Monday, February 29, 2016
Monday, February 22, 2016
Essay 3: Literary Analysis
English
52
Essay
3
Professor
Tompkins
February
23, 2016
Prompt
for essay 3
You
will choose one of the two topics below and write a 600-800-word critical essay
examining how the views and behavior of characters in Little Scarlet were changed during the Watts Rebellion. You are not
being asked to sum up the plot. Rather you must step back from the book and
think about how the events in the book shaped the beliefs and behavior of the
characters that you’ve come to know.
Consider the steps while developing your literary analysis
1. Choose a topic
(or area of focus, such as a theme or recurring image)
2. Review the text to collect evidence
· Take careful notes on any passages that relate to your
topic
· (Or mark up your text and then write up your
notations)
· Include page numbers in your notes!
3. Analyze your evidence
· Look for trends, logical groupings, progressions,
dichotomies, contradictions, etc.
· Interpret your evidence – What does it mean? What does
it seem to be saying?
4. Organize your evidence
· Select the evidence that you will use your in paper
· Put your evidence into logical groupings (paragraphs)
· Choose a logical order for your groupings (paragraphs)
· *Try to avoid ordering your evidence in the order it
appears in the novel
1. Little
Scarlet begins as Easy walks down from his office to explore the rubble left by
the Watts Riots/Rebellion. At Sojourner Truth School, where Easy works, he talks about
why Black people rioted to a distraught Ada Masters, the white principal of the
school. Carefully examine the conversation they had, and follow Easy as he
moves through Los Angeles while trying to find Nola’s killer. As he investigates, he becomes aware that his relationships with white people is changing. Analyze and explain these changes, using evidence from
the book to prove your thesis.
2.
The book takes place in the days following the Watts Rebellion, so it is
too soon to know exactly what has been won and lost. Still, as Easy looks for
the killer of Nola Payne, he explores the changing relationship of power between
Black and white people in L.A. Write an essay that examines the changes that
Easy saw and how he understands the events triggered by the Riots. Remember, to
answer this question you will stick closely to Easy’s words, thoughts, and
deeds.
Due
dates
Feb.
25: Brainstorm
March
1: Outline
March
3: Rough draft
March
10 (at final exam): Final draft
Tuesday, February 9, 2016
Reading Presentation Handout
READING PRESENTATION QUESTIONS: FICTION
On the day that you present
in front of the class you must also write your response to the questions below
and hand in your answers. You must hand in your answers on the day you signed
up for.
Reading Analysis Guide
for Walter Mosley’s Little
Scarlet.
Guidelines
for Reading Analysis Presentation
Sign-up on
the presentation calendar on my desk. Make a note of the chapters and
presentation date that you sign up for below.
Reading
analysis chapter: __________________________Presentation date: _______________
You will be
presenting your analysis in class along with other classmates. The class will
be counting on you to be on top of the article you are covering, so please be
prepared!
This
assignment is worth 40 points – to receive credit, you must participate in the presentation of your
analysis. You will be graded primarily on your written analysis (breakdown of
scoring below), but outstanding presentations will be rewarded.
Read the
chapters or section that you will be analyzing carefully. On your first
reading, just try to identify the main idea(s) and get a feel for the writer’s approach and the flow of the
chapter. On your second reading, go over the text more carefully; notice how
the writer creates characters and tells the story.
To prepare your written analysis:
Identify the
author’s name
and the title of the chapter(s) you are covering. Answer the following
questions, numbering each answer in the way the questions are numbered.
1. What is the central theme of the selection? Your answer
should be a complete sentence in your own words (not a quote!). Be as specific
as possible, but remember that the theme of a book refers to the authors
overall concerns. The plot is what happens as the book moves ahead. The theme
refers to the overall concerns of a book.
2. What are the concerns of the characters in the chapter(s) you have read?
This book is fiction. Do you think the events in the book could happen in real
life? Do you think the way the characters act is believable. If the events in
the book are exaggerated by the author, does it make the book less effective?
If the behavior of the characters are exaggerated, does it make the book less
believable or effective?
3. Is the central theme expressed explicitly or implicitly? The claim is
explicit if the writer spells out what it is. The claim is implicit if the
writer only implies the claim but does not state it outright.
