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LaunchPad Solo for Readers and Writers macmillanlearning.com/readwrite

Succeed at your own pace. LaunchPad Solo for Readers and Writers is a topic-based solution to reading, writing, and grammar skills practice. You can learn at your own pace, outside of the pressures of the classroom, with instruction tailored to your unique needs. LaunchPad Solo for Readers and Writers features the following: Units that support a learning arc. Each unit includes a quick pretest check, multimedia instruction and assessment, and a post-test that confirms what you have learned about critical reading, writing process, using sources, grammar, style, mechanics, and issues for multilingual writers. A video introduction to important topics. Introductions offer an overview of the unit’s topic, and many include a brief, accessible video to illustrate the concepts at hand. Adaptive quizzing for targeted learning. Most units include LearningCurve, game-like adaptive quizzing that focuses on the areas where you need the most help. Diagnostic tests to uncover your baseline skills and measure improvement. Target which skills you want to work on with these quick pre- and post-tests that cover sentence grammar; punctuation, style, and mechanics; reading skills; and reading strategies. Comparison reports for each test help you track your improvement.

Purchase access online at macmillanhighered.com/launchpadsolo/readwrite.

2

Methods for Achieving Your Purpose in Writing The Brief Bedford Reader centers on common ways of thinking and writing about all kinds of subjects, from everyday experiences to public policies to scientific theories. Whatever your purpose in writing, one or more of these ways of thinking — or methods of development — can help you discover and shape your ideas in individual paragraphs or entire papers. The following list connects various purposes you may have for writing and the methods for achieving those purposes. The blue boxes along the right edge of the page correspond to tabs on later pages where each method is explained. PURPOSE

METHOD

To tell a story about your subject, possibly to

Narration

enlighten readers or to explain something to them To help readers understand your subject through the evidence of their senses — sight, hearing, touch,

Description

smell, taste To explain your subject with instances that show

Example

readers its nature or character To explain or evaluate your subject by helping readers see the similarities and differences between

Comparison and Contrast

it and another subject To inform readers how to do something or how something works — how a sequence of actions

Process Analysis

leads to a particular result To explain a conclusion about your subject by

Division or Analysis

showing readers the subject’s parts or elements To help readers see order in your subject by understanding the kinds or groups it can be sorted

Classification

into To tell readers the reasons for or consequences of

Cause and Effect

your subject, explaining why or what if To show readers the meaning of your subject — its

Definition

boundaries and its distinctions from other subjects 3

To have readers consider your opinion about your Argument and Persuasion

subject or your proposal for it

4

this page left intentionally blank

5

THE BRIEF BEDFORD READER Thirteenth Edition X. J. Kennedy Dorothy M. Kennedy Jane E. Aaron Ellen Kuhl Repetto

6

FOR BEDFORD/ST. MARTIN’S Vice President, Editorial, Macmillan Learning Humanities: Edwin Hill Editorial Director, English: Karen S. Henry Senior Publisher for Composition, Business and Technical Writing, Developmental Writing: Leasa Burton Executive Editor: John E. Sullivan III Developmental Editor: Sherry Mooney Production Editor: Louis C. Bruno Jr. Media Producer: Rand Thomas Publishing Services Manager: Andrea Cava Senior Production Supervisor: Jennifer Wetzel Executive Marketing Manager: Joy Fisher Williams Assistant Editor: Jennifer Prince Project Management: Jouve Senior Photo Editor: Martha Friedman Photo Researcher: Julie Tesser Permissions Editor: Kalina Ingham Senior Art Director: Anna Palchik Text Design: Anna Palchik, Dorothy Bungert/EriBen Graphics, and Jean Hammond Cover Design: William Boardman Cover Image: Dariush M / Shutterstock Composition: Jouve Printing and Binding: LSC Communications Copyright © 2017, 2014, 2012, 2009 by Bedford/St. Martin’s

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, except as may be expressly permitted by the applicable copyright statutes or in writing by the Publisher. Manufactured in the United States of America. 1 0 9 8 7 6 f e d c b a For information, write: Bedford/St. Martin’s, 75 Arlington Street, Boston, MA 02116 (617-399-4000) ISBN 978-1-319-07423-4

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Text acknowledgments and copyrights appear at the back of the book on pages 559–61, which constitute an extension of the copyright page. Art acknowledgments and copyrights appear on the same pages as the art selections they cover.

7

PREFACE FOR INSTRUCTORS

“A writer” says Saul Bellow, “is a reader moved to emulate.” In a nutshell, the aim of The Brief Bedford Reader is to move students to be writers, through reading and emulating the good writing of others. Like its popular predecessors, this thirteenth edition pursues that aim both rhetorically and thematically. We present the rhetorical methods realistically, as we ourselves use them — as instinctive forms that assist invention and fruition and as flexible forms that mix easily for any purpose a writer may have. Further, we make numerous thematic connections among selections, both to spark students’ interest in reading and to show how different writers tackle similar subjects with unique results. Filling in this outline is a wealth of features, new and enduring.

8

NEW FEATURES ENGAGING NEW READINGS BY REMARKABLE WRITERS As always, we have been enthralled with freshening the book’s selections. In searching for essays academic yet lively, we discovered exceptional rhetorical models that will, we trust, also capture students’ interest. The twenty-eight new selections include classic pieces by writers such as N. Scott Momaday and Joan Didion; recent works by established favorites such as Diane Ackerman, Bruce Catton, and Annie Lamott, and contemporary voices such as Issa Rae, Brian Doyle, and Colson Whitehead. FOCUS ON STUDENT WORK The Brief Bedford Reader now features more student writing than any other textbook of its kind. Twentyfour models of exemplary college work (ten of them new to this edition) include samples of a student’s critical reading and response; ten annotated examples of student writing in academic genres such as lab reports, field observations, and policy proposals; eleven essays given the same treatment as the professional writing; and two new annotatated research papers. A GREATER EMPHASIS ON THE CONNECTION BETWEEN READING AND WRITING More than ever, The Brief Bedford Reader demonstrates that critical reading and academic writing are related processes that naturally inform and build off each other. At the request of instructors who use the book, we have thoroughly revised and reorganized the material on academic reading and writing in Part One, with increased attention throughout the text to writing in response to sources, whether one or many. A stronger focus on reading to write. Offering more guidance on active and critical reading than any other rhetorical reader, we stress the interconnectedness of reading and writing in Chapter 1, with a clearer overview of annotating texts and a new discussion of writing in response as a component of critical thinking. Expanded coverage of key writing topics. Chapter 2 now examines the writing situation in more detail, clarifying the distinctions between writing to reflect, entertain, explain, or persuade, and explaining how an awareness of purpose and audience influences a writer’s choices. Placing fresh emphasis on supporting a thesis with ideas gleaned from reading, the chapter also features a newly integrated discussion of synthesizing evidence, with multiple examples of acceptable and unacceptable summaries, paraphrases, and quotations. Examples of writing that responds to reading. In addition to the essay-in-progress that concludes Chapter 2, The Brief Bedford Reader for the first time features multiple student and professional essays that respond, directly or indirectly, to other works in the book. Student writer Rachel O’Connor, for instance, shares her critical reading of Shirley Jackson’s “The Lottery,” and composition instructor Barbara B. Parsons offers a rhetorical analysis of Brent Staples’s “Black Men and Public Space.” Janelle Asselin makes a point-bypoint rebuttal of an argument presented by Chuck Dixon and Paul Rivoche, while Jon Overton counters Brianne Richson’s call for trigger warnings on syllabi. And Luis Alberto Urrea, in “Barrio Walden,” reveals how he was influenced by the writings of Henry David Thoreau, “What I Lived For” in particular.

9

A new Appendix, “Finding and Documenting Sources,” gathers the details on research and source citation where students are most likely to look for guidance. Freshened guidelines emphasize asking questions, finding and evaluating sources, creating annotated bibliographies, and avoiding plagiarism; and updated help with documenting sources reflects the most recent versions of both MLA style and APA style, offering dozens of current models and new annotated student essays for each. Ten additional examples of documented writing are spread throughout the book. A FRESH TAKE ON THE WRITERS’ COMMENTS ON WRITING After their essays, more than half of the book’s writers offer comments on everything from reading to grammar to how they developed the particular piece we reprint. Besides providing rock-solid advice, these comments — eighteen of them new — prove that for the pros, too, writing is usually a challenge. New notes following the comments highlight the writers’ key points, telling students where in the book they can find additional resources and suggesting how they might apply the insights to their own work. For easy access, the “Writers on Writing” commentaries are listed in a new Directory under the topics they address. Look up Revision, for instance, and find that Junot Díaz, Shirley Jackson, Anne Lamott, and Colson Whitehead, among others, have something to say about this crucial stage of the writing process.

10

TRADEMARK FEATURES EXCELLENT SELECTIONS BY WELL-KNOWN AUTHORS All of them models of exceptional writing, the essays in The Brief Bedford Reader vary in authorship, topic, even length and format. We offer clear and interesting applications of the methods of development by noted writers such as Anna Quindlen, Brent Staples, Amy Tan, and David Sedaris. Half the selections are by women, and a third touch on cultural diversity. They range in subject from family to science, from language to psychology, from food to politics. EXTENSIVE THEMATIC CONNECTIONS The Brief Bedford Reader provides substantial opportunities for topical class discussion and writing. A pair of essays in each chapter addresses the same subject, from the ordinary (embarrassment) to the controversial (privilege). Eight of those pairings are new, and the thoroughly refreshed chapter on argument now includes one new essay pair and a new casebook. At least one “Connections” writing topic after every selection suggests links to other selections in the book. And an alternate table of contents arranges the book’s selections under more than three dozen topics and academic disciplines (nine new). REALISTIC TREATMENT OF THE RHETORICAL METHODS The Brief Bedford Reader treats the methods of development not as empty forms but as tools for inventing, for shaping, and, ultimately, for accomplishing a purpose. A practical guide. The chapters on reading and writing in Part One and the introductions to the rhetorical methods in Part Two are simple and clear, with many explanations and suggestions distilled into bulleted lists and boxed guidelines so that students can easily follow and use the book’s advice on their own. Each chapter introduction links the method to the range of purposes it can serve and gives step-by-step guidance for writing and revising. (For quick reference, the purpose/method links also appear inside the front cover, where they are keyed to the marginal page tabs that appear in each chapter introduction.) A “Focus” box in every rhetorical chapter highlights an element of writing that is especially relevant to that method — for example, verbs in narration, concrete words in description, parallelism in comparison and contrast, and tone in argument and persuasion. To show these elements in context, most selections include a question about them. Annotated examples of a textbook passage and a college writing assignment end each chapter introduction to demonstrate academic applications of the methods across the disciplines. An emphasis on mixing the methods takes the realistic approach even further. We show how writers freely combine methods to achieve their purposes: Each rhetorical introduction discusses how that method might work with others, and at least one “Other Methods” question after every selection helps students analyze how methods work together. Most significantly, Part Three provides an anthology of works by celebrated writers that specifically illustrate mixed methods. The headnotes for these selections point to where each method comes into play. ABUNDANT EDITORIAL APPARATUS 11

As always, we’ve surrounded the selections with a wealth of material designed to get students reading, thinking, and writing. To help structure students’ critical approach to the selections, each one is preceded by a headnote on the author and one on the selection itself, which outlines the selection’s cultural and historical contexts. Each selection is followed by sets of questions on meaning, writing strategy, and language and at least five writing suggestions. One writing suggestion encourages students to explore their responses in their journals; another suggests how to develop the journal writing into an essay; and others emphasize critical writing, research, and connections among selections. Besides the aids provided with every selection, the book also includes additional writing topics at the end of every rhetorical chapter (with several new suggestions in each), a Glossary of Useful Terms that defines key terms used in the book (all those printed in SMALL CAPITAL LETTERS), and a comprehensive index that alphabetizes not only authors and titles but also all important topics (including the elements of composition). ATTENTION TO GENRE The Brief Bedford Reader is still the only rhetorical reader to show students how they can apply the methods of development to various genres of writing. Integrated discussions throughout Part One introduce students to the concept of genre and help them understand how purpose, audience, and convention affect a writer’s choices. And in each rhetorical chapter in Part Two, an annotated sample of a student-written document demonstrates a specific application of method to genre, with brief guidelines for writing different kinds of projects. Three of these documents — a criminal justice report, a critical reading of literature, and a policy proposal — are new to this edition. ENGAGING VISUAL DIMENSION The Brief Bedford Reader emphasizes the visual as well as the verbal. Chapter 1, on reading, provides a short course in thinking critically about images, with a photograph serving as a case study. Each rhetorical chapter then opens with a striking image — an ad, a photograph, a drawing — (a third of them new) with accompanying text and questions to invite students’ own critical reading and show how the rhetorical methods work visually. Finally, several of the book’s selections either take images as their starting points or use illustrations to explain or highlight key ideas. EXTENSIVE INSTRUCTOR’S MANUAL Available as a separate manual, online on the book page at macmillanlearning.com, or bound into the instructor’s edition, Notes and Resources for Teaching The Brief Bedford Reader suggests ways to integrate journaling and collaboration into writing classes; discusses uses for the book’s chapters on critical reading, academic writing, and research and documentation; and provides tips on using visuals and multimedia selections in a writing course. In addition, Notes and Resources discusses every method, every selection (with new multimedia resource suggestions and with possible answers provided for all questions), and every “Writers on Writing” feature. TWO VERSIONS The Brief Bedford Reader has a sibling. A longer edition, The Bedford Reader, features sixty-eight essays 12

instead of fifty, including eight selections (rather than four) in Part Three.

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ADDITIONAL RESOURCES Bedford/St. Martin’s offers multiple resources that can help you and your students get even more out of The Brief Bedford Reader and your course. To learn more about or to order any of the following products at a significant discount, contact your Bedford/St. Martin’s sales representative or visit macmillanlearning.com. E-BOOK OPTION The Brief Bedford Reader is also available as an e-book. For details, visit macmillanlearning.com/ebooks. LAUNCHPAD SOLO FOR READERS AND WRITERS Offering instruction tailored to individual students’ unique needs, LaunchPad Solo for Readers and Writers features several innovative digital tools. Reading comprehension quizzes for every selection in The Brief Bedford Reader. Pre-built units that support a learning arc. Each unit includes a pre-test, multimedia instruction and assessment, help for multilingual writers, and a post-test that assesses what students have learned about critical reading, the writing process, using sources, grammar, style, and mechanics. Video introductions offer overviews of many unit topics and illustrate the concepts at hand. Adaptive quizzing for targeted learning. Most units include LearningCurve, game-like quizzing that focuses on the areas in which each student needs the most help. The ability to monitor student progress. Instructors can use the Gradebook to see which students are on track and which need additional help. Order ISBN 978-1-319-09777-6 to package LaunchPad Solo for Readers and Writers with The Brief Bedford Reader, or visit macmillanlearning.com/catalog/readwrite for more information. WRITER’S HELP 2.0 Built on research with more than 1,600 student writers, this online writing resource helps students find answers whether they are searching for advice on their own or as part of an assignment. The smart search feature leads to trusted content from best-selling handbooks, even when students use novice terms such as flow and getting unstuck. And Writer’s Help 2.0 includes LearningCurve, game-like quizzing that adapts to what students already know and helps them focus on what they need to learn, as well as reading comprehension quizzes for every essay in The Brief Bedford Reader. Order ISBN 978-1-319-09776-9 to package Writer’s Help 2.0, Hacker Version, or ISBN 978-1-31909778-3 for Writer’s Help 2.0, Lunsford Version, with The Brief Bedford Reader; students who rent or buy a used book can purchase access at macmillanlearning.com/writershelp2. Instructor access is free. For technical support, visit macmillanlearning.com/getsupport. PORTFOLIOS The third edition of Portfolio Keeping, by Nedra Reynolds and Elizabeth Davis, provides all the information students need to use the portfolio method successfully in a writing course. Portfolio Teaching, a companion guide for instructors, provides practical support for you and your writing-program administrator. 14

Contact your sales representative for a package ISBN. JOIN OUR COMMUNITY! The Macmillan English Community is now the home for all Bedford/St. Martin’s professional resources, featuring Bedford Bits, a popular blog site offering new ideas for the composition classroom and composition teachers. Connect and converse with a growing team of Bedford authors and top scholars who blog on Bits: Andrea Lunsford, Nancy Sommers, Steve Bernhardt, Traci Gardner, Barclay Barrios, Jack Solomon, Susan Bernstein, Elizabeth Wardle, Doug Downs, Liz Losh, Jonathan Alexander, and Donna Winchell. In addition, you’ll find an expanding collection of additional resources that support your teaching. Download titles from the publisher’s professional resource series to support your teaching, review projects in the pipeline, sign up for professional development webinars, start a discussion, ask a question, and follow your favorite members. Visit community.macmillan.com to join the conversation.

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Hundreds of teachers and students over the years have helped us shape The Brief Bedford Reader. For this edition, the following teachers offered insights from their experiences that encouraged worthy changes: Mary Jane Atkins, Pierce Collegel; Richard Birk, North Central State College; Mary Bradley, Eastern Florida State College; Jessica Dennis, Tiffin University; Christina Devlin, Montgomery College; Kathryn Erickson, Eastern Florida State College; Cynthia Fillmore, Grossmont College; Donna French, Valencia College; Krystal Hering, Des Moines Area Community College; Debra Lee, Nash Community College; Crystal Manboard, Northwest Vista College; Ami Massengill, Nashville State Community College-Cookeville Campus; Todd McCann, Bay de Noc Community College; Mary Nolan-Coffman, Santa Moncia College; Lauren Rice, Des Moines Area Community College; Michael Rudd, Springfield Technical Community College; Madelyn Troxclair, Seattle Central College. We are as ever deeply in debt to the creative people at and around Bedford/St. Martin’s. Leasa Burton, Steve Scipione, John Sullivan, Maura Shea, and Karen Henry contributed insight and support. Sherry Mooney, developing the book, was an invaluable collaborator: She helped to plan and implement the revisions and new features, hunted for readings, researched and drafted some of the apparatus, and calmly steered the ship through unexpected storms. Jennifer Prince ably assisted, especially in reaching out to student writers and coordinating the inclusion of their essays. William Boardman created the refreshing new cover. Louis Bruno planned and oversaw the production of the book. And Kevin Bradley, with remarkable patience and flexibility, transformed the raw manuscript into the book you hold.

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CONTENTS

iii

PREFACE FOR INSTRUCTORS

xxv

CONTENTS BY THEME AND DISCIPLINE

HOW (AND WHY) TO USE THIS BOOK THE SELECTIONS

1

1

Essays • Student examples • Visuals THE METHODS OF DEVELOPMENT THE PRACTICAL GUIDANCE

3

3

Overviews of reading, writing, and research • Reading questions and writing prompts • Glossary and index THE WRITERS ON WRITING

5

PART ONE

ACADEMIC READING AND WRITING 1 CRITICAL READING

7

9

READING ACTIVELY

10

Previewing • Annotating NANCY MAIRS

Disability (annotated essay)

A writer with multiple sclerosis thinks she knows why the media carry so few images of people like herself with disabilities: Viewers might conclude, correctly, that “there is something ordinary about disability itself.” DEVELOPING AN UNDERSTANDING Summarizing • Thinking critically Checklist for critical reading ANALYZING ESSAYS

17 18

Meaning • Writing strategy • Language Questions for analyzing an essay

18 17

15

12

EXAMINING VISUAL IMAGES Questions for examining an image

22

23

Visual Image: Man Fishing by a Power Plant, photograph by Robin Nelson

24

Seeing the big picture • Taking a critical look READING TO WRITE

26

Building knowledge • Forming a response

2 THE WRITING PROCESS

29

ASSESSING THE WRITING SITUATION

30

Subject • Audience • Purpose • Genre DISCOVERING IDEAS

32

Keeping a journal • Freewriting • Exploring the methods of development DRAFTING

34

Focusing on a thesis • Supporting the thesis • Shaping the introduction and conclusion REVISING

39

Purpose and genre • Thesis • Unity • Development • Coherence Questions for revision

40

INTEGRATING READING

42

Exercising caution • Summarizing, paraphrasing, and quoting • Synthesizing ideas EDITING

47

Effective language • Clear and engaging sentences • Common errors Questions for editing

47

AN ESSAY-IN-PROGRESS

53

Discovering ideas and drafting • Revising • Editing • Final draft ROSIE ANAYA

Mental Illness on Television (annotated student essay)

59

Inspired by reading Nancy Mairs’s “Disability” (Chap. 1), a student writer argues that television should “portray psychological disability as a part of everyday life, not a crime.”

PART TWO

THE METHODS

61

3 NARRATION: Telling a Story

63

Visual Image: Proposal, drawing by Demetri Martin THE METHOD

64

THE PROCESS

64

Purpose and shape • The thesis • The narrator in the story • What to emphasize • Organization

18

Focus on verbs

69

Checklist for revising a narrative

70

NARRATION IN ACADEMIC WRITING

70

A geology textbook • A police log for criminal justice Scott Beltran from Ride-Along Report (annotated student writing)

72

PAIRED SELECTIONS

EMBARRASSMENT AMY TAN

Fish Cheeks

74

The writer recalls her teenage angst when the minister and his cute blond son attended her family’s Christmas Eve dinner, an elaborate Chinese feast. NAOMI SHIHAB NYE

Museum

78

Newly arrived in San Antonio, a pair of friends thought they were visiting an art exhibit. Their mistake was nothing short of mortifying. Naomi Shihab Nye on Writing

82

JUNOT DÍAZ

The Dreamer

84

A proud son looks back on a stunning act of defiance in the Dominican Republic, the “brutalized backbone of our world.” Junot Díaz on Writing

88

SHIRLEY JACKSON

The Lottery

90

Tension builds imperceptibly in this classic short story as folks gather for their town’s annual lottery. “It isn’t fair, it isn’t right,” exclaims the winner. ADDITIONAL WRITING TOPICS

100

4 DESCRIPTION: Writing with Your Senses

102

Visual Image: Doug and Mizan’s House, East River, photograph by Margaret Morton THE METHOD

104

THE PROCESS

105

Purpose and audience • Dominant impression and thesis • Organization • Details Focus on specific and concrete language Checklist for revising a description

108

108

DESCRIPTION IN ACADEMIC WRITING

109

An art history textbook • A field observation in child development Nick Fiorelli from Teaching Methodologies at Child’s Play Preschool (annotated student 19

writing)

110

PAIRED SELECTIONS

FAMILY BRAD MANNING

Arm Wrestling with My Father (student essay)

111

In the time it takes for a strong arm to fall, a college student learns that becoming an adult has changed the way he feels about his father and their physical competition. Brad Manning on Writing

117

N. SCOTT MOMADAY

The Way to Rainy Mountain

119

On a trek to his grandmother’s grave, a Kiowa writer revisits the landscapes of his ancestry.

DIANE ACKERMAN

Black Marble

127

Mixing wonder and optimism, a naturalist describes the planet Earth as seen from outer space at night. SVEN BIRKERTS

Ladder

133

Did he know he had a fear of heights when he took a job as a housepainter? With charm and humility, a literary critic portrays how it feels to be scared almost to death. ADDITIONAL WRITING TOPICS

5 EXAMPLE: Pointing to Instances

139

140

Visual Image: Low-Energy Drinks, cartoon by Glen Le Lievre THE METHOD

142

THE PROCESS

143

The generalization and the thesis • The examples Focus on sentence variety

144

Checklist for revising an example essay

145

EXAMPLES IN ACADEMIC WRITING

146

An economics textbook • A job-application letter Kharron Reid Letter to E-line Systems (annotated student writing)

147

PAIRED SELECTIONS

MISPERCEPTIONS BRENT STAPLES

Black Men and Public Space

In near-deserted streets at night, an African American writer finds that women flee from him. Relating case histories, he tells what he has discovered about his “ability to alter public space.” 20

148

Brent Staples on Writing

152

ISSA RAE

The Struggle

155

A comedian and Web producer recounts some unsettling situations of being “not black enough” for anybody, including herself.

