...English 175-‐02: Introduction to Literary Genres Instructor: Aaron Schab aschab@uidaho.edu 209 Brink Hall Department of English University of Idaho Course Meets: Life Sciences South 163 Monday/Wednesday/Friday 9:30 am – 10:20 am January 9, 2013 – May 10, 2013 Course Description In this class, we will learn about the basic conventions and terms used to understand and discuss the three major genres of literature: fiction, poetry, and drama. This class will help you understand the sometimes baffling world of literature, and is intended to provide the general student with basic experience in literary analysis. Additionally, I hope this class will lead you to a lifelong appreciation for (and engagement with) reading literature. Although this class features extensive reading and writing, it is not necessary for you to be a bookworm or a writing superstar to succeed in this class – if you ...
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...CHAPTER I Late one brilliant April afternoon Professor Lucius Wilson stood at the head of Chestnut Street, looking about him with the pleased air of a man of taste who does not very often get to Boston. He had lived there as a student, but for twenty years and more, since he had been Professor of Philosophy in a Western university, he had seldom come East except to take a steamer for some foreign port. Wilson was standing quite still, contemplating with a whimsical smile the slanting street, with its worn paving, its irregular, gravely colored houses, and the row of naked trees on which the thin sunlight was still shining. The gleam of the river at the foot of the hill made him blink a little, not so much because it was too bright as because he found it so pleasant. The few passers-by glanced at him unconcernedly, and even the children who hurried along with their school-bags under their arms seemed to find it perfectly natural that a tall brown gentleman should be standing there, looking up through his glasses at the gray housetops. The sun sank rapidly; the silvery light had faded from the bare boughs and the watery twilight was setting in when Wilson at last walked down the hill, descending into cooler and cooler depths of grayish shadow. His nostril, long unused to it, was quick to detect the smell of wood smoke in the air, blended with the odor of moist spring earth and the saltiness that came up the river with the tide. He crossed Charles Street between jangling street...
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...Ministry of Education of the Republic of Moldova State Pedagogical University “Ion Creangă” Foreign Languages and Literature Faculty English Philology Department DIPLOMA PAPER Figurative Language, Language Shaped by Imagination in Katherine Mansfield’s Short Stories Submitted by: the 4th year student Paşcaneanu Mariana Group 404 Scientific adviser: Tataru Nina Senior Lecturer Chişinău 2012 Contents INTRODUCTION 2 CHAPTER I: SHORT STORY AS A FORM OF FICTION 5 I.1.Common Characteristics of a Short Story as a Form of Fiction. Its Plot and Structure. 5 I.2. Figurative Language. Definition. Function. 9 I.3. Imagery – Language that Appeals to the Senses 11 I.3.1. Simile, Metaphor and Personification. 13 1.3.2. Symbol and Symbolism. 26 I.3.3 Allegory. 30 CHAPTER II: LANGUAGE SHAPED BY IMAGINATION IN K. MANSFIELD’S SHORT STORIES 36 II.1. Figurative Language, Symbolism and Theme in "Her First Ball": 37 II.2. Katherine Mansfield – Techniques and Effects in A Cup of Tea. 41 II.3. Literary Colloquial Style in “Miss Brill” by K. Mansfield. 49 II.3.1. Lexical features—Vague Words and Expressions 49 II.3.2 Syntactical and Morphological Features 52 II.3.3 Phonological Schemes of the Figures of Speech 55 II.4. Simplifying Figurative Language in K.Mansfield’s Short Stories 60 CONCLUSION 64 BIBLIOGRAPHY 66 APPENDIX 70 INTRODUCTION Figurative Language is the use of words that...
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...Project Gutenberg Etext of Three Men in a Boat by Jerome K. Jerome Please take a look at the important information in this header. We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. **Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** **Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** *These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and further information is included below. We need your donations. Three Men in a Boat by Jerome K. Jerome August, 1995 [Etext #308] Project Gutenberg Etext of Three Men in a Boat by Jerome K. Jerome *******This file should be named 3boat10.txt or 3boat10.zip******* Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, 3boat11.txt. VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 3boat10a.txt. Three Men in a Boat - Jerome K. Jerome - Scanned and First Proof David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk. Second proof: Margaret Price We are now trying to release all our books one month in advance of the official release dates, for time for better editing. Please note: neither this list nor its contents are final till midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment and...