4. Did
the events and actions in your chapter(s) surprise you or change your mind
about the characters in the book?
5. What is the tone – the feel – of the chapter(s) you read?
6. What things in the story give the most insight into human nature?
7. Does the writer leave the opinions and
feelings to the readers? If so, why? Is this approach effective?
8. Make up
two questions to ask the class about your chapter
Tips on Writing a Literary Analysis
Tips on Writing a Literary Analysis
Recommended Steps for Developing a Literary Analysis
1. Choose a topic (or area of focus, such as a theme or recurring image)
2. Review the text to collect evidence
· Take careful notes on any passages that relate to your topic
· (Or mark up your text and then write up your notations)
· Include page numbers in your notes!
3. Analyze your evidence
· Look for trends, logical groupings, progressions, dichotomies, contradictions, etc.
· Interpret your evidence – What does it mean? What does it seem to be saying?
4. Organize your evidence
· Select the evidence that you will use your in paper
· Put your evidence into logical groupings (paragraphs)
· Choose a logical order for your groupings (paragraphs)
· *Try to avoid ordering your evidence in the order it appears in the story/novel!
5. Draft your thesis
· Remember a thesis statement for literary analysis should express an interpretation
A few conventions for writing papers about literature
Use the present tense to describe fictional events.
Easy and Suggs force Jordan to back off on his threats.
NOT: Easy and Suggs forced Jordan to back off on his threats.
Recommended Steps for Developing a Literary Analysis
1. Choose a topic (or area of focus, such as a theme or recurring image)
2. Review the text to collect evidence
· Take careful notes on any passages that relate to your topic
· (Or mark up your text and then write up your notations)
· Include page numbers in your notes!
3. Analyze your evidence
· Look for trends, logical groupings, progressions, dichotomies, contradictions, etc.
· Interpret your evidence – What does it mean? What does it seem to be saying?
4. Organize your evidence
· Select the evidence that you will use your in paper
· Put your evidence into logical groupings (paragraphs)
· Choose a logical order for your groupings (paragraphs)
· *Try to avoid ordering your evidence in the order it appears in the story/novel!
5. Draft your thesis
· Remember a thesis statement for literary analysis should express an interpretation
A few conventions for writing papers about literature
Use the present tense to describe fictional events.
Easy and Suggs force Jordan to back off on his threats.
NOT: Easy and Suggs forced Jordan to back off on his threats.
References to the author
The first time you refer to the author, use his or her full name.
You may use just the last name for subsequent references. Never refer to the author by just his or her first name.
Don’t attribute motive to the author.
Don’t assume you know the author’s intentions. Readers can never know an author’s motives with certainty, and in a way, it doesn’t matter. The author may or may not have succeeded in realizing his or her intentions. What’s important is what the text shows, what it reveals, and what it suggests.
The first time you refer to the author, use his or her full name.
You may use just the last name for subsequent references. Never refer to the author by just his or her first name.
Don’t attribute motive to the author.
Don’t assume you know the author’s intentions. Readers can never know an author’s motives with certainty, and in a way, it doesn’t matter. The author may or may not have succeeded in realizing his or her intentions. What’s important is what the text shows, what it reveals, and what it suggests.
Wednesday, February 3, 2016
The Lottery, by Shirley Jackson
The
morning of June 27th was clear and sunny, with the fresh warmth of a
full-summer day; the flowers were blossoming profusely and the grass was richly
green. The people of the village began to gather in the square, between the
post office and the bank, around ten o’clock; in some towns there were so many
people that the lottery took two days and had to be started on June 20th, but
in this village, where there were only about three hundred people, the whole
lottery took less than two hours, so it could begin at ten o’clock in the
morning and still be through in time to allow the villagers to get home for
noon dinner.
The
children assembled first, of course. School was recently over for the summer,
and the feeling of liberty sat uneasily on most of them; they tended to gather
together quietly for a while before they broke into boisterous play, and their
talk was still of the classroom and the teacher, of books and reprimands. Bobby
Martin had already stuffed his pockets full of stones, and the other boys soon
followed his example, selecting the smoothest and roundest stones; Bobby and
Harry Jones and Dickie Delacroix—the villagers pronounced this name
“Dellacroy”—eventually made a great pile of stones in one corner of the square
and guarded it against the raids of the other boys. The girls stood aside,
talking among themselves, looking over their shoulders at the boys, and the
very small children rolled in the dust or clung to the hands of their older
brothers or sisters.