BRIAN DOYLE

A Note on Mascots

160

What do college sports teams have to do with the natural environment? The author’s answer may surprise you. ANNA QUINDLEN

Homeless

164

A journalist who confesses an aversion for “looking at the big picture, taking the global view,” insists on seeing homelessness as an individual crisis. Anna Quindlen on Writing

167

ADDITIONAL WRITING TOPICS

169

6 COMPARISON AND CONTRAST: Setting Things Side by Side

170

Visual Image: Excerpt from Fun Home, graphic memoir by Alison Bechdel THE METHOD

172

Uses of comparison and contrast • Purposes THE PROCESS

173

Subjects for comparison • Basis for comparison and thesis • Organization • Balance and flexibility Focus on parallelism

176

Checklist for revising a comparison-and-contrast essay

177

COMPARISON AND CONTRAST IN ACADEMIC WRITING

178

A communications textbook • A review of popular music Charlotte Pak from Beyoncé Knowles: Soloist (annotated student writing)

179

PAIRED SELECTIONS

UPBRINGINGS DAVID SEDARIS

Remembering My Childhood on the Continent of Africa

180

A beloved essayist complains about his “unspeakably dull” childhood, when he might have grown up like his partner, Hugh, amid monkeys and machete-wielding guards. ANDREA ROMAN

“We’re Not …” (student essay)

187

An American-born daughter of Bolivian immigrants reflects on the conflicting cultures in which she 21

was raised. Both, she discovers, shape her identity and fill her with pride. Andrea Roman on Writing

191

BRUCE CATTON

Grant and Lee: A Study in Contrasts

193

The great Civil War generals Ulysses S. Grant and Robert E. Lee clearly personified their opposing traditions. But what they had in common was more vital by far. ALAIN DE BOTTON

Tragedy

199

This popular philosopher considers the uncanny similarities between the tabloid news of today and the Greek dramas of ancient history. Visual Images: A Man Drives into His Family Home to Punish His Wife, video still by BBC News; Medea Kills Her Son to Punish Her Husband, painted vase by unknown artist Alain de Botton on Writing

208

ADDITIONAL WRITING TOPICS

209

7 PROCESS ANALYSIS: Explaining Step by Step

210

Visual Image: Workers Making Dolls, photograph by Wally McNamee THE METHOD

212

THE PROCESS

213

Focus on consistency

216

Checklist for revising a process analysis

217

PROCESS ANALYSIS IN ACADEMIC WRITING

217

A psychology textbook • A chemistry lab report Victor Khoury from DNA Extraction (annotated student writing)

218

PAIRED SELECTIONS

WRITING ANNE LAMOTT

The Crummy First Draft

220

For those who struggle with writer’s block, this writer recommends quieting their inner voices and just getting words down, no matter how terrible the effort. KOJI FRAHM

How to Write an A Paper (student essay)

226

“Be nebulous. Scratch that, be amphibological.” With tongue firmly in cheek, a college student offers writing tips for his peers. Koji Frahm on Writing

231

22

FIROOZEH DUMAS

Sweet, Sour, and Resentful

233

A well-known humorist tries to understand why her mother endured “the same draining routine week after week” to prepare traditional Iranian menus for dozens of houseguests she barely knew. Firoozeh Dumas on Writing

237

JESSICA MITFORD

Behind the Formaldehyde Curtain

239

With sardonic wit, the writer, whom Time called “Queen of the Muckrakers,” details the stages through which a sallow corpse becomes a masterwork of mortuary art. Jessica Mitford on Writing

248

ADDITIONAL WRITING TOPICS

250

8 DIVISION OR ANALYSIS: Slicing into Parts

252

Visual Image: Deconstructing Lunch, cartoon by Roz Chast THE METHOD

254

Kinds of division or analysis • Analysis and critical thinking THE PROCESS

255

Subject and purpose • Principle of analysis and thesis • Evidence Focus on paragraph coherence

257

Checklist for revising a division or analysis essay

258

DIVISION OR ANALYSIS IN ACADEMIC WRITING

259

A political science textbook • A critical reading of literature Rachel O’Connor from A Question of Fairness: “The Lottery” as Social Commentary (annotated student writing)

260

PAIRED SELECTIONS

PHOTOGRAPHY JUDITH ORTIZ COFER

The Cruel Country

262

Reeling from loss, a Puerto Rican native draws on academic theory to make sense of a strangely affecting snapshot. Judith Ortiz Cofer on Writing

LAILA AYAD

265

The Capricious Camera (documented student essay)

A German photograph from the time of World War II prompts a student writer to connect the subject’s story to the larger narrative of Nazi racial experiments. Visual Image: Mounted Nazi Troops on the Lookout for Likely Polish Children, photograph

23

267

ROBERT LIPSYTE

Jock Culture

276

Considering social pressures to compete in every aspect of life, a sports writer cautions that athletic obsession with “masculinity and power” handicaps us all. GUILLERMO DEL TORO Vampires Never Die

282

AND CHUCK HOGAN

What gives an ancient legend the power to infiltrate contemporary popular culture? A filmmaker and a novelist, coauthors of a best-selling vampire trilogy, have a theory. Guillermo del Toro and Chuck Hogan on Writing

287

ADDITIONAL WRITING TOPICS

289

9 CLASSIFICATION: Sorting into Kinds

290

Visual Image: How the Poor, the Middle Class, and the Rich Spend Their Money, table by National Public Radio THE METHOD

292

Subjects and reasons for classification • Kinds of classification THE PROCESS

293

Purposes and theses • Categories Focus on paragraph development

295

Checklist for revising a classification

296

CLASSIFICATION IN ACADEMIC WRITING

296

An anthropology textbook • A computer science résumé Kharron Reid Résumé (annotated student writing)

298

PAIRED SELECTIONS

FAILURES TO COMMUNICATE DEBORAH TANNEN

But What Do You Mean?

299

Sometimes an apology is not an apology, observes an expert on communication. Men and women would get along better, she says, if they understood each other’s codes of speech. Deborah Tannen on Writing

WILLIAM LUTZ

307

The World of Doublespeak

309

“Pavement deficiencies” (potholes) and “a career alternative placement program” (a layoff of workers) are but two expressions that conceal unpleasant truths. An expert in such doublespeak explains the types and their effects. William Lutz on Writing

317

24

RUSSELL BAKER

The Plot against People

319

The goal of inanimate objects, declares this renowned humorist, is nothing short of the destruction of the human race. JEAN-PIERRE DE BEER

Stars of Life (documented student essay)

323

Could there be life on other planets? A student writer investigates the possibilities for colonizing space. ADDITIONAL WRITING TOPICS

10 CAUSE AND EFFECT: Asking Why

328 330

Visual Image: Wild Weather, bar graph from National Geographic THE METHOD

332

THE PROCESS

333

Subject and purpose • Thesis • Causal relations • Discovery of causes • Educated guesses Focus on clarity and conciseness

336

Checklist for revising a cause-and-effect essay

337

CAUSE AND EFFECT IN ACADEMIC WRITING

337

A history textbook • A letter to the sports editor Kate Krueger Letter to the Weekly (annotated student writing)

339

PAIRED SELECTIONS

GLOBALIZATION CHITRA DIVAKARUNI

Live Free and Starve

340

Forcing developing countries to stop child labor might not be the cure-all it seems. The children themselves, asserts this writer, could suffer fates worse than working. Chitra Divakaruni on Writing

MARIE JAVDANI

344

Plata o Plomo: Silver or Lead (documented student essay)

345

Americans who use illegal drugs harm more than just themselves, argues a student writer in this carefully researched essay. Consider the plight of Miguel, a South American boy victimized by the drug trade. Marie Javdani on Writing

350

RANDALL MUNROE

Everybody Jump

352

The creator of the Web comic xkcd, a trained physicist, gives a playful answer to a reader’s hypothetical question: “What would happen if everyone on earth stood as close to each other as they could and jumped, everybody landing on the ground at the same instant?”

25

Visual Images: What If, drawings by Randall Munroe CHRISTOPHER BEAM

Blood Loss

358

“Serial killers,” notes this crime reporter, “just aren’t the sensation they used to be.” Examining trends in murder and mayhem, he sets out to understand why. Visual Image: Trends in Serial Killing, bar graph by James Alan Fox and Jack Levin ADDITIONAL WRITING TOPICS

364

11 DEFINITION: Tracing Boundaries

366

Visual Image: It’s a Part of Me, Not a Definition of Who I Am, poster for the International Down Syndrome Coalition THE METHOD

368

THE PROCESS

369

Discovery of meanings • Methods of development • Thesis • Evidence Focus on unity

372

Checklist for revising a definition

372

DEFINITION IN ACADEMIC WRITING

373

A biology textbook • A government essay exam Martin Ward Civil Liberties (annotated student writing)

374

PAIRED SELECTIONS

PRIVILEGE TAL FORTGANG

Checking My Privilege (student essay)

376

Despite pressure from classmates to consider his advantages, an Ivy League freshman refuses “to feel personally apologetic because white males seem to pull most of the strings in the world.” Tal Fortgang on Writing

381

ROXANE GAY

Peculiar Benefits

383

A cultural critic — who also happens to be “a woman, a person of color, and the child of immigrants” — takes note of her own privileges and admonishes readers to do the same. Roxane Gay on Writing

388

MEGHAN DAUM

Narcissist — Give It a Rest

390

Irritated by popular misuse of a clinical term, the author spells out the true meanings of narcissism in American culture. Meghan Daum on Writing

393

26

AUGUSTEN

How to Identify Love by Knowing What It’s Not

395

BURROUGHS A memoirist turned self-help writer makes an impassioned plea to those caught in the grip of romance. ADDITIONAL WRITING TOPICS

402

12 ARGUMENT AND PERSUASION: Stating Opinions and Proposals

404

Visual Image: Corporate America Flag, image from Adbusters Media Foundation THE METHOD

406

Audience and common ground • Elements of argument • Reasoning THE PROCESS

414

Finding a subject • Organizing Focus on tone

416

Checklist for revising argument and persuasion

417

ARGUMENT AND PERSUASION IN ACADEMIC WRITING

417

A public relations textbook • A policy proposal Adrianne Silver from Bullying Law Proposal (annotated student writing) LINDA CHAVEZ

417

Supporting Family Values

421

A political activist argues that immigrants have a positive influence on the United States — whether they’re in the country legally or not. Linda Chavez on Writing

425

PAIRED SELECTIONS

SHOULD COLLEGES ADOPT TRIGGER WARNINGS? BRIANNE RICHSON

An Obligation to Prevent Trauma on Campus (student

426

essay) In the interest of protecting vulnerable students, asserts the writer, college instructors ought to include on their syllabi explicit labels, or “trigger warnings,” that identify any potentially upsetting course content. Brianne Richson on Writing

JON OVERTON

429

Beware the Trigger Warning (student essay)

431

Trigger warnings stem from noble intentions, this student concedes, but “they threaten to stifle some of the most important conversations and lessons in college” and therefore have no place in the curriculum. Jon Overton on Writing

434

27

GROUPED SELECTIONS

WHO NEEDS PRIVACY? NICHOLAS CARR

Tracking Is an Assault on Liberty

436

An expert in computer culture warns that emerging technologies for recording and analyzing personal details online pose hidden threats to American freedoms. Nicholas Carr on Writing

441

JIM HARPER

Web Users Get as Much as They Give

443

Tracking isn’t hurting anyone, retorts this privacy specialist. On the contrary, the targeted advertising enabled by data mining benefits us all. LORI ANDREWS

Facebook Is Using You

449

Loss of privacy, warns this legal scholar, is more than a theoretical issue. The information collected about Web users is routinely used against them. Lori Andrews on Writing

454

ADDITIONAL WRITING TOPICS

455

PART THREE

MIXING THE METHODS JUDY BRADY

457 I Want a Wife

459

This feminist view of marriage focuses on the roles and functions of the wife. What a wonderful boon a wife is! Shouldn’t every woman have one of her own? Judy Brady on Writing

463

JOAN DIDION

Earthquakes

465

With a sharp eye and ear, a famous Californian observes how she and others respond to a series of seismic events. Could this be “the Big One”? Joan Didion on Writing

469

E. B. WHITE

Once More to the Lake

471

A father takes his young son on a pilgrimage to a favorite summertime scene from his own childhood, a lake in Maine. There he arrives at a chilling revelation. COLSON WHITEHEAD

Loving Las Vegas

479

A group of college friends go on a cross-country road trip for the sake of revising a travel guide, and the experience changes their lives. Colson Whitehead on Writing

487

28

Appendix: FINDING AND DOCUMENTING SOURCES CONDUCTING RESEARCH

491

492

Using the library • Evaluating sources • Preparing an annotated bibliography Questions for evaluating sources

493

WRITING WITH SOURCES

496

Integrating source material • Synthesizing multiple sources • Avoiding plagiarism SOURCE CITATION USING MLA STYLE

499

MLA parenthetical citations • MLA list of works cited • A sample research paper in MLA style MARGARET LUNDBERG Eating Green (annotated student essay)

514

After giving up meat and dairy, a student finds from her research that “a vegetarian diet could be ‘just what the doctor ordered’ for our global health.” SOURCE CITATION USING APA STYLE

519

APA parenthetical citations • APA reference list • A sample research paper in APA style ERIC KIM

The Brain That Changes (annotated student essay)

For a writing seminar, a pre-med student investigates some “startling” recent discoveries in neuroscience — and is deeply encouraged by what he learns.

GLOSSARY OF USEFUL TERMS

536

DIRECTORY TO THE WRITERS ON WRITING INDEX

562

29

551

530

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30

CONTENTS BY THEME AND DISCIPLINE

31

ADVERTISING AND MARKETING Lori Andrews, “Facebook Is Using You”

449

Nicholas Carr, “Tracking Is an Assault on Liberty” Jim Harper, “Web Users Get as Much as They Give” Nancy Mairs, “Disability”

12

32

436 443

APPEARANCE Sven Birkerts, “Ladder”

133

Judith Ortiz Cofer, “The Cruel Country”

262

Tal Fortgang (student), “Checking My Privilege” Roxane Gay, “Peculiar Benefits”

383

H. W. Janson et al., from Janson’s History of Art Nancy Mairs, “Disability”

376

109

12

Jessica Mitford, “Behind the Formaldehyde Curtain” Issa Rae, “The Struggle”

155

Brent Staples, “Black Men and Public Space”

148

33

239

ART AND PHOTOGRAPHY Diane Ackerman, “Black Marble”

127

Laila Ayad (student), “The Capricious Camera”

267

H. W. Janson et al., from Janson’s History of Art

109

Judith Ortiz Cofer, “The Cruel Country” Naomi Shihab Nye, “Museum”

262

78

34

BUSINESS AND ECONOMICS Lori Andrews, “Facebook Is Using You”

449

Nicholas Carr, “Tracking Is an Assault on Liberty” Chitra Divakaruni, “Live Free and Starve”

436

340

Tal Fortgang (student), “Checking My Privilege”

376

Jim Harper, “Web Users Get as Much as They Give” Robert Lipsyte, “Jock Culture”

443

276

Margaret Lundberg (student), “Eating Green”

514

Kharron Reid (student), “Letter to E-Line Systems” Kharron Reid (student), “Résumé”

147

298

Lewis C. Solmon, from Microeconomics Colson Whitehead, “Loving Las Vegas”

146 479

Dennis L. Wilcox, Phillip H. Ault, and Warren K. Agee, from Public Relations: Strategies and Tactics 417

35

CHILDHOOD Junot Díaz, “The Dreamer”

84

Chitra Divakaruni, “Live Free and Starve”

340

Nick Fiorelli (student), from “Teaching Methodologies at Child’s Play Preschool” Issa Rae, “The Struggle”

155

Andrea Roman (student), “We’re Not …”

187

David Sedaris, “Remembering My Childhood on the Continent of Africa” Adrianne Silver (student), from “Bullying Law Proposal” Amy Tan, “Fish Cheeks”

74

E. B. White, “Once More to the Lake”

471

36

417

180

110

CLASS Linda Chavez, “Supporting Family Values” Junot Díaz, “The Dreamer”

421

84

Chitra Divakaruni, “Live Free and Starve”

340

Tal Fortgang (student), “Checking My Privilege” Roxane Gay, “Peculiar Benefits”

376

383

Marie Javdani (student), “Plata o Plomo: Silver or Lead” Naomi Shihab Nye, “Museum” Anna Quindlen, “Homeless”

78 164

37

345

COMMUNICATION AND LANGUAGE Augusten Burroughs, “How to Identify Love by Knowing What It’s Not” Meghan Daum, “Narcissist — Give It a Rest” Alain de Botton, “Tragedy”

395

390

199

Koji Frahm (student), “How to Write an A Paper” Anne Lamott, “The Crummy First Draft”

226

220

William Lutz, “The World of Doublespeak”

309

Brad Manning (student), “Arm Wrestling with My Father” Steven McCornack, from Reflect and Relate

111

178

Jon Overton (student), “Beware the Trigger Warning”

431

Charlotte Pak (student), from “Beyoncé Knowles: Soloist”

178

Brianne Richson (student), “An Obligation to Prevent Trauma on Campus” Deborah Tannen, “But What Do You Mean?”

299

38

426

COMMUNITY Diane Ackerman, “Black Marble” Joan Didion, “Earthquakes”

127

465

Brian Doyle, “A Note on Mascots”

160

Firoozeh Dumas, “Sweet, Sour, and Resentful”

233

N. Scott Momaday, “The Way to Rainy Mountain” Issa Rae, “The Struggle”

155

Shirley Jackson, “The Lottery” Anna Quindlen, “Homeless”

90 164

Andrea Roman (student), “We’re Not …”

187

39

119

COMPUTER TECHNOLOGY Lori Andrews, “Facebook Is Using You”

449

Nicholas Carr, “Tracking Is an Assault on Liberty” Jim Harper, “Web Users Get as Much as They Give” Kharron Reid (student), “Letter to E-Line Systems” Kharron Reid (student), “Résumé”

298

40

436 443 147

CRIME Rosie Anaya (student), “Mental Illness on Television” Christopher Beam, “Blood Loss”

358

Scott Beltran (student), from “Ride-Along Report” Alain de Botton, “Tragedy”

59

72

199

Augusten Burroughs, “How to Identify Love by Knowing What It’s Not” Nicholas Carr, “Tracking Is an Assault on Liberty” Linda Chavez, “Supporting Family Values”

436

421

Marie Javdani (student), “Plata o Plomo: Silver or Lead” Adrianne Silver (student), from “Bullying Law Proposal”

41

345 417

395

DEATH Judith Ortiz Cofer, “The Cruel Country” Alain de Botton, “Tragedy”

262

199

Guillermo del Toro and Chuck Hogan, “Vampires Never Die” Shirley Jackson, “The Lottery”

90

Marie Javdani (student), “Plata o Plomo: Silver or Lead” Jessica Mitford, “Behind the Formaldehyde Curtain” N. Scott Momaday, “The Way to Rainy Mountain” Randall Munroe, “Everybody Jump”

352

42

345 239

119

282

DIVERSITY Rosie Anaya (student), “Mental Illness on Television” Laila Ayad (student), “The Capricious Camera” Linda Chavez, “Supporting Family Values” Judith Ortiz Cofer, “The Cruel Country” Junot Díaz, “The Dreamer”

267

421 262

84

Firoozeh Dumas, “Sweet, Sour, and Resentful”

233

Tal Fortgang (student), “Checking My Privilege” Roxane Gay, “Peculiar Benefits” Nancy Mairs, “Disability”

376

383

12

N. Scott Momaday, “The Way to Rainy Mountain” Issa Rae, “The Struggle”

54

119

155

Andrea Roman (student), “We’re Not …”

187

David Sedaris, “Remembering My Childhood on the Continent of Africa” Brent Staples, “Black Men and Public Space” Amy Tan, “Fish Cheeks”

148

74

43

180

EDUCATION Linda Chavez, “Supporting Family Values” Junot Díaz, “The Dreamer”

421

84

Nick Fiorelli (student), from “Teaching Methodologies at Child’s Play Preschool” Tal Fortgang (student), “Checking My Privilege” Koji Frahm (student), “How to Write an A Paper” Robert Lipsyte, “Jock Culture”

376 226

276

Jon Overton (student), “Beware the Trigger Warning”

431

Brianne Richson (student), “An Obligation to Prevent Trauma on Campus” Adrianne Silver (student), from “Bullying Law Proposal” Colson Whitehead, “Loving Las Vegas”

479

44

417

426

110

ETHICS Laila Ayad (student), “The Capricious Camera”

267

Augusten Burroughs, “How to Identify Love by Knowing What It’s Not” Alain de Botton, “Tragedy”

199

Chitra Divakaruni, “Live Free and Starve”

340

Marie Javdani (student), “Plata o Plomo: Silver or Lead” Margaret Lundberg (student), “Eating Green” William Lutz, “The World of Doublespeak” Anna Quindlen, “Homeless”

395

345

514 309

164

Dennis L. Wilcox, Phillip H. Ault, and Warren K. Agee, from Public Relations: Strategies and Tactics 417

45

FAMILY Judy Brady, “I Want a Wife”

459

Linda Chavez, “Supporting Family Values” Judith Ortiz Cofer, “The Cruel Country” Junot Díaz, “The Dreamer”

421 262

84

Firoozeh Dumas, “Sweet, Sour, and Resentful”

233

Tal Fortgang (student), “Checking My Privilege” Roxane Gay, “Peculiar Benefits”

376

383

Brad Manning (student), “Arm Wrestling with My Father” N. Scott Momaday, “The Way to Rainy Mountain” Andrea Roman (student), “We’re Not …” Amy Tan, “Fish Cheeks”

187

74

E. B. White, “Once More to the Lake”

471

46

119

111

FOOD Firoozeh Dumas, “Sweet, Sour, and Resentful” Anne Lamott, “The Crummy First Draft”

220

Margaret Lundberg (student), “Eating Green” Lewis C. Solmon, from Microeconomics Amy Tan, “Fish Cheeks”

233

514

146

74

47

GENDER AND SEXUALITY Judy Brady, “I Want a Wife”

459

Augusten Burroughs, “How to Identify Love by Knowing What It’s Not” Tal Fortgang (student), “Checking My Privilege” Roxane Gay, “Peculiar Benefits” Robert Lipsyte, “Jock Culture”

395

376

383 276

Steven McCornack, from Reflect and Relate

178

Charlotte Pak (student), from “Beyoncé Knowles: Soloist”

179

David Sedaris, “Remembering My Childhood on the Continent of Africa” Brent Staples, “Black Men and Public Space” Deborah Tannen, “But What Do You Mean?”

