to the Mademoiselle Reisz and Adele Ratignolle as competing role models, to which is Edna initially more attracted? Is Edna’s divided loyalty to both Mademoiselle Reisz and to Adele Ratignolle a sign of some genuine division in her character? Does some such irreconcilable division cause Edna's flight from life at the end of the novel?

15. React to the following, as a characterization of Edna, from George Arms, "Kate Chopin's The Awakening in the Perspective of Her Literary Career," Essays on American Literature, ed. Clarence Ghodes (1967) 217-218: “Edna appears not so much as a woman who is aware of the opposition of two ideas [conformity and independence] but rather as one who drifts....” Is the novel about a woman adrift?

16. Discuss Edna's physical passion (Chapter XXVIII), her seduction (Chapter XXXII), and the compensatory attention she lavishes on her children (Chapter XXXII) when she violates conventional codes of married conduct.

17, How convincing is Chopin's portrait of Edna as a woman moved to overwhelming passion by the power of music?

18, In Chapter XXXVII, Edna leaves Robert, despite his pleas, and then she prolongs her absence unnecessarily. Upon her return home, Robert has gone. What could account for Edna's action?

19. How valid is the suggestion that Edna was in love with a romantic dream rather than the real thing? Compare her affair with Arobin. Do Edna's responses suggest that she separated her physical passion from her romantic ideals?

20. The ending of the novel has been described as sentimental, as evasive, as realistic, and as inconclusive. Discuss these contrasting judgments:
a. The conclusion of the novel is a failure because it is evasive.
b. Edna accurately assesses her life. She sees that she does not want her former life of wife and mother, and she knows she cannot have her "awakened" life. Therefore she purposely chooses no life.

American Literature Guide Q--Regionalism

FON AJ484 Regional Short Fiction: Guide Questions

Mary E. Wilkins Freeman: “A New England Nun”

1. The atmosphere, the basic emotional quality of the story, is established in the first paragraphs of A New England Nun. Discuss the effect of the outdoor descriptions in the first paragraph of the story. Comment on the qualities of peace and of quiet restraint that pervade the story.

2. Consider this story as an example of New England regionalism. Which regional elements (e.g., physical setting, character, values, dialect) are most emphasized? Which are most significant for the story?

3. Comment on the importance for the story of the New England “sense of honor” and its effects upon the characters. What effects, for example, does it have upon usual human impulses?

4. To what extent does Louisa fit or differ from the traditional satiric portrait of the New England spinster?

5. Is Louisa wholly an ascetic person? Note that she, unlike her neighbors, “used china every day.” What does the use of china and the delight she took in her meal suggest about her capacity to enjoy sensuous pleasures?

6. Contrast Lily and Louisa. Lily is described as “tall and full-figured.” How is the physical appearance of Louisa presented in the story? Is there a detailed physical description of Louisa? Which events and details create the picture of Joe as congenial, hearty, honorable, and oafish.

7. What is the significance of the title of A New England Nun? How is it a suitable description for Louisa in Protestant, Puritan New England? How? Comment on the religious allusions in the final paragraph of the story.

9. The device of the overheard conversation is a familiar convention in fiction and in the drama. Does such an improbable event in A New England Nun detract from the sense of realism conveyed by the story?


Charles W. Chessnut: “The Goophered Grapevine”

1. To what extent does Chesnutt’s Uncle Julius fit 19th-century stereotypes of African
Americans? Is he servile? Subservient? In what ways is he superior to the narrator?

2. Explain the “distance” established by the frame and its likely effect on the reader.
How does the white narrator compare with Uncle Julius? What would have been the effect if Chesnutt had used a different kind of narrator?

3. How likely is it that the shrewd Uncle Julius intentionally shapes himself to fit common stereotypes in order to manipulate the attitudes and responses of his “superior” white listeners?

4. In the battle of wits between the narrator and Uncle Julius, who wins in the end? How can the tale be viewed as, in part, a criticism of the myth of white superiority.

5. Is Uncle Julius’ dialect excessive? Compare his speech and the speech of the narrator.

6. Differing economic attitudes are exhibited in The Goophered Grapevine. How can it be read as a parable of Northern and Southern conflicts? In what ways is the narrator’s attitude toward African Americans like that of the antebellum slave owners of the South?
Charles W. Chessnut: “The Wife of His Youth”

1. What does The Wife of His Youth suggest about the life of African Americans in the United States a few decades after Emancipation?

2. What is Mr. Ryder’s attitude toward race?

3. How does Ryder’s character play against racial stereotypes of the sort represented by Uncle Julius?

4. Are Mr. Ryder’s moral struggle and its outcome convincing?

5. What is the "Blue Vein Society" to which Ryder belongs in "The Wife of His Youth"? How do the Blue Veins participate in the construction of the social "color line" which Chesnutt found so fascinating? To what extent is this handling of color different from the phenomenon of “passing”?

6. What does the very existence of such a group reveal about the complexity of African-American society? What values do the Blue Veins seem to promote among African Americans?

7. What is the relationship between the nature of slavery and Mr. Ryder’s ethical dilemma?

8. Is the timing of Liza Jane’s arrival effectively managed? Or did you find it overly coincidental?

9. To what extent does the difference in dialect between Mr. Ryder and Liza Jane help establish characterization?

10. To what extent did you find this story an effective tale of values? To what extent, if any, do you find it overly sentimental?