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...The Awakening and Selected Short Stories by Kate Chopin A PENN STATE ELECTRONIC CLASSICS SERIES PUBLICATION The Awakening and Selected Short Stories by Kate Chopin is a publication of the Pennsylvania State University. This Portable Document File is furnished free and without any charge of any kind. Any person using this document file, for any purpose, and in any way does so at his or her own risk. Neither the Pennsylvania State University nor Jim Manis, Faculty Editor, nor anyone associated with the Pennsylvania State University assumes any responsibility for the material contained within the document or for the file as an electronic transmission, in any way. The Awakening and Selected Short Stories by Kate Chopin, the Pennsylvania State University, Electronic Classics Series, Jim Manis, Faculty Editor, Hazleton, PA 182021291 is a Portable Document File produced as part of an ongoing student publication project to bring classical works of literature, in English, to free and easy access of those wishing to make use of them. Cover Design: Jim Manis Copyright © 2008 The Pennsylvania State University The Pennsylvania State University is an equal opportunity university. Kate Chopin (born Katherine O'Flaherty on February 8, 1850 – August 22, 1904) was an American author of short stories and novels, mostly of a Louisiana Creole background. She is now considered to have been a forerunner of feminist authors of the 20th century. —Courtesy Wikipedia.org Contents ...
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...Weekend by Christopher Pike ONE The road was painful. Last summer's hurricanes had dug strategically placed potholes across the narrow asphalt highway. Every time their dusty Datsun hatchback hit one — every sixty seconds — Shani Tucker's head kissed the car's ceiling. She wanted an aspirin, but they upset her stomach, and it was already worse off than her head. Long drives were not her forte. She wished that there was room in the front seat with Kerry and Angie, where at least she could have tied herself down with a seat belt. But Angie was driving, and Kerry's hand was glued to the radio, searching vainly through static bands. Though the road was doing its best to slow them down, they were, nevertheless, too far south into Mexico to catch San Diego's stations. Glancing out of the window at the brittle tumbleweed, the baked orange hills, and dry, cracked ravines, Shani felt as if she had crossed into another world, rather than merely into another country. "Can't get anything on this damn thing," Kerry Ladd said, fretting as usual. "Turn it off," Shani said. "I have a headache as it is." "I've got to have music," Kerry said, snapping in a cassette. Pat Benatar started wailing about precious time. Kerry wasn't the most considerate of friends. But Shani didn't complain. The grinding guitar was the lesser of two evils. Constant external distraction was necessary to keep strung-out Kerry from exploding. "I've got to turn off the air conditioning, again," Angie Houston warned...
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...Bloom’s Classic Critical Views W i l l ia m Sha k e Sp e a r e Bloom's Classic Critical Views alfred, lord Tennyson Benjamin Franklin The Brontës Charles Dickens edgar allan poe Geoffrey Chaucer George eliot George Gordon, lord Byron henry David Thoreau herman melville Jane austen John Donne and the metaphysical poets John milton Jonathan Swift mark Twain mary Shelley Nathaniel hawthorne Oscar Wilde percy Shelley ralph Waldo emerson robert Browning Samuel Taylor Coleridge Stephen Crane Walt Whitman William Blake William Shakespeare William Wordsworth Bloom’s Classic Critical Views W i l l ia m Sha k e Sp e a r e Edited and with an Introduction by Sterling professor of the humanities Yale University harold Bloom Bloom’s Classic Critical Views: William Shakespeare Copyright © 2010 Infobase Publishing Introduction © 2010 by Harold Bloom All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher. For more information contact: Bloom’s Literary Criticism An imprint of Infobase Publishing 132 West 31st Street New York NY 10001 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data William Shakespeare / edited and with an introduction by Harold Bloom : Neil Heims, volume editor. p. cm. — (Bloom’s classic critical views) Includes bibliographical references...
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...Barack Obama Dreams from My Father “For we are strangers before them, and sojourners, as were all our fathers. 1 CHRONICLES 29:15 PREFACE TO THE 2004 EDITION A LMOST A DECADE HAS passed since this book was first published. As I mention in the original introduction, the opportunity to write the book came while I was in law school, the result of my election as the first African-American president of the Harvard Law Review. In the wake of some modest publicity, I received an advance from a publisher and went to work with the belief that the story of my family, and my efforts to understand that story, might speak in some way to the fissures of race that have characterized the American experience, as well as the fluid state of identitythe leaps through time, the collision of cultures-that mark our modern life. Like most first-time authors, I was filled with hope and despair upon the book’s publication-hope that the book might succeed beyond my youthful dreams, despair that I had failed to say anything worth saying. The reality fell somewhere in between. The reviews were mildly favorable. People actually showed up at the readings my publisher arranged. The sales were underwhelming. And, after a few months, I went on with the business of my life, certain that my career as an author would be short-lived, but glad to have survived the process with my dignity more or less intact. I had little time for reflection over the next ten years. I ran a voter registration project in...