148 299

48

180

HEALTH AND DISABILITY Rosie Anaya (student), “Mental Illness on Television” Lori Andrews, “Facebook Is Using You”

449

Meghan Daum, “Narcissist — Give It a Rest” Junot Díaz, “The Dreamer”

390

84

Eric Kim (student), “The Brain That Changes” Margaret Lundberg (student), “Eating Green” Nancy Mairs, “Disability”

59

530 514

12

Jon Overton (student), “Beware the Trigger Warning”

431

Brianne Richson (student), “An Obligation to Prevent Trauma on Campus” Carol Wade and Carol Tavris, from Psychology

217

49

426

HISTORY Laila Ayad (student), “The Capricious Camera” Christopher Beam, “Blood Loss”

267

358

Alan Brinkley, from American History: A Survey

337

Bruce Catton, “Grant and Lee: A Study in Contrasts” Alain de Botton, “Tragedy”

193

199

Guillermo del Toro and Chuck Hogan, “Vampires Never Die” Junot Díaz, “The Dreamer”

84

Tal Fortgang (student), “Checking My Privilege” H. W. Janson et al., from Janson’s History of Art

376 109

N. Scott Momaday, “The Way to Rainy Mountain”

50

119

282

HUMOR AND SATIRE Russell Baker, “The Plot against People” Judy Brady, “I Want a Wife”

319

459

Brian Doyle, “A Note on Mascots”

160

Firoozeh Dumas, “Sweet, Sour, and Resentful”

233

Koji Frahm (student), “How to Write an A Paper” Jessica Mitford, “Behind the Formaldehyde Curtain” Randall Munroe, “Everybody Jump” Naomi Shihab Nye, “Museum” Issa Rae, “The Struggle”

226 239

352

78

155

David Sedaris, “Remembering My Childhood on the Continent of Africa” Amy Tan, “Fish Cheeks”

74

51

180

INTERNATIONAL STUDIES Laila Ayad (student), “The Capricious Camera”

267

Alan Brinkley, from American History: A Survey

337

Alain de Botton, “Tragedy”

199

Judith Ortiz Cofer, “The Cruel Country”

262

Guillermo del Toro and Chuck Hogan, “Vampires Never Die” Junot Díaz, “The Dreamer”

282

84

Chitra Divakaruni, “Live Free and Starve”

340

Firoozeh Dumas, “Sweet, Sour, and Resentful”

233

Tal Fortgang (student), “Checking My Privilege” Roxane Gay, “Peculiar Benefits”

376

383

H. W. Janson et al., from Janson’s History of Art

109

Marie Javdani (student), “Plata o Plomo: Silver or Lead” Andrea Roman (student), “We’re Not …”

345

187

David Sedaris, “Remembering My Childhood on the Continent of Africa”

180

Edward J. Tarbuck and Frederick K. Lutgens, from The Earth: An Introduction to Physical Geology 70

52

JOURNALISM Rosie Anaya (student), “Mental Illness on Television” Christopher Beam, “Blood Loss” Alain de Botton, “Tragedy”

358

199

Kate Krueger (student), “Letter to the Weekly” Anne Lamott, “The Crummy First Draft”

339

220

53

59

LAW Lori Andrews, “Facebook Is Using You”

449

Scott Beltran (student), from “Ride-Along Report”

72

Nicholas Carr, “Tracking Is an Assault on Liberty”

436

Chitra Divakaruni, “Live Free and Starve”

340

Jim Harper, “Web Users Get as Much as They Give”

443

Marie Javdani (student), “Plata o Plomo: Silver or Lead”

345

David B. Magleby, Paul C. Light, and Christine L. Nemacheck, from Government by the People Adrianne Silver (student), from “Bullying Law Proposal” Martin Ward (student), “Civil Liberties”

374

54

417

259

LITERATURE Alain de Botton, “Tragedy”

199

Guillermo del Toro and Chuck Hogan, “Vampires Never Die” Shirley Jackson, “The Lottery”

282

90

Rachel O’Connor (student), from “A Question of Fairness: ‘The Lottery’ as Social Commentary”

55

260

MARRIAGE Judy Brady, “I Want a Wife”

459

Augusten Burroughs, “How to Identify Love by Knowing What It’s Not” Judith Ortiz Cofer, “The Cruel Country”

262

Charlotte Pak (student), from “Beyoncé Knowles: Soloist”

56

179

395

MYTH AND LEGEND Christopher Beam, “Blood Loss”

358

Guillermo del Toro and Chuck Hogan, “Vampires Never Die” Alain de Botton, “Tragedy”

199

Brian Doyle, “A Note on Mascots”

160

N. Scott Momaday, “The Way to Rainy Mountain”

57

119

282

THE NATURAL ENVIRONMENT Diane Ackerman, “Black Marble”

127

Bernard Campbell, from Humankind Emerging Jean-Pierre De Beer (student), “Stars of Life” Joan Didion, “Earthquakes”

296 323

465

Brian Doyle, “A Note on Mascots”

160

Margaret Lundberg (student), “Eating Green”

514

N. Scott Momaday, “The Way to Rainy Mountain” Randall Munroe, “Everybody Jump”

119

352

William K. Purves and Gordon H. Orians, from Life: The Science of Biology Lewis C. Solmon, from Microeconomics

373

146

Edward J. Tarbuck and Frederick K. Lutgens, from The Earth: An Introduction to Physical Geology E. B. White, “Once More to the Lake”

471

58

70

PHILOSOPHY Alain de Botton, “Tragedy”

199

Judith Ortiz Cofer, “The Cruel Country”

262

59

POPULAR CULTURE Rosie Anaya (student), “Mental Illness on Television” Lori Andrews, “Facebook Is Using You” Alain de Botton, “Tragedy”

59

449

199

Guillermo del Toro and Chuck Hogan, “Vampires Never Die” Brian Doyle, “A Note on Mascots” Robert Lipsyte, “Jock Culture” Nancy Mairs, “Disability”

160

276

12

Charlotte Pak (student), from “Beyoncé Knowles: Soloist” Issa Rae, “The Struggle”

155

Colson Whitehead, “Loving Las Vegas”

479

60

179

282

PSYCHOLOGY Rosie Anaya (student), “Mental Illness on Television” Christopher Beam, “Blood Loss” Sven Birkerts, “Ladder”

59

358

133

Augusten Burroughs, “How to Identify Love by Knowing What It’s Not” Meghan Daum, “Narcissist — Give It a Rest” Joan Didion, “Earthquakes”

390

465

Eric Kim (student), “The Brain That Changes” Nancy Mairs, “Disability”

395

530

12

Jon Overton (student), “Beware the Trigger Warning”

431

Brianne Richson (student), “An Obligation to Prevent Trauma on Campus” Carol Wade and Carol Tavris, from Psychology

217

61

426

READING AND WRITING Judith Ortiz Cofer, “The Cruel Country” Junot Díaz, “The Dreamer”

262

84

Koji Frahm (student), “How to Write an A Paper” Anne Lamott, “The Crummy First Draft”

226

220

Rachel O’Connor (student), from “A Question of Fairness: ‘The Lottery’ as Social Commentary” Colson Whitehead, “Loving Las Vegas”

479

Writers on Writing: See the directory beginning on p. 555 for specific writers and topics

62

260

SCIENCE Diane Ackerman, “Black Marble”

127

Bernard Campbell, from Humankind Emerging Jean-Pierre De Beer (student), “Stars of Life” Joan Didion, “Earthquakes”

296 323

465

Victor Khoury (student), from “DNA Extraction” Eric Kim (student), “The Brain That Changes” Margaret Lundberg (student), “Eating Green”

218 530

514

Jessica Mitford, “Behind the Formaldehyde Curtain” Randall Munroe, “Everybody Jump”

239

352

William K. Purves and Gordon H. Orians, from Life: The Science of Biology Carol Wade and Carol Tavris, from Psychology

217

63

373

SELF-DISCOVERY Sven Birkerts, “Ladder”

133

Tal Fortgang (student), “Checking My Privilege” Roxane Gay, “Peculiar Benefits”

376

383

Brad Manning (student), “Arm Wrestling with My Father” N. Scott Momaday, “The Way to Rainy Mountain” Naomi Shihab Nye, “Museum” Issa Rae, “The Struggle”

78

155

Andrea Roman (student), “We’re Not …”

187

Brent Staples, “Black Men and Public Space” Amy Tan, “Fish Cheeks”

148

74

E. B. White, “Once More to the Lake” Colson Whitehead, “Loving Las Vegas”

471 479

64

119

111

SOCIAL CUSTOMS Alain de Botton, “Tragedy”

199

Firoozeh Dumas, “Sweet, Sour, and Resentful” Shirley Jackson, “The Lottery”

233

90

Steven McCornack, from Reflect and Relate

178

Jessica Mitford, “Behind the Formaldehyde Curtain” N. Scott Momaday, “The Way to Rainy Mountain”

239 119

Rachel O’Connor (student), from “A Question of Fairness: ‘The Lottery’ as Social Commentary” Andrea Roman (student), “We’re Not …” Amy Tan, “Fish Cheeks”

187

74

E. B. White, “Once More to the Lake”

471

65

260

SPORTS AND LEISURE Brian Doyle, “A Note on Mascots”

160

Kate Krueger (student), “Letter to the Weekly” Robert Lipsyte, “Jock Culture”

339

276

Brad Manning (student), “Arm Wrestling with My Father” E. B. White, “Once More to the Lake” Colson Whitehead, “Loving Las Vegas”

471 479

66

111

VIOLENCE Rosie Anaya (student), “Mental Illness on Television” Christopher Beam, “Blood Loss”

59

358

Augusten Burroughs, “How to Identify Love by Knowing What It’s Not” Alain de Botton, “Tragedy”

199

Junot Díaz, “The Dreamer”

84

Shirley Jackson, “The Lottery”

395

90

Marie Javdani (student), “Plata o Plomo: Silver or Lead”

345

Brianne Richson (student), “An Obligation to Prevent Trauma on Campus” Adrianne Silver (student), from “Bullying Law Proposal”

67

417

426

WAR AND CONFLICT Laila Ayad (student), “The Capricious Camera” Christopher Beam, “Blood Loss”

267

358

Alan Brinkley, from American History: A Survey

337

Bruce Catton, “Grant and Lee: A Study in Contrasts” Chitra Divakaruni, “Live Free and Starve”

193

340

Tal Fortgang (student), “Checking My Privilege”

376

Marie Javdani (student), “Plata o Plomo: Silver or Lead” N. Scott Momaday, “The Way to Rainy Mountain”

68

345

119

WORK Scott Beltran (student), from “Ride-Along Report” Sven Birkerts, “Ladder”

72

133

Chitra Divakaruni, “Live Free and Starve” Robert Lipsyte, “Jock Culture”

340

276

Kharron Reid (student), “Letter to E-Line Systems” Kharron Reid (student), “Résumé”

147

298

Deborah Tannen, “But What Do You Mean?” Colson Whitehead, “Loving Las Vegas”

299

479

Dennis L. Wilcox, Phillip H. Ault, and Warren K. Agee, from Public Relations: Strategies and Tactics 417

69

HOW (AND WHY) TO USE THIS BOOK

Many prophets have predicted the doom of words on paper, and they may yet be proved correct. Already, many of us are reading books and magazines mainly on mobile devices and communicating mostly by text messages. But even if we do discard paper and pens, the basic aims and methods of writing will not fundamentally change. Whether in print or on screen, we will need to explain our thoughts to others plainly and forcefully. Our aim with The Brief Bedford Reader is to provide you with ample and varied resources that will help you develop your skills as a reader and writer. In this academic toolbox, you’ll find not only interesting models of good writing but also useful advice, reference guides, ideas for writing, and practical strategies that you can apply to your own work.

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THE SELECTIONS Essays In this book, we trust, you’ll find many selections you will enjoy and want to discuss. The Brief Bedford Reader features work by some of the finest nonfiction writers and even a few famous literary figures. The selections deal with more than just writing; they cut broadly across a college curriculum. You’ll find professional essays and textbook paragraphs on science, history, business, culture, technology, sports, and politics. Some writers recall their childhoods, their problems and challenges. Some explore academic concerns such as the goals of education and the physics of mass movement. Some touch on matters likely to spark debate: free speech, class privilege, race relations, child labor. Some writers are serious; others, funny. In all, these selections mirror the kinds of reading you will meet in your other courses. Such reading is the intellectual storehouse of well-informed people with lively minds — who, to be sure, aren’t found only on college campuses. We have chosen the essays with one main purpose in mind: to show you how good writers write. Don’t be discouraged if at first you find an immense gap in quality between Joan Didion’s writing and yours. Of course there’s a gap: Didion is an immortal with a unique style that she perfected over half a century. You don’t have to judge your efforts by comparison. The idea is to gain whatever writing techniques you can. If you’re going to learn from other writers, why not go to the best of them?

Student Examples You can glean many skills by reading the work of seasoned writers, but you can also learn from your peers. Students, too, produce writing worth studying, as proved by Scott Beltran, Andrea Roman, Koji Frahm, and many others. In every chapter in Part Two, you’ll find student pieces among the professional selections, at least one of them annotated to show you how the writers’ strategies work. These examples vary in subject, approach, and

GENRE,

but every one of them shows how much student writers can achieve with a little

inspiration and effort.

Genre The category into which a piece of writing fits. Shaped by PURPOSE, AUDIENCE, and context, genres range from broad types (such as fiction and nonfiction) to general groups (novel, essay) to narrower groups (science fiction novel, personal narrative) to specific document formats (steampunk graphic novel, post on a retail workers’ forum) — and they tend to overlap. The genres of college writing vary widely. Examples appear on pages 71 (police log), 109 (field observation), 146 (job-application letter), 178 (review), 218 (lab report), 259 (critical analysis), 297 (résumé), 338 (letter to the editor), 373 (essay exam), and 418 (proposal). Most readers are instinctively aware of individual genres and the characteristics that distinguish them, and they expect writers to follow the genre’s conventions for organization, types of

EVIDENCE

language,

TONE,

POINT OF VIEW,

structure and

length, appearance, and so forth. Consider, for

instance, a daily newspaper: Readers expect the news articles to be objective statements of fact,

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with none of the reporters’ personal thoughts and little rhetorical flourish; but when they turn to the op-ed page or their favorite columnists, such opinions and clever turns of phrase are precisely what they’re looking for. Similar expectations exist for every kind of writing, and good writers make a point of knowing what they are. See also pages 10, 32, and 40 and the individual chapter introductions in Part Two.

Visuals The selections in The Brief Bedford Reader go beyond the written word. Much of what we “read” in the world is visual information, as in paintings and drawings, or visual-with-verbal information, as in advertisements and cartoons. In all, we include sixteen visual works. Some of them are subjects of writing, as when a writer analyzes a news photo or a bar graph. Other visual works stand free, offering themselves to be understood, interpreted, and perhaps enjoyed, just as prose and fiction do. To help you get the most from these images, we offer advice on reading visuals, with a sample analysis of a photograph, in Chapter 1. We combine visual material with written texts to further a key aim of The Brief Bedford Reader: to encourage you to think critically about what you see, hear, and read. Like everyone else, you face a daily barrage of words and pictures. Mulling over the views of the writers, artists, and others represented in this book — figuring out their motives and strategies, agreeing or disagreeing with their ideas — will help you learn to manage, digest, and use in your own writing whatever media you encounter.

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THE METHODS OF DEVELOPMENT The selections in The Brief Bedford Reader fall into distinct sections. In Part Two, the heart of the book, each of ten chapters explains a familiar method of developing ideas, such as EXAMPLE, CAUSE AND EFFECT, PURPOSE

NARRATION, DESCRIPTION,

or DEFINITION. These methods are extraordinarily useful tools for achieving your

in writing, whatever that purpose may be. They can help you discover what you know, what you need

to know, how to think critically about your subject, and how to shape your ideas.

Narration, narrative The mode of writing (narration) that tells a story (narrative). See Chapter 3. Description A mode of writing that conveys the evidence of the senses: sight, hearing, touch, taste, smell. See Chapter 4. Example Also called exemplification or illustration, a method of development in which the writer provides instances of a general idea. See Chapter 5. An example is a verbal illustration. Cause and effect A method of development in which a writer ANALYZES reasons for an action, event, or decision, or analyzes its consequences. See Chapter 10. See also EFFECT. Definition A statement of the literal and specific meaning or meanings of a word or a method of developing an essay. In the latter, the writer usually explains the nature of a word, a thing, a concept, or a phenomenon. Such a definition may employ NARRATION, DESCRIPTION, or any other method. See Chapter 11. Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing. In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages 19, 31–32, and 40.

An introduction to each chapter outlines the method, explains its uses, and shows how you can apply it to your own writing. The reading selections that follow illustrate the method at work. Examining these

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selections, you’ll discover two important facts about the methods of development. First, they are flexible: Two people can use the same method for quite different ends, and just about any method can point a way into just about any subject in any medium. The second fact about the methods of development is this: A writer never sticks to just one method all the way through a piece of writing. Even when one method predominates, you’ll see the writer pick up another method, let it shape a paragraph or more, and then move on to yet another method — all to achieve some overriding aim. Part Three offers an anthology of classic and contemporary selections that illustrate how, in most writing, the methods work together.

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THE PRACTICAL GUIDANCE Overviews of Reading, Writing, and Research The selections in The Brief Bedford Reader are meant to be enjoyed, but also to give you ideas for your own writing. We include two chapters in Part One to help you build your critical reading and writing skills as you work with the readings. You might want to read these chapters straight through as a general guide or turn back to them as necessary for reference, or both. Chapter 1 explains the connection between reading and writing, outlines the goals of

CRITICAL READING,

and provides concrete advice for approaching written and visual works with an open, questioning mind. To demonstrate what academic reading entails, we include a sample essay and accompany it with one student’s notes and with our own interpretations of the writer’s meanings and strategies.

Critical thinking, reading, and writing A group of interlocking skills that are essential for college work and beyond. Each seeks the meaning beneath the surface of a statement, poem, editorial, picture, advertisement, Web site, or other TEXT. Using ANALYSIS, INFERENCE, SYNTHESIS, and often EVALUATION, the critical thinker, reader, and writer separates a text into its elements in order to see and judge meanings, relations, and ASSUMPTIONS that might otherwise remain buried. See also pages 12, 25–261, 255, and 406– 07.

In Chapter 2 we walk you through the stages of the writing process, following the same student as she works from rough idea to final draft. Like the first chapter, this one features bulleted points and boxed checklists to help you find the information you need. It addresses in particular the challenges of WRITING,

ACADEMIC

whether in responding to individual selections or developing an idea with reference to multiple

works. It also includes a brief overview of common editing challenges and shows you how to solve them.

Academic writing The kind of writing generally undertaken by scholars and students, in which a writer responds to another’s work or uses multiple SOURCES to develop and support an original idea. Typically based on one or more TEXTS, all academic writing calls on a writer’s CRITICAL THINKING, READING, AND WRITING

abilities and shares the common goal of using reading and writing to build and exchange

knowledge. See Chapter 2, pp. 42–47, and the Appendix, pp. 496–99.

The Appendix goes over the basics of finding and using sources in academic writing. It offers dozens of citation models for both MLA and APA styles and includes two annotated student research papers.

Reading Questions and Writing Prompts 75

Following every essay in The Brief Bedford Reader, you’ll find a battery of questions that can help you analyze the selection and respond to it. First, a suggestion for responding in your JOURNAL to what you’ve just read encourages you to think about the writer’s themes and your reactions to them. Next, you’ll find critical reading questions that can help you read beneath the surface of the work, teasing out the elements that contribute to the writer’s success and even those that don’t. (You can see a sample of how these questions work when we analyze Nancy Mairs’s essay “Disability,” starting on p. 12.)

Journal A record of one’s thoughts, kept daily or at least regularly. Keeping a journal faithfully can help a writer gain confidence and develop ideas. See also page 33.

After these questions are at least four suggestions for writing, including one that proposes turning your journal entry into an essay, one that links the selection with one or two others in the book, and one that asks you to read the selection and write about it with your critical faculties alert. Additional suggestions for writing appear at the end of each chapter. We intend these prompts not as rigid taskmasters but as helpful guides. Certainly you can respond to them exactly as written, but if they spark other insights for you, by all means pursue your inspiration. Writing is always best when it comes from a real interest in the subject and a desire to write about it.

Glossary and Index In this introduction and throughout the following chapters, certain words appear in

CAPITAL LETTERS.

These are key terms helpful in discussing both the selections in this book and the reading and writing you do. If you’d like to see such a term defined and illustrated, you can find it in the Glossary of Useful Terms on pages 536–50. The Glossary offers more than just brief definitions. It is there to provide you with further explanation, examples, and support. You can also find the help you need by consulting the Index, located at the back of the book. Say you’re revising a draft and your instructor has commented that your essay needs a clearer thesis, but you’re not sure what that means or what to do. Look up THESIS, and you’ll discover exactly where in The Brief Bedford Reader you can find advice for clarifying and expressing your main idea.

Thesis, thesis statement The central idea in a work of writing (thesis), to which everything else in the work refers; one or more sentences that express that central idea (thesis statement). In some way, each sentence and PARAGRAPH

in an effective essay serves to support the thesis and to make it clear and explicit to

readers. Good writers, while writing, often set down a thesis statement to help them define their purpose. They also often include this statement in their essay as a promise and a guide to readers. See pages 19, 35–36, 40–41, and the introductions to Chapters 3–12.

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THE WRITERS ON WRITING A final word. The writers represented in this book did not produce their readable and informative texts on the first try, as if by magic, leaving the rest of us to cope with writer’s block, awkward sentences, and all the other difficulties of writing. As proof, we visit their workshops. Following more than half the selections are comments by their writers, revealing how they write (or wrote), offering their tricks, setting forth things they admire about good writing. Accompanying the comments are tips on how you can apply the writers’ insights to your own work, and a directory at the back of the book points you toward their advice on such practical matters as drafting, finding your point, and revising. No doubt you’ll notice some contradictions in these comments: The writers disagree about when and how to think about readers, about whether outlines have any value, about whether style follows subject or vice versa. The reason for the differences of opinion is, simply, that no two writers follow the same path to finished work. Even the same writer may take a left instead of the customary right turn if the writing situation demands a change. A key aim of providing the writers’ statements is to suggest the sheer variety of routes open to you, the many approaches to writing and strategies for succeeding at it. Let’s get started then.

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PART ONE

ACADEMIC READING AND WRITING

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1 CRITICAL READING Reading and writing are interconnected. Deepen your mastery of one, and you deepen your mastery of the other. The experience of carefully reading an excellent writer, noticing not only what the writer has to say but also the quality of its saying, rubs off (if you are patient and perceptive) on your own writing. For any writer, then, reading is indispensable. It turns up fresh ideas; it stocks the mind with information, understanding, and examples; it instills critical awareness of one’s own surroundings. Whatever career you enter, reading will be an integral part of your work. You may be trying to understand a new company policy, seeking the truth in a campaign ad, researching a scientific development, or looking for pointers to sharpen your skills. Such reading, like writing itself, demands effort. Unlike the casual reading you might do to pass the time or entertain yourself,

CRITICAL READING

involves looking beneath the surface of a

text, seeking to understand the creator’s intentions, the strategies for achieving them, and their effects. This book offers dozens of selections that reward critical reading and can teach you how to become a better writer. To learn from a selection, plan to spend an hour or two in its company. Seek out some quiet place — a library, a study cubicle, your room. Switch off the music and the phone. The fewer the distractions, the easier your task will be and the more you’ll enjoy it.

Critical thinking, reading, and writing A group of interlocking skills that are essential for college work and beyond. Each seeks the meaning beneath the surface of a statement, poem, editorial, picture, advertisement, Web site, or other TEXT. Using ANALYSIS, INFERENCE, SYNTHESIS, and often EVALUATION, the critical thinker, reader, and writer separates a text into its elements in order to see and judge meanings, relations, and ASSUMPTIONS that might otherwise remain buried. See also pages 12, 25–261, 255, and 406– 07.

How do you read critically? Exactly how, that is, do you engage with a work, master its complexities, learn from it, and respond? To find out, we’ll model critical-thinking processes that you can apply to the written and visual selections in this book, taking a close look at an essay and a photograph for examples.

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READING ACTIVELY

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Previewing Critical reading starts before you read the first word of a piece of writing. You take stock of what’s before you, locating clues to the work’s content and the writer’s biases. Whenever you approach a written work, make a point of assessing these features beforehand: The title. Effective titles do more than lure readers in; they also hint at what to expect from a work. Often the title will tell you the writer’s subject, as with Anna Quindlen’s “Homeless.” Sometimes the title immediately states the main point the writer will make: “I Want a Wife.” Some titles spell out the method a writer proposes to follow: “Grant and Lee: A Study in Contrasts.” And the title may reveal the writer’s attitude toward the material, as “Live Free and Starve” does. The author. Whatever you know or can learn about a writer — upbringing, special training, previous publications, outlook, ideology — can often help you predict something about a work. Is the writer a political conservative or a liberal? a feminist? an athlete? an internationally renowned philosopher? a popular comedian? By knowing something about the background or beliefs of a writer, you may guess beforehand a little of what he or she will say. The genre. Identifying the type, or

GENRE,

of a work can tell you much about the writer’s intentions and

likely strategies. Genres vary widely; they include critical analyses, business reports, works of literature, humor pieces, and newspaper columns — among many others. The conventions of a given genre necessarily direct a writer’s choices. For instance, you can assume that a scholarly article will take an academic tone, lay out arguments and evidence carefully, and cite other published works. The same approach in a personal narrative, however, would confuse most readers.

Genre The category into which a piece of writing fits. Shaped by

PURPOSE, AUDIENCE,

and context,

genres range from broad types (such as fiction and nonfiction) to general groups (novel, essay) to narrower groups (science fiction novel, personal narrative) to specific document formats (steampunk graphic novel, post on a retail workers’ forum) — and they tend to overlap. The genres of college writing vary widely. Examples appear on pages 71 (police log), 109 (field observation), 146 (job-application letter), 178 (review), 218 (lab report), 259 (critical analysis), 297 (résumé), 338 (letter to the editor), 373 (essay exam), and 418 (proposal). Most readers are instinctively aware of individual genres and the characteristics that distinguish them, and they expect writers to follow the genre’s conventions for POINT OF VIEW, structure and organization, types of

EVIDENCE

language,

TONE,

length, appearance, and so

forth. Consider, for instance, a daily newspaper: Readers expect the news articles to be objective statements of fact, with none of the reporters’ personal thoughts and little rhetorical flourish; but when they turn to the op-ed page or their favorite columnists, such opinions and clever turns of phrase are precisely what they’re looking for. Similar expectations exist for every kind of writing, and good writers make a point of knowing what they are. See also pages 10, 32, and 40 and the individual chapter introductions in Part Two. 85

Where the work was published. Clearly, it matters to a writer’s credibility whether an article called “Creatures of the Dark Oceans” appears in a science magazine or in a supermarket tabloid. But no less important, knowing where a work first appeared can tell you for whom the writer was writing. Good writers, as you will see, develop an awareness of their

AUDIENCE

and shape their messages to appeal to

particular readers’ interests and needs.

