joansavoie.weebly.comjoansavoie.weebly.com/uploads/6/0/6/3/60634115/unit_1... · Web viewWhen you write your character analysis you should use some of the quotations in the charts

ENG4C Revised Sept 2015

Unit 1: Your Views on Justice

Activity 1: Your Views on Justice

Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. Martin Luther King

The mark of your ignorance is the depth of your belief in injustice and tragedy. Richard David Bach: American author of Jonathan Livingston Seagull

One had better die fighting against injustice than to die like a dog or a rat caught in a trap.Wells, Ida B. Journalist and Anti-lynching Activist (1862-1931)

Almost everyone everywhere is concerned with justice—for themselves, for their home community, for their country, and for the world. Yet, while justice seems to be a global priority, we constantly encounter situations of injustice. Considering what justice means to you and how you see a just world is one step towards contributing to your community and the common good.

Assignment #1

1. To begin, fill out an anticipation guide on the theme of justice.

Complete the anticipation guide. There is no right or wrong answer – the choice is yours to whether you agree or disagree with the statement

1. All people are created equal. Agree Disagree2. Differences among people are acceptable. Agree Disagree3. Not any one person is all bad or all good. Agree Disagree4. Under our justice system, all citizens are treated fairly in

our courts of law.Agree Disagree

5. No one is above the law. Agree Disagree6. If the law does not succeed in punishing criminals,

citizens should take matters into their own hands.Agree Disagree

7. Justice always prevails in courts of law. Agree Disagree8. Differences in wealth among people is natural; this is the

way the world works.Agree Disagree

9. People should accept their fate. Agree Disagree10. Authority figures are always on the side of right. Agree Disagree

Page 1

http://download.elearningontario.oise.utoronto.ca/repository/1212860000/ENG4CPU01/ENG4CPU01A01/images/AGREEORDISAGREE.pdf


Did you know?

SymbolsA symbol is an object, character, figure, or colour that remains itself but represents something more than its literal meaning. For example, a rose is a rose is a rose, but the rose is also a symbol of beauty because it is itself beautiful.

Good symbols may be representative of several characteristics. Consider the rose again: it is not only beautiful, but it can also be seen as fragile, as having no purpose, and because of its thorns, as difficult to handle. But, a symbol can be representative of several characteristics. The rose is not only beautiful, but it can also be seen as fragile, as having no purpose, and because of its thorns, as difficult to handle.

Another example of a symbol is the cross. A cross was the object actually used for the crucifixion of Christ. Now, a cross symbolizes everything connected to Christianity, not only the death of Christ, but also the teachings of the church.

Our world is full of symbols. Some additional common symbols that you have probably seen are:

• the dove, symbol of peace

• flags, symbols of national pride

• the rainbow, a symbol of hope and promise

Page 2


Assignment #2

Match the picture symbol with the definition: DO NOT Mark in This Booklet.

Page 3

1 2 3

4 5 6

7 8 9

10 11 12

10

21 3

4 5 6

7 8 9

11


Assignment #3

Find an image on the internet, or create one of your own, which symbolizes your ideas on justice for the common good. An image can be a photograph, a poster, a painting, or clip art. As you choose or create the image, answer the following questions:

1. How did you respond to the questions on the survey, in assignment #1, on page 1?

2. What does justice mean to you?

3. Where do you see justice carried out around you?

4. Where do you see the miscarriage of justice

5. Do you see the world as essentially just or unjust?

Writing in Standard English As you complete the assignment for this activity and any other, it is expected that you will write with complete sentences, using correct spelling, grammar, and punctuation. Do not hesitate to use word processing tools to help you check your work for correction.

Page 4


Activity 2: Discovering Situations of Justice/Injustice

I swore never to be silent whenever human beings endure suffering and humiliation. We must always take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.

Elie Wiesel

Justice is conscience, not a personal conscience but the conscience of the whole of humanity. Those who clearly recognize the voice of their own conscience usually recognize also the voice of justice.

Alexander Solzhenitsyn

The challenge of social justice is to evoke a sense of community that we need to make our nation a better place, just as we make it a safer place.

Marian Wright Edelman

Did you know?

There have been some famous cases in Canadian law where justice was miscarried. Some individuals have been charged with a crime that they haven’t committed. Moreover, some have been convicted and have spent considerable time in prison.

There have also always been cases of alarming injustice in our world. At the same time, there are many people who fight hard against serious actions of injustice. One world wide organization that invites anyone to help fight injustice is called Amnesty International.

Assignment #4

What is Amnesty International (answer this question using paragraph format)

Assignment #5:

The following site covers many Canadians who have been wrongly convicted, check this site out for a brief summary of each individual. If this web site does not work, use Google to search each name – there is lots of information for each of this Canadians.

http://www.cbc.ca/news/interactives/who-compensationcost/

• Choose two of the Canadian men’s stories and read the articles in depth and then answer the questions on the following page (page 6). If the following site are not working just do a Google search as there is lots of information on each person listed/

Steven Truscott: http://www.cbc.ca/fifth/truscott/David Milgaard: http://archives.cbc.ca/society/crime_justice/topics/713/Donald Marshall: http://www.cbc.ca/lifeandtimes/marshall.html

Page 5

http://www.cbc.ca/lifeandtimes/marshall.html

http://www.cbc.ca/news/interactives/who-compensationcost/


Assignment #5 – Questions:

Answer each question using full and complete sentences – point form will not be accepted.