American Literature Syllabus Struga

Spring 2010 Syllabus: AJ484 American Literature (Struga--Preliminary version)
Dr. Gerald Siegel and Ms. Elida Bahtijaroska
Email: gsiegel@ycp.edu or drgeraldsiegel@yahoo.com ; elida.bahtijaroska@gmail.com
Web site: http://www.jerrysiegel.net/

OUTCOMES FOR THE COURSE:
1. Students will become familiar with major figures, movements, and works in American literature of the 20th and 21st centuries and with the historical and cultural contexts of these literary phenomena.
2. Students will demonstrate the ability to read course texts in English accurately and critically and to formulate relevant questions leading to informed interpretations.
3. Students will demonstrate the ability to employ the terminology of literary studies in classroom discussion and writing assignments that reveal their knowledge and understanding of the subject matter.

SCOPE OF THE COURSE: An examination of selected writings by American authors of the 20th and 21st centuries and of the literary and cultural backgrounds of these writings.

METHODS:
Methods of instruction will include assigned readings, class discussion, background lectures, critical examination (both individually and in groups) of course readings, and may include brief written responses to these readings, appropriate media presentations, guest and/or out-of-class speakers, and student presentations/papers.

ASSESSMENT:
1. Midterm and final colloquia will each be 100 points (based on a percentage) of a written test and will each be worth 35% of the final grade. These allow you to demonstrate your knowledge of all assigned readings, all lectures, all media presentations, and any insights developed from class discussion and consideration of texts and backgrounds.

2. Attendance at every class session is important because much of the experience of literature involves sharing views among readers. Indeed, attendance (worth 10%) involves not just being physically in the classroom, but taking part in any class activities at a given session in a way that demonstrates regular preparation of class readings in advance and exhibiting professionalism during class sessions. However, to allow for special situations such as illness, death in the immediate family, assisting family or friends with emergencies, religious obligations, or university and civic responsibilities, students may miss up to three “personal days” without penalty. However, students are still responsible for any in-class essays, quizzes, or activities done on those days. In addition, one quiz or in-class essay may be missed (or the lowest such score will be dropped). Students missing more than three class sessions should expect to have their attendance and participation scores sharply reduced.

3. Participation and completion of class projects will be worth 20%. This includes active, informed participation in class discussion in a manner demonstrating regular preparation and command of English skills appropriate to this course and on-time completion and submission of in-class and out-of-class written and oral projects.

4. For those who do not successfully complete items 1-3 above, the normal FON examination policies and practices will apply.

COURSE MATERIALS: McMichael, George, and others, eds. Anthology of American Literature, 9th ed.vol. 2. Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 2007; McMichael, George and others, eds, . Concise Anthology of American Literature, 2nd ed.; Various materials from online sources.

COURSE SCHEDULE. The page numbers here refer to McMichael, 9/ed., vol 2. +Many of the readings can also be found in the 1985 concise edition. Page numbers are shown. #These works can also be accessed online through Project Gutenberg, Wikisources, or the e-collections of the University of Adelaide and the Online Library. *Some will be provided as copies. You’ll also find useful resources and web links at the Prentice Hall web site that accompanies the McMichael textbook.

Week/sessions. Readings to be prepared and topics to be considered session for each meeting. List is tentative and subject to change.

1. 18-19 Feb.
Introduction to course. The evolving canon of American literature.
Local Color, Regionalism, and Realism. Introduction to Freeman, 444: A New England Nun, 445 +1058.
Chessnut, 496: The Goophered Grapevine, 497; #The Wife of His Youth; Kate Chopin: The Awakening.

2 25-26 Feb.
Discuss regionalist stories above. Begin Chopin, The Awakening, 661.

3. 4-5 March
Conclude Chopin: The Awakening, as necessary.
Literary Naturalism in America. Crane, 754: The Open Boat, 778 +1409. Norris, 794: A Deal in Wheat, 795. London, +The Law of Life, 804; #To Build a Fire. The Literature of the Early Twentieth Century and Modernism (1900-1945) [backgrounds]. Currents in Modernist Poetry. Frost, 1104 +1515-1531: Mending Wall, 1105; Home Burial, 1106;

4. 11-12 March
Discuss Crane, 754: The Open Boat, 778 +1409; Norris, 794: A Deal in Wheat, 795. London, +The Law of Life, 804; #To Build a Fire. Discuss Frost, 1104 +1515-1531: Mending Wall, 1105; Home Burial, 1106;

5. 18-19 March
Continue Frost: The Road Not Taken, 1110; Birches, 1111; Design, 1114. Stopping By Woods, 1114; Acquainted with the Night, 1115; West-Running Brook, 1115. Introduction to Eliot.
Submit critical essay #1.

6. 25-26 March
Eliot, 1307: The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, 1308; Journey of the Magi, 1332; The Waste Land, 1316.

Week of 6-10 April: COLLOQUIUM #1.

Any changes in the above assignments and the reading schedule for the rest of the semester will be announced in a later edition of this syllabus. Selections will include some or all of the following topics and possibly critical essay #2.

American Drama. O'Neill, 1229: The Hairy Ape, 1230 +154

Harlem Renaissance. Langston Hughes: *Selections from The Negro Speaks of Rivers; The Weary Blues; I, Too; Harlem; Un-American Investigators; Dinner Guest Me; Cross; Song for a Dark Girl; Ballad of the Landlord.