Audience A writer’s readers. Having in mind a particular audience helps the writer in choosing strategies, such as which method(s) to use, what details to include, and how to shape an ARGUMENT. You can increase your awareness of your audience by asking yourself a few questions before you begin to write. Who are to be your readers? What is their age level? background? education? Where do they live? What are their beliefs and attitudes? What interests them? What, if anything, sets them apart from most people? How familiar are they with your subject? Knowing your audience can help you write so that your readers will not only understand you better but care more deeply about what you say. See also pages 20, 30, and 407.

When the work was published. Knowing the year a work appeared may give you another key to understanding it. A 2017 article on ocean creatures will contain statements of fact more advanced and reliable than an essay printed in 1917 — although the older work might offer valuable information and insights, too. To help provide such prereading knowledge, this book supplies biographical information about the writers and tells you something about the sources and original contexts of the selections, in notes just before each essay. It can be tempting to skip over such introductory materials, but we encourage you to look at them. Doing so will help you become a more efficient reader in the end.

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Annotating To learn from other writers how to write well, you’ll want to read the essays in this book multiple times. On the first reading, focus on what the author has to say, without getting hung up on every particular. If you encounter any words or concepts that you don’t know, take them in stride; you can always circle them and look them up later. Begin by getting a feel for the gist of the essay; later, you will examine the details and strategies that make it work. In giving an essay a second or third going-over, critical readers find a pencil (or stylus) indispensable. A pencil in hand concentrates the attention wonderfully, and, as often happens with writing, it can lead to unexpected connections. (Some readers favor highlighting key words or lines, but you can’t use color alone to note why a word or an idea is important.) You can annotate your own material in several ways, developing a personal system that works best for you: Underline essential ideas, and double-underline repeated points or concepts. Mark key passages with checks or vertical lines. Write questions in the margins. Note associations with other works you’ve read, seen, or heard. Vent your feelings (“Bull!” “Yes!” “Says who?”). If you can’t annotate what you’re reading — because it’s borrowed or your device doesn’t have that functionality — make your notes on a separate sheet of paper or in an electronic bookmark or file. Writing while reading helps you uncover the hidden workings of an essay, so that you, as much as any expert, can judge its effectiveness. You’ll develop an opinion about what you read, and you’ll want to express it. While reading this way, you’re being a writer. Your pencil marks or keystrokes will jog your memory, too, when you review for a test, take part in class discussion, or write about what you’ve read. To show what a reader’s annotations on an essay might look like, we give you Nancy Mairs’s “Disability” with a student’s marginal notes, written over the course of several readings. The same student, Rosie Anaya, wrote an essay spurred by the ideas she found in reading Mairs’s work; it appears at the end of the next chapter.

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NANCY MAIRS A self-described “radical feminist, pacifist, and cripple,” Nancy Mairs aims to “speak the ‘unspeakable.’ ” Her poetry, memoirs, and essays deal with many sensitive subjects, including her struggles with multiple sclerosis. Born in Long Beach, California, in 1943, Mairs grew up in New Hampshire and Massachusetts. She received a BA from Wheaton College and an MFA in creative writing and a PhD in English literature from the University of Arizona. While working on her advanced degrees, Mairs taught high-school and college writing courses. Her second book of poetry, In All the Rooms of the Yellow House (1984), received a Western States Arts Foundation book award. Mairs’s essays are collected in several volumes, including Carnal Acts (1990), Waist High in the World (1996), A Troubled Guest (2001), and A Dynamic God (2007). In 2008 she received the Arizona Literary Treasure Award. In addition to working as a writer, Mairs is a public speaker and a research associate with the Southwest Institute for Research on Women.

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Disability As a writer afflicted with multiple sclerosis, Mairs is in a unique position to examine how the culture responds to people with disabilities. In this essay from Carnal Acts, she examines media depictions of disability and argues with her usual unsentimental candor that the media must treat disability as normal. The essay was first published in 1987 in the New York Times. To what extent is Mairs’s critique still valid today?

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DEVELOPING AN UNDERSTANDING Apart from your specific notes on an essay, you’ll also need a place to work out your comprehension using the strategies and detailed analyses discussed below and on the following pages. For such responses, you may find a JOURNAL handy. It can be a repository of your ideas, a comfortable place to record thoughts about what you read. You may be surprised to find that the more you write in an unstructured way, the more you’ll have to say when it’s time to write a structured essay.

Journal A record of one’s thoughts, kept daily or at least regularly. Keeping a journal faithfully can help a writer gain confidence and develop ideas. See also page 33.

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Summarizing It’s good practice, especially with more difficult essays, to SUMMARIZE the content in writing to be sure you understand it or, as often happens, to come to understand it. (We’re suggesting here that you write summaries for yourself, but the technique is also useful when you discuss other people’s works in your writing, as shown on pp. 43–44.)

Summarize, summary To condense a work (essay, movie, news story) to its essence (summarize), or the act or result of doing so (summary). Summarizing a piece of writing in one’s own words is an effective way to come to understand it. (See pp. 15–16.) Summarizing (and acknowledging) others’ writing in your own text is a good way to support your ideas. (See pp. 43, 44, and 46.) Contrast PARAPHRASE.

In summarizing a work of writing, you digest, in your own words, what the author says: You take the essence of the author’s meaning, without the supporting evidence and other details that make the whole convincing or interesting. If the work is short, you may want to make this a two-step procedure: First write a summary sentence for every paragraph or related group of paragraphs; then summarize those sentences in two or three others that capture the heart of the author’s meaning. Here is a two-step summary of “Disability.” (The numbers in parentheses refer to paragraph numbers in the essay.) First, the longer version: (1) Mairs searches the media in vain for depictions of women like herself with disabilities. (2) One TV movie showed a woman recently diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, but she chose dependence over independence. (3) Such shows oversimplify people with disabilities by making disability central to their lives. (4) People with disabilities live lives and consume goods like everyone else, but the media ignore them. (5) Showing disability as ordinary would remind nondisabled viewers that they are vulnerable. (6) The media’s exclusion of others like themselves deprives people with disabilities of role models and makes them feel undesirable or invisible. (7) Nondisabled viewers lose an understanding that could enrich them and would help them adjust to disability of their own.

Now the short summary: Mairs believes that the media, by failing to depict disability as ordinary, both marginalize viewers with disabilities and impair the outlook and coping skills of the “Temporarily Abled.”

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Thinking Critically Summarizing will start you toward understanding the author’s meaning, but it is just a first step. Once you comprehend the gist of a text, you’re ready to examine its deeper meanings and intentions and apply them to your own work and life. (A TEXT may be a written document, but it may also be a photograph, an experiment, a conversation, a work of art, a Web site, or any other form of communication.)

Text Any creation — written, visual, auditory, physical, or experiential — that can be interpreted or used as a SOURCE for writing. The starting point for most ACADEMIC WRITING, texts include written documents such as essays, articles, and books, of course, but also photographs, paintings, advertisements, Web sites, performances, musical scores, experiments, conversations, lectures, field observations, interviews, dreams, jokes — anything that invites a response, sparks an idea, or lends itself to CRITICAL THINKING, READING, AND WRITING. See pages 26–28.

We’re talking here about critical thinking — not “negative,” the common conception of critical, but “thorough, thoughtful, inquisitive, judgment forming.” When you approach something critically, you harness your faculties, your fund of knowledge, and your experiences to understand, appreciate, and evaluate the text. Critical thinking is a process involving several overlapping operations: analysis, inference, synthesis, and evaluation. Analysis A way of thinking so essential that it has its own chapter in this book (Chap. 8),

ANALYSIS

separates an

item into its parts. Say you’re listening to a new song by a band you like: Without thinking much about it, you isolate melodies, lyrics, and instrumentals. Critical readers analyze essays more consciously, by looking at an author’s main idea, support for that idea, special writing strategies, and other elements. To show you how the beginnings of such an analysis might look, we examine these elements in “Disability” later in this chapter.

Analyze, analysis To separate a subject into its parts (analyze), or the act or result of doing so (analysis, also called division). Analysis is a key skill in CRITICAL THINKING, READING, AND WRITING; see pages 16, 18–22, and 24–25. It is also considered a method of development; see Chapter 8.

Inference Next you draw conclusions about a work based on your store of information and experience, your knowledge of the creator’s background and biases, and your analysis. Say that after listening to the new song,

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you conclude that it reveals the band’s interest in the Caribbean soca scene. Now you are using

INFERENCE.

When you infer, you add to the work, making explicit what was only implicit.

Infer, inference To draw a conclusion (infer), or the act or result of doing so (inference). In CRITICAL THINKING, READING, AND WRITING,

inference is the means to understanding a writer’s meaning,

ASSUMPTIONS, PURPOSE,

fairness, and other attributes. See also pages 16–17, 23, and 25.

CHECKLIST FOR CRITICAL READING Analyze. Examine the elements of the work, such as thesis, purpose and audience, genre, evidence, structure, and language. Infer. Interpret the underlying meanings of the elements and the assumptions and intentions of the author. Synthesize. Form an idea about how the elements function together to produce a whole and to deliver a message. Evaluate. Judge the quality, significance, or value of the work.

Inference is especially important in discovering a writer’s ASSUMPTIONS: opinions or beliefs, often unstated, that direct the writer’s ideas, supporting evidence, writing strategies, and language choices. A writer who favors gun control, for instance, may assume without saying so that an individual’s rights may be infringed for the good of the community. A writer who opposes gun control might assume the opposite, that an individual’s right is superior to the community’s good.

Assume, assumption To take something for granted (assume), or a belief or opinion taken for granted (assumption). Whether stated or unstated, assumptions influence a writer’s choices of subject, viewpoint, EVIDENCE

and even language. See also pages 17 and 410.

Synthesis During

SYNTHESIS,

you use your special aptitudes, interests, and training to reconstitute a text so that it

now contains not just the original elements but also your sense of their underpinnings, relationships, and implications. What is the band trying to accomplish with its new song? Has the musical style changed? Answering such questions leads you to link elements into a whole or to link two or more wholes.

Synthesize, synthesis To link elements into a whole (synthesize), or the act or result of doing so (synthesis). In CRITICAL THINKING, READING, AND WRITING,

synthesis is the key step during which you use your own

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perspective to reassemble a work you have ANALYZED or to connect the work with others. (See pp. 17 and 25.) Synthesis is a hallmark of ACADEMIC WRITING in which you respond to others’ work or use multiple sources to support your ideas. (See pp. 46–47 and 496–98.)

Synthesis is the core of much academic writing. Sometimes you’ll respond directly to a text, or you’ll use it as a springboard to another subject. Sometimes you’ll show how two or more texts resemble each other or how they differ. Sometimes you’ll draw on many texts to answer a question or support an argument. In all these cases, you’ll put your reading to use to develop your own ideas. Evaluation When you

EVALUATE,

you determine the adequacy, significance, or value of a work: Is the band getting

better or just standing still? In evaluating an essay you answer a question such as whether you are moved as the author intended, whether the author has proved a case, or whether the effort was even worthwhile. Not all critical thinking involves evaluation, however; often you (and your teachers) will be satisfied with analyzing, inferring, and synthesizing ideas without judging a text’s overall merit. Using this book, you’ll learn to think critically about an essay by considering what the author’s purpose and main idea are, how clear they are, and how well supported. You’ll isolate which writing techniques the author has used to special advantage, what hits you as particularly fresh, clever, or wise — and what doesn’t work, too. You’ll discover exactly what the writer is saying, how he or she says it, and whether, in the end, it was worth saying. In class discussions and in writing, you’ll tell others what you think and why.

Evaluate, evaluation To judge the merits of something (evaluate) or the act or result of doing so (evaluation). Evaluation is often part of CRITICAL THINKING, READING, AND WRITING. In evaluating a work of writing, you base your judgment on your ANALYSIS of it and your sense of its quality or value. See also pages 17–18, 23, 26, and 492–95.

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ANALYZING ESSAYS To help you in your critical reading, questions after every selection in this book direct your attention to specific elements of the writer’s work. Here we introduce the three categories of questions — on meaning, writing strategy, and language — and show how they might be applied to Nancy Mairs’s “Disability” (p. 12).

QUESTIONS FOR ANALYZING AN ESSAY MEANING What is the thesis, or main point? Where is stated? What is the writer’s purpose? What does the essay try to acomplish? WRITING STRATEGY Who is the intended audience? What assumptions does the writer make about readers’ knowledge, perspectives, and interests? How are supporting details structured? What methods does the writer use to organize ideas? How does the writer achieve unity and coherence? What evidence does the writer provide to support the main idea? Is it sufficient and compelling? LANGUAGE What is the overall tone of the essay? Is it appropriate, given the writer’s purpose and audience? How effective are the writer’s words? Are their meanings clear? What connotations do they hold? Does the writer use any figures of speech, such as metaphor, simile, hyperbole, personification, or irony? How well do they lend meaning and vibrancy to the writer’s thoughts?

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Meaning By meaning, we’re getting at what the words say literally, of course, but also what they imply and, more generally, what the author’s aims are. When reading an essay, look especially for the

THESIS

and try to

determine the author’s PURPOSE for writing.

Thesis, thesis statement The central idea in a work of writing (thesis), to which everything else in the work refers; one or more sentences that express that central idea (thesis statement). In some way, each sentence and PARAGRAPH

in an effective essay serves to support the thesis and to make it clear and explicit to

readers. Good writers, while writing, often set down a thesis statement to help them define their purpose. They also often include this statement in their essay as a promise and a guide to readers. See pages 19, 35–36, 40–41, and the introductions to Chapters 3–12. Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing. In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages 19, 31–32, and 40.

Thesis. Every essay has — or should have — a point, a main idea the writer wants to communicate. Many writers come right out and sum up this idea in a sentence or two, a THESIS STATEMENT. They may provide it in the first or second paragraph, give it somewhere in the middle of the essay, or hold it for the end. Mairs, for instance, develops her thesis over the course of the essay and then states it in paragraph 7: Achieving this integration [of seeing disability as normal], for disabled and able-bodied people alike, requires that we insert disability daily into our field of vision: quietly, naturally, in the small and common scenes of our ordinary lives. Sometimes a writer will not state his or her thesis outright at all, although it remains in the background controlling the work and can be inferred by a critical reader. If you find yourself confused about a writer’s point — “What is this about?” — it will be up to you to figure out what the author is trying to say. Purpose. By purpose, we mean the writer’s apparent reason for writing: what he or she was trying to achieve. In making a simple statement of a writer’s purpose, we might say that a person writes to reflect on an experience or observation, to entertain readers, to explain something to them, or to persuade them. To state a purpose more fully, we might say that a writer writes not just to persuade, for instance, but to motivate readers to accept a particular idea or take a specific action. In the case of “Disability,” it seems

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that Mairs’s purpose is twofold: to explain her view of the media and to convince readers that lack of representation hurts people without disabilities as much as it does people with disabilities.

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Writing Strategy Almost all writing is a transaction between a writer and an audience, maybe one reader, maybe millions. To the extent that writers hold our interest, make us think, and convince us to accept a thesis, it pays to ask, “How do they succeed?” (When writers bore or anger us, we ask why they fail.) Conscious writers make choices intended to get readers on their side so that they can achieve their purpose. These choices are what we mean by STRATEGY in writing.

Strategy Whatever means a writer employs to write effectively. The methods set forth in this book are strategies; but so are narrowing a SUBJECT, organizing ideas clearly, using TRANSITIONS, writing with an awareness of your AUDIENCE, and other effective writing practices.

Audience. We can tell much about a writer’s intended audience from the context in which the piece was first published. And when we know something of the audience, we can better analyze the writer’s decisions, from the choice of supporting details to the use of a particular tone. Mairs’s original audience, for instance, was the readers of the New York Times, as the introduction to “Disability” on page 12 informs us. She could assume educated readers with diverse interests who are not themselves disabled or even familiar with disability. So she fills them in, taking pains to describe her disability (par. 1) and her life (4). For her thoughtful but somewhat blinkered audience, Mairs mixes a blend of plain talk, humor, and insistence to give them the facts they need, win them over with common humanity, and convey the gravity of the problem. Method. A crucial part of a writer’s strategy is how he or she develops ideas to achieve a particular purpose or purposes. As Chapters 3–12 of this book illustrate, a writer may draw on one or more familiar methods of development to make those ideas concrete and convincing. Mairs, for instance, uses CONTRAST

offers

COMPARISON AND

to show similarities and differences between herself and nondisabled people (pars. 1, 4, 5). She

EXAMPLES:

of dramas she dislikes (2–3), of products she buys (4), and of ads in which people with

disabilities might appear (5). With has experienced (6). And with

DESCRIPTION

she shows the flavor of her life (4) and the feelings she

CAUSE AND EFFECT

she explains why disability is ignored by the media (5)

and what that does to people with disabilities (6) and those without (7). Overall, Mairs uses these methods to build an ARGUMENT, asserting and defending an opinion.

Comparison and contrast Two methods of development usually found together. Using them, a writer examines the similarities and differences between two things to reveal their natures. See Chapter 6. Example Also called exemplification or illustration, a method of development in which the writer 100

provides instances of a general idea. See Chapter 5. An example is a verbal illustration. Description A mode of writing that conveys the evidence of the senses: sight, hearing, touch, taste, smell. See Chapter 4. Cause and effect A method of development in which a writer

ANALYZES

reasons for an action, event, or

decision, or analyzes its consequences. See Chapter 10. See also EFFECT. Argument A mode of writing intended to win readers’ agreement with an assertion by engaging their powers of reasoning. Argument often overlaps PERSUASION. See Chapter 12.

Evidence. Typically, each method of development benefits from — and lends itself to — different kinds of support. For this EVIDENCE, the writer may use facts, reasons, examples, expert opinions — whatever best delivers the point. (We have more to say about the uses of evidence in the introductions to Chapters 3–12.) Mairs draws on several types of evidence to develop her claims, including personal experiences and emotions (pars. 1, 4, 5), details to support her generalizations (2, 4, 5), and the opinion of an advertiser (5).

Evidence The details that support an argument or an explanation, including facts, examples, and expert opinions. A writer’s opinions and GENERALIZATIONS must rest upon evidence. See pages 408– 09.

Structure. A writer must mold and arrange ideas to capture, hold, and direct readers’ interest. Writing that we find clear and convincing almost always has COHERENCE

UNITY

(everything relates to the main idea) and

(the relations between parts are clear). All the parts fit together logically. In “Disability,”

Mairs first introduces herself and establishes her complaint (pars. 1–5). Then she explains and argues the negative effects of “effacement” on people with disabilities (6) and the positive effects that normalizing disability would have on people who are not presently disabled (7). As often occurs in arguments, Mairs’s organization builds to her main idea, her thesis, which readers might find difficult to accept at the outset.

Unity The quality of good writing in which all parts relate to the THESIS. In a unified essay, all words, sentences, and PARAGRAPHS support the single central idea. Your first step in achieving unity is to state your thesis; your next step is to organize your thoughts so that they make your thesis clear. See also pages 41 and 372. 101

Coherence The clear connection of the parts in effective writing so that the reader can easily follow the flow of ideas between sentences, paragraphs, and larger divisions, and can see how they relate successively to one another. In making your essay coherent, you may find certain devices useful.

TRANSITIONS,

for

instance, can bridge ideas. Reminders of points you have stated earlier are helpful to a reader who may have forgotten them — as readers tend to do sometimes, particularly if an essay is long. However, a coherent essay is not one merely pasted together with transitions and reminders. It derives its coherence from the clear relationship between its idea) and all its parts. See also pages 41–42 and 257–58.

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THESIS

(or central

Language To examine the element of language is to go even more deeply into an essay and how it was made. A writer’s tone, voice, and choice of words in particular not only express meaning but also convey the writer’s attitudes and elicit those attitudes from readers. Tone. The

TONE

of a piece of writing is the equivalent of tone of voice in speaking. Whether it’s angry,

sarcastic, or sad, joking or serious, tone carries almost as much information about a writer’s purpose as the words themselves do. Mairs’s tone mixes lightness with gravity, humor with intensity. Sometimes she uses IRONY,

saying one thing but meaning another, as in “If you saw my blind niece ordering a Coke, would you

switch to Pepsi lest you be struck sightless?” (par. 5). She’s blunt, too, revealing intimate details about her life. Honest and wry, Mairs invites us to see the media’s exclusion as ridiculous and then leads us to her uncomfortable conclusion.

Tone The way a writer expresses his or her regard for subject,

AUDIENCE,

or self. Through word

choice, sentence structures, and what is actually said, the writer conveys an attitude and sets a prevailing spirit. Tone in writing varies as greatly as tone of voice varies in conversation. It can be serious, distant, flippant, angry, enthusiastic, sincere, sympathetic. Whatever tone a writer chooses, usually it informs an entire essay and helps a reader decide how to respond. For examples of strong tone, see the essays by Diane Ackerman, Brian Doyle, Jessica Mitford, David Sedaris, Russell Baker, Chitra Divakaruni, Tal Fortgang, and Judy Brady. See also page 416. Irony A manner of speaking or writing that does not directly state a discrepancy, but implies one. Verbal irony is the intentional use of words to suggest a meaning other than literal: “What a mansion!” (said of a shack); “There’s nothing like sunshine” (said on a foggy morning). (For more examples, see the essays by Jessica Mitford and Judy Brady.) If irony is delivered contemptuously with an intent to hurt, we call it sarcasm: “Oh, you’re a real friend!” (said to someone who refuses to lend the speaker the coins to operate a clothes dryer). With situational irony, the circumstances themselves are incongruous, run contrary to expectations, or twist fate: Juliet regains consciousness only to find that Romeo, believing her dead, has stabbed himself. See also SATIRE.

Word choice. Tone comes in part from

DICTION,

a writer’s choices regarding words and sentence

structures — academic, casual, or otherwise. Mairs is a writer whose diction is rich and varied. Expressions from common speech, such as “what I’m looking for” (par. 3), lend her prose vigor and naturalness. At the same time, Mairs is serious about her argument, so she puts it in serious terms, such as “denial of disability imperils even you who are able-bodied” (7). Pay attention also to the

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CONNOTATIONS

of words — their

implied meanings and associations. Such subtle nuances can have a profound effect on both a writer’s meaning and readers’ understanding of it. In “Disability,” the word with the strongest connotations may be “cripple” (2, 5) because it calls up insensitivity: By using this word, Mairs stresses her frankness but also suggests that negative attitudes determine what images the media present.

Diction The choice of words. Every written or spoken statement uses diction of some kind. To describe certain aspects of diction, the following terms may be useful: Standard English: the common American language, words, and grammatical forms that are used and expected in schools, businesses, and other formal sites. Nonstandard English: words and grammatical forms such as theirselves and ain’t that are used mainly by people who speak a dialect other than standard English. Dialect: a variety of English based on differences in geography, education, or social background. Dialect is usually spoken but may be written. Shirley Jackson’s story in Chapter 3 transcribes the words of dialect speakers (“ ‘I looked out the window and the kids was gone, and then I remembered it was the twenty-seventh and came a-running’ ”). Slang: certain words in highly informal speech or writing, or in the speech of a particular group — for example, blow off, dweeb, wack. Colloquial expressions: words and phrases from conversation. See EXPRESSIONS

COLLOQUIAL

for examples.