1. What is the name of the person you researched?

2. What crime was this person charged with?

3. How long did they spend in prison?

4. How was their sentence overturned?

5. Did they get compensation from the government for the years they spent in prison?

6. How did serving time in prison, for the crime they did not commit, affect them?

7. Where are they today (if they are still living)?

During reading, record your responses to what you are reading on your own paper. Your responses might include and may be in point form:

• what the topic is • why the author is writing on this topic • who would make up the intended audience • how you feel about the information you are reading • whether the information surprises you • whether it makes you wonder about the justice system • whether you find yourself disbelieving some of what you read • how does the material you read shape your point of view.

In addition, record words that are new to you so that you expand your vocabulary.

Page 6


Notes on Formal Writing

Did you know… That when writers express their opinion in several paragraphs that one statement in the introduction clearly identifies the writer’s point of view? This is known as the thesis statement.

That each paragraph in a piece develops one topic and that the first sentence in each paragraph is called the topic sentence? After all, the topic sentence has to make clear what the paragraph will be about.

That the middle sentences in a paragraph support the topic by providing examples. That writers use words called transitions to make a link between paragraphs? Some transition words and phrases are; however, therefore, but, in addition to, finally.

Activity 3: Recognizing the Power of Words

Better than a thousand hollow words, Is one word that brings peace. Buddha

Tools

In order to understand the material in this activity, it is important that you recognize four rhetorical devices. A rhetorical device is a tool that a writer uses to make his or her writing more distinct and appealing to the reader.

1. Anaphora is a form of repetition. Specifically, it is repetition of the same word or group of words at the beginning of several sentences and sometimes within several sentences. A writer will use anaphora to emphasize an idea, and also because humans naturally respond to the rhythm of repetition.

2. Parallel Structure can be like anaphora. Parallel structure is used within one sentence to create a balancing effect. It requires using the same pattern of words to show that two or more ideas have the same level of importance. The usual way to join parallel structures is with the use of coordinating conjunctions (and, or, but). A writer will use parallel structure to make ideas come across more clearly.

Consider the following examples:

Unbalanced: She enjoys reading and to write poetry.

Parallel: She enjoys reading and writing poetry.

Page 7


3. Metaphor is a form of comparison used to describe something. Metaphors show how two things that are unalike in most ways are similar in one important way. A writer will use metaphors to make his or her piece more clear, entertaining, and interesting.

Unlike similes that use the words “as” or “like” to make a comparison, metaphors state that something is something else.

Consider the following example:

SimileThe promise given to Black Americans when Abraham Lincoln wrote the Emancipation Proclamation to free slaves is like a bad cheque.

MetaphorIn a sense the promise given to Black Americans when Abraham Lincoln wrote the Emancipation Proclamation to free slaves is a bad cheque.

4. An allusion is a brief mention of or reference to a historical, geographical, literary, mythological, or Biblical event, person, place, or thing. Consider the following example:

Required Reading

Read the attached text of “I Have a Dream” by Martin Luther King, Jr.

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of captivity.

But one hundred years later, we must face the tragic fact that the Negro is still not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize an appalling condition.

In a sense we have come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men would be guaranteed the inalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

Page 8


It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check which has come back marked "insufficient funds." But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we have come to cash this check -- a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to open the doors of opportunity to all of God's children. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment and to underestimate the determination of the Negro. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.

We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny and their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.

And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.

Page 9


I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.

Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.

I say to you today, my friends, that in spite of the difficulties and frustrations of the moment, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream. I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slaveowners will be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood. I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a desert state, sweltering with the heat of injustice and oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day the state of Alabama, whose governor's lips are presently dripping with the words of interposition and nullification, will be transformed into a situation where little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls and walk together as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.

This is our hope. This is the faith with which I return to the South. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

Page 10


This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring."

And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!

Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado!

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous peaks of California!

But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!

Let freedom ring from every hill and every molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

Reprinted with permission from “The King Center”

Assignment #6

This is your opportunity to practice detecting the four rhetorical devices defined above. The following exercise requires you to re-read the “I Have a Dream” speech and identify the rhetorical devices contained within it.

HINT: There are more examples of anaphora and metaphor than parallel structure and allusion but most can be found in the first three paragraphs of Martin Luther King’s speech.

Throughout the text, a variety of rhetorical devices have been highlighted in bold font. Write the correct rhetorical device opposite the text.

Read through Martin Luther’s speech and find two (2) examples for each of the following rhetorical devices:

Allusion: Simile: Metaphor: Anaphora: Parallel structure:

Page 11


Assignment #7

1. Briefly explain what Langston Hughes is saying in his poem “I, Too”. You may listen to the poem at the following web site:

http://www.poetryarchive.org/poetryarchive/singlePoem.do?poemId=1552

2. Identify where Martin Luther King has the same idea in his speech.

3. Are you surprised by their points of view? Why or why not?

I, Too by Langston Hughes

I, too, sing America.

I am the darker brother.They send me to eat in the kitchenWhen company comes,But I laugh,And eat well,And grow strong.

Tomorrow,I'll be at the tableWhen company comes.Nobody'll dareSay to me,"Eat in the kitchen,"Then.