Soon the
men began to gather, surveying their own children, speaking of planting and
rain, tractors and taxes. They stood together, away from the pile of stones in
the corner, and their jokes were quiet and they smiled rather than laughed. The
women, wearing faded house dresses and sweaters, came shortly after their
menfolk. They greeted one another and exchanged bits of gossip as they went to
join their husbands. Soon the women, standing by their husbands, began to call
to their children, and the children came reluctantly, having to be called four
or five times. Bobby Martin ducked under his mother’s grasping hand and ran,
laughing, back to the pile of stones. His father spoke up sharply, and Bobby
came quickly and took his place between his father and his oldest brother.
The
lottery was conducted—as were the square dances, the teen club, the Halloween
program—by Mr. Summers, who had time and energy to devote to civic activities.
He was a round-faced, jovial man and he ran the coal business, and people were
sorry for him because he had no children and his wife was a scold. When he
arrived in the square, carrying the black wooden box, there was a murmur of
conversation among the villagers, and he waved and called. “Little late today,
folks. ” The postmaster, Mr. Graves, followed him, carrying a three-legged
stool, and the stool was put in the center of the square and Mr. Summers set
the black box down on it. The villagers kept their distance, leaving a space
between themselves and the stool, and when Mr. Summers said, “Some of you
fellows want to give me a hand?” there was a hesitation before two men. Mr.
Martin and his oldest son, Baxter, came forward to hold the box steady on the
stool while Mr. Summers stirred up the papers inside it.
The original paraphernalia for the lottery had been lost long ago, and the
black box now resting on the stool had been put into use even before Old Man
Warner, the oldest man in town, was born. Mr. Summers spoke frequently to the
villagers about making a new box, but no one liked to upset even as much
tradition as was represented by the black box. There was a story that the
present box had been made with some pieces of the box that had preceded it, the
one that had been constructed when the first people settled down to make a
village here. Every year, after the lottery, Mr. Summers began talking again
about a new box, but every year the subject was allowed to fade off without
anything’s being done. The black box grew shabbier each year: by now it was no
longer completely black but splintered badly along one side to show the
original wood color, and in some places faded or stained.
Mr. Martin
and his oldest son, Baxter, held the black box securely on the stool until Mr.
Summers had stirred the papers thoroughly with his hand. Because so much of the
ritual had been forgotten or discarded, Mr. Summers had been successful in
having slips of paper substituted for the chips of wood that had been used for
generations. Chips of wood, Mr. Summers had argued, had been all very well when
the village was tiny, but now that the population was more than three hundred
and likely to keep on growing, it was necessary to use something that would fit
more easily into he black box. The night before the lottery, Mr. Summers and
Mr. Graves made up the slips of paper and put them in the box, and it was then
taken to the safe of Mr. Summers’ coal company and locked up until Mr. Summers
was ready to take it to the square next morning. The rest of the year, the box
was put way, sometimes one place, sometimes another; it had spent one year in
Mr. Graves’s barn and another year underfoot in the post office. and sometimes
it was set on a shelf in the Martin grocery and left there.
There was
a great deal of fussing to be done before Mr. Summers declared the lottery
open. There were the lists to make up–of heads of families, heads of households
in each family, members of each household in each family. There was the proper
swearing-in of Mr. Summers by the postmaster, as the official of the lottery;
at one time, some people remembered, there had been a recital of some sort,
performed by the official of the lottery, a perfunctory, tuneless chant that
had been rattled off duly each year; some people believed that the official of
the lottery used to stand just so when he said or sang it, others believed that
he was supposed to walk among the people, but years and years ago this p3rt of
the ritual had been allowed to lapse. There had been, also, a ritual salute,
which the official of the lottery had had to use in addressing each person who
came up to draw from the box, but this also had changed with time, until now it
was felt necessary only for the official to speak to each person approaching.
Mr. Summers was very good at all this; in his clean white shirt and blue jeans,
with one hand resting carelessly on the black box, he seemed very proper and
important as he talked interminably to Mr. Graves and the Martins.