Regional terms: words heard in a certain locality, such as spritzing for “raining” in Pennsylvania Dutch country. Technical terms: words and phrases that form the vocabulary of a particular discipline (monocotyledon from botany), occupation (drawplate from die-making), or avocation (interval training from running). See also JARGON. Archaisms: old-fashioned expressions, once common but now used to suggest an earlier style, such as ere and forsooth. Obsolete diction: words that have passed out of use (such as the verb werien, “to protect or defend,” and the noun isetnesses, “agreements”). Obsolete may also refer to certain meanings of words no longer current (fond for foolish, clipping for hugging or embracing). Pretentious diction: use of words more numerous and elaborate than necessary, such as institution of higher learning for “college,” and partake of solid nourishment for “eat.” Archaic, obsolete, and pretentious diction usually have no place in good writing unless for ironic or humorous effect: The journalist and critic H. L. Mencken delighted in the hifalutin use of tonsorial studio instead of barber shop. Still, any diction may be the right diction for a certain occasion: The choice of words depends on a writer’s PURPOSE and AUDIENCE.

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Connotation and denotation Two types of meanings most words have. Denotation is the explicit, literal, dictionary definition of a word. Connotation refers to a word’s implied meaning, resonant with associations. The denotation of blood is “the fluid that circulates in the vascular system.” The connotations of blood range from life force to gore to family bond. A doctor might use the word blood for its denotation, and a mystery writer might rely on the word’s connotations to heighten a scene. Because people have different experiences, they bring to the same word different associations. A conservative’s emotional response to the word welfare is not likely to be the same as a liberal’s. And referring to your senator as a diplomat evokes a different response, from the senator and from others, than would baby-kisser, political hack, or even politician. The effective use of words involves knowing both what they mean literally and what they are likely to suggest.

Imagery. One final use of language is worth noting: those concrete words and phrases that appeal to readers’ senses. Such

IMAGES

might be straightforward, as in Mairs’s portrayal of herself as someone who

“can still totter short distances with the aid of a brace and a cane” (par. 1). But often writers use OF SPEECH,

FIGURES

bits of colorful language that capture meaning or attitude better than literal words can. For

instance, Mairs says that people “study others and then mold themselves to the contours of those whose images … they come to love” (6). That figure of speech is a metaphor, stating that one thing (behavioral change) is another (physical change). Elsewhere Mairs uses simile, stating that one thing is like another (“an illness-of-the-week like the daily special at your local diner,” 2), and understatement (“physical disability looms pretty large in one’s life,” 4). More examples of figures of speech appear in the Glossary of Useful Terms, page 543.

Image A word or word sequence that evokes a sensory experience. Whether literal (“We picked two red apples”) or figurative (“His cheeks looked like two red apples, buffed and shining”), an image appeals to the reader’s memory of seeing, hearing, smelling, touching, or tasting. Images add concreteness to fiction — “The farm looked as tiny and still as a seashell, with the little knob of a house surrounded by its curved furrows of tomato plants” (Eudora Welty in a short story, “The Whistle”) — and are an important element in poetry. But writers of essays, too, use images to bring ideas down to earth. See also FIGURES OF SPEECH. Figures of speech Expressions that depart from the literal meanings of words for the sake of emphasis or vividness. To say “She’s a jewel” doesn’t mean that the subject of praise is literally a kind of shining stone; the statement makes sense because the CONNOTATIONS of jewel come to mind: rare, priceless, worth cherishing. Some figures of speech involve comparisons of two objects apparently unlike:

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A simile (from the Latin, “likeness”) states the comparison directly, usually connecting the two things using like, as, or than: “The moon is like a snowball”; “He’s as lazy as a cat full of cream”; “My feet are flatter than flyswatters.” A metaphor (from the Greek, “transfer”) declares one thing to be another: “A mighty fortress is our God”; “The sheep were bolls of cotton on the hill.” (A dead metaphor is a word or phrase that, originally a figure of speech, has come to be literal through common usage: “the hands of a clock.”) Personification is a simile or metaphor that assigns human traits to inanimate objects or abstractions: “A stoop-shouldered refrigerator hummed quietly to itself”; “The solution to the math problem sat there winking at me.” Other figures of speech consist of deliberate misrepresentations: Hyperbole (from the Greek, “throwing beyond”) is a conscious exaggeration: “I’m so hungry I could eat a saddle”; “I’d wait for you a thousand years.” The opposite of hyperbole, understatement, creates an ironic or humorous effect: “I accepted the ride. At the moment, I didn’t feel like walking across the Mojave Desert.” A paradox (from the Greek, “conflicting with expectation”) is a seemingly selfcontradictory statement that, on reflection, makes sense: “Children are the poor person’s wealth” (wealth can be monetary, or it can be spiritual). Paradox may also refer to a situation that is inexplicable or contradictory, such as the restriction of one group’s rights in order to secure the rights of another group.

Many of the reading questions in this book point to figures of speech, to oddities of tone, to particulars of diction, or to troublesome or unfamiliar words. Writers have few traits more valuable than a fondness for words and a willingness to experiment with them.

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EXAMINING VISUAL IMAGES We often forget that a visual text, just as much as a written work, was created for a reason. No matter what it is — advertisement, infographic, painting, video, photograph, cartoon — an image originated with a person or persons who had a purpose, an intention for how that image should look and how viewers should respond to it. In their origins, then, visual images are not much different from written texts, and they are no less open to critical thinking that will uncover their meanings and effects. To a great extent, the method for critically “reading” visuals parallels the one for essays outlined earlier in this chapter. In short, as the checklist on the facing page indicates, you start with an overview of the image and then analyze its elements, make inferences, synthesize, and evaluate. As you do when reading written works, always write while examining a visual image or images. Jotting down responses, questions, and other notes will not only help you remember what you were thinking but also jog further thoughts into being. To show the critical method in action, we’ll look closely at the photograph on page 24. Further examples of visual works appear elsewhere in this book as well: For images that support written works, see pages 202 and 268 (photographs), 352–55 (drawings), and 359 (a bar graph). And Chapters 3–12 each open with a visual that gives you a chance to try critical viewing on your own.

QUESTIONS FOR EXAMINING AN IMAGE THE BIG PICTURE What is the source of the work? Who was the intended audience? What does the work show overall? What appears to be happening? Why was the work created — to educate, to sell, to shock, to entertain? ANALYSIS Which elements of the image stand out? What is distinctive about each? What does the composition of the image emphasize? What is pushed to the background or the sides? INFERENCE What do the elements of the work suggest about the creator’s intentions and assumptions? If words accompany the work, what do they say? How are they sized and placed in relation to the visual elements? How do the written and visual parts interact? SYNTHESIS What general appeal does the work make to viewers? For instance, does it emphasize logic, emotion, or value? What feelings, memories, moods, or ideas does the work summon from viewers’ own store of experiences? Why would its creator try to establish these associations? EVALUATION Does the work fulfill its creator’s intentions? Was it worth creating? How does the work affect you? Are you moved? amused? bored? offended?

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Seeing the Big Picture To examine any visual representation, it helps first to get an overview, a sense of the whole and its context. On such a first glance, consider who created it — for instance, a painter, a teacher, an advertiser — when it was created, and why.

The photograph above was taken by photojournalist Robin Nelson near the Watts Bar nuclear power plant in Spring City, Tennessee, for a 2011 photo essay in Mother Jones, a magazine known for its progressive outlook. The year before, an earthquake and tsunami had destroyed nuclear reactors in Japan, causing global alarm. Nelson’s picture shows a solitary older man fishing from a boat with his hands resting on its steering wheel; the Chicamauga Reservoir and two cooling towers appear in the background. (The tower on the left has operated since 1996; a new reactor for the other tower was under construction at the time of the photograph and was slated to begin operation within a year.)

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Taking a Critical Look After you’ve gained an overview of an image, you can start making the kinds of deeper inquiry — analysis, inference, synthesis, and evaluation — that serve as the foundation of any critical reading, whatever form the text may take.

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Analysis To analyze a visual work, focus on the elements that contribute to the whole — not just the people, animals, or objects depicted but also artistic elements such as lighting, color, shape, and balance. Notice which elements stand out and what seems to be emphasized. If spoken or written words accompany the work, examine their relation to the visual components as well as what they say. In Nelson’s photograph, the dominant elements are the towers and the man, whose smile suggests contentment. A fishing rod and line occupy the center of the image, visually connecting the man, the towers, and the water. The pole points at the sun in the upper left corner. The sun reflects off the water and puts parts of the man in shadow; the towers are reflected in the water as well. A line of trees runs across the midline of the photo, highlighting the natural environment. The sky is clear, with one cloud floating in the upper right. And in the foreground we see what appear to be a container for bait and a cooler.

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Inference Identifying the elements of a visual leads you to consider what they mean and how the image’s creator has selected and arranged them so that viewers will respond in certain ways. You make explicit what may only be implicit in the work — the creator’s intentions and assumptions. We can guess at Robin Nelson’s intentions for the photograph. On the one hand, it seems to support nuclear power as harmless: The bright sun, clear sky, sparkling water, and lush trees imply an unspoiled environment, and the man appears unworried about fishing near the plant. On the other hand, Nelson would know that most readers of Mother Jones are concerned about the safety of nuclear power and that the cooling towers alone would raise red flags for many; certainly the cloud in the otherwise clear sky and the deep shadow obscuring most of the fisherman hint at danger. The photographer may see these opposites as reflecting the controversy over nuclear power.

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Synthesis Linking the elements and your inferences about them will move you into a new conception of a visual representation: your own conclusions about its overall message and effect. As we see it, Nelson’s photograph represents Americans’ mixed feelings about nuclear power. The looming towers, the cloud, and the shadowing seem ominous, suggesting risks facing the area around the plant and the country as a whole. The beauty of the scenery evokes our appreciation of nature; the implied pleasure of fishing evokes our approval as it intensifies our concerns for the man’s safety. The juxtaposition of the power plant, the environment, and a single human being seems to represent the intersecting forces of nature and society and the complex implications of nuclear energy for both.

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Evaluation Often in criticizing visual works, you’ll take one step beyond synthesis to judge the quality, significance, or value of the work. Robin Nelson’s photograph seems to us masterful in delivering a message. As Nelson seems to have intended, he distills strong, contradictory feelings about nuclear power and environmental protection into a deceptively simple image of a man fishing. Viewers’ own biases, positive or negative, will affect their responses to Nelson’s image and the meanings they derive from it.

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READING TO WRITE As we said at the start of this chapter, reading and writing are interconnected. Not only will reading the work of other writers help you develop your skills as a communicator, but much of the reading you do will result in writing. You might be prompted to write by an assignment for a class, or you might be moved to respond for your own reasons, perhaps to express your agreement with — or outrage at — an opinion posted online, or simply to work out your thoughts for yourself. Responding to texts in some way — the natural outcome of reading them critically — will occupy much of your academic career.

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Building Knowledge In college you will read and write in many disciplines — history, psychology, chemistry, and so on — each with its own subjects, approaches, and genres for shaping ideas and information. As varied as your readings may be, however, they will all share the goals and requirements of

ACADEMIC WRITING:

The writers build and

exchange knowledge by thinking critically and writing effectively about what they read, see, hear, or do.

Academic writing The kind of writing generally undertaken by scholars and students, in which a writer responds to another’s work or uses multiple SOURCES to develop and support an original idea. Typically based on one or more TEXTS, all academic writing calls on a writer’s CRITICAL THINKING, READING, AND WRITING

abilities and shares the common goal of using reading and writing to build and exchange

knowledge. See Chapter 2, pp. 42–47, and the Appendix, pp. 496–99.

For a taste of such academic knowledge building, you can take a look at any of the selections in this book that synthesize information and ideas gleaned from a SOURCE or sources — such as Rachel O’Connor’s critical reading of Shirley Jackson’s short story “The Lottery” (p. 90), Laila Ayad’s examination of a historical photograph (p. 267), Marie Javdani’s study of the global effects of the drug trade (p. 345), Margaret Lundberg’s environmental argument for vegetarianism (p. 514), or Eric Kim’s overview of recent developments in neuroscience (p. 530).

Source Any outside TEXT or material that a writer uses to develop and support ideas. Often found through the process of researching a subject, a single source might be the focus of an essay (as when you write about a selection in this book), or a writer might SYNTHESIZE multiple sources as EVIDENCE for one or more points. Any source referred to in an essay must be documented with an in-text citation and an entry in a works-cited or references list. See Chapter 2 on academic writing, especially pages 42–47, and the Appendix on research and documentation.

You may notice that regardless of discipline, these essays follow certain conventions of academic writing: Each writer presents a clearly stated thesis — a debatable idea about a subject — and attempts to gain readers’ agreement with it. The writers provide evidence to support the thesis, drawing on one or more texts, or works that can be examined or interpreted. The writers analyze meaning, infer assumptions, and synthesize texts with their own views. Academic writers do not merely summarize sources; they grapple with them — in short, they read and write

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critically. They assume an educated audience — one that can be counted on to read critically in turn. The writers express their ideas clearly, provide the information readers need to analyze those ideas, and organize points and evidence effectively. Further, they approach their subjects seriously and discuss evidence and opposing views fairly. The essays acknowledge the use of sources, often using in-text citations and a bibliography in a format appropriate for the discipline. This book will show you how to achieve your own academic writing by responding directly to what you read (below), integrating evidence ethically and effectively (Chap. 2), and orchestrating — and documenting — multiple sources to develop and support your ideas (Appendix).

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Forming a Response The essay by Rosie Anaya at the end of the next chapter (p. 59) illustrates one genre of academic writing, the critical response: Anaya summarizes Nancy Mairs’s essay “Disability” (p. 12), explores its implications, and uses it as a springboard to her own related subject, which she supports with personal observation and experience. Just as Anaya responds to Mairs’s essay, so you can respond to any essay in this book, or for that matter to any text you read, see, or hear. Using evidence from the text, from your own experiences, and sometimes from additional sources, you can take a variety of approaches to writing about what you read: Agree with and extend the author’s ideas, providing additional examples or exploring related ideas. Agree with the author on some points, but disagree on others. Disagree with the author on one or more key points. Explain how the author achieves a particular

EFFECT,

such as enlisting your sympathy or sparking your

anger.

Effect The result of an event or action, usually considered together with

CAUSE

as a method of

development. See the discussion of cause and effect in Chapter 10. In discussing writing, the term effect also refers to the impression a word, a sentence, a paragraph, or an entire work makes on the reader: how convincing it is, whether it elicits an emotional response, what associations it conjures up, and so on.

Judge the overall effectiveness of the essay — for instance, how well the writer supports the thesis, whether the argument is convincing, or whether the author succeeds in his or her stated or unstated purpose. These suggestions assume that you are responding to a single work, but of course you may take on two or even more works at the same time. You might, for instance, use the method of comparison and contrast to show how two stories are alike or different, or find your own way between competing arguments on an issue. Some works you read will spark an immediate reaction, maybe because you disagree or agree strongly right from the start. Other works may require a more gradual entry into the author’s meaning and what you think about it. At the same time, you may have an assignment that narrows the scope of your response — for instance, by asking you to look at tone or some other element of the work or by asking you to agree or disagree with the author’s thesis. Whatever your initial reaction or your assignment, you can use the tools discussed in this chapter to generate and structure your response: summary, analysis, inference, synthesis, and evaluation. As you work out a response, you’ll certainly need to make notes of some sort: For instance, Rosie Anaya’s annotations on Mairs’s essay on pages 12–15 include questions raised while reading, highlights of key quotations, summaries of Mairs’s ideas, interpretations of their meanings, and the beginnings of Anaya’s ideas in response. Such

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notes may grow increasingly focused as you refine your response and return to the work to interpret it further and gather additional passages to discuss. Knowledge builds as you bring your own perspectives to bear on what others have written, making your own contributions to what has come before. By reading carefully and writing thoughtfully in response, you’re well on your way to becoming an academic writer yourself.

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2 THE WRITING PROCESS The CRITICAL THINKING discussed in the previous chapter will serve you in just about every role you’ll play in life — consumer, voter, friend, parent. As a student and a worker, though, you’ll find critical thinking especially important as the foundation for writing. Whether to demonstrate your competence or to contribute to discussions and projects, writing will be the main way you communicate with teachers, supervisors, and peers.

Critical thinking, reading, and writing A group of interlocking skills that are essential for college work and beyond. Each seeks the meaning beneath the surface of a statement, poem, editorial, picture, advertisement, Web site, or other TEXT. Using ANALYSIS, INFERENCE, SYNTHESIS, and often EVALUATION, the critical thinker, reader, and writer separates a text into its elements in order to see and judge meanings, relations, and ASSUMPTIONS that might otherwise remain buried. See also pages 12, 25–261, 255, and 406– 07.

Writing is no snap: As this book’s Writers on Writing attest, not even professionals can produce thoughtful, detailed, attention-getting prose in a single draft. Writing well demands, and rewards, a willingness to work recursively — to begin tentatively and then to double back, to welcome change and endure frustration, to recognize progress and move forward. This recursive writing process is not really a single process at all, not even for an individual writer. Some people work out meticulous plans ahead of time; others prefer to just start writing; still others will work one way for one project and a different way for another. Generally, though, writers do move through distinct stages between initial idea and finished work: discovery, drafting, revising, and editing. In examining these stages, we’ll have the help of a student, Rosie Anaya, who wrote an essay for this book responding to Nancy Mairs’s essay “Disability.” Along with the finished essay (pp. 59–60), Anaya also shares her notes and multiple drafts.

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ASSESSING THE WRITING SITUATION Any writing you do will occur in a specific situation. What are you writing about? Whom are you writing for? Why are you writing about this subject to these people? What will they expect of you? Subject, audience, and purpose are the main components of the writing situation, discussed in detail in this section. We also touch on another component, genre (or type of writing), which relates to audience and purpose.

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Subject The

SUBJECT

of a work is what it is about, or the general topic. Your subject may be specified or at least

suggested in an assignment. “Discuss one of the works we’ve read this semester in its historical and social context,” reads a literature assignment; “Can you draw up a proposal for holiday staffing?” asks your boss. If you’re left to your own devices and nothing occurs to you, try the discovery techniques explained on pages 32– 34 to find a topic that interests you.

Subject What a piece of a writing is about. The subject of an essay starts with a general topic, but because writers narrow their FOCUS on a subject until they have a specific point to make about it, multiple works on the same topic will typically be very different from one another. See also page 30, PURPOSE,

and THESIS.

In this book we provide ideas that will also give you practice in working with assignments. After each reading selection, a variety of writing prompts suggest possible subjects; more writing topics conclude each chapter. You may not wish to take any of our suggestions exactly as worded; they may merely inspire your own thoughts — and thus what you want to say.

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Audience We looked at

AUDIENCE

in the previous chapter as a way of understanding the decisions other writers

make. When you are doing the writing, considering audience moves from informative to necessary.

Audience A writer’s readers. Having in mind a particular audience helps the writer in choosing strategies, such as which method(s) to use, what details to include, and how to shape an ARGUMENT. You can increase your awareness of your audience by asking yourself a few questions before you begin to write. Who are to be your readers? What is their age level? background? education? Where do they live? What are their beliefs and attitudes? What interests them? What, if anything, sets them apart from most people? How familiar are they with your subject? Knowing your audience can help you write so that your readers will not only understand you better but care more deeply about what you say. See also pages 20, 30, and 407.

You can conceive of your audience generally — for instance, your classmates, subscribers to a particular newspaper or blog, members of the city council. Usually, though, you’ll want to think about the characteristics of readers that will affect how they respond to you: Who will read your work? What in the makeup of readers will influence their responses? How old are they? Are they educated? Do they share your values? Are they likely to have some misconceptions about your subject? What do readers need to know? To get them to understand you or agree with you, how much background should you provide? How thoroughly must you support your ideas? What kinds of evidence will be most effective? Knowing whom you’re addressing and why tells you what approach to take, what EVIDENCE to gather, how to arrange ideas, even what words to use. Imagine, for instance, that you are writing two reviews of a new movie, one for students who read the campus newspaper, the other for amateur and professional filmmakers who read the trade journal Millimeter. For the first audience, you might write about the actors, the plot, and especially dramatic scenes. You might judge the film and urge your readers to see it — or to avoid it. Writing for Millimeter, you might discuss special effects, shooting techniques, problems in editing and in mixing picture and sound. In this review, you might use more specialized and technical terms. An awareness of the interests and knowledge of your readers, in each case, would help you decide how to write.

Evidence The details that support an argument or an explanation, including facts, examples, and expert opinions. A writer’s opinions and GENERALIZATIONS must rest upon evidence. See pages 408–

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09.

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Purpose While you are considering readers’ backgrounds and inclinations, you’ll also be refining your PURPOSE. As we discussed earlier (p. 19), writers generally write with one of four broad goals in mind:

Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing. In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages 19, 31–32, and 40.

To reflect on an experience, an observation, or an idea. Reflective writing is most common in personal journals or diaries, but writers often mull over their thoughts for others to read, especially in essays that draw on NARRATION or DESCRIPTION.

Narration, narrative The mode of writing (narration) that tells a story (narrative). See Chapter 3. Description A mode of writing that conveys the evidence of the senses: sight, hearing, touch, taste, smell. See Chapter 4.

To entertain others, perhaps by relating a thrilling event or by poking fun at a subject. Fiction is often meant to entertain, of course, but so are Web comics, many popular blogs, celebrity gossip magazines, and several of the selections in this book. To explain something, typically by sharing information gleaned from experience or investigation. Such is the case with most newspapers and textbooks, for instance, as well as science and business reports, research papers, or biographies. To persuade members of an audience to accept an idea or take a particular action. Almost all writing offers an

ARGUMENT

of some sort, whether explicitly or implicitly. Opinion pieces and proposals are the most

obvious examples; most academic writing seeks to convince readers of the validity of a THESIS, or debatable assertion, as well.

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A mode of writing intended to win readers’ agreement with an assertion by engaging their powers of reasoning. Argument often overlaps PERSUASION. See Chapter 12. Thesis, thesis statement The central idea in a work of writing (thesis), to which everything else in the work refers; one or more sentences that express that central idea (thesis statement). In some way, each sentence and PARAGRAPH

in an effective essay serves to support the thesis and to make it clear and explicit to

readers. Good writers, while writing, often set down a thesis statement to help them define their purpose. They also often include this statement in their essay as a promise and a guide to readers. See pages 19, 35–36, 40–41, and the introductions to Chapters 3–12.

You may know your basic purpose for writing early on — whether you want to explain something about your subject or argue something about it, for instance. To be most helpful, though, your idea of purpose should include what you want readers to think or do as a result of reading your writing, as in the following examples: To explain two therapies for autism in young children so that parents and educators can weigh the options To defend term limits for state legislators so that voters who are undecided on the issue will support limits To analyze Shakespeare’s Macbeth so that theatergoers see the strengths as well as the flaws of the title character To propose an online system for scheduling work shifts so that company managers decide to implement it

We have more to say about purpose in the introductions to the rhetorical methods (Chaps. 3–12). Each method, such as EXAMPLE and CAUSE AND EFFECT, offers useful tools for achieving your purposes in writing.

Example Also called exemplification or illustration, a method of development in which the writer provides instances of a general idea. See Chapter 5. An example is a verbal illustration. Cause and effect A method of development in which a writer ANALYZES reasons for an action, event, or decision, or analyzes its consequences. See Chapter 10. See also EFFECT.

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Genre Closely tied to audience and purpose is the type of writing, the

GENRE,

that you will use to shape your

ideas. Your assignment might specify the genre: Have you been asked to write a personal narrative? a critical analysis? an argumentative response? These and other genres have distinctive features — such as organization, kinds of evidence, and even TONE — that readers expect.

Genre The category into which a piece of writing fits. Shaped by PURPOSE, AUDIENCE, and context, genres range from broad types (such as fiction and nonfiction) to general groups (novel, essay) to narrower groups (science fiction novel, personal narrative) to specific document formats (steampunk graphic novel, post on a retail workers’ forum) — and they tend to overlap. The genres of college writing vary widely. Examples appear on pages 71 (police log), 109 (field observation), 146 (job-application letter), 178 (review), 218 (lab report), 259 (critical analysis), 297 (résumé), 338 (letter to the editor), 373 (essay exam), and 418 (proposal). Most readers are instinctively aware of individual genres and the characteristics that distinguish them, and they expect writers to follow the genre’s conventions for organization, types of

EVIDENCE

language,

TONE,

POINT OF VIEW,

structure and

length, appearance, and so forth. Consider, for

instance, a daily newspaper: Readers expect the news articles to be objective statements of fact, with none of the reporters’ personal thoughts and little rhetorical flourish; but when they turn to the op-ed page or their favorite columnists, such opinions and clever turns of phrase are precisely what they’re looking for. Similar expectations exist for every kind of writing, and good writers make a point of knowing what they are. See also pages 10, 32, and 40 and the individual chapter introductions in Part Two. Tone The way a writer expresses his or her regard for subject, AUDIENCE, or self. Through word choice, sentence structures, and what is actually said, the writer conveys an attitude and sets a prevailing spirit. Tone in writing varies as greatly as tone of voice varies in conversation. It can be serious, distant, flippant, angry, enthusiastic, sincere, sympathetic. Whatever tone a writer chooses, usually it informs an entire essay and helps a reader decide how to respond. For examples of strong tone, see the essays by Diane Ackerman, Brian Doyle, Jessica Mitford, David Sedaris, Russell Baker, Chitra Divakaruni, Tal Fortgang, and Judy Brady. See also page 416.