Besides,They'll see how beautiful I amAnd be ashamed—

I, too, am America.

Page 12


Activity 4: When Mercy Seasons Justice - or Not

The Short Story – Literary Terms

Conflict: a struggle or difference of opinion between characters. Sometimes a character may clash with a force of nature.

Dialogue: the exact words that a character says; usually the conversation between characters.

Foreshadowing: clues that hint or suggest what will happen later in the story.

Inner Conflict: a struggle that takes place in the mind of a character.

Irony: when something happens that is the opposite of what might naturally be expected.

Main Character: the person the story is mostly about.

Mood: the feeling or atmosphere that the writer creates. For example, the mood of a story might be joyous or suspenseful.

Motive: the reason behind a character’s actions.

Narrator: the person who tells the story. Usually, the narrator is the writer or a character in the story.

Purpose: the reason the author wrote the story. For example, an author’s purpose might be to amuse or entertain, to convince, or to inform.

Setting: the time and place of the action in a story; where and when the action takes place.

Style: the way in which a writer uses language. The choice and arrangement of words and sentences help to create the writer’s style.

Symbol: something that represents, or stands for, something else.

Theme: the main, or central idea, of a story.

PlotA series of related events that make up a story. Includes exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, and resolution. This is the writer's plan for what happens, when it happens, and to whom it happens. A plot is usually built around a conflict.

Page 13


Plot Diagram

Although each plot develops differently, there is a traditional form that fiction usually follows:

1. Exposition: the beginning of the story that sets the stage; this is where characters are introduced and the setting is described.

2. Rising action: happens next as the plot "thickens" and the conflict is revealed. Mini-conflicts arise that add to the tension build-up.

3. Climax: is the point of highest tension in the story. It is the turning point, where the action reaches a peak and the outcome of the conflict is decided.. (This is the emotional high point for the character-not the reader).

4. Falling Action/Resolution: occurs after the climax and resolves the conflict. The loose ends are tied-up and the story comes to an end.

Page 14

Plot Diagram


Short Stories: Select 2 short stories from the selection listed below and answer the questions that follow those short stories.

The short stories can be found in your textbook Fiction/Non-fiction: A Reader and Rhetoric. Or ask your teacher for copies of your selected stories.

Assignment #8

Short Story #1 (Page 25 of this handout)

"All the Years of Her Life" by Morley Callaghan, page 45. You can also listen to the story at the following web address:

http://esl-bits.net/listening/Media/AllTheYears/default.html

1. Write a paragraph in the voice of Mrs. Higgins, identifying all the she "had been thinking of as they walked along the street together".

2. Why do you think Alfred decided to go to the kitchen to see his mother?

3. What did the author mean in the last paragraph when he said, “this was the first time he had ever really seen his mother”?

4. At the beginning of the story did Alfred have any feeling of remorse or guilt?

5. When Alfred and his mother were walking home what was the mood between the two?

6. If you were Mrs. Higgins, what would you have said to Alfred as you walked home?

7. What is the conflict that arises in the story? Is this conflict an internal or external conflict? Why?

8. Do you fell the conflict is resolved at the end of the story? If so how? If not – why not?

Page 15



Read the short story "The Lottery" by Shirley Jackson. (or you can view the movie of the short story on You Tube – use the 1969 version, part 1 and 2)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pIm93Xuij7k http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PMhV3fwx5Sg

1. From the context of the story, who controls the town? Explain.

2. What do you think about this kind of control?

3. Is structure of the town and the lottery democratic? Explain. How do you feel about it?

4. What is one of the themes of “The Lottery”? How does it relate to you?

5. How were women viewed in the village? What roles did they serve? Give examples from the text to support your answer.

6. What does Mrs. Delacroix’s extra-large stone say about the loyalty and logic in “the Lottery”?

7. What does the large stone represent?

8. How might Mrs. Delacroix justify the killing of Tessie?

9. How did you feel about the town people's actions in The Lottery?

10. What character do you most believe would agree with the need for strong work ethic and why? Support your answer with text.

11. How does Shirley Jackson’s choice to withhold the ultimate purpose of this tradition until the end of the story prove to be an effective way to communicate with her readers? How did you feel at the end as a result of not knowing?

12. At the end of the story, Tessie Hutchinson screams, "It isn't fair, it isn't right." Write a paragraph or two to assess the lack of mercy in this story. How do you react to a situation where the "way it is always done" is considered the most just way to behave?

Page 16

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PMhV3fwx5Sg

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pIm93Xuij7k



Read "The Cask of Amontillado" by Edgar Allen Poe

In the story, "The Cask of Amontillado", the intended effect, or theme, is revenge. This story is more difficult to read than the previous stories in this activity; however, many students are attracted to the works of Edgar Allen Poe, who is considered to have developed the gothic horror genre in short stories. You may wish to read this story, or find an audio recording of it so you can listen to it. Audio recordings are easily found in public libraries; many libraries now allow you to download their audio tapes on line.

1. Explain the concept of revenge. When is revenge justified? Or is revenge ever justified?

2. Who is the “you” addressed in paragraph 1?

3. What are Fortunato’s crimes against Montresor? Does it matter?

4. What is the quality of the revenge that Montresor seeks?

5. Consider the symbolism of the Carnival setting.

6. How does Montresor manipulate Fortunato? What does his flattery of Fortunato suggest may be his real motive for killing him?