Just as
Mr. Summers finally left off talking and turned to the assembled villagers,
Mrs. Hutchinson came hurriedly along the path to the square, her sweater thrown
over her shoulders, and slid into place in the back of the crowd. “Clean forgot
what day it was,” she said to Mrs. Delacroix, who stood next to her, and they
both laughed softly. “Thought my old man was out back stacking wood,” Mrs.
Hutchinson went on, “and then I looked out the window and the kids was gone,
and then I remembered it was the twenty-seventh and came a-running. ” She dried
her hands on her apron, and Mrs. Delacroix said, “You’re in time, though.
They’re still talking away up there. “
Mrs.
Hutchinson craned her neck to see through the crowd and found her husband and
children standing near the front. She tapped Mrs. Delacroix on the arm as a
farewell and began to make her way through the crowd. The people separated
good-humoredly to let her through: two or three people said, in voices just
loud enough to be heard across the crowd, “Here comes your, Missus,
Hutchinson,” and “Bill, she made it after all. ” Mrs. Hutchinson reached her
husband, and Mr. Summers, who had been waiting, said cheerfully. “Thought we
were going to have to get on without you, Tessie. ” Mrs. Hutchinson said,
grinning, “Wouldn’t have me leave m’dishes in the sink, now, would you, Joe?”
and soft laughter ran through the crowd as the people stirred back into
position after Mrs. Hutchinson’s arrival.
“Well,
now. ” Mr. Summers said soberly, “guess we better get started, get this over
with, so’s we can go back to work. Anybody ain’t here?”
“Dunbar. ”
several people said. “Dunbar. Dunbar. “
Mr.
Summers consulted his list. “Clyde Dunbar. ” he said. “That’s right. He’s broke
his leg, hasn’t he? Who’s drawing for him?”
“Me. I
guess,” a woman said, and Mr. Summers turned to look at her. “Wife draws for
her husband. ” Mr. Summers said. “Don’t you have a grown boy to do it for you,
Janey?” Although Mr. Summers and everyone else in the village knew the answer
perfectly well, it was the business of the official of the lottery to ask such
questions formally. Mr. Summers waited with an expression of polite interest
while Mrs. Dunbar answered.
“Horace’s
not but sixteen yet. ” Mrs. Dunbar said regretfully. “Guess I gotta fill in for
the old man this year. “
“Right. ”
Sr. Summers said. He made a note on the list he was holding. Then he asked,
“Watson boy drawing this year?”
A tall boy
in the crowd raised his hand. “Here,” he said. “I m drawing for my mother and
me. ” He blinked his eyes nervously and ducked his head as several voices in
the crowd said things like “Good fellow, lack. ” and “Glad to see your mother’s
got a man to do it. “
“Well,”
Mr. Summers said, “guess that’s everyone. Old Man Warner make it?”
“Here,” a
voice said, and Mr. Summers nodded.
A sudden
hush fell on the crowd as Mr. Summers cleared his throat and looked at the
list. “All ready?” he called. “Now, I’ll read the names–heads of families
first–and the men come up and take a paper out of the box. Keep the paper
folded in your hand without looking at it until everyone has had a turn.
Everything clear?”
The people
had done it so many times that they only half listened to the directions: most
of them were quiet, wetting their lips, not looking around. Then Mr. Summers
raised one hand high and said, “Adams. ” A man disengaged himself from the
crowd and came forward. “Hi. Steve. ” Mr. Summers said, and Mr. Adams said.
“Hi. Joe. ” They grinned at one another humorlessly and nervously. Then Mr.
Adams reached into the black box and took out a folded paper. He held it firmly
by one corner as he turned and went hastily back to his place in the crowd,
where he stood a little apart from his family, not looking down at his hand.
“Allen. ”
Mr. Summers said. “Anderson… Bentham. “
“Seems
like there’s no time at all between lotteries any more. ” Mrs. Delacroix said
to Mrs. Graves in the back row.
“Seems
like we got through with the last one only last week. “
“Time sure
goes fast” Mrs. Graves said.
“Clark…
Delacroix. “
“There
goes my old man. ” Mrs. Delacroix said. She held her breath while her husband
went forward.