You will find many examples of different genres in this book. In a sense each method of development (CLASSIFICATION, DEFINITION, and so on) is itself a genre, and its conventions and strategies are covered in the chapter devoted to it (Chaps. 3–12). Each chapter introduction also shows the method at work in a specific academic genre, such as a field observation or a review. And the book’s selections illustrate a range of genres, from personal reflection and memoir to objective reporting and critical evaluation. The best way to learn about 127

genres and readers’ expectations is to read widely and attentively.

Classification A method of development in which a writer sorts out multiple things (contact sports, college students, kinds of music) into categories. See Chapter 9. Definition A statement of the literal and specific meaning or meanings of a word or a method of developing an essay. In the latter, the writer usually explains the nature of a word, a thing, a concept, or a phenomenon. Such a definition may employ NARRATION, DESCRIPTION, or any other method. See Chapter 11.

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DISCOVERING IDEAS During the initial phase of the writing process, you’ll feel your way into an assignment. This period is the time when you critically examine any

TEXT

DISCOVERY

that is part of the assignment and begin to generate

ideas. When writing about selections in this book, you’ll be reading and rereading and writing, coming to understand the work, figuring out what you think of it, figuring out what you have to say about it.

Discovery The stage of the writing process before the first draft. It may include deciding on a topic, narrowing the topic, creating or finding ideas, doing reading and other research, defining PURPOSE and AUDIENCE, or planning and arranging material. Discovery may follow from daydreaming or meditation, reading, or perhaps carefully ransacking memory. In practice, though, it usually involves considerable writing and is aided by the act of writing. The operations of discovery — reading, research, further idea creation, and refinement of subject, purpose, and audience — may all continue well into drafting as well. See also pages 32–34. Text Any creation — written, visual, auditory, physical, or experiential — that can be interpreted or used as a SOURCE for writing. The starting point for most ACADEMIC WRITING, texts include written documents such as essays, articles, and books, of course, but also photographs, paintings, advertisements, Web sites, performances, musical scores, experiments, conversations, lectures, field observations, interviews, dreams, jokes — anything that invites a response, sparks an idea, or lends itself to CRITICAL THINKING, READING, AND WRITING. See pages 26–28.

From marginal notes to jotted phrases, lists, or half-finished paragraphs of response, the discovery stage should always be a writing stage. You may even produce a rough draft. The important thing is to let yourself go: Do not, above all, concern yourself with making beautiful sentences or correcting errors. Such selfconsciousness at this stage will only jam the flow of thoughts. Several techniques can help you open up, among them writing in a journal, freewriting, and exploring the methods of development.

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Keeping a Journal A JOURNAL is a record of your thoughts for yourself. You can keep a journal on paper or on a computer or mobile device. When you write in it, you don’t have to worry about being understood by a reader or making mistakes: You are free to get your thoughts down however you want.

Journal A record of one’s thoughts, kept daily or at least regularly. Keeping a journal faithfully can help a writer gain confidence and develop ideas. See also page 33.

Kept faithfully — say, for ten or fifteen minutes a day — a journal can limber up your writing muscles, giving you more confidence and flexibility. It can also provide a place to work out personal difficulties, explore half-formed ideas, make connections between courses, or respond to reading. (For examples of one student’s journal notes, see p. 53.)

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Freewriting Another technique for limbering up, usually in response to a specific writing assignment rather than as a regular habit, is freewriting. When freewriting, you write without stopping for ten or fifteen minutes, not halting to reread, criticize, edit, or admire. You can use partial sentences, abbreviations, question marks for uncertain words. If you can’t think of anything to write about, jot “can’t think” over and over until new words come. (They will.) You can use this technique to find a subject for writing or to explore ideas on a subject you already have. When you’ve finished, you can separate the promising passages from the dead ends, and then use those promising bits as the starting place for more freewriting or perhaps a freely written first draft.

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Exploring the Methods of Development In Part Two of this book each of the ten chapters explains a familiar method of developing ideas. In the discovery stage, approaching your subject with these methods in mind can reveal its potential: Narration. Tell a story about the subject, possibly to enlighten or entertain readers or to explain something to them. Answer the journalist’s questions: who, what, when, where, why, how? Description. Explain or evoke the subject by focusing on its look, sound, feel, smell, taste — the evidence of the senses. Example. Point to instances, or illustrations, of the subject that clarify and support your idea about it. Comparison and contrast. Set the subject beside something else, noting similarities or differences or both, for the purpose of either explaining or evaluating. Process analysis. Explain step by step how to do something or how something works — in other words, how a sequence of actions leads to a particular result. Division or analysis. Slice the subject into its parts or elements in order to show how they relate and to explain your conclusions about the subject. Classification. Show resemblances and differences among many related subjects, or the many forms of a subject, by sorting them into kinds or groups. Cause and effect. Explain why or what if, showing reasons for or consequences of the subject. Definition. Trace a boundary around the subject to pin down its meaning. Argument and persuasion. Formulate an opinion or make a proposal about the subject. You can use the methods of development singly or together to find direction, ideas, and supporting details. Say you already have a sense of your purpose for writing: Then you can search the methods for one or more that will help you achieve that purpose by revealing and focusing your ideas. Or say you’re still in the dark about your purpose: Then you can apply each method of development systematically to throw light on your subject, helping you see it from many possible angles.

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DRAFTING Sooner or later, the discovery stage yields to

DRAFTING:

writing out sentences and paragraphs, linking

thoughts, focusing them. For most writers, drafting is the occasion for exploring ideas, filling in the details to support them, beginning to work out the shape and aim of the whole. A few suggestions for drafting:

Drafting The stage of the writing process during which a writer expresses ideas in complete sentences, links them, and arranges them in a sequence. See also pages 34–39 and 53–54.

Give yourself time, at least a couple of hours. Find a quiet place to work, somewhere you won’t be disturbed. Stay loose so that you can wander down intriguing avenues or consider changing direction altogether. Keep your eyes on what’s ahead, not on possible errors, “wrong” words, or bumpy sentences. This is an important message that many inexperienced writers miss: It’s okay to make mistakes. You can fix them later. Expect to draft in fits and starts, working in chunks and fleshing out points as you go. And don’t feel compelled to follow a straight path from beginning to end. If the opening paragraph is giving you trouble, skip it until later. In fact, most writers find that drafting is easier and more productive if they work on the body of the essay first, leaving the introduction and conclusion until everything else has been worked out.

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Focusing on a Thesis Your essay will need to center on a

THESIS,

a core idea to which everything else relates. When you write

with a clear-cut thesis in mind, you head toward a goal. Without the focus of a thesis, an essay wanders and irritates and falls flat. With a focus, a draft is much more likely to click.

Thesis, thesis statement The central idea in a work of writing (thesis), to which everything else in the work refers; one or more sentences that express that central idea (thesis statement). In some way, each sentence and PARAGRAPH

in an effective essay serves to support the thesis and to make it clear and explicit to

readers. Good writers, while writing, often set down a thesis statement to help them define their purpose. They also often include this statement in their essay as a promise and a guide to readers. See pages 19, 35–36, 40–41, and the introductions to Chapters 3–12.

You may start a project with a thesis already in mind, or your idea might take shape as you proceed through the writing process. Sometimes you may have to write one or more drafts to know exactly what your point is. But early on, try to express your main idea in a sentence or two, called a THESIS STATEMENT, like these from essays in this book: That first encounter, and those that followed, signified that a vast, unnerving gulf lay between nighttime pedestrians — particularly women — and me. — Brent Staples, “Black Men and Public Space” Inanimate objects are classified into three major categories — those that don’t work, those that break down and those that get lost. — Russell Baker, “The Plot against People” A bill [to prohibit import of goods produced with children’s labor] is of no use unless it goes hand in hand with programs that will offer a new life to these newly released children. — Chitra Divakaruni, “Live Free and Starve”

As these diverse examples reveal, a thesis shapes an essay. It gives the writer a clearly defined aim, focusing otherwise scattered thoughts and providing a center around which the details and supporting points can gather. An effective thesis statement, like the ones above, has a few important qualities: It asserts an opinion, taking a position on the subject. A good thesis statement moves beyond facts or vague generalities, as in “That first encounter was troubling” or “This bill is a bad idea.” It projects a single, focused idea. A thesis statement may have parts (such as Baker’s three categories of objects), but those parts should all relate to a single, central point. It accurately forecasts the scope of the essay, neither taking on too much nor leaving out essential parts. It hints at the writer’s purpose. From their thesis statements, we can tell that Staples and Baker mean to explain, whereas Divakaruni intends mainly to persuade. Every single essay in this book has a thesis because a central, controlling idea is a requirement of good 134

writing. As you will see, writers have great flexibility in presenting a thesis statement — how long it might be, where it appears, even whether it appears. For your own writing, we advise stating your thesis explicitly and putting it near the beginning of your essay — at least until you’ve gained experience as a writer. The stated thesis will help you check that you have the necessary focus, and the early placement will tell your readers what to expect from your writing. We offer additional suggestions for focusing your thesis and crafting your thesis statement, with examples, later in this chapter (p. 40–41) and in each of the introductions to the methods of development (Chaps. 3–12).

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Supporting the Thesis The

BODY

of an essay consists of the subpoints and supporting evidence that develop the main idea. In

some way, each sentence and paragraph should serve to support your thesis by making it clear and explicit to readers. You will likely need to experiment and explore your thoughts before they fully take shape, tackling your essay in multiple drafts and filling in (or taking out) details as you go, adjusting your thesis to fit your ideas. Most writers do.

Body The part of an essay, usually several PARAGRAPHS, that develops the writer’s main idea. See pages 36–37.

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Developing Ideas You may have gotten a start at expressing your thoughts in the discovery stage, in which case you can build on what you’ve already written in your journal or during freewriting sessions. Or you may find yourself staring at a blank screen. In either case, it’s usually best to focus first on the parts you’re most comfortable with, keeping your thesis, your purpose, and your audience in mind. Earlier we saw that the methods of development can help you discover ideas about a subject (see pp. 33–34). They can also help you find, present, and structure evidence as you draft. Suppose, for example, that you set out to explain what makes a certain singer unique. You want to discuss her voice, her music, her lyrics, her style. While putting your ideas down, it strikes you that you can best illustrate the singer’s distinctions by showing the differences between her and another singer. To achieve your purpose, then, you draw on the method of COMPARISON AND CONTRAST; and as you proceed, the method prompts you to notice differences you had missed.

Comparison and contrast Two methods of development usually found together. Using them, a writer examines the similarities and differences between two things to reveal their natures. See Chapter 6.

Each method typically benefits from — and lends itself to — a particular kind of support. Narration and description might draw on personal experience, for instance, while a

CAUSE-AND-EFFECT

or

PROCESS ANALYSIS

may require objective information such as verifiable facts. Give the methods a try. See how flexible they are, coming into play as you need them to develop parts of your essay.

Cause and effect A method of development in which a writer ANALYZES reasons for an action, event, or decision, or analyzes its consequences. See Chapter 10. See also EFFECT. Process analysis A method of development that most often explains step by step how something is done or how to do something. See Chapter 7.

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Organizing the Evidence How you ORGANIZE your evidence depends on your purpose and your audience: What is your aim? What do you want readers to think or feel? What’s the best way to achieve that? For instance, anyone writing a proposal to solve a problem wants to cover all the reasonable solutions and make a case for one or more. But one writer might bring readers gradually to her favored solution by first discussing and rejecting the alternatives, while another might grab readers’ attention by focusing right away on his own solution, dispensing with alternatives only near the end. In either case, the choices aren’t random but depend on the writer’s understanding of readers — their assumptions, their biases, and their purposes for reading.

Organization The way ideas and supporting evidence are structured in the BODY of an essay. The methods of development typically lend themselves to different approaches, discussed in the introductions to Chapters 3–12. Independent of the methods, a successful writer orders subpoints and details in whatever way will best get the main idea across. While a NARRATIVE or a PROCESS ANALYSIS typically follows a CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER, for instance, the writer may need to step back to relate previous or concurrent events. DESCRIPTION often uses a SPATIAL ORDER, arranging details the way one’s eyes might take them in. And the writer of an essay that presents EXAMPLES or an ARGUMENT

may choose to move from most compelling points to least, or vice versa with a

CLIMACTIC ORDER,

depending on the desired EFFECT. See pages 20–21, 27, 68–69 (narration),

106–07 (description), 174–76 (COMPARISON AND CONTRAST), 214 (process analysis), 257 (DIVISION OR ANALYSIS), 294–95 (CLASSIFICATION), and 414–15 (argument or persuasion).

Some methods of development lend themselves to familiar patterns of organization, which we discuss in the introductions to Chapters 3–12. In a narrative essay or a process analysis, for instance, you would probably put events in

CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER.

Other methods require that you put more thought into how you

arrange your points. In an essay developed by example, you might use a

CLIMACTIC ORDER,

starting with the

weakest point and ending with the most compelling one (or vice versa). And a descriptive essay might take a SPATIAL ORDER,

following details the way an eye might scan a scene: left to right, near to far, and so forth.

Chronological order The arrangement of events as they occurred or occur in time, first to last. Most NARRATIVES and PROCESS ANALYSES

use chronological order.

Climactic order The arrangement of points from least to most important, weakest to strongest. Essays organized by EXAMPLE and CAUSE AND EFFECT often use climactic order, as do manyARGUMENTS.

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Spatial order An organizational technique in which a writer DESCRIBES an object or scene by presenting details parallel to the way people normally view them — for instance, near to far, top to bottom, left to right. See also pages 106–07.

Some writers like to plan the order of their points in advance, perhaps with a rough outline or simply a list of points to cover. If concerns about the organization leave you feeling stuck or frustrated, however, focus instead on getting your ideas into sentences and paragraphs; you can rearrange things in revision.

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Shaping the Introduction and Conclusion The opening and closing paragraphs of an essay serve as bookends for the thoughts and information presented in the body. The

INTRODUCTION

identifies and narrows the subject for readers, capturing their

interest and giving them a reason to continue reading. The

CONCLUSION

creates a sense of completion,

bringing readers back to the main idea and satisfying them that you have accomplished what you set out to do as a writer.

Introduction The opening of a written work. Often it states the writer’s subject, narrows it, and communicates the writer’s main idea (THESIS). See page 38. Conclusion The sentences or paragraphs that bring an essay to a satisfying and logical end. See pages 38–39.

Because of the importance of these paragraphs, and because it is difficult to set up and close out material that has not yet been drafted, most writers find that it works best to turn to the introduction and conclusion after the rest of the essay has begun to take shape. The Introduction The opening paragraph or paragraphs of an essay invite readers in. At a minimum, your introduction will state the subject and lead to your main idea, often presented in a thesis statement. But an effective introduction also grabs readers’ attention and inspires them to read on. Introductions vary in length, depending on their purpose. A research paper may need several paragraphs to set forth its central idea and its plan of organization; a brief, informal essay may need only a sentence or two for an introduction. Whether long or short, a good introduction tells readers no more than they need to know when they begin reading. Here are a few possible ways to open an essay effectively: Present startling facts about your subject. Tell an ANECDOTE, a brief story that illustrates your subject. Give background information so that readers will understand your subject or see why it is important. Begin with an arresting quotation that sets up your subject or previews your main idea. Ask a challenging question. (In your essay, you’ll go on to answer it.)

Anecdote A brief NARRATIVE, or retelling of a story or event. Anecdotes have many uses: as essay openers or closers, as examples, as sheer entertainment. See Chapter 3.

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Whatever technique you try, strive to make a good first impression and establish a positive, engaging tone, taking care to match the voice in the body of your essay. Avoid beginning with a hedge such as It seems important to understand why…; and stay away from mechanical phrasing such as In this essay, I will explain… or The purpose of this paper is to show.… Such openings bore readers and give them little incentive to read on. The Conclusion A conclusion is purposefully crafted to give a sense of unity to the whole essay. The best conclusions evolve naturally out of what has gone before and convince readers that the essay is indeed at an end, not that the writer has run out of steam. Conclusions vary in type and length depending on the nature and scope of the essay. A long research paper may require several paragraphs of summary to review and emphasize the main points. A short essay, however, may benefit from a few brief closing sentences. Although there are no set formulas for closing, consider these options: Restate the thesis of your essay, and possibly summarize your main points. Mention the broader implications or significance of your topic. Give a final example, pulling all the parts of your discussion together. Offer a prediction for the future. End with the most important point, or the culmination of your essay’s development. Suggest how readers can apply the information you have provided in their own lives or work. End with a bit of drama or flourish. Tell an anecdote, offer an appropriate quotation, ask a question, make a final insightful remark, circle back to the introduction. Keep in mind, however, that an ending shouldn’t sound false and gimmicky. It truly has to conclude. In concluding an essay, beware of diminishing the impact of your writing by finishing on a weak note. Resist the urge to apologize for what you have or have not written, or to cram in a final detail that would have been better placed elsewhere.

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REVISING If it helps to get you writing, you may want to view a draft as a kind of dialog with readers, fulfilling their expectations, answering the questions you imagine they would ask. But some writers save this kind of thinking for the next stage, REVISION. Literally “re-seeing,” revision involves stepping outside the intense circle of youand-the-material to see the work as a reader will, with whatever qualities you imagine that reader to have.

Revision The stage of the writing process during which a writer “re-sees” a draft from the viewpoint of a reader. Revision usually involves rethinking fundamental matters such as PURPOSE and organization as well as rewriting to ensure COHERENCE and UNITY. See pages 39–42 and 55–57. See also EDITING.

The first task of revising is to step back and view your draft as a whole, looking at the big picture and ignoring details like grammar and spelling. Let a draft sit for a while before you come back to revise it: at least a few hours, ideally a day or more. When you return with fresh eyes and a refreshed mind, you’ll be in a better position to see what works, what doesn’t, and what needs your attention. The checklist on the next page and the ensuing discussion can guide you to the big-picture view. Specific revision guidelines for each method of development appear in the introductions to Chapters 3–12.

QUESTIONS FOR REVISION Will my purpose be clear to readers? Have I achieved it? What are readers’ expectations for this kind of writing? Have I met them? What is my thesis? Have I supported it for readers? Is my thesis statement clear and to the point? Is the essay unified? Can readers see how all parts relate to the thesis? Have I developed my points well? Have I supplied enough details, examples, and other specifics so that readers can understand me and follow my reasoning? Is the essay coherent? Can readers see how the parts relate? Is the organization clear? Can readers follow it?

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Purpose and Genre Earlier we looked at purpose and genre as important considerations in planning an essay. They are even more important in revision. Like many writers, in the discovery and experimentation of drafting you may lose track of your original direction. Did you set out to write a critical analysis of a reading but end up with a summary? Did you rely on personal experience when you were supposed to integrate evidence from sources? Did you set out to persuade readers but not get beyond explanation? That’s okay. You’ve jumped the first hurdle simply by putting your thoughts into words. Now you can add, delete, and reorganize until your purpose will be clear to readers and you meet their expectations for how it should be fulfilled.

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Thesis As you’ve developed your ideas and your draft, you’ve also been developing your thesis, the main idea that you want to get across to readers. The thesis may be stated up front or hover in the background, but it should be clear to readers and the rest of the essay should support it. Almost always, you will need to revise your thesis as your ideas take form and your purpose for writing becomes clear to you. You may find that you need to adjust your thesis to reflect what you ended up writing in your draft, or you may need to rework your supporting ideas so that they adequately develop your thesis. Pay attention, too, to your thesis statement itself. Few writers craft a perfect statement on the first try. In each of the following pairs, for example, the draft statement is too vague to work as a hook: It conveys the writer’s general opinion but not its basis. Each revised statement clarifies the point. DRAFT The sculpture is a beautiful piece of work. REVISED Although it may not be obvious at first, this smooth bronze sculpture unites urban and natural elements to represent the city dweller’s relationship with nature. DRAFT The sculpture is a waste of money. REVISED The huge bronze sculpture in the middle of McBean Park demonstrates that so-called public art may actually undermine the public interest.

Drafting The stage of the writing process during which a writer expresses ideas in complete sentences, links them, and arranges them in a sequence. See also pages 34–39 and 53–54. Revision The stage of the writing process during which a writer “re-sees” a draft from the viewpoint of a reader. Revision usually involves rethinking fundamental matters such as PURPOSE and organization as well as rewriting to ensure COHERENCE and UNITY. See pages 39–42 and 55–57. See also EDITING.

When you revise, make a point of checking your thesis and your thesis statement against the guidelines listed earlier in this chapter (p. 35) and discussed in the introduction to every method chapter in Part Two. You want to ensure that your thesis takes an arguable position on your subject, that it focuses on a single idea, that it reflects the actual content of your essay, and that it gives a sense of your purpose for writing.

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Unity Drafting freely, as you should, can easily take you into some of the byways of your topic. A goal of revision, then, is to deal with digressions so that your essay has

UNITY,

with every paragraph relating to the

thesis and every sentence in a paragraph relating to a single idea, often expressed in a

TOPIC SENTENCE.

You

may choose to cut a digression altogether or to rework it so that it connects to the main idea. Sometimes you may find that a digression is really what you want to write about and then opt to recast your thesis instead. For more help, see “Focus on Paragraph and Essay Unity” on page 372.

Unity The quality of good writing in which all parts relate to the THESIS. In a unified essay, all words, sentences, and PARAGRAPHS support the single central idea. Your first step in achieving unity is to state your thesis; your next step is to organize your thoughts so that they make your thesis clear. See also pages 41 and 372. Topic sentence The statement of the central idea in a PARAGRAPH, usually asserting one aspect of an essay’s THESIS.

Often the topic sentence will appear at (or near) the beginning of the paragraph,

announcing the idea and beginning its development. Because all other sentences in the paragraph explain and support this central idea, the topic sentence is a way to create UNITY.

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Development While some points in your draft may have to be sacrificed for the sake of unity, others will probably want more attention. Be sure that any general statements you make are backed up with evidence: details, examples, analysis, information from sources, whatever it takes to show readers that your point is valid. The introductions to the methods in Chapters 3–12 offer suggestions for developing specific kinds of essays; take a look, too, at “Focus on Paragraph Development” on pages 295–96.

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Coherence Drafting ideas into sentences can be halting work, and a first draft can seem jumbled as a result. In revision, you want to help readers follow your thoughts by improving COHERENCE: the clear flow and relation of parts. You can achieve coherence through your use of paragraphs, transitions, and organization.

Coherence The clear connection of the parts in effective writing so that the reader can easily follow the flow of ideas between sentences, paragraphs, and larger divisions, and can see how they relate successively to one another. In making your essay coherent, you may find certain devices useful. TRANSITIONS, for instance, can bridge ideas. Reminders of points you have stated earlier are helpful to a reader who may have forgotten them — as readers tend to do sometimes, particularly if an essay is long. However, a coherent essay is not one merely pasted together with transitions and reminders. It derives its coherence from the clear relationship between its THESIS (or central idea) and all its parts. See also pages 41–42 and 257–58.

PARAGRAPHS

help readers grasp related information in an essay by developing one supporting point at a

time: All of the sentences hang together, defining, explaining, illustrating, or supporting one central idea. Check all your paragraphs to be sure that each sentence connects with the one preceding and that readers will see the connection without having to stop and reread. One way to clarify such connections is with TRANSITIONS:

linking words and phrases such as in addition, moreover, and at the same time. (We have more to

say about transitions in “Focus on Paragraph Coherence” on p. 257–58.)