7. Consider the symbolic implications of the descent into the wine cellar.

8. Can you point to any evidence of humour in the story?

9. To what extent is the reader being asked to sympathize with Fortunato?

10. Has Montresor’s crime been entirely successful?

Page 17


Activity 5: Understanding Fictional Themes on Justice

The longer we listen to one another - with real attention - the more commonality we will find in all our lives. That is, if we are careful to exchange with one another life stories and not simply opinions. .

Barbara Deming

If we had a keen vision of all that is ordinary in human life, it would be like hearing the grass grow or the squirrel's heart beat, and we should die of that roar which is the other side of silence.

Marion Evans Cross

Who is a hero? He who conquers his urges.The Talmud

Tools

Writing about literature requires that you understand the subtext as well as the text. In other words, not only must you understand the details of a plot, but you must try to understand why these details are important. In stories, understanding the main character goes a long way to understanding the subtext.

Writing about literature also requires understanding a form of essay writing called the literary analysis. This form provides a reader with an introduction which gives some general information about the topic as well as a thesis statement. This is followed by three body paragraphs which explain the thesis statement. Finally, the essay ends with a concluding paragraph which pulls the ideas together.

Your textbook, Fiction/Non-Fiction: A Reader and Rhetoric has a section on essay writing. Note the following

Chapter 3, "The Essay", provides basic instruction on paragraph writing, topic sentences and the short essay.

Under the section call THE SHORT ESSAY is a sub-heading on the thesis statement. Read the examples, especially the example on "The Cask of Amontillado".

Additional instruction for writing well can be found in chapter 2, "The Principles of Good Writing". The instruction here is more general.

A sample literary essay appears on page 421-425.

Chapter 7,"Trouble Spots" and Chapter 8, "Common Grammar Problems" provide some very useful information on how to avoid mistakes.

Page 18


Refer to these sections as you work on your assignment.

Example

But first, consider the following:

In order to write a good literary analysis, it is important to look at the original text carefully. Your assignment will require that the literary analysis you write is based on a character in one of the stories you read, thus it can be called a character analysis.

Whenever we read a novel or story the writer ensures that characters unfold for us in such a way that we begin to know what motivates them, what affects them, how things affect them, and how they feel. This is accomplished in the writing in at least four ways:

• By what the character says (DIALOGUE) • By what the other characters say (DIALOGUE) • By what the character does (ACTION) • By what the author says about him (DESCRIPTION).

To write a character analysis, you need to do some investigative work first.

Did you know?When you write your character analysis you should use some of the quotations in the charts you created to give proof of your point of view on the character. These quotations must appear within quotations marks, as in the examples given and the page numbers on which they appear must also appear in your essay. This is your way of acknowledging the author's words.

At the end of your character analysis essay you must provide a works cited. This lists the story you used in your essay. In your case, you will only use one story title. Some literary essays use two or more.

This procedure of quoting text and providing a works cited is called documentation. The style of documentation that you will use is called MLA, which stands for Modern Language Association. We will examine the MLA format more closely in unit 2.

ResourcesYour textbook, Fiction/Non-Fiction: A Reader and Rhetoric has a section on documentation. Note the following for your assignment:

On page 393 under the heading WORK IN AN ANTHOLOLGY you will find examples of how to create a citation for the story you have written on. The third example is particularly useful since it gives an example from the textbook.

Page 19


On page 397 under the heading PARENTHETICAL REFERENCES FOR QUOTATIONS AND PARAPHRASES you will find how to acknowledge the quotations you use.

Writing a Character Sketch

1. Introduce your character

Name Dress Physical attributesFacial expressions Voice quality MannerismsHome Family Ethnic background

2. Personality Characteristics

Hopes Habits ChallengesAttributes Secrets FearsPet peeves Values Favourite expressions

3. Relationships (who is this character comfortable with/uncomfortable with?)

With self With strangersWith others close to him/her With nature

4. Choices

Choices with negative results Choices with positive results

5. Changes (last sentence will sum up character in a sentence or two)

How character has changed How character has grown

Sample Character Sketch

Mrs. Sloane, a central character in Morley Callaghan’s “A Boy Grows Older,” is a middle-aged wife and mother. She and her husband are not poor, but must work to make ends meet. The newspaper and occasional movies are their only luxuries. Mrs. Sloane has spent many years worrying about a son who, now in his late twenties, is still unable to control his own finances and has fallen into a cycle of returning home frequently to “borrow” money from his parents. Mrs. Sloane is constantly pulled between letting Jim learn to survive on his own and helping him because he is her son. Before her son’s arrival, she sat in her living room and “folded her hands tight in her lap and swallowed hard” attempting to hide the tension her son’s visits have created in her life . Her feelings of helplessness and resignation are evident as she sighs and shakes her head at his accusations. “She wanted to tell him she believed in him, but she was puzzled herself.” The tragedy of Mrs. Sloane’s life is that she never realized that by giving their

Page 20


son “everything” she and her husband had allowed him to grow older without ever growing up.