Cullen, 1445: +For a Lady I Know, 1446; Incident, 1447; +From the Dark Tower, 1447; +A Brown Girl Dead, 1448; +Heritage, 1289.

Toomer, 1452: +Blood-Burning Moon, 1453. Hurston, 1462: +The Gilded Six-Bits, 1467.

New Directions in Poetry. cummings, 1334: +In just-, 1335; +Buffalo Bill's defunct,1336; +r-p-o-p-h-e-s-s-a-g-r, 1339; +anyone lived in a pretty how town, 1339; +l(a), 1341.

Stevens, 1381: Peter Quince at the Clavier, 1382; Anecdote of the Jar, 1390; Idea of Order at Key West, 1391.

W. C. Williams, 1395: Tract, 1398; Danse Russe, 1400; Spring and All, 1401; The Red Wheelbarrow, 1404; This is Just to Say, 1406.

New Directions in Fiction. Fitzgerald, 1481: Bernice Bobs Her Hair, 1483. #Winter Dreams; #Babylon Revisited: #The Curious Case of Benjamin Button.

Faulkner, 1529: That Evening Sun, 1530 +1760. *A Rose For Emily +1771.

Hemingway, 1515: Big Two-Hearted River, 1516. *Soldier’s Home; Wright, 1642: from Native Son, 1643.

The Literature of America Since World War II (1945 to Present), 1593.
The Confessional Poets. R. Lowell, 1754: +Memories of West Street and Lepke, 1761; +Skunk Hour, 1763; +For the Union Dead, 1764.

Sexton, 1832: +The Farmer's Wife, +Ringing the Bells,; +And One for My Dame, 1835; +The Addict, 1836.

Plath, 1839: +Lady Lazarus, 1742; +Ariel, 1844; +Daddy, 1845.

Beat Poetry. Ginsberg, 1801: Howl, 1803; +A Supermarket in California, 1810; +America, 1811.

Week of 31 May-4 June: COLLOQUIUM #2.

21 June-2 July: EXAMINATION PERIOD.

Notes:

1. Online sources exist, too, for some works:

Through Online Books Page of the University of Pennsylvania: http://onlinebooks.library.upenn.edu/

•Chesnutt: The Goophered Grapevine: http://docsouth.unc.edu/southlit/chesnuttconjure/conjure.html. (This is the first story in The Conjure Woman.)

•Chesnutt: The Wife of His Youth: http://docsouth.unc.edu/southlit/chesnuttwife/cheswife.html. (This is the first story in the book of the same name.)

•Freeman: A New England Nun: http://wilkinsfreeman.info/Short/NewEnglandNunNEN.htm. (This story is in the collection A New England Nun.)

Through Project Gutenberg: http://www.gutenberg.org/wiki/Main_Page.

Chopin: The Awakening (read this tale only: http://www.gutenber g.org/etext/160.

Other useful places to find free texts and public domain materials:

University of Adelaide Library “E-book” collection: http://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/. Many of the course’s Fitzgerald items can be found here.

Wikisource (http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Main_Page) includes links to Jack London’s “To Build a Fire” for this class.

University of Virginia Library e-text center (http://www2.lib.virginia.edu/etext/index.html); Most free access materials will be at http://lib.virginia.edu/digital/collections/finding_digital.html, the library’s “Digital Collections” page.

2. Professionalism also involves courtesy toward fellow students, presenters, guests, and the professor. For example (this list is only partial), you are expected to avoid such distractions as tardy arrival, early departure, audible side conversations while the class is going on, leaving behind food or debris, or having cell phones or pagers go off during class. Mobile phones, pagers, iPods, and similar devices must be completely off during class. For emergencies or other special situations, please see me before the start of the class.

3. Assignments. If you submit any assignments, drafts, or other items electronically, send them as MSWord attachments. Announced due dates still apply. If you use another program, you should “save as” MSWord before attaching the document. See the instructor if you are not able to use MSWord. Be sure to retain personal copies of whatever files you send. Of course, you may always submit items as hard copy from a printer.

This syllabus was last updated on 20 February 2010

American Literature Syllabus Skopje

Spring 2010 Syllabus: AJ484 American Literature (Preliminary version)
Dr. Gerald Siegel and Ms. Elida Bahtijaroska
Email: gsiegel@ycp.edu or drgeraldsiegel@yahoo.com ; elida.bahtijaroska@gmail.com
Web site: http://www.jerrysiegel.net/

OUTCOMES FOR THE COURSE:
1. Students will become familiar with major figures, movements, and works in American literature of the 20th and 21st centuries and with the historical and cultural contexts of these literary phenomena.
2. Students will demonstrate the ability to read course texts in English accurately and critically and to formulate relevant questions leading to informed interpretations.
3. Students will demonstrate the ability to employ the terminology of literary studies in classroom discussion and writing assignments that reveal their knowledge and understanding of the subject matter.

SCOPE OF THE COURSE: An examination of selected writings by American authors of the 20th and 21st centuries and of the literary and cultural backgrounds of these writings.

METHODS:
Methods of instruction will include assigned readings, class discussion, background lectures, critical examination (both individually and in groups) of course readings, and may include brief written responses to these readings, appropriate media presentations, guest and/or out-of-class speakers, and student presentations/papers.