Paragraph A group of closely related sentences that develop a central idea. In an essay, a paragraph is the most important unit of thought because it is both self-contained and part of the larger whole. Paragraphs separate long and involved ideas into smaller parts that are more manageable for the writer and easier for the reader to take in. Good paragraphs, like good essays, possess UNITY and COHERENCE.

The central idea is usually stated in a TOPIC SENTENCE, often found at the

beginning of the paragraph and related directly to the essay’s THESIS. All other sentences in the paragraph relate to this topic sentence, defining it, explaining it, illustrating it, providing it with evidence and support. If you come across a unified and coherent paragraph that has no topic sentence, it will contain a central idea that no sentence in it explicitly states, but that every sentence in it clearly implies. See also pages 41–42, 257–58 (paragraph coherence); 41, 295–96 (paragraph development); and 41, 372 (paragraph unity). Transitions

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Words, phrases, sentences, or even paragraphs that relate ideas. In moving from one topic to the next, a writer has to bring the reader along by showing how the ideas are developing, what bearing a new thought or detail has on an earlier discussion, or why a new topic is being introduced. A clear purpose, strong ideas, and logical development certainly aid COHERENCE, but to ensure that the reader is following along, good writers provide signals, or transitions. To bridge sentences or paragraphs and to point out relationships within them, you can use some of the following devices of transition: Repeat or restate words or phrases to produce an echo in the reader’s mind. Use PARALLEL STRUCTURES to produce a rhythm that moves the reader forward. Use pronouns to refer back to nouns in earlier passages. Use transitional words and phrases. These may indicate a relationship of time (right away, later, soon, meanwhile, in a few minutes, that night), proximity (beside, close to, distant from, nearby, facing), effect (therefore, for this reason, as a result, consequently), comparison (similarly, in the same way, likewise), or contrast (yet, but, nevertheless, however, despite). Some words and phrases of transition simply add on: besides, too, also, moreover, in addition to, second, last, in the end.

Be sure, too, that each paragraph follows logically from those before it and leads clearly to those that follow, and that any material from your reading and other sources is integrated logically and smoothly (see the next section). Constructing an outline of what you’ve written can help you see how well your thoughts hold together. Expect to experiment, moving paragraphs around, deleting some and adding others, before everything clicks into place.

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INTEGRATING READING Writing about what you have read will occupy you for much of your college career, as you rely on books, periodical articles, interviews, Web sites, and other materials to establish and extend your own contributions to academic conversations. The selections in this book, for instance, can serve as sources for your writing: You might analyze them, respond to them, or use them to support your own ideas. Such SYNTHESIS, as we note in Chapter 1, is the core of academic writing. Much of your synthesis of others’ work will come as you present evidence from your reading and integrate that evidence into your own text. An important goal of revision, then, is to ensure that you have used such materials honestly and effectively.

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Exercising Caution When you write with sources, your readers expect you to distinguish your own contributions from those of others, honestly acknowledging material that originated elsewhere. To do otherwise — to deliberately or accidentally copy another’s idea, data, or wording without acknowledgment — is considered stealing. Called PLAGIARISM,

this theft is a serious offense.

Plagiarism The use of someone else’s ideas or words as if they were your own, without acknowledging the original author. See pages 42–45 and 498–99.

Plagiarism is often a result of careless note taking or drafting. The simplest way to avoid problems is always to acknowledge your sources, clearly marking the boundaries between your ideas and those picked up from other writers. Integrate source materials carefully, following the suggestions provided on the following pages. And cite your sources in an appropriate documentation style, such as MLA for English or APA for the social sciences. (See the Appendix for detailed guidelines and documentation models.)

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Summarizing, Paraphrasing, and Quoting As you revise, make sure you have used the ideas and information in sources to support your own ideas, not to direct or overwhelm them. Depending on the importance and complexity of source material, you might summarize it, paraphrase it, or quote it directly. All summaries, paraphrases, and quotations must be acknowledged in source citations. Summary In a

SUMMARY

you use your own words to condense a paragraph, an entire article, or even a book into a

few lines that convey the source’s essential meaning. We discussed summarizing as a reading technique on pages 15–16, and the advice and examples there apply here as well. When responding to a text, you might use a brief summary to catch readers up on the gist of the author’s argument or a significant point in the argument. Here, for example, is a summary of Anna Quindlen’s “Homeless,” which appears on pages 164–66:

Summarize, summary To condense a work (essay, movie, news story) to its essence (summarize), or the act or result of doing so (summary). Summarizing a piece of writing in one’s own words is an effective way to come to understand it. (See pp. 15–16.) Summarizing (and acknowledging) others’ writing in your own text is a good way to support your ideas. (See pp. 43, 44, and 46.) Contrast PARAPHRASE.

SUMMARY  Quindlen argues that reducing homeless people to the abstract issue of homelessness can obscure the fundamental problem of the homeless individual: He or she needs a home (164–66).

Notice that a summary identifies the source’s author and page numbers and uses words that are not the author’s. A summary that picks up any of the author’s distinctive language or neglects to acknowledge that the idea is borrowed from a source counts as plagiarism and must be rewritten. In an early draft of “Mental Illness on Television” (p. 58), for instance, Rosie Anaya inadvertently plagiarized this passage from Nancy Mairs’s “Disability”: ORIGINAL QUOTATION  “But this [media] denial of disability imperils even you who are able-bodied, and not just by shrinking your insight into the physically and emotionally complex world you live in. Some disabled people call you TAPs, or Temporarily Abled Persons. The fact is that ours is the only minority you can join involuntarily, without warning, at any time…. The transition will probably be difficult from a physical point of view no matter what. But it will be a good bit easier psychologically if you are accustomed to seeing disability as a normal characteristic, one that complicates but does not ruin human existence.” PLAGIARISM  Media misrepresentation of disability hurts not only viewers with disabilities but also Temporarily Abled Persons.

Plagiarism The use of someone else’s ideas or words as if they were your own, without acknowledging the original author. See pages 42–45 and 498–99.

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In forgetting to name Mairs as the source and in using the phrase “Temporarily Abled Persons” without quotation marks, Anaya stole Mairs’s idea. Here is her revision: ACCEPTABLE SUMMARY  Mairs argues that media misrepresentation of disability hurts not only viewers with disabilities but also “Temporarily Abled Persons,” or those without disabilities (13–15).

Paraphrase When you PARAPHRASE, you restate a specific passage in your own words. Paraphrase adheres more closely than summary to the source author’s line of thought, so it’s useful for presenting an author’s ideas or data in detail. Generally, use paraphrase rather than quotation for this purpose, since paraphrase shows that you’re in command of your evidence and lets your own voice come through. Here is a quotation from Quindlen’s essay and a paraphrase of it:

Paraphrase Putting another writer’s thoughts into your own words. In writing a research paper or an essay containing EVIDENCE gathered from your reading, you will find it necessary to paraphrase — unless you are using another writer’s very words with quotation marks around them — and to acknowledge your sources. Contrast SUMMARY. And see page 44.

ORIGINAL QUOTATION  “Homes have stopped being homes. Now they are real estate.” PARAPHRASE  Quindlen points out that people’s dwellings seem to have lost their emotional hold and to have become just investments (165).

As with a summary, note that a paraphrase cites the original author and page number. And like a summary, a paraphrase must express the original idea in an entirely new way, both in word choice and in sentence structure. The following attempt to paraphrase a line from an essay by David Cole slips into plagiarism through sloppiness: ORIGINAL QUOTATION  “We stand to be collectively judged by our treatment of immigrants, who may appear to be ‘other’ now but in a generation will be ‘us.’ ” PLAGIARISM  Cole argues that we will be judged as a group by how we treat immigrants, who seem to be different now but eventually will be the same as us (110).

Even though the writer identifies Cole as the source and provides a page number, much of the language and the sentence structure are also Cole’s. It’s not enough to change a few words — such as “collectively” to “as a group,” “they may appear to be ‘other’ ” to “they may seem different,” and “in a generation” to “eventually.” In contrast, this acceptable paraphrase restates Cole’s point in completely new language and a new sentence structure: ACCEPTABLE PARAPHRASE  Cole argues that the way the United States deals with immigrants now will come back to haunt it when those immigrants eventually become part of mainstream society (110).

Quotation

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Quotations from sources can both support and enliven your own ideas — if you choose them well. When analyzing a source such as an essay in this book, you may need to quote some passages in order to give the flavor of the author’s words and evidence for your analysis. Too many quotations, however, will clutter your essay and detract from your voice. Select quotations that are relevant to the point you are making, that are concise and pithy, and that use lively, bold, or original language. Sentences that lack distinction — for example, a statement providing statistics on immigration rates — should be paraphrased. Always enclose quotations in quotation marks and cite the source author and page number. For a blatant example of plagiarism, look at the following use of a quotation from Anna Quindlen’s “Homeless”: ORIGINAL QUOTATION  “It has been customary to take people’s pain and lessen our own participation in it by turning it into an issue, not a collection of human beings.” PLAGIARISM  As a society we tend to lessen our participation in other people’s pain by turning it into an issue.

By not acknowledging Quindlen at all, the writer takes claim for her idea and for much of her wording. A source citation would help — at least the idea would be credited — but still the expression of the idea would be stolen because there’s no indication that the language is Quindlen’s. Here is a revision with citation and quotation marks: ACCEPTABLE QUOTATION  Quindlen suggests that our tendency “to take people’s pain and lessen our own participation in it by turning it into an issue” dehumanizes homeless people (166).

You may adapt quotations to fit your sentences, provided you make clear how you’ve changed them. If you omit something from a quoted passage, signal the omission with the three spaced periods of an ellipsis mark as shown: In Quindlen’s view, “the thing that seems most wrong with the world … right now is that there are so many people with no homes” (165).

If you need to insert words or phrases into a quotation to clarify the author’s meaning or make the quotation flow with your own language, show that the insertion is yours by enclosing it in brackets: Quindlen points out that “we work around [the problem], just as we walk around” the homeless people we encounter (166).

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Synthesizing Ideas When you write about a text, your perspective on it will be your thesis — the main point you have in response to the text or as a result of examining it. As you develop and revise your essay, keep your ideas front and center, pulling in material from the text as needed for support. In each paragraph, your idea should come first and, usually, last: State the idea, use evidence from the reading to support it, and then interpret the evidence. You can see a paragraph structured like this in Rosie Anaya’s essay “Mental Illness on Television” at the end of this chapter: SYNTHESIS

Synthesize, synthesis To link elements into a whole (synthesize), or the act or result of doing so (synthesis). In CRITICAL THINKING, READING, AND WRITING, synthesis is the key step during which you use your own perspective to reassemble a work you have ANALYZED or to connect the work with others. (See pp. 17 and 25.) Synthesis is a hallmark of ACADEMIC WRITING in which you respond to others’ work or use multiple sources to support your ideas. (See pp. 46–47 and 496–98.)

Anaya’s idea However, in depicting one type of disability, the media are, if anything, worse than they were three decades ago. Mairs doesn’t address mental illness, but it falls squarely into the misrepresentation she criticizes. Evidence from Mairs’s text It has never been shown, in Mairs’s words, “as a normal characteristic, one that complicates but does not ruin human existence” (15). Thus people who cope with a psychological disability such as depression, bipolar disorder, or obsessive-compulsive disorder as part of their lives do not see themselves in the media. And those who don’t have a psychological disability now but may someday do not see that mental illness is usually a condition one can live with. Anaya’s interpretation of Mairs’s idea

Understand that synthesis is more than summary, which just distills what the text says or shows. Summary has its uses, especially in understanding a writer’s ideas (p. 15) and in presenting evidence from source material (p. 43), but it should not substitute for your own ideas. Contrast the preceding paragraph from Anaya’s essay with the following early draft passage in which Anaya uses summary to present evidence: SUMMARY

Summarize, summary To condense a work (essay, movie, news story) to its essence (summarize), or the act or result of doing so (summary). Summarizing a piece of writing in one’s own words is an effective way to come to understand it. (See pp. 15–16.) Summarizing (and acknowledging) others’ writing in your own text is a good way to support your ideas. (See pp. 43, 44, and 46.) Contrast PARAPHRASE.

Mairs’s idea

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Mairs argues that media misrepresentation of disability hurts not only viewers with disabilities but also those without disabilities (14). Mairs’s idea The media either ignore disability altogether or present it as the defining characteristic of a person’s life (13–15). In doing so, they deny “Temporarily Abled Persons” the opportunity to see disability as something common that may be difficult to adjust to but does not destroy one’s life (14–15). Mairs’s idea

With synthesis, you’re always making it clear to readers what your idea is and how the evidence from your reading supports that idea. To achieve this clarity, you want to fit evidence from other texts into your sentences and show what you make of it. In this passage, the writer drops a quotation awkwardly into her paragraph and doesn’t clarify how it relates to her idea: NOT INTEGRATED Homelessness affects real people. “[W]e work around it, just as we walk around it when it is lying on the sidewalk or sitting in the bus terminal — the problem, that is” (Quindlen 166).

In the revision below, the writer uses “but” and the

SIGNAL PHRASE

“as Quindlen points out” to link the

quotation to the writer’s idea and to identify the source author:

Signal phrase Words used to introduce a quotation, PARAPHRASE, or SUMMARY, often including the source author’s name and generally telling readers how the source material should be interpreted: “Nelson argues that the legislation will backfire.” See also page 47.

INTEGRATED Homelessness affects real people, but, as Quindlen points out, “we work around it, just as we walk around it when it is lying on the sidewalk or sitting in the bus terminal — the problem, that is” (166).

A final note: Whether you are synthesizing information and ideas from one text or several, remember that all source material must be acknowledged with in-text citations and a list of works cited or references at the end of your paper. The Appendix at the back of this book (pp. 491–535) provides detailed guidelines and ample models for both the MLA and APA styles of documenting sources.

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EDITING You will find that you produce better work when you approach revision as at least a two-step process. First revise, focusing on fundamental, wholeessay matters such as purpose, organization, and synthesis. Only then turn to

EDITING,

focusing on surface issues such as grammar and word choice to improve the flow of your

writing and to fix the mistakes that tend to get in the way of readers’ understanding.

Editing The final stage of the writing process, during which a writer corrects errors and improves stylistic matters by, for example, using the ACTIVE VOICE and reworking sentences to achieve PARALLEL STRUCTURE.

Contrast with REVISION. And see pages 47–53 and 58.

The checklist below covers the most common opportunities and problems, which are explained on the pages following. Because some challenges tend to pop up more often when writing with a particular method, you’ll find additional help in the introductions to Chapters 3–12, in boxes labeled “Focus on …” that highlight specific issues and provide tips for solving them.

QUESTIONS FOR EDITING Are my language and tone appropriate for my purpose, audience, and genre? Do my words say what I mean, and are they as vivid as I can make them? Are my sentences smooth and concise? Do they use emphasis, parallelism, variety, and other techniques to clarify meaning and hold readers’ interest? Are my sentences grammatically sound? In particular, have I avoided sentence fragments, run-on sentences, comma splices, mismatched subjects and verbs, unclear pronouns, unclear modifiers, and inconsistencies? Are any words misspelled?

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Effective Language Many of us, when we draft, fall back on the familiar language we use when chatting with friends: We might rely on COLLOQUIAL EXPRESSIONS such as get into and freak out or slip into texting shortcuts such as u for “you” and idk for “I don’t know.” This strategy can help us to put ideas together without getting sidetracked by details. But patterns of casual communication are usually too imprecise for college writing, where word choices can dramatically affect how readers understand your ideas.

Colloquial expressions Words and phrases occurring primarily in speech and in informal writing that seeks a relaxed, conversational tone. “I need a burger and a shake” or “This mess is making me twitchy” may be acceptable in talking to a roommate, in corresponding with a friend, or in writing a humorous essay for general readers. Such choices of words, however, would be out of place in formal writing — in, say, a laboratory report or a letter to your senator. Contractions (let’s, don’t, we’ll) and abbreviated words (pic, sales rep, ad) are the shorthand of spoken language. Good writers use such expressions with an awareness that they produce an effect of casualness.

As a critical reader, you take note of writers’ language and consider how their choices affect the meaning and impact of their work (see pp. 21–22). As a writer, you should devote similar attention to your own choices, adapting your general language and your specific words to reflect your purpose, your meaning, and your audience. A few guidelines: Adopt a relatively formal voice. Replace overly casual or emotional language with standard English DICTION

and a neutral TONE. (Refer to pp. 540–41 and 549–50 of the Glossary and to “Focus on Tone” on

p. 416.)

Diction The choice of words. Every written or spoken statement uses diction of some kind. To describe certain aspects of diction, the following terms may be useful: Standard English: the common American language, words, and grammatical forms that are used and expected in schools, businesses, and other formal sites. Nonstandard English: words and grammatical forms such as theirselves and ain’t that are used mainly by people who speak a dialect other than standard English. Dialect: a variety of English based on differences in geography, education, or social background. Dialect is usually spoken but may be written. Shirley Jackson’s story in Chapter 3 transcribes the words of dialect speakers (“ ‘I looked out the window and the kids was gone, and then I remembered it was the twenty-seventh and came a-running’ ”). 157

Slang: certain words in highly informal speech or writing, or in the speech of a particular group — for example, blow off, dweeb, wack. Colloquial expressions: words and phrases from conversation. See EXPRESSIONS

COLLOQUIAL

for examples.

Regional terms: words heard in a certain locality, such as spritzing for “raining” in Pennsylvania Dutch country. Technical terms: words and phrases that form the vocabulary of a particular discipline (monocotyledon from botany), occupation (drawplate from die-making), or avocation (interval training from running). See also JARGON. Archaisms: old-fashioned expressions, once common but now used to suggest an earlier style, such as ere and forsooth. Obsolete diction: words that have passed out of use (such as the verb werien, “to protect or defend,” and the noun isetnesses, “agreements”). Obsolete may also refer to certain meanings of words no longer current (fond for foolish, clipping for hugging or embracing). Pretentious diction: use of words more numerous and elaborate than necessary, such as institution of higher learning for “college,” and partake of solid nourishment for “eat.” Archaic, obsolete, and pretentious diction usually have no place in good writing unless for ironic or humorous effect: The journalist and critic H. L. Mencken delighted in the hifalutin use of tonsorial studio instead of barber shop. Still, any diction may be the right diction for a certain occasion: The choice of words depends on a writer’s PURPOSE and AUDIENCE. Tone The way a writer expresses his or her regard for subject,

AUDIENCE,

or self. Through word

choice, sentence structures, and what is actually said, the writer conveys an attitude and sets a prevailing spirit. Tone in writing varies as greatly as tone of voice varies in conversation. It can be serious, distant, flippant, angry, enthusiastic, sincere, sympathetic. Whatever tone a writer chooses, usually it informs an entire essay and helps a reader decide how to respond. For examples of strong tone, see the essays by Diane Ackerman, Brian Doyle, Jessica Mitford, David Sedaris, Russell Baker, Chitra Divakaruni, Tal Fortgang, and Judy Brady. See also page 416.

Choose an appropriate point of view. In most academic writing, you should prefer the more objective third PERSON (he, she, it, they) over the first person (I) or the second person (you). There are exceptions, of course: A personal narrative written without I would ring strange to most ears, and a how-to process analysis often addresses readers as you.

Person A grammatical distinction made between the speaker, the one spoken to, and the one spoken

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about. In the first person (I, we), the subject is speaking. In the second person (you), the subject is being spoken to. In the third person (he, she, it), the subject is being spoken about. The point of view of an essay or work of fiction is often specified according to person: “This short story is told from a first-person point of view.” See also POINT OF VIEW.

Check that words have the meanings you intend. The DENOTATION of a word is its dictionary meaning — for example, affection means “caring regard.” A CONNOTATION, in contrast, is an emotional association that a word produces in readers, as passion evokes intensity or obsession evokes compulsion. Using a word with the wrong denotation muddies meaning, while using words with strong connotations can shape readers’ responses to your ideas — for good or for ill.

Denotation See CONNOTATION AND DENOTATION. Connotation and denotation Two types of meanings most words have. Denotation is the explicit, literal, dictionary definition of a word. Connotation refers to a word’s implied meaning, resonant with associations. The denotation of blood is “the fluid that circulates in the vascular system.” The connotations of blood range from life force to gore to family bond. A doctor might use the word blood for its denotation, and a mystery writer might rely on the word’s connotations to heighten a scene. Because people have different experiences, they bring to the same word different associations. A conservative’s emotional response to the word welfare is not likely to be the same as a liberal’s. And referring to your senator as a diplomat evokes a different response, from the senator and from others, than would baby-kisser, political hack, or even politician. The effective use of words involves knowing both what they mean literally and what they are likely to suggest.

Use concrete and specific words. Effective writing balances ABSTRACT and GENERAL words, which provide outlines of ideas and things, with

CONCRETE

and

SPECIFIC

words, which limit and sharpen. You need

abstract and general words such as old and transportation for broad statements that convey concepts or refer to entire groups. But you also need concrete and specific words such as crumbling and streetcar line to make meaning precise and vivid. See “Focus on Specific and Concrete Language” on page 108.

Abstract and concrete Two kinds of language. Abstract words refer to ideas, conditions, and qualities we cannot directly perceive: truth, love, happiness, courage, evil, poverty, progressive. Concrete words indicate things we can know with our senses: tree, chair, bird, pen, courthouse, motorcycle, perfume, thunderclap. Concrete words lend vigor and clarity to writing, for they help a reader to picture 159

things. See IMAGE. Writers of expository and argumentative essays tend to shift back and forth from one kind of language to the other. They often begin a paragraph with a general statement full of abstract words (“There is hope for the future of driving”). Then they usually go on to give examples and present evidence in sentences full of concrete words (“Inventor Jones claims his car will go from Fresno to Los Angeles on a gallon of peanut oil”). Inexperienced writers often use too many abstract words and not enough concrete ones. See also pages 48 and 108. Concrete See ABSTRACT AND CONCRETE. General and specific Terms that describe the relative number of instances or objects included in the group signified by a word. General words name a group or class (flowers); specific words limit the class by naming its individual members (rose, violet, dahlia, marigold). Words may be arranged in a series from more general to more specific: clothes, pants, jeans, Levis. The word cat is more specific than animal, but less specific than tiger, or Garfield. See also CONCRETE

ABSTRACT AND

and pages 48 and 108.

Be creative. You can make your writing more lively and forceful with FIGURES OF SPEECH, expressions that imply meanings beyond or different from their literal meanings, such as curled tight like a rosebud or feelings trampled to dirt. Be careful not to resort to CLICHÉS, worn phrases that have lost their power (hour of need, thin as a rail), or to combine figures of speech into confusing or absurd images, such as The players flooded the soccer field like bulls ready for a fight.

Figures of speech Expressions that depart from the literal meanings of words for the sake of emphasis or vividness. To say “She’s a jewel” doesn’t mean that the subject of praise is literally a kind of shining stone; the statement makes sense because the CONNOTATIONS of jewel come to mind: rare, priceless, worth cherishing. Some figures of speech involve comparisons of two objects apparently unlike: A simile (from the Latin, “likeness”) states the comparison directly, usually connecting the two things using like, as, or than: “The moon is like a snowball”; “He’s as lazy as a cat full of cream”; “My feet are flatter than flyswatters.” A metaphor (from the Greek, “transfer”) declares one thing to be another: “A mighty fortress is our God”; “The sheep were bolls of cotton on the hill.” (A dead metaphor is a word or phrase that, originally a figure of speech, has come to be literal through common usage: “the hands of a clock.”) Personification is a simile or metaphor that assigns human traits to inanimate objects or

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abstractions: “A stoop-shouldered refrigerator hummed quietly to itself”; “The solution to the math problem sat there winking at me.” Other figures of speech consist of deliberate misrepresentations: Hyperbole (from the Greek, “throwing beyond”) is a conscious exaggeration: “I’m so hungry I could eat a saddle”; “I’d wait for you a thousand years.” The opposite of hyperbole, understatement, creates an ironic or humorous effect: “I accepted the ride. At the moment, I didn’t feel like walking across the Mojave Desert.” A paradox (from the Greek, “conflicting with expectation”) is a seemingly selfcontradictory statement that, on reflection, makes sense: “Children are the poor person’s wealth” (wealth can be monetary, or it can be spiritual). Paradox may also refer to a situation that is inexplicable or contradictory, such as the restriction of one group’s rights in order to secure the rights of another group. Cliché A worn-out, trite expression that a writer employs thoughtlessly. Although at one time the expression may have been colorful, from heavy use it has lost its luster. It is now “old as the hills.” In conversation, most of us sometimes use clichés, but in writing they “stick out like sore thumbs.” Alert writers, when they revise, replace a cliché with a fresh,

CONCRETE

expression.