“Dunbar,”
Mr. Summers said, and Mrs. Dunbar went steadily to the box while one of the
women said. “Go on, Janey,” and another said, “There she goes. “
“We’re
next. ” Mrs. Graves said. She watched while Mr. Graves came around from the
side of the box, greeted Mr. Summers gravely and selected a slip of paper from
the box. By now, all through the crowd there were men holding the small folded
papers in their large hand, turning them over and over nervously Mrs. Dunbar
and her two sons stood together, Mrs. Dunbar holding the slip of paper.
“Harburt…
Hutchinson. “
“Get up
there, Bill,” Mrs. Hutchinson said, and the people near her laughed.
“Jones. “
“They do
say,” Mr. Adams said to Old Man Warner, who stood next to him, “that over in
the north village they’re talking of giving up the lottery. “
Old Man Warner snorted. “Pack of crazy fools,” he said. “Listening to the
young folks, nothing’s good enough for them. Next thing you know, they’ll be
wanting to go back to living in caves, nobody work any more, live hat way for a
while. Used to be a saying about Lottery in June, corn be heavy soon. ‘ First
thing you know, we’d all be eating stewed chickweed and acorns. There’s always
been a lottery,” he added petulantly. “Bad enough to see young Joe Summers up
there joking with everybody. “
“Some
places have already quit lotteries,” Mrs. Adams said.
“Nothing
but trouble in that,” Old Man Warner said stoutly. “Pack of young fools. “
“Martin. ”
And Bobby Martin watched his father go forward. “Overdyke… Percy. “
“I wish
they’d hurry,” Mrs. Dunbar said to her older son. “I wish they’d hurry.”
“They’re
almost through,” her son said.
“You get
ready to run tell Dad,” Mrs. Dunbar said.
Mr.
Summers called his own name and then stepped forward precisely and selected a
slip from the box. Then he called, “Warner. “
“Seventy-seventh
year I been in the lottery,” Old Man Warner said as he went through the crowd.
“Seventy-seventh time. “
“Watson. ”
The tall boy came awkwardly through the crowd. Someone said, “Don’t be nervous,
Jack,” and Mr. Summers said, “Take your time, son. “
“Zanini. “
After
that, there was a long pause, a breathless pause, until Mr. Summers, holding
his slip of paper in the air, said, “All right, fellows. ” For a minute, no one
moved, and then all the slips of paper were opened. Suddenly, all the women
began to speak at once, saving. “Who is it?,” “Who’s got it?,” “Is it the
Dunbars?,” “Is it the Watsons?” Then the voices began to say, “It’s Hutchinson.
It’s Bill,” “Bill Hutchinson’s got it. “
“Go tell
your father,” Mrs. Dunbar said to her older son.
People
began to look around to see the Hutchinsons. Bill Hutchinson was standing
quiet, staring down at the paper in his hand. Suddenly, Tessie Hutchinson
shouted to Mr. Summers. “You didn’t give him time enough to take any paper he
wanted. I saw you. It wasn’t fair!”
“Be a good
sport, Tessie,” Mrs. Delacroix called, and Mrs. Graves said, “All of us took
the same chance. “
“Shut up,
Tessie,” Bill Hutchinson said.
“Well,
everyone,” Mr. Summers said, “that was done pretty fast, and now we’ve got to
be hurrying a little more to get done in time. ” He consulted his next list.
“Bill,” he said, “you draw for the Hutchinson family. You got any other
households in the Hutchinsons?”
“There’s
Don and Eva,” Mrs. Hutchinson yelled. “Make them take their chance!”
“Daughters
draw with their husbands’ families, Tessie,” Mr. Summers said gently. “You know
that as well as anyone else. “
“It wasn’t
fair,” Tessie said.
“I guess
not, Joe,” Bill Hutchinson said regretfully. “My daughter draws with her
husband’s family; that’s only fair. And I’ve got no other family except the
kids. “
“Then, as
far as drawing for families is concerned, it’s you,” Mr. Summers said in
explanation, “and as far as drawing for households is concerned, that’s you,
too. Right?”
“Right,”
Bill Hutchinson said.
“How many
kids, Bill?” Mr. Summers asked formally.
“Three,”
Bill Hutchinson said.