Alfred Higgins

Alfred Higgins is a young man possibly in his late teens. He has two older brothers and a younger sister who have married and left home, while he still lives with his parents. Alfred is an incompetent, immature young man who has difficulty holding a job. As the story begins, he has been working for six months in a drugstore, but he is about to be confronted by his employer about his habit of pilfering from the store. At first he tries to bluff and then lie his way out of the situation. When that does not work, his mother has to come and rescue him. However, the selfish Alfred grows psychologically during the course of the story. He realizes how hard his mother’s life is, and he seems to be ready to make a new, more mature start to his own life.

Assignment #9

Practice

Choose a character and make a record of the dialogue, action, and description that tell you about the character by recording it on the accompanying charts as you read (re-read) the text. On your chart, provide a direct quote or paraphrase and reference it with a page number.

Page 21


Consider the following examples from the short stories:

Quotations said by the character Character Name What does this quote tell you

about the person?

“I’m going to make myself a cup of tea. Mind, now, not a word about tonight to your father” (49).

Mrs. Higgins in “All the Years of Her Life”

Mrs Higgins is tired. She is also ashamed of her son’s behaviour and possibly afraid of her husband’s reaction to the situation. Silence is better in this situation than telling all.

“I think we ought to start over. …I tell you it wasn’t fair. You didn’t give him time enough to choose. Everybody saw that” (112).

Tessie Hutchinson in “The Lottery”

Mrs. Hutchinson is beginning to see the lottery in a new light when it appears that someone in her family will be chosen. She is afraid and is looking for a way out.

“…a very good joke, indeed—an excellent jest. We will have many a rich laugh about it…”

Fortunato in “The Cask of Amontillado”

Fortunato thinks that Montresor is pulling a practical joke, or he is acting like he thinks so, but he is actually very afraid.

Choose one (1) character from one (1) of the following stories:

All the Years of Her Life The Lottery The Cask of Amontillado

Create one chart similar to the one above that reveals the personality of your chosen character. Be sure to provide the page number. Use the chart on the following page.

Page 22


Story Title:Character Name:

Quotations said by the character

What does this quote tell you about the person?

Page 23


Assignment #10

Write a five paragraph character analysis of one (1) character from any one of the short stories you read for activity 4. Use the information you gathered in your character charts to help you identify something about the character which you present in your thesis statement. Remember to use quotations in the body of your essay in order to support your thesis statement.

The five paragraph essay format

Read the following information very carefully on how to write a five paragraph essay, then using the outline provided you are going to write a five paragraph essay on the topic of your choice.

Title: ____________________

I. Introduction II.

A. Introductory statement B. Thesis statement: ____________________

III. Body A. First Supporting Idea (Topic Sentence)

1. ____________________ 2. ____________________ 3. ____________________ 4.

B. Second Supporting Idea (Topic Sentence):1. ____________________ 2. ____________________ 3. ____________________ 4.

C. Third Supporting Idea (Topic Sentence):1. ____________________ 2. ____________________ 3. ____________________

IV. Conclusion A. Closing statement B. Restate thesis: _______

Page 24


Short Stories

All the Years of Her LifeBy

Morley Callaghan

The drug store was beginning to close for the night. Young Alfred Higgins who worked in the store was putting on his coat, getting ready to go home. On his way out, he passed Mr. Sam Carr, the little gray hair man who owned the store. Mr. Carr looked up at Alfred as he passed and said in a very soft voice, ''Just a moment, Alfred, one moment before you go.''

Mr. Carr spoke so quietly that he worried Alfred. ''What is it, Mr. Carr?''

''Maybe you'd be good enough to take a few things out of your pockets and leave them here before you go.'' Said Mr. Carr.

''What things? What are you talking about?''

''You've got a compact and a lipstick and at least two tubes of toothpaste in your pockets, Alfred.''

''What do you mean?'' Alfred answered. ''Do you think I am crazy?'' His face got red.

Mr. Carr kept looking at Alfred, coldly. Alfred did not know what to say and tried to keep his eyes from meeting the eyes of his boss. After a few moments, he put his hand into his pockets and took out the things he had stolen.

''Petty thieving, eh, Alfred?'' said Mr. Carr. ''And maybe you'd be good enough to tell me how long this has been going on.''

''This is the first time I ever took anything.''

Mr. Carr was quick to answer, ''So now you think you tell me a lie? What kind of a fool do I look like, hah? I don't know what goes on in my own store, eh? I/ tell you, you have been doing this for a long time.'' Mr. Carr had a strange smile on his face. ''I don’t like to call the police,'' he said, ''but maybe I should call your father and let him know I'm going to have to put you in jail.''

''My father is not home, he is a printer, he works nights.''

''Who is at home?''Mr. Carr asked.

''My mother, I think.''

Page 25


Mr. Carr started to go to the phone. Alfred's fears made him raise his voice. He wanted to show he was afraid of nobody. He acted this way every time he got into trouble. This had happened many times since he left school. At such times, he always spoke in a loud voice as he did tonight.

"Just a minute!" He said to Mr. Carr. "You don't have to get anybody else into this, you don't have to tell her." Alfred tried to sound big, but deep down he was like a child. He hoped that someone at home would come quickly to save him. But Mr. Carr was already talking to his mother, he told her to come to the store in a hurry.

Alfred thought his mother would come rushing in, eyes burning with anger. Maybe she would be crying and would push him away when he tried to explain to her. She would made him feel so small. Yet he wanted her to come quickly before Mr. Carr called in a policeman.