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...英文荟萃网 http://www.ywhc.net 友情提供 The Lily of the Valley by Honore de Balzac Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley DEDICATION To Monsieur J. B. Nacquart, Member of the Royal Academy of Medicine. Dear Doctor--Here is one of the most carefully hewn stones in the second course of the foundation of a literary edifice which I have slowly and laboriously constructed. I wish to inscribe your name upon it, as much to thank the man whose science once saved me as to honor the friend of my daily life. De Balzac. THE LILY OF THE VALLEY ENVOI Felix de Vandenesse to Madame la Comtesse Natalie de Manerville: whom we ignore their I yield to your wishes. It is the privilege of the women love more than they love us to make the men who love them the ordinary rules of common-sense. To smooth the frown upon brow, to soften the pout upon their lips, what obstacles we miraculously overcome! We shed our blood, we risk our future! exact the history of my past life; here it is. But remember in obeying you I crush under foot a reluctance Why are you jealous of the sudden reveries midst of our happiness? Why show the when silence grasps me? Could you of my character without inquiring You this, Natalie; hitherto unconquerable. which overtake me in the pretty anger of a petted woman not play upon the contradictions into the causes of them? Are there secrets in your heart which seek absolution through a knowledge of mine? Ah! Natalie,...
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...In Cold Blood Truman Capote I. The Last to See Them Alive The village of Holcomb stands on the high wheat plains of western Kansas, a lonesome area that other Kansans call "out there." Some seventy miles east of the Colorado border, the countryside, with its hard blue skies and desert-clear air, has an atmosphere that is rather more Far West than Middle West. The local accent is barbed with a prairie twang, a ranch-hand nasalness, and the men, many of them, wear narrow frontier trousers, Stetsons, and high-heeled boots with pointed toes. The land is flat, and the views are awesomely extensive; horses, herds of cattle, a white cluster of grain elevators rising as gracefully as Greek temples are visible long before a traveler reaches them. Holcomb, too, can be seen from great distances. Not that there's much to see simply an aimless congregation of buildings divided in the center by the main-line tracks of the Santa Fe Rail-road, a haphazard hamlet bounded on the south by a brown stretch of the Arkansas (pronounced "Ar-kan-sas") River, on the north by a highway, Route 50, and on the east and west by prairie lands and wheat fields. After rain, or when snowfalls thaw, the streets, unnamed, unshaded, unpaved, turn from the thickest dust into the direst mud. At one end of the town stands a stark old stucco structure, the roof of which supports an electric sign - dance - but the dancing has ceased and the advertisement has been dark for several years. Nearby is another building...
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...In Cold Blood Truman Capote I. The Last to See Them Alive The village of Holcomb stands on the high wheat plains of western Kansas, a lonesome area that other Kansans call "out there." Some seventy miles east of the Colorado border, the countryside, with its hard blue skies and desert-clear air, has an atmosphere that is rather more Far West than Middle West. The local accent is barbed with a prairie twang, a ranch-hand nasalness, and the men, many of them, wear narrow frontier trousers, Stetsons, and high-heeled boots with pointed toes. The land is flat, and the views are awesomely extensive; horses, herds of cattle, a white cluster of grain elevators rising as gracefully as Greek temples are visible long before a traveler reaches them. Holcomb, too, can be seen from great distances. Not that there's much to see simply an aimless congregation of buildings divided in the center by the main-line tracks of the Santa Fe Rail-road, a haphazard hamlet bounded on the south by a brown stretch of the Arkansas (pronounced "Ar-kan-sas") River, on the north by a highway, Route 50, and on the east and west by prairie lands and wheat fields. After rain, or when snowfalls thaw, the streets, unnamed, unshaded, unpaved, turn from the thickest dust into the direst mud. At one end of the town stands a stark old stucco structure, the roof of which supports an electric sign - dance - but the dancing has ceased and the advertisement has been dark for several years. Nearby is another building...