ASSESSMENT:
1. Midterm and final colloquia will each be 100 points (based on a percentage) of a written test and will each be worth 35% of the final grade. These allow you to demonstrate your knowledge of all assigned readings, all lectures, all media presentations, and any insights developed from class discussion and consideration of texts and backgrounds.

2. Attendance at every class session is important because much of the experience of literature involves sharing views among readers. Indeed, attendance (worth 10%) involves not just being physically in the classroom, but taking part in any class activities at a given session in a way that demonstrates regular preparation of class readings in advance and exhibiting professionalism during class sessions. However, to allow for special situations such as illness, death in the immediate family, assisting family or friends with emergencies, religious obligations, or university and civic responsibilities, students may miss up to three “personal days” without penalty. However, students are still responsible for any in-class essays, quizzes, or activities done on those days. In addition, one quiz or in-class essay may be missed (or the lowest such score will be dropped). Students missing more than three class sessions should expect to have their attendance and participation scores sharply reduced.

3. Participation and completion of class projects will be worth 20%. This includes active, informed participation in class discussion in a manner demonstrating regular preparation and command of English skills appropriate to this course and on-time completion and submission of in-class and out-of-class written and oral projects.

4. For those who do not successfully complete items 1-3 above, the normal FON examination policies and practices will apply.

COURSE MATERIALS: McMichael, George, and others, eds. Anthology of American Literature, 9th ed.vol. 2. Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 2007; McMichael, George and others, eds, . Concise Anthology of American Literature, 2nd ed.; Various materials from online sources.

COURSE SCHEDULE. The page numbers here refer to McMichael, 9/ed., vol 2. +Many of the readings can also be found in the 1985 concise edition. Page numbers are shown. #These works can also be accessed online through Project Gutenberg, Wikisources, or the e-collections of the University of Adelaide and the Online Library. *Some will be provided as copies. You’ll also find useful resources and web links at the Prentice Hall web site that accompanies the McMichael textbook.

Week/sessions. Readings to be prepared and topics to be considered session for each meeting. List is tentative and subject to change.

1. 15-19 Feb.
Introduction to course. The evolving canon of American literature.
Local Color, Regionalism, and Realism.
Freeman, 444: A New England Nun, 445 +1058.
Chessnut, 496: The Goophered Grapevine, 497; #The Wife of His Youth.

2 22-26 Feb.
Continue regionalist backgrounds
Complete stories as necessary. Begin #Chopin, 660 and The Awakening.

3. 1-5 Mar
Chopin: The Awakening, 661.
Literary Naturalism in America. Crane, 754: The Open Boat, 778 +1409.

4. 8-12 March
Norris, 794: A Deal in Wheat, 795. London, +The Law of Life, 804; #To Build a Fire.
The Literature of the Early Twentieth Century and Modernism (1900-1945) [backgrounds].
Currents in Modernist Poetry. Frost, 1104 +1515-1531: Mending Wall, 1105; Home Burial, 1106;

5. 15-19 Mar.
Continue Frost and Introduction to Eliot. The Road Not Taken, 1110; Birches, 1111; Design, 1114.
Frost: Stopping By Woods, 1114; Acquainted with the Night, 1115; West-Running Brook, 1115.
Submit critical essay #1.

6. 22-26 Mar.
Eliot, 1307: The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, 1308; Journey of the Magi, 1332;
Eliot : The Waste Land, 1316.

Week of 6-10 April: COLLOQUIUM #1.

Any changes in the above assignments and the reading schedule for the rest of the semester will be announced in a later edition of this syllabus. Selections will include some or all of the following topics and possibly critical essay #2.

American Drama. O'Neill, 1229: The Hairy Ape, 1230 +154

Harlem Renaissance. Langston Hughes: *Selections from The Negro Speaks of Rivers; The Weary Blues; I, Too; Harlem; Un-American Investigators; Dinner Guest Me; Cross; Song for a Dark Girl; Ballad of the Landlord.

Cullen, 1445: +For a Lady I Know, 1446; Incident, 1447; +From the Dark Tower, 1447; +A Brown Girl Dead, 1448; +Heritage, 1289.

Toomer, 1452: +Blood-Burning Moon, 1453. Hurston, 1462: +The Gilded Six-Bits, 1467.

New Directions in Poetry. cummings, 1334: +In just-, 1335; +Buffalo Bill's defunct,1336; +r-p-o-p-h-e-s-s-a-g-r, 1339; +anyone lived in a pretty how town, 1339; +l(a), 1341.

Stevens, 1381: Peter Quince at the Clavier, 1382; Anecdote of the Jar, 1390; Idea of Order at Key West, 1391.

W. C. Williams, 1395: Tract, 1398; Danse Russe, 1400; Spring and All, 1401; The Red Wheelbarrow, 1404; This is Just to Say, 1406.

New Directions in Fiction. Fitzgerald, 1481: Bernice Bobs Her Hair, 1483. #Winter Dreams; #Babylon Revisited: #The Curious Case of Benjamin Button.

Faulkner, 1529: That Evening Sun, 1530 +1760. *A Rose For Emily +1771.

Hemingway, 1515: Big Two-Hearted River, 1516. *Soldier’s Home; Wright, 1642: from Native Son, 1643.

The Literature of America Since World War II (1945 to Present), 1593.
The Confessional Poets. R. Lowell, 1754: +Memories of West Street and Lepke, 1761; +Skunk Hour, 1763; +For the Union Dead, 1764.