Alfred and Mr. Carr waited but said nothing, at last they heard someone at the closed door. Mr. Carr opened it and said, "Come in, Mrs. Higgins." His face was hard and serious. Alfred's mother came in with a friendly smile on her face and put out her hand to Mr. Carr and said politely, "I am Mrs. Higgins, Alfred's mother."

Mr. Carr was surprised at the way she came in. She was very calm, quiet and friendly. "Is Alfred in trouble?" Mrs. Higgins asked.

"He is, he has been taking things from the store, little things like toothpaste and lipsticks, things he can easily sell."

Mrs. Higgins looked at her son and said sadly,"Is it so, Alfred?"

"Yes".

"Why have you been doing it?" she asked.

"I've been spending money, I believe."

"On what?"

"Going around with the boys, I guess." said Alfred.

Mrs. Higgins put out her hand and touched Mr. Carr's arm with great gentleness as if she knew just how he felt. She spoke as if she did not want to cause him any more trouble. She said, "If you will just listen to me before doing anything." Her voice was cool and she turned her head away as if she had said too much already. Then she looked again at Mr.Carr with a pleasant smile and asked, "What do you want to do, Mr.Carr?"

"I was going to get a cop. That is what I should do, call a police."

Page 26


She answered, "Yes, I think so, it's not for me to say because he is my son. Yet I sometimes think a little good advice is the best thing for a boy at certain times in his life."

Mrs. Higgins looks like a different woman to her son Alfred. There she was with a gentle smile saying, "I wonder if you don't think it would be better just to let him come home with me. He looks like a big fellow, doesn't he? Yet it takes some of them a long time to get any sense into their heads."

Mr. Carr had expected Alfred's mother to come in nervously, shaking with fear, asking with wet eyes for a mercy for he son, but no, she was most calm and pleasant and was making Mr. Carr feel guilty.

After a time, Mr. Carr was shaking his head in agreement with what she was saying. "Of course," he said, " I don't want to be cruel. I'll tell you what I'll do. Tell your son not to come back here again, and let it go at that, how is that?" And he warmly shook Mrs. Higgins's hand.

"I will never forget your kindness. Sorry we had to meet this way," said Mr. Carr. "But I'm glad I got in touch with you, just wanted to do the right thing, that is all.

"It's better to meet like this than never, isn't it?" She said.

Suddenly they held hand as if they liked each other, as if they had known each other for a long time.

"Good night, sir."

"Good night, Mrs. Higgins. I'm truly sorry."

Mother and son left. They walked along the street in silence. She took long steps and looked straight in front of her. After a time, Alfred said, "Thank God it turned out like that, never again!"

"Be quiet, don't speak to me, you have shamed me enough, have the decency to be quiet."

They reached home at last. Mrs. Higgins took off her coat and without even looking at him, she said to Alfred, "You are a bad luck. God forgive you. It is one thing after another, always has been. Why do you stand there so stupidly? go to bed."

As she went into the kitchen, she said, "Not a word about tonight to your father."

In his bedroom, Alfred heard his mother in the kitchen. There was no shame in him, just pride in his mother's strength. "She was smooth!" he said to himself. He felt he must tell her how great she was. As he got to the kitchen, he saw his mother drinking a cup of tea. He was shocked by what he saw.

Page 27


His mother's face, as she said, was a frightened, broken face. It was not the same cool, bright face he saw earlier in the drug store. As Mrs. Higgins lifted the tea cup, her hand shook. And some of the tea splashed on the table. Her lips moved nervously. She looked very old.

He watched his mother without making a sound. The picture of his mother made him want to cry. He felt his youth coming to an end. He saw all the troubles he brought his mother in her shaking hand and the deep lines of worry in her grey face. It seemed to him that this was the first time he had ever really seen his mother.

Page 28


The Lottery

ByShirley 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 26th. 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

Page 29

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shirley_Jackson

http://www.classicshorts.com/bib.html#lotry


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 part 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.

Page 30


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," Mr. 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 m'mother and me." He blinked his eyes nervously and ducked his head as several voices in the crowd said things like "Good fellow, Jack," 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?"

Page 31


"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 hands, 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."

Page 32


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 that 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, saying, "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."

Page 33


"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.

Page 34


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, nearly 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. Mrs. 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."

Page 35


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 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.

Page 36


The Cask of Amontillado By: Edgar Allen Poe

The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge. You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that I gave utterance to a threat. At length I would be avenged; this was a point definitely settled - but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved precluded1 the idea of risk. I must not only punish but punish with impunity. A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its redresser. It is equally unredressed2 when the avenger fails to make himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong.

It must be understood that neither by word nor deed had I given Fortunato cause to doubt my good will. I continued, as was my wont, to smile in his face, and he did not perceive that my smile now was at the thought of his immolation.

He had a weak point - this Fortunato - although in other regards he was a man to be respected and even feared. He prided himself on his connoisseurship in wine. Few Italians have the true virtuoso spirit. For the most part their enthusiasm is adopted to suit the time and opportunity, to practise imposture upon the British and Austrian millionaires. In painting and gemmary, Fortunato, like his countrymen, was a quack, but in the matter of old wines he was sincere. In this respect I did not differ from him materially; - I was skilful in the Italian vintages myself, and bought largely whenever I could.