“There’s
Bill, Jr. , and Nancy, and little Dave. And Tessie and me. “
“All
right, then,” Mr. Summers said. “Harry, you got their tickets back?”
Mr. Graves
nodded and held up the slips of paper. “Put them in the box, then,” Mr. Summers
directed. “Take Bill’s and put it in. “
“I think
we ought to start over,” Mrs. Hutchinson said, as quietly as she could. “I tell
you it wasn’t fair. You didn’t give him time enough to choose. Everybody saw
that. “
Mr. Graves
had selected the five slips and put them in the box, and he dropped all the
papers but those onto the ground, where the breeze caught them and lifted them
off.
“Listen,
everybody,” Mrs. Hutchinson was saying to the people around her.
“Ready,
Bill?” Mr. Summers asked, and Bill Hutchinson, with one quick glance around at
his wife and children, nodded.
“Remember,”
Mr. Summers said, “take the slips and keep them folded until each person has
taken one. Harry, you help little Dave. ” Mr. Graves took the hand of the
little boy, who came willingly with him up to the box. “Take a paper out of the
box, Davy,” Mr. Summers said. Davy put his hand into the box and laughed. “Take
just one paper. ” Mr. Summers said. “Harry, you hold it for him. ” Mr. Graves
took the child’s hand and removed the folded paper from the tight fist and held
it while little Dave stood next to him and looked up at him wonderingly.
“Nancy
next,” Mr. Summers said. Nancy was twelve, and her school friends breathed
heavily as she went forward switching her skirt, and took a slip daintily from
the box “Bill, Jr. ,” Mr. Summers said, and Billy, his face red and his feet
overlarge, near knocked the box over as he got a paper out. “Tessie,” Mr.
Summers said. She hesitated for a minute, looking around defiantly, and then
set her lips and went up to the box. She snatched a paper out and held it
behind her.
“Bill,”
Mr. Summers said, and Bill Hutchinson reached into the box and felt around,
bringing his hand out at last with the slip of paper in it.
The crowd
was quiet. A girl whispered, “I hope it’s not Nancy,” and the sound of the
whisper reached the edges of the crowd.
“It’s not
the way it used to be,” Old Man Warner said clearly. “People ain’t the way they
used to be. “
“All
right,” Mr. Summers said. “Open the papers. Harry, you open little Dave’s. “
Mr. Graves
opened the slip of paper and there was a general sigh through the crowd as he
held it up and everyone could see that it was blank. Nancy and Bill, Jr. ,
opened theirs at the same time, and both beamed and laughed, turning around to
the crowd and holding their slips of paper above their heads.
“Tessie,”
Mr. Summers said. There was a pause, and then Mr. Summers looked at Bill
Hutchinson, and Bill unfolded his paper and showed it. It was blank.
“It’s
Tessie,” Mr. Summers said, and his voice was hushed. “Show us her paper, Bill.
“
Bill
Hutchinson went over to his wife and forced the slip of paper out of her hand.
It had a black spot on it, the black spot Mr. Summers had made the night before
with the heavy pencil in the coal company office. Bill Hutchinson held it up,
and there was a stir in the crowd.
“All
right, folks. ” Mr. Summers said. “Let’s finish quickly. “
Although
the villagers had forgotten the ritual and lost the original black box, they
still remembered to use stones. The pile of stones the boys had made earlier
was ready; there were stones on the ground with the blowing scraps of paper
that had come out of the box Delacroix selected a stone so large she had to
pick it up with both hands and turned to Mrs. Dunbar. “Come on,” she said.
“Hurry up. “
Mrs.
Dunbar had small stones in both hands, and she said, gasping for breath. “I
can’t run at all. You’ll have to go ahead and I’ll catch up with you. “
The
children had stones already. And someone gave little Davy Hutchinson a few
pebbles.
Tessie
Hutchinson was in the center of a cleared space by now, and she held her hands
out desperately as the villagers moved in on her. “It isn’t fair,” she said. A
stone hit her on the side of the head. Old Man Warner was saying, “Come on,
come on, everyone. ” Steve Adams was in the front of the crowd of villagers,
with Mrs. Graves beside him.
“It isn’t
fair, it isn’t right,” Mrs. Hutchinson screamed, and then they were upon her.
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