Sexton, 1832: +The Farmer's Wife, +Ringing the Bells,; +And One for My Dame, 1835; +The Addict, 1836.

Plath, 1839: +Lady Lazarus, 1742; +Ariel, 1844; +Daddy, 1845.

Beat Poetry. Ginsberg, 1801: Howl, 1803; +A Supermarket in California, 1810; +America, 1811.

Week of 31 May-4 June: COLLOQUIUM #2.

21 June-2 July: EXAMINATION PERIOD.

Notes:

1. Online sources exist, too, for some works:

Through Online Books Page of the University of Pennsylvania: http://onlinebooks.library.upenn.edu/

•Chesnutt: The Goophered Grapevine: http://docsouth.unc.edu/southlit/chesnuttconjure/conjure.html. (This is the first story in The Conjure Woman.)

•Chesnutt: The Wife of His Youth: http://docsouth.unc.edu/southlit/chesnuttwife/cheswife.html. (This is the first story in the book of the same name.)

•Freeman: A New England Nun: http://wilkinsfreeman.info/Short/NewEnglandNunNEN.htm. (This story is in the collection A New England Nun.)

Through Project Gutenberg: http://www.gutenberg.org/wiki/Main_Page.

Chopin: The Awakening (read this tale only: http://www.gutenber g.org/etext/160.

Other useful places to find free texts and public domain materials:

University of Adelaide Library “E-book” collection: http://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/. Many of the course’s Fitzgerald items can be found here.

Wikisource (http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Main_Page) includes links to Jack London’s “To Build a Fire” for this class.

University of Virginia Library e-text center (http://www2.lib.virginia.edu/etext/index.html); Most free access materials will be at http://lib.virginia.edu/digital/collections/finding_digital.html, the library’s “Digital Collections” page.

2. Professionalism also involves courtesy toward fellow students, presenters, guests, and the professor. For example (this list is only partial), you are expected to avoid such distractions as tardy arrival, early departure, audible side conversations while the class is going on, leaving behind food or debris, or having cell phones or pagers go off during class. Mobile phones, pagers, iPods, and similar devices must be completely off during class. For emergencies or other special situations, please see me before the start of the class.

3. Assignments. If you submit any assignments, drafts, or other items electronically, send them as MSWord attachments. Announced due dates still apply. If you use another program, you should “save as” MSWord before attaching the document. See the instructor if you are not able to use MSWord. Be sure to retain personal copies of whatever files you send. Of course, you may always submit items as hard copy from a printer.

This syllabus was last updated on 14 February 2010

Business Writing Chapter

CHAPTER 6: APPLYING THE PROCESS: MEMOS, LETTERS, REPORTS, PROPOSALS*

The PASS approach to writing (preparing, arranging, saying, shaping) can help you make more efficient use of your time in a wide range of business and professional communication situations. Among the most common messages you will be writing using this system will be the memorandum, the letter, the report, and the proposal. While all these kinds of documents should be marked by effective writing, each type also has certain characteristics of its own. This chapter looks briefly at these structural and stylistic attributes.

Memorandums and Letters

Preparing memorandums (or memoranda) will probably be one of the most frequent on-the-job tasks you will face. Memos are usually brief documents dealing with routine matters, and they normally remain within an organization. Most often informal documents, memorandums can be as simple as a completed form or as extensive as a policy statement on how to appeal personnel actions. Frequently a memorandum will get read by several audiences, a point to consider in deciding what to say and how to say it. A brief memorandum like that shown in figure 6.1 may begin as a message (sent either in writing or as e-mail) from one individual to another, but soon become widely disseminated. This particular memo, for example, may be copied by its immediate audience (here, Willa Clarke), attached to a cover memo (here, possibly one saying that this week's caseworker meeting date is changed), and either sent to every person in an entire division or posted on the division's bulletin board. Other types of memorandums may be placed in a file and used weeks or months later by individuals unknown to either the original sender or addressee. (This memo uses an American format for the date; other examples in the chapter will use the international format of date/month/year, Sometimes memos will use a briefer format, but that can confuse: the date in the example could be shown as 6/16/10 in an American document, but 16.6.10 in an international format. Common sense can clarify this entry, but a date such as April 6 or 6 April is obviously clearer when written out.)

Figure 6.1. Routine Memorandum.

Date: June 16, 20xx
To: Willa Clarke, Social Services Supervisor
From: Mike Corelli
Subject: Change in Caseworker Meeting Date

This week's caseworker meeting has been changed from Tuesday to Thursday afternoon at 2:00 in room 381. Ms. Imperiale, the district director, will describe the state's new records retention policy.

Yet memorandums can also be used for a variety of other reasons, such as reports or messages of transmittal. Although usually internal communications, they sometimes do get sent to customers and clients outside of the organization when the matter being discussed is a commonplace one. Memorandums for external audiences and those dealing with other than everyday concerns can pose special problems in structure.

Business letters, of course, differ from memos in format. Because they are generally perceived as more formal than memorandums, letters are sometimes used within organizations for significant situations, such as commendations, promotions, reprimands, hirings, and firings. But, more importantly, they most often are external communication. You are less likely to know the reader as well as you would someone within your own organization, so concern about persona and audience becomes more conscious. Letters also serve more frequently than memos to handle situations that are not routine. Like memos, they can also confirm in writing arrangements and relationships originally established by personal meetings, telephone or e-mail.