It was about dusk, one evening during the supreme madness of the carnival season, that I encountered my friend. He accosted me with excessive warmth, for he had been drinking much. The man wore motley3. He had on a tight-fitting party-striped dress, and his head was surmounted by the conical cap and bells. I was so pleased to see him that I thought I should never have done wringing his hand.

I said to him - 'My dear Fortunato, you are luckily met. How remarkably well you are looking today. But I have received a pipe of what passes for Amontillado, and I have my doubts.'

'How?' said he. 'Amontillado? A pipe? Impossible! And in the middle of the carnival!'

'I have my doubts,' I replied; 'and I was silly enough to pay the full Amontillado price without consulting you in the matter. You were not to be found, and I was fearful of losing a bargain.'

'Amontillado!'

'I have my doubts.'1 prevented2 not made right3 multi-coloured fabric

Page 37


'Amontillado!'

'And I must satisfy them.'

'Amontillado!'

'As you are engaged, I am on my way to Luchresi. If any one has a critical turn it is he. He will tell me -'

'Luchresi cannot tell Amontillado from Sherry.'

'And yet some fools will have it that his taste is a match for your own.'

'Come, let us go.'

'Whither?'

'To your vaults.'

'My friend, no; I will not impose upon your good nature. I perceive you have an engagement. Luchresi -'

'I have no engagement; - come.'

'My friend, no. It is not the engagement, but the severe cold with which I perceive you are afflicted. The vaults are insufferably damp. They are encrusted with nitre4.'

'Let us go, nevertheless. The cold is merely nothing. Amontillado! You have been imposed upon. And as for Luchresi, he cannot distinguish Sherry from Amontillado.'

Thus speaking, Fortunato possessed himself of my arm; and putting on a mask of black silk and drawing a roquelaire closely about my person, I suffered him to hurry me to my palazzo.

There were no attendants at home; they had absconded to make merry in hour of the time. I had told them that I should not return until the morning, and had given them explicitly orders not to stir from the house. These orders were sufficient, I well knew, to insure their immediate disappearance, one and all, as soon as my back was turned.

I took from their sconces two flambeaux, and giving one to Fortunato, bowed him through several suites of rooms to the archway that led into the vaults. I passed down a long and winding staircase, requesting him to be cautious as he followed. We came at length to the foot of the descent, and stood together upon the damp ground of the catacombs of the Montresors.

4 a type of salt

Page 38


The gait of my friend was unsteady, and the bells upon his cap jingled as he strode.

'The pipe,' he said.

'It is farther on,' said I; 'but observe the white web-work which gleams from these cavern walls.'

He turned towards me, and looked onto my eyes with two filmy orbs that distilled the rheum of intoxication.

'Nitre?' he asked, at length.

'Nitre,' I replied. 'How long have you had that cough?'

'Ugh! ugh! ugh! - ugh! ugh! ugh! - ugh! ugh! ugh! - ugh! ugh! ugh! - ugh! ugh! ugh!' My poor friend found it impossible to reply for many minutes. 'It is nothing,' he said, at last.

'Come,' I said, with decision, 'we will go back; your health is precious. You are rich, respected, admired, beloved; you are happy, as once I was. You are a man to be missed. For me it is no matter. We will go back; you will be ill, and I cannot be responsible. Besides, there is Luchresi -'

'Enough,' he said; 'the cough is a mere nothing; it will not kill me. I shall not die of a cough.'

'True - true,' I replied; 'and, indeed, I had no intention of alarming you unnecessarily - but you should use all proper caution. A draught of this Medoc will defend us from the damps.'

Here I knocked off the neck of a bottle which I drew from a long row of its fellows that lay upon the mould.

'Drink,' I said, presenting him the wine.

'He raised it to his lips with a leer. He paused and nodded to me familiarly, while his bells jingled.

'I drink,' he said, 'to the buried that repose around us.'

'And I to your long life'

He again took my arm, and we proceeded.

'These vaults,' he said, 'are extensive.'

Page 39


'The Montresors,' I replied, 'were a great and numerous family.'

'I forget your arms.'

'A huge human foot d'or, in a field azure; the foot crushes a serpent rampant whose fangs are imbedded in the heel.'

'And the motto?'

'Nemo me impune lacessit.5'

'Good!' he said.

'The wine sparkled in his eyes and the bells jingled. My own fancy grew warm with the Medoc. We had passed through long walls of piled skeletons, with casks and puncheons intermingling, into the inmost recesses of the catacombs. I paused again, and this time I made bold to seize Fortunato by an arm above the elbow.

'The nitre!' I said; 'see, it increases. It hangs like moss upon the vaults. We are below the river's bed. The drops of moisture trickle among the bones. Come, we will go back ere it is too late. Your cough -'

'It is nothing,' he said; 'let us go on. But first, another draught of the Medoc.'

I broke and reached him a flagon of De Grave. He emptied it at a breath. His eyes flashed with a fierce light. He laughed and threw the bottle upwards with a gesticulation I did not understand.

I looked at him in surprise. He repeated the movement - a grotesque one.

'You do not comprehend?' he said.

'Not I,' I replied.

'Then you are not of the brotherhood.'

'How?'

'You are not of the masons.'

'Yes, yes,' I said; 'yes, yes.'

'You? Impossible! A mason?'

'A mason,' I replied.