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...A ROOM OF ONES OWN [* This essay is based upon two papers read to the Arts Society at Newnharn and the Odtaa at Girton in October 1928. The papers were too long to be read in full, and have since been altered and expanded.] ONE But, you may say, we asked you to speak about women and fiction--what, has that got to do with a room of one's own? I will try to explain. When you asked me to speak about women and fiction I sat down on the banks of a river and began to wonder what the words meant. They might mean simply a few remarks about Fanny Burney; a few more about Jane Austen; a tribute to the Brontës and a sketch of Haworth Parsonage under snow; some witticisms if possible about Miss Mitford; a respectful allusion to George Eliot; a reference to Mrs Gaskell and one would have done. But at second sight the words seemed not so simple. The title women and fiction might mean, and you may have meant it to mean, women and what they are like, or it might mean women and the fiction that they write; or it might mean women and the fiction that is written about them, or it might mean that somehow all three are inextricably mixed together and you want me to consider them in that light. But when I began to consider the subject in this last way, which seemed the most interesting, I soon saw that it had one fatal drawback. I should never be able to come to a conclusion. I should never be able to fulfil what is, I understand, the first duty of a lecturer to hand you after an hour's discourse a...
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...Chapter One A SQUAT grey building of only thirty-four stories. Over the main entrance the words, CENTRAL LONDON HATCHERY AND CONDITIONING CENTRE, and, in a shield, the World State's motto, COMMUNITY, IDENTITY, STABILITY. The enormous room on the ground floor faced towards the north. Cold for all the summer beyond the panes, for all the tropical heat of the room itself, a harsh thin light glared through the windows, hungrily seeking some draped lay figure, some pallid shape of academic gooseflesh, but finding only the glass and nickel and bleakly shining porcelain of a laboratory. Wintriness responded to wintriness. The overalls of the workers were white, their hands gloved with a pale corpse-coloured rubber. The light was frozen, dead, a ghost. Only from the yellow barrels of the microscopes did it borrow a certain rich and living substance, lying along the polished tubes like butter, streak after luscious streak in long recession down the work tables. "And this," said the Director opening the door, "is the Fertilizing Room." Bent over their instruments, three hundred Fertilizers were plunged, as the Director of Hatcheries and Conditioning entered the room, in the scarcely breathing silence, the absent-minded, soliloquizing hum or whistle, of absorbed concentration. A troop of newly arrived students, very young, pink and callow, followed nervously, rather abjectly, at the Director's heels. Each of them carried a notebook, in which, whenever the great man spoke, he desperately...
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...Lee, Harper—To Kill a Mockingbird 1960 TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD by Harper Lee DEDICATION for Mr. Lee and Alice in consideration of Love & Affection Lawyers, I suppose, were children once. Charles Lamb PART ONE 1 When he was nearly thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow. When it healed, and Jem’s fears of never being able to play football were assuaged, he was seldom self-conscious about his injury. His left arm was somewhat shorter than his right; when he stood or walked, the back of his hand was at right angles to his body, his thumb parallel to his thigh. He couldn’t have cared less, so long as he could pass and punt. When enough years had gone by to enable us to look back on them, we sometimes discussed the events leading to his accident. I maintain that the Ewells started it all, but Jem, who was four years my senior, said it started long before that. He said it began the summer Dill came to us, when Dill first gave us the idea of making Boo Radley come out. I said if he wanted to take a broad view of the thing, it really began with Andrew Jackson. If General Jackson hadn’t run the Creeks up the creek, Simon Finch would never have paddled up the Alabama, and where would we be if he hadn’t? We were far too old to settle an argument with a fist-fight, so we consulted Atticus. Our father said we were both right. Being Southerners, it was a source of shame to some members of the family that we had no recorded ancestors on either side of the Battle of Hastings...
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...___________________________ LIVING HISTORY Hillary Rodham Clinton Simon & Schuster New York • London • Toronto • Sydney • Singapore To my parents, my husband, my daughter and all the good souls around the world whose inspiration, prayers, support and love blessed my heart and sustained me in the years of living history. AUTHOR’S NOTE In 1959, I wrote my autobiography for an assignment in sixth grade. In twenty-nine pages, most half-filled with earnest scrawl, I described my parents, brothers, pets, house, hobbies, school, sports and plans for the future. Forty-two years later, I began writing another memoir, this one about the eight years I spent in the White House living history with Bill Clinton. I quickly realized that I couldn’t explain my life as First Lady without going back to the beginning―how I became the woman I was that first day I walked into the White House on January 20, 1993, to take on a new role and experiences that would test and transform me in unexpected ways. By the time I crossed the threshold of the White House, I had been shaped by my family upbringing, education, religious faith and all that I had learned before―as the daughter of a staunch conservative father and a more liberal mother, a student activist, an advocate for children, a lawyer, Bill’s wife and Chelsea’s mom. For each chapter, there were more ideas I wanted to discuss than space allowed; more people to include than could be named; more places visited than could be described...
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