Contexts themselves may vary widely; you'll need to consider both your own objectives and, when you can determine it, your reader's likely reaction. Ideally, these will be the same. If, for example, your message complains about a product or service, conveying your dissatisfaction to your reader could result in several outcomes. Simply stating your case may lead your reader to note the information, but do nothing further; his/her response may be neutral. Possibly, if several complaints like yours arrive, she/he may then act to remedy the problem you and the others mentioned.

You could, of course, choose other approaches. If instead your message conveys your anger or attacks the reader, sarcastically or otherwise, the result may be either defensiveness or anger on the part of the reader. "Telling them off" may make you feel better, but is unlikely to remedy the situation and may even cut off communication entirely. On the other hand, you could seek a specific remedy, such as a refund, repair, or a replacement--remedies which, if the product or service were defective, your reader might interpret as routine matters to be dealt with in the normal course of business. Thus, your choice of persona and sense of context can help you to determine reader behavior and to obtain the feedback you want.

For these reasons, different structures have developed to handle many of the common letter and memorandum writing situations. These structures use familiar arranging strategies (deductive, inductive, and persuasive sequences) to deal with varying message contexts.

Routine and Positive Situations

A deductive (or direct) pattern, which begins with the message's main idea, is effective for situations in which you expect a positive reader response, either because you are conducting routine business or telling the reader something he or she wishes to hear. The deductive pattern works well, for example, when you are ordering something, asking for information, providing information, congratulating someone, or giving someone a positive response to a request or suggestion.

Since the business side of the message is your main concern in such writing, get to the point early--in the first paragraph. After you've stated your main idea, add any explanation or support needed to clarify that main idea. Then go on to further details, questions, or secondary concerns. Figure 6.2 illustrates an opening paragraph of a request organized in the direct pattern. [Some examples will use the American date format of month/date/year.]

Figure 6.2. Routine Request.

Please cancel my subscription to Human Services Quarterly as of July 1. I would appreciate your sending the refund check to my home address, 2430 Center Street, Pine Hill, TX 75118.

Positive replies, like inquiries, should generally be organized by direct structure. Incidentally, although the opening of a reply may allude indirectly to the message being answered, starting out with comments such as "we have received your letter of June 7" tends to waste the impact of the potentially emphatic opening position. Such openings make sense only if you are unable to actually answer the request for some time and wish to at least assure your reader that he/she is not simply being ignored. Letters of this type should, if possible, go on to indicate approximately when the reader can expect an answer. Figure 6.3 illustrates a typical opening for a positive reply.

Figure 6.3. Positive Reply.

As you requested, your subscription to Human Services Quarterly has been canceled as of July 1. Your refund check for $36.00 will be sent to you by our subscription center within two weeks. [The letter might go on with promotional or good-will material.]

A variety of other situations can also be handled as routine or positive. An apology for an error, for example, because it is intended to make the reader feel better about whatever has happened, may be perceived in this way. A letter of resignation, if it is expected and follows earlier discussions of your intentions, may also be viewed as routine, but if unexpected, may generate a negative context. Thus, your awareness of context can affect the way you choose to structure your messages.

Negative Situations

When you expect resistance from your reader or have bad news to tell him or her, use an inductive (also called indirect or delayed) structure to prepare your reader for the negative information. The overall pacing of disappointing or negative messages tends to be more gradual than that of messages in direct structure; in this way, they can better manage emotional as well as business or intellectual responses. You might, for example, have to announce something the reader will dislike, such as a rent increase or a coming layoff. You may have to refuse a request or an adjustment. Or you may be able to offer only part of what the reader wants. Figure 6.4 illustrates typical opening material for a negative reply.

Figure 6.4. Negative Reply.

As you requested, the balance of your subscription has been canceled as of July 1. Refunds for unused portions of subscriptions are pro-rated based upon the number of issues remaining. Because you have already received four issues, you will be receiving a check within the next two weeks from our subscription service center for $24.00, the unused balance. [The letter would then go on to a good will closing, possibly including promotional or resale material.]

In this structure, you do not get to the main business point immediately. Instead, you first attempt to create an open communication climate and prepare your reader for the message's emotional impact by building a brief "buffer" of neutral or positive elements that will eventually lead to the main idea. The buffer, because it prepares your reader for that business point, should have some relation to the eventual topic, or the device will simply waste your reader's time, but the buffer should not signal either a "yes" or a "no."

Follow the buffer with an explanation in language that again does not signal an immediate "no." Avoid tell-tale signs of bad news such as beginning the second paragraph with "however" or "but." Be sure that this explanation precedes the refusal or the bad news; you owe the courtesy of such an explanation to your reader, who might ignore it if the negative material came first. Sometimes, in fact, an appropriate explanation can suggest or pave the way for discussion of alternatives that might accomplish much of what the reader originally wanted.

If you do a good job of explaining, in some situations you may not actually need to come right out and say "no." So long as you are clear about it and avoid misleading your reader, an implicit refusal may be all that you need include. For example, telling readers what they may do sometimes makes quite apparent what they may not do. Under most circumstances, a statement that all accountants will be needed for special audits 7-12 June, but that all other days in June remain available for vacations removes the need explicitly to deny a request for vacation days on 8-10 . Then you can go on with the task of reestablishing a cooperative spirit of "business as usual" and concern for your reader by message's end.