5 No one provokes me with impunity.

Page 40


'A sign,' he said, 'a sign'

'It is this,' I answered, producing from beneath the folds of my roquelaire a trowel.

'You jest,' he exclaimed, recoiling a few paces. 'But let us proceed to the Amontillado.'

'Be it so,' I said, replacing the tool beneath the cloak and again offering him my arm. He leaned upon it heavily. We continued our route in search of the Amontillado. We passed through a range of low arches, descended, passed on, and descending again, arrived at a deep crypt, in which the foulness of the air caused our flambeaux rather to glow than flame.

At the most remote end of the crypt there appeared another less spacious. Its walls had been lined with human remains, piled to the vault overhead, in the fashion of the great catacombs of Paris. Three sides of this interior crypt were still ornamented in this manner. From the fourth side the bones had been thrown down, and lay promiscuously upon the earth, forming at one point a mound of some size. Within the wall thus exposed by the displacing of the bones, we perceived a still interior crypt or recess, in depth about four feet, in width three, in height six or seven. It seemed to have been constructed for no especial use within itself, but formed merely the interval between two of the colossal supports of the roof of the catacombs, and was backed by one of their circumscribing walls of solid granite.

It was in vain that Fortunato, uplifting his full torch, endeavoured to pry into the depth of the recess. Its termination the feeble light did not enable us to see.

'Proceed,' I said; 'herein is the Amontillado. As for Luchresi -'

'He is an ignoramus,' interrupted my friend, as he stepped unsteadily forward, while I followed immediately at his heels. In an instant he had reached the extremity of the niche, and finding his progress arrested by the rock, stood stupidly bewildered. A moment more and I had fettered him to the granite. In its surface were two iron staples, distant from each other about two feet, horizontally. From one of these depended a short chain, from the other a padlock. Throwing the links about his waist, it was but the work of a few seconds to secure it. He was too much astounded to resist. Withdrawing the key I stepped back from the recess.

'Pass your hand,' I said, 'over the wall; you cannot help feeling the nitre. Indeed, it is very damp. Once more let me implore you to return. No? Then I must positively leave you. But I must first render you all the little attentions in my power.'

'The Amontillado!' ejaculated my friend, not yet recovered from his astonishment.

'True,' I replied; 'the Amontillado.'

Page 41


As I said these words I busied myself among the pile of bones of which I have before spoken. Throwing them aside, I soon uncovered a quantity of building stone and mortar. With these materials and with the aid of my trowel, I began vigorously to wall up the entrance of the niche.

I had scarcely laid the first tier of the masonry when I discovered that the intoxication of Fortunato had in a great measure worn off. The earliest indication I had of this was a low moaning cry from the depth of the recess. It was not the cry of a drunken man. There was then a long and obstinate silence. I laid the second tier, and the third, and the fourth; and then I heard the furious vibrations of the chain. The nose lasted for several minutes, during which, that I might hearken to it with the more satisfaction, I ceased my labours and sat down upon the bones. When at last the clanking subsided, I resumed the trowel, and finished without interruption the fifth, the sixth, and the seventh tier. The wall was now nearly upon a level with my breast. I again paused, and holding the flambeaux over the mason-work, threw a few feeble rays upon the figure within.

A succession of loud and shrill screams, bursting suddenly from the throat of the chained form, seemed to thrust me violently back. For a brief moment I hesitated, I trembled. Unsheathing my rapier, I began to grope with it about the recess; but the thought of an instant reassured me. I placed my hand upon the solid fabric of the catacombs, and felt satisfied. I re-approached the wall; I replied to the yells of him who clamoured. I re-echoed, I aided, I surpassed them in volume and in strength. I did this, and the clamourer grew still.

It was now midnight, and my task was drawing to a close. I had completed the eighth, the ninth and the tenth tier. I had finished a portion of the last and the eleventh; there remained but a single stone to be fitted and plastered in. I struggled with its weight; I paced it partially in its destined position. But now there came from out the niche a low laugh that erected the hairs upon my head. It was succeeded by a sad voice, which I had difficulty in recognising as that of the noble Fortunato. The voice said –

'Ha! ha! ha! - he! he! he! - a very good joke, indeed - and excellent jest. We will have many a rich laugh about it at the palazzo - he! he! he! - over our wine - he! he! he!'

'The Amontillado!' I said.

'He! he! he! - he! he! he! - yes, the Amontillado. But is it not getting late? Will not they be awaiting us at the palazzo, the Lady Fortunato and the rest? Let us be gone.

'Yes,' I said, 'let us be gone.'

'For the love of God, Montresor!'

Page 42


But to these words I hearkened in vain for a reply. I grew impatient. I called aloud -

'Fortunato!'

No answer. I called again – 'Fortunato!'

No answer still. I thrust a torch through the remaining aperture6 and let it fall within. There came forth in return only jingling of the bells. My heart grew sick; it was the dampness of the catacombs that made it so. I hastened to make an end of my labour. I forced the last stone into its position; I plastered it up. Against the new masonry I re-erected the old rampart of bones. Of the half of a century no mortal had disturbed them. In pace requiescat7!

6 An opening or gap7 Rest in peace.

Page 43

Documents

joansavoie.weebly.comjoansavoie.weebly.com/uploads/6/0/6/3/60634115/unit_1... · Web viewWhen you write your character analysis you should use some of the quotations in the charts