Effective negative messages, in short, downplay the negative. They provide a clear explanation for the bad news and avoid hiding behind "company policy." They use positive, not negative, language where possible. Instead of saying "I can't speak at your meeting on March 3," for example, a letter might explain, "I will be in Buffalo on March 3." Finally, effective negative messages de-emphasize the negative by putting the main idea in the middle of the message, by placing the negative information in a subordinate clause, and by ending on a positive note.

Of course, negative or disappointing news can be presented in a direct pattern; certain readers in certain circumstances will perceive this apparently negative information routine. Thus, not having an order arrive because the original order request contained insufficient information can easily become a routine request for that information; a second notice for a monthly payment may be simply a duplicate bill with "second notice" or "reminder" stamped at the top of the page. Be careful, however, that your reader, not simply you yourself, will react routinely. You may prefer getting bad news before you get an explanation, but letting this preference guide message construction can result in your sending a message that is writer, not reader, oriented.

Persuasive Situations

Messages that attempt to convince someone are another kind of communication often best served by inductive organizational patterns. Sales letters, memos trying to convince someone to adopt a policy or point of view, reports calling for action by the reader, and letters of application for employment are a few examples of such messages. Figure 6.5 illustrates the opening of a persuasive sales message.

Figure 6.5. Persuasive Message.

As a concerned professional, you realize the importance of staying current with the latest developments in the rapidly changing human services field. And you probably know that reading Human Services Quarterly enables over 10,000 of your colleagues to maintain that "up-to-date" edge as leaders in their profession.

Now you can join this well-informed group and enjoy a 20% saving over Human Services Quarterly's usual rates. [The rest of the message might show benefits of subscribing and then ask the reader to act be signing and returning a subscription card. Although the letter could ask for a check, it might simply call for a commitment thus: "No need to pay now. Just sign and return the card. We'll bill you later."]

Persuasive messages pose a special problem because very often your reader won't expect them and may therefore have no particular interest in what you have to say. In other cases, you will need to overcome different kinds of resistance to get the reader to act as you want or to change his or her mind. A special kind of delayed approach can sometimes succeed in such situations.

To remember this approach, think of the words "AIDA" (for "attention-interest-desire-action") or "AICA" (for "attention- interest-conviction-action). Begin by getting the reader's attention; very often, all you need to do is picture a reader benefit. Then, build your reader's interest in reading what you have to say by using details. Next, create a desire in the reader to buy what you're selling, do what you're requesting, or accept the idea you're suggesting. Last, ask for the action you want on the part of the reader. As with negative situations, moving readers through persuasive messages may require more deliberate pacing than that of the usual direct structure message. Take your reader through these stages gradually, and you improve your chances of getting the response you want.

Obviously, these patterns represent only general strategies, and exceptions will always exist. For instance, the writer of a fifth notice for an unpaid bill will probably spend little time on maintaining customer good will through a buffer, and promotional material sent to someone who has requested the information in the first place will not need to use an extended "attention" opening. Further, some messages will involve more than a single type of situation. For such messages, you will need to decide on your primary purpose (perhaps, for example, a persuasive approach to a combined persuasive-negative message) and emphasize that goal.

Reports

Reports vary widely in content, formality, function, length, and methods of preparation, but all have a common goal: the transmission of information, often information which specifically has been requested. Sometimes, but not always, that information may be accompanied by commentary or informed opinion.

Characteristics of Reports

Some reports, called "periodic reports," appear at regular intervals. The weekly progress report on a research project and the monthly admissions report for a college are typical examples. Other reports are generated in response to a situation; each time the particular situation occurs (for example, an accident or an arrest), a report follows. A third kind of report, the "special report," is usually a one-time job. A report to a manager comparing three possible microcomputers the company might consider purchasing would be one type of special report.

Reports also differ according to what they do with the information they contain. An "informational" report simply presents data or facts without further comment. The college admissions report that lists numbers of representatives' visits to different states and the number of applications from those states would be an informational report. "Interpretive" reports add explanatory remarks, but not opinion. An interpretive admissions report might point out that "15% of the representatives' visits are to schools in the Middle Atlantic region, but 40% of our applicants come from this area." An analytic report (or recommendation) adds opinion to interpretation: "I suggest that we cut representatives' time in the Midwest and Southeast so that they can spend more time in the Middle Atlantic area."

The tone of reports tends to be objective. Some reports, indeed, are simply entered into standard forms. Reports are sometimes done as memos and letters, but frequently, unlike letters and memos, reports do follow certain specified patterns often required by employers. Many reports, for reasons of readability and clarity, are divided into sections and use different levels of headings for the different portions. When reports are presented in a letter or memorandum format, headings are sometimes not used, but the topic sentences of different sections can provide a function similar to that of the headings.

Some long formal reports appear in formats that resemble those of books, complete with covers, title pages,and tables of contents. But, regardless of their complexity or simplicity, reports seek to present information in a clear, efficient manner; the various characteristics of reports are simply means to this end.

Graphics and Other Aids to Report Clarity

Lists and enumerations are common organizing devices used to present parts of reports. Charts, graphs, tables, and other graphic aids can clarify abstract and numerical concepts in reports; they can be prepared by hand, using compasses, protractors, rulers, and other simple tools, or they can be constructed through various photocopying and computer applications.

Most graphic aids share certain characteristics. Graphics used within a report typically have titles which clearly announce their topics, are identified by figure numbers, and frequently indicate the sources of their information. Tables simply put lists of figures into readable formats. Pie charts work well to show how an entire quantity is divided into its various parts (e.g., a breakdown of where a tax dollar goes). Bar graphs are effective for comparing quantities (for example, the number of clients served last year by five different groups of caseworkers), and line graphs are most effective for displaying numbers (such as interest rates) that change over a period time. Flow charts, maps, photographs, and cutaway diagrams are just a few other types of graphic aids that can help clarify reports and proposals.

Presentation programs, such as PowerPoint, can provide an effective means of showing graphics and key ideas for oral reports, and programs of this sort also allow you to incorporate video and sound into your report. However, some presenters tend to simply put an entire presentation into the program and then read aloud, word-for-word, what’s already printed on the slide—a sure way to weaken the presentation and bore the audience.

One simple and relatively low-tech tool in giving oral presentations, the overhead projector, allows you to put graphics (or, for that matter, some key ideas from your notes) onto transparencies and then to project the images from those transparencies onto a screen. It’s also possible to make transparencies of PowerPoint slides as a back-up in case computer problems arise. The transparencies guide you in your presentation, distract less than note cards, and help your audience. The overhead projector is easy to use. Simply place each transparency on a glass plate located over a light source, position the transparency so that you can read it just as if you were reading from a sheet of paper, focus the image (being careful not to block your readers' view of the screen), and speak (resisting the urge to read the transparencies word by word to your audience). You can also, with special equipment, use the overhead projector to project video and computer screen images if computer projection equipment is unavailable.

Proposals and Special Message Types

Proposals are a special kind of persuasive writing. They suggest changes and actions and attempt to convince their readers to follow these suggestions. The characteristics of effect tive persuasive writing are thus important considerations for the writer of a proposal. They often appear in a report format, but can also be presented as letters or memorandums. Typically, proposals suggest ways to solve a problem which exists, to improve a policy or procedure, to answer a question, or to present a benefit from a particular product or service.

They may have been requested, as in the case of a supervisor asking an expert on his staff to propose a new method of accounting for petty cash or a company replying to a "request for proposal" (RFP) from a government agency in hopes of obtaining a contract. Proposals of this sort are termed "solicited proposals." Other proposals (called "unsolicited proposals") are developed at the writer's own initiative in hopes of persuading the reader to act or to accept the proposal's ideas. A sales proposal or a proposal to a university dean advocating changes in campus parking regulations are examples of unsolicited proposals.

While the specific content of proposals will vary, they almost all discuss something happening over a period of time. In other words, most proposals include narration as well as persuasion. For this reason, much of the content of a proposal can be developed in a preparing stage based on the journalistic "5 W's and H" approach. Typical concerns might include the following:

Why should changes be made?
Why is the change an improvement over what exists now?
What problem needs solving?
What needs to be done to solve it?
What specific changes are involved?
What equipment and personnel will be needed?
Who will be in charge of making these changes?
When will work begin and end?
Where will the changes happen?
How, exactly, do you plan to make these changes?
How much will the changes cost?
How will the changes be financed?

Organization of proposals varies with the specific circumstances and with the arranging strategy you wish to use. But most effective proposals move quickly at the beginning, giving an overview of the problem and the solution without providing specific technical details. This opening is then followed by a more detailed discussion in which you may consider the nature of the problem more precisely, explain what you plan to do to solve the problem, and specify exactly how you plan to accomplish the work you propose to do. A concluding section might establish your qualifications to do the work (if this information seems appropriate), point out the reader benefits that will follow, and encourage action, which may simply mean approval of the proposed project. Headings, subheadings, enumerations, and graphics can help guide readers through proposals as they do for reports, and, like reports, proposals can appear in a variety of formats.

Many other types of professional messages share some of these characteristics with reports and proposals; adaptability and effective use of aids to readability make such documents accessible to multiple audiences with widely diverse backgrounds. Policies and procedures, for example, spell out what to do and how to do it in a variety of workplace situations; sick leave policies, chains of command, equal opportunity statements, safety bulletins, and grievance procedures are just a few examples of such documents. Bulletins and announcements are internal documents that, like many reports, are primarily informational; even more than reports, however, these messages reach audiences with disparate backgrounds within the organization. In contrast, press releases and news bulletins convey information to the general public; not only must they be clear to a wide range of readers, but they need to convey the most important information (the "5 W's and H" again) early. While these community and public information documents frequently disseminate information that is routine or persuasive (in sales situations), they can also be the primary means of defusing corporate crises. Clear reporting can make the difference.

Regardless of how letters, memos, reports, and proposals are developed and organized, take time to go through the steps of the PASS method in writing such messages. While formats and structures matter, the quality of your writing makes the biggest difference in the impact that writing will have upon its readers. The cases in Appendix 1 will provide opportunities to apply these writing skills in a variety of simulated contexts. The writing you do on the job can accomplish its goals more effectively as a result of your concern about and work with those skills.


*This chapter is adapted from Gerald Siegel, Business and Professional Writing: A Guide to the Process, 2nd ed. Dubuque, IA: Kendall-Hunt, 1994.

[Note to FON students: the appendix 1 mentioned in the above chapter is part of the original book from which this chapter was taken, but is not included in this posting.]