Writers who have trouble recognizing clichés should be suspicious of any phrase they’ve heard before and should try to read more widely. Their problem is that, because so many expressions are new to them, they do not know which ones are full of moths.

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Clear and Engaging Sentences Effective sentences are the product of careful attention to meaning and readability. Editing for emphasis, parallelism, and variety will ensure that readers can follow your ideas without difficulty and stay interested in what you have to say. Emphasis While drafting, simply getting ideas down in sentence form can be challenge enough. But once the ideas are down, it becomes apparent that some are more important than others. Editing for emphasis offers an opportunity to clarify those relationships for readers. As you do so, focus on the following changes: Put verbs in the active voice. A verb in the ACTIVE VOICE expresses action by the subject (He recorded a new song), whereas a verb in the PASSIVE VOICE expresses action done to the subject (A new song was recorded, or, adding who did the action, A new song was recorded by him). The active voice is usually more emphatic and therefore easier to follow. See “Focus on Verbs” on page 69.

Active voice The form of the verb when the sentence subject is the actor: Trees [subject] shed [active verb] their leaves in autumn. Contrast PASSIVE VOICE. Passive voice The form of the verb when the sentence subject is acted upon: The report [subject] was published [passive verb] anonymously. Contrast ACTIVE VOICE.

Simplify wordy sentences. Unnecessary padding deflates readers’ interest. Weed out any empty phrases or meaningless repetition: WORDY The nature of social-networking sites is such that they reconnect lost and distant friends but can also for all intents and purposes dredge up old relationships, relationships that were better left forgotten. CONCISE Social-networking sites reconnect lost and distant friends but can also dredge up old relationships that were better left forgotten.

See also “Focus on Clarity and Conciseness” on pages 336–37. Combine sentences. You can often clarify meaning by merging sentences. Use coordination to combine and balance equally important ideas, joining them with and, but, or, nor, for, so, or yet: UNEMPHATIC Many restaurant meals are high in fat. Their sodium content is also high. To diners they seem harmless. EMPHATIC Many restaurant meals are high in fat and sodium, but to diners they seem harmless.

Use subordination to de-emphasize less important ideas, placing minor information in modifying words or word groups: UNEMPHATIC Restaurant menus sometimes label certain options. They use the label “healthy.” These options are lower in fat and sodium.

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EMPHATIC Restaurant menus sometimes label as “healthy” the options that are lower in fat and sodium.

Parallelism Another way to clarify meaning is to give parallel structure to related words, phrases, and sentences. PARALLELISM

is the use of similar grammatical forms for elements of similar importance, either within or

among sentences.

Parallelism, parallel structure A habit of good writers: keeping related ideas of equal importance in similar grammatical form. A writer may place nouns side by side (“Trees and streams are my weekend tonic”) or in a series (“Give me wind, sea, and stars”). Phrases, too, may be arranged in parallel structure (“Out of my bed, into my shoes, up to my classroom — that’s my life”), as may clauses (“Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country”). Parallelism may be found not only in single sentences but in larger units as well. A paragraph might read: “Rhythm is everywhere. It throbs in the rain forests of Brazil. It vibrates ballroom floors in Vienna. It snaps its fingers on street corners in Chicago.” In a whole essay, parallelism may be the principle used to arrange ideas in a balanced or harmonious structure. See the famous speech given by Judy Brady (p. 459), in which paragraphs 4–7 all begin with the words “I want a wife who will” and describe an imagined partner. Not only does such a parallel structure organize ideas, but it also lends them force. See also pages 50 and 176–77.

PARALLELISM WITHIN A SENTENCE Binge drinking can worsen heart disease and cause liver failure. PARALLELISM AMONG SENTENCES Binge drinking has less well-known effects, too. It can cause brain damage. It can raise blood sugar to diabetic levels. And it can reduce the body’s ability to fight off infections.

Readers tend to stumble over elements that seem equally important but are not in parallel form. As you edit, look for groups of related ideas and make a point of expressing them consistently: NONPARALLEL Even occasional binges can cause serious problems, from the experience of blackouts to getting arrested to injury. PARALLEL Even occasional binges can cause serious problems, from blackouts to arrests to injuries.

For more on parallel structure, see “Focus on Parallelism” on pages 176–77. Sentence Variety Sentence after sentence with the same length and structure can be stiff and dull. By varying sentences, you can hold readers’ interest while also achieving the emphasis you want. The techniques to achieve variety include adjusting the lengths of sentences and varying their beginnings. For examples and specifics, see “Focus on Sentence Variety” on pages 144–45.

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Common Errors Writers sometimes think of grammar as a set of rules that exist solely to give nitpickers a chance to point out mistakes. But basic errors can undermine an otherwise excellent piece of writing by distracting readers or creating confusion. The guidelines here can help you catch some of the most common problems. Sentence Fragments A sentence fragment is a word group that is punctuated like a sentence but is not a complete sentence. Experienced writers sometimes use fragments for effect, but readers usually stumble over incomplete sentences. For the sake of clarity, make sure every sentence has a subject and a verb and expresses a complete thought: FRAGMENT Snowboarding a relatively young sport. COMPLETE Snowboarding is a relatively young sport. FRAGMENT Many ski resorts banned snowboards at first. Believing they were dangerous and destructive. COMPLETE Many ski resorts banned snowboards at first, believing they were dangerous and destructive.

Run-on Sentences and Comma Splices When two or more sentences run together with no punctuation between them, they create a run-on sentence. When they run together with only a comma between them, they create a comma splice. Writers usually correct these errors by separating the sentences with a period, with a semicolon, or with a comma along with and, but, or, nor, for, so, or yet: RUN-ON Snowboarding has become a mainstream sport riders are now as common as skiers on the slopes. COMMA SPLICE Snowboarding has become a mainstream sport, riders are now as common as skiers on the slopes. EDITED Snowboarding has become a mainstream sport. Riders are now as common as skiers on the slopes. EDITED Snowboarding has become a mainstream sport; riders are now as common as skiers on the slopes. EDITED Snowboarding has become a mainstream sport, and riders are now as common as skiers on the slopes.

Subject-Verb Agreement Most writers know to use singular verbs with singular subjects and plural verbs with plural subjects, but matching subjects and verbs can sometimes be tricky. Watch especially for these situations: Don’t mistake a noun that follows the subject for the actual subject. In the examples below, the subject is appearance, not snowboarders or Olympics: MISMATCHED The appearance of snowboarders in the Olympics prove their status as true athletes. MATCHED The appearance of snowboarders in the Olympics proves their status as true athletes.

With subjects joined by and , use a plural verb. Compound word groups are treated as plural even if the word closest to the verb is singular: MISMATCHED The cross course and the half-pipe shows the sport’s versatility. MATCHED The cross course and the half-pipe show the sport’s versatility.

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Pronouns We tend to use pronouns without thinking much about them. Problems occur when usage that feels natural in speech causes confusion in writing: Check that each pronoun refers clearly to an appropriate noun. Rewrite sentences in which the reference is vague or only implied: VAGUE Students asked the administration to add more parking spaces, but it had no effect. CLEAR Students asked the administration to add more parking spaces, but their pleas had no effect. IMPLIED Although commuter parking is hard to find, they keep driving to campus. CLEAR Although commuters know that parking is hard to find, they keep driving to campus.

Take care with indefinite pronouns. Although people often use pronouns such as anybody, anyone, everyone, and somebody to mean “many” or “all,” these indefinite pronouns are technically singular, not plural: MISMATCHED Everyone should change their passwords frequently. MATCHED Everyone should change his or her passwords frequently. MATCHED All computer users should change their passwords frequently.

Misplaced and Dangling Modifiers A modifier describes another word or group of words in a sentence. Make sure that modifiers clearly describe the intended words. Misplaced and dangling modifiers can be awkward or even unintentionally amusing: MISPLACED I swam away as the jellyfish approached in fear of being stung. CLEAR In fear of being stung, I swam away as the jellyfish approached. DANGLING Floating in the ocean, the clouds drifted by. CLEAR Floating in the ocean, I watched as the clouds drifted by.

Shifts Be consistent in your use of verb tense (past, present, and so on), person (I, you, he/she/it, they), and voice (active or passive). Unnecessary shifts can confuse readers. For details, see “Focus on Verbs” on page 69 and “Focus on Consistency” on page 216.

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AN ESSAY-IN-PROGRESS In the following pages, you have a chance to follow Rosie Anaya as she develops an essay through journal writing and several drafts. She began the writing process early, while reading and annotating Nancy Mairs’s “Disability” (p. 12). Inspired by Mairs’s argument, Anaya writes about another group that has been “effaced” by the media.

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Discovering Ideas and Drafting Journal Notes on Reading Haven’t the media gotten better about showing people with disabilities since Mairs wrote this essay? Lots of TV shows have characters who just happen to use wheelchairs. But I see why she has a problem: I would be bothered, too, if I didn’t see people like me represented. I would feel left out, probably hurt, maybe angry. Mairs is doing more: Invisibility is a problem for healthy people too — anybody could become disabled and wouldn’t know that people with disabilities live full, normal lives. Interesting that she mentions emotions so many times: The references to feelings and psychology raise a question about people with mental disabilities, like depression or schizophrenia. How are they represented by the media? Definitely not as regular people: Stories in the news about emotionally disturbed people who go over the edge and hurt or even kill people. And Criminal Minds etc. always using some kind of psychological disorder to explain a crime. Except the problem with mental illness isn’t just invisibility — it’s negative stereotyping. What if you’re represented as a danger to yourself and others? That’s got to be worse.

First Draft Nancy Mairs is upset with television and movies that don’t show physical disability as a feature of normal life. She says the media shows disability consuming a character’s life or it doesn’t show disability at all, and she wants to see “representations of myself in the media, especially television” (p. no.). Mairs makes a convincing argument that the media should portray physical disability as part of everyday life because “effacement” leaves the rest of us unprepared to cope in the case that we should eventually become disabled ourselves. As she explains it, anybody could become disabled, but because we rarely see people with disabilities living full, normal lives on tv, we assume that becoming disabled means life is pretty much over (p. no.). It’s been three decades since Mairs wrote her essay, and she seems to have gotten her wish. Plenty of characters on television today who have a disability are not defined by it. But psychological disabilities are disabilities too, and they have never been shown “as a normal characteristic, one that complicates but does not ruin human existence” (p. no.). Television routinely portrays people with mental illness as threats to themselves and to others. Think about all those stories on the evening news about a man suffering from schizophrenia who went on a shooting spree before turning his gun on himself, or a mother who drowned her own children in the throes of depression, or a bipolar teenager who commits suicide. Such events are tragic, no doubt, but although the vast majority of people with these illnesses hurt nobody, the news implies that they’re all potential killers. Fictional shows, too, are always using some kind of psychological disorder to explain why someone committed a crime. On Criminal Minds a woman with “intermittent explosive disorder” impulsively kills multiple people after she is released from a psychiatric hospital and stops taking her medication. On Rizzoli and Isles a serial abductor’s actions are blamed on “a long history of mental illness” that started with depression after he saw his father kill his mother and developed a perverse need to recreate their relationship with victims of his own. And the entire premise of Dexter is that the trauma of witnessing his mother’s brutal murder turned the title character into a serial killer. Dexter is an obsessive-compulsive killer who justifies his impulses by killing only other killers. Early in the series, viewers learned that his nemesis, the “Ice Truck Killer,” who at one point was engaged to Dexter’s adopted sister and then tried to kill her, was actually his long-lost brother. Every season featured a different enemy, and each one of them had some kind of stated or implied mental illness: The “Doomsday Killer” of season six, for example, was a psychotic divinity student who went off his meds and suffered from delusions. It is my belief that the presentation of psychological disability may do worse than the “effacement” of disability that bothered Mairs. People with mental illness are discouraged from seeking help and are sent deeper into isolation and despair. This negative stereotype hurts us all.

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Revising Anaya’s first draft was a good start. She found an idea worth pursuing and explored her thoughts. But as with any first draft, her essay needed work. To improve it, Anaya revised extensively, cutting digressions in some places and adding support in others. Her revised draft, you’ll see, responds to “Disability” more directly, spells out Mairs’s points and Anaya’s own ideas in more detail, and builds more thoroughly on what Mairs had to say. Revised Draft Mental Illness on Television Uses a less abrupt, more formal tone. In her essay “Disability” Nancy Mairs is upset with argues that television and movies that don’t fail to show physical disability as a feature of normal life. Deletes a quotation to remove a side issue and tighten the introduction. She Instead, Mairs says, the media shows disability consuming a character’s life or it doesn’t show disability at all, and she wants to see “representations of myself in the media, especially television” (p. no. 13). Adds a thesis statement. But Mairs wrote her essay in 1987. Since then the situation has actually improved for physical disability. At the same time, another group — those with mental illness — have come to suffer even worse representation. Explains Mairs’s idea more clearly. Mairs makes a convincing argument Mairs’s purpose in writing her essay was to persuade her readers that the media should portray physical disability as part of everyday life because “effacement” otherwise it denies or misrepresents disability, and it leaves the rest of us “Temporarily Abled Persons” (those without disability, for now) unprepared to cope in the case that we they should eventually become disabled ourselves themselves (14-15). Provides page numbers in Mairs’s essay. As she explains it, anybody could become disabled, but because we rarely see people with disabilities living full, normal lives on tv, we assume that becoming disabled means life is pretty much over (p. no.). It’s been three decades since Mairs wrote her essay, and Three decades later, Mairs she seems to have gotten her wish. Adds examples to support the assertion about TV today. Plenty of characters on television today who have a disability are not defined by it. Lawyer and superhero Matt Murdoch on Daredevil is blind. Daphne Vasquez on Switched at Birth (as well as many of her friends and their parents) is deaf. Security analyst Patton Plame of NCIS: New Orleans uses a wheelchair equipped with a computer to help his team solve crimes, Joe Swanson of Family Guy is also paraplegic. A current ad campaign for TJ Maxx features a wheelchair dance team, and Amy Purdy, an athlete with two prosthetic feet, is featured on a TV spot for Toyota. The media still has a long way to go in representing physical disability, but it has made progress. Adds a transition to tighten the connection with Mairs’s essay. However, the media depiction of one type of disability is, if anything, worse than it was three decades ago. Although Mairs doesn’t address mental illness in “Disability,” mental illness falls squarely into the misrepresentation she criticizes. But pPsychological disabilities are disabilities too, and but they have never been shown “as a normal characteristic, one that complicates but does not ruin human existence” (p. no. 15).

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More fully develops the idea about mental illness as a “normal characteristic.” People who cope with a disability such as depression, bipolar disorder, or obsessive-compulsive disorder as parts of their lives do not see themselves in the media; those who don’t have a psychological disability now but may someday do not see that mental illness is usually a condition they can live with. Adds a transition to link back to Mairs and the thesis. The depictions of mental illness actually go beyond Mairs’s concerns, as the media actually exploits it. Television routinely portrays people with mental illness as threats to themselves and to others. Think about all those stories on the evening news about a man suffering from schizophrenia who went on a shooting spree before turning his gun on himself, or a mother who drowned her own children in the throes of depression, or a bipolar teenager who commits suicide. Such events are tragic, no doubt, but although the vast majority of people with these illnesses hurt nobody, the news implies that they’re all potential killers. Combines related paragraphs (“Fictional shows” used to start a new paragraph). Fictional shows, too, are always using some kind of psychological disorder to explain why someone committed a crime. On Criminal Minds a woman with “intermittent explosive disorder” impulsively kills multiple people after she is released from a psychiatric hospital and stops taking her medication., and Oon Rizzoli and Isles a serial abductor’s actions are blamed on “a long history of mental illness” beginning that started with depression. Removes digressions and simplifies examples to improve unity. after he saw his father kill his mother and developed a perverse need to recreate their relationship with victims of his own. And the entire premise of Dexter is that the trauma of witnessing his mother’s brutal murder turned the title character into a serial killer. Dexter is an obsessive-compulsive killer who justifies his impulses by killing only other killers. Early in the series, viewers learned that his nemesis, the “Ice Truck Killer,” who at one point was engaged to Dexter’s adopted sister and then tried to kill her, is actually his long-lost brother. Every season has featured a different enemy, and each one of them has had some kind of stated or implied mental ilness: The “Doomsday Killer” of season six, for example, was a psychotic divinity student who went off his meds and suffered from delusions. Expands paragraph to link to Mairs’s essay and lend authority to Anaya’s point. These programs highlight mental illness to get viewers’ attention. But the media is also telling us that the proper response to people with mental illness is to be afraid of them. Mairs argues that invisibility in the media can cause people with disabilities to feel unattractive or inappropriate (14). It is my belief that the presentation of psychological disability may do worse. than the “effacement” of disability that bothered Mairs. People with mental illness are discouraged from seeking help and are sent deeper into isolation and despair. Those feelings are often cited as the fuel for violent outbursts, but ironically the media portrays such violence as inevitable with mental illness. This negative stereotype hurts us all. Provides a new conclusion that explains why the topic is important and ends with a flourish. More complex and varied depictions of all kinds of impairments, both physical and mental, will weaken the negative stereotypes that are harmful to all of us. With mental illness especially, we would all be better served if psychological disability was portrayed by the media as a part of everyday life. It’s not a crime.

Works Cited Adds a list of works cited. (See pp. 491–535.) “Breath Play.” Criminal Minds, season 10, episode 17, CBS, 11 Mar. 2015. Netflix, www.netflix.com/search/criminalminds. Accessed 19 July 2015. “Deadly Harvest.” Rizzoli and Isles, season 6, episode 3, TNT, 23 July 2015. Mairs, Nancy. “Disability.” The Bedford Reader, edited by X. J. Kennedy et al., 13th ed., Bedford/St. Martin’s, 2017, pp. 13–15. TJ Maxx. Advertisement. Fox, 21 July 2015.

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Toyota. Advertisement. TNT, 23 July 2015.

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Editing With her thesis clarified, the connections between her argument and Mairs’s tightened, and her ideas more fully developed, Anaya was satisfied that her essay was much improved and just about finished. She still had some work to do, though. In editing, she corrected errors, cleaned up awkward sentences, and added explanations. Here we show you her changes to one paragraph.

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Edited Paragraph Reduces wordiness; corrects tense shift.

Corrects pronoun-antecedent and subject-verb agreement (media is plural).

Reduces wordiness. Mairs’s purpose in writing her essay “Disability” was is to persuade her readers that the media should portray physical disability as part of everyday life because otherwise it denies they deny or misrepresents disability-, and it leaves “Temporarily Abled Persons” (those without disability, for now) unprepared to cope in the case that they should eventually if they become disabled themselves (14-15). Adds coordination for emphasis. Three decades later, Mairs seems to have gotten her wish. Plenty of for characters on television today who have a disability but are not defined by it. Lawyer and superhero Matt Murdoch on Daredevil is blind. Reduces wordiness. Daphne Vasquez Several characters on Switched at Birth (as well as many of her friends and their parents) is are deaf. Fixes comma splice. Security analyst Patton Plame of NCIS: New Orleans uses a wheelchair equipped with a computer to help his team solve crimes-,. Police officer Joe Swanson of Family Guy is also paraplegic. Eliminates passive voice and creates parallelism. A current ad campaign for TJ Maxx features a wheelchair dance team, and Amy Purdy, an athlete with two prosthetic feet, is featured on a TV spot for Toyota highlights Amy Purdy, an athlete with two prosthetic feet. Corrects subject-verb and pronoun-antecedent agreement. The media still has have a long way to go in representing physical disability, but it has they have made progress.

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Final Draft Mental Illness on Television Introduction summarizes Mairs’s essay and sets up Anaya’s thesis. In her essay “Disability,” Nancy Mairs argues that the media, such as television and movies, fail to show physical disability as a feature of normal life. Instead, Mairs says, they show disability consuming a character’s life or they don’t show disability at all. Mairs wrote her essay in 1987, and since then the situation has actually improved for depiction of physical disability. Thesis statement establishes Anaya’s main idea. At the same time, another group — those with mental illness — has come to suffer even worse representation. Page numbers in parentheses refer to “Works Cited” at end of paper. Mairs’s purpose in “Disability” is to persuade readers that the media should portray physical disability as part of everyday life because otherwise they deny or misrepresent disability and leave “Temporarily Abled Persons” (those without disability, for now) unprepared to cope if they become disabled (14-15). Three decades later, Mairs seems to have gotten her wish for characters who have a disability but are not defined by it. Lawyer and superhero Matt Murdoch on Daredevil is blind. Several characters on Switched at Birth are deaf. Examples provide support for Anaya’s analysis. Security analyst Patton Plame of NCIS: New Orleans uses a wheelchair equipped with a computer to help his team solve crimes. Police officer Joe Swanson of Family Guy is also paraplegic. A current ad campaign for TJ Maxx features a wheelchair dance team, and a TV spot for Toyota highlights Amy Purdy, an athlete with two prosthetic feet. The media still have a long way to go in representing physical disability, but they have made progress. Comparison and contrast extend Mairs’s idea to Anaya’s new subject. However, in depicting one type of disability, the media are, if anything, worse than they were three decades ago. Mairs doesn’t address mental illness, but it falls squarely into the misrepresentation she criticizes. It has never been shown, in Mairs’s words, “as a normal characteristic, one that complicates but does not ruin human existence” (15). Follow-up comments explain what the quotation contributes to Anaya’s thesis. Thus people who cope with a psychological disability such as depression, bipolar disorder, or obsessive-compulsive disorder as part of their lives do not see themselves in the media. And those who don’t have a psychological disability now but may someday do not see that mental illness is usually a condition one can live with. Topic sentence introduces new idea. Unfortunately, the depictions of mental illness also go beyond Mairs’s concerns, because the media actually exploit it. Television routinely portrays people with mental illness as threats to themselves and to others. Examples provide evidence for Anaya’s point. TV news often features stories about a man suffering from schizophrenia who goes on a shooting spree before turning his gun on himself, a mother with depression who drowns her own children, or a teenager with bipolar disorder who commits suicide. Fictional programs, especially crime dramas, regularly use mental illness to develop their plots. On Criminal Minds a woman with “intermittent explosive disorder” impulsively kills multiple people after she is released from a psychiatric hospital and stops taking her medication, and on Rizzoli and Isles a serial abductor’s actions are blamed on “a long history of mental illness” beginning with depression. These programs and many others like them highlight mental illness to get viewers’ attention, and they strongly imply that the proper response is fear. Paraphrase explains one of Mairs’s points in Anaya’s own words.

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Mairs argues that the invisibility of physical disability in the media can cause people with disabilities to feel unattractive or inappropriate (14), but the presentation of psychological disability may do worse. Cause-and-effect analysis applies Mairs’s idea to Anaya’s thesis. It can prevent people with mental illness from seeking help and send them deeper into isolation and despair. Those feelings are often cited as the fuel for violent outbursts, but ironically the media portray such violence as inevitable with mental illness. Conclusion reasserts the thesis and explains the broader implications of the subject. Seeing more complex and varied depictions of people living with all kinds of impairments, physical and mental, can weaken the negative stereotypes that are harmful to all of us. With mental illness especially, we would all be better served if the media would make an effort to portray psychological disability as a part of everyday life, not a crime. List of “Works Cited” at the end of the paper gives complete publication information for Anaya’s sources. (See pp. 491–535.)

Works Cited “Breath Play.” Criminal Minds, season 10, episode 17, CBS, 11 Mar. 2015. Netflix, www.netflix.com/search/criminalminds. Accessed 19 July 2015. “Deadly Harvest.” Rizzoli and Isles, season 6, episode 3, TNT, 23 July 2015. Mairs, Nancy. “Disability.” The Bedford Reader, edited by X. J. Kennedy et al., 13th ed., Bedford/St. Martin’s, 2017, pp. 13-15. TJ Maxx. Advertisement. Fox, 21 July 2015. Toyota. Advertisement. TNT, 23 July 2015.

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PART TWO

THE METHODS

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3 NARRATION Telling a Story

Narration in a drawing Demetri Martin is a popular stand-up comedian known for intelligent wit and for the clever graphs and drawings he incorporates into

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his act. He has published two books of such artwork: This Is a Book by Demetri Martin (2011), which also includes comic essays, and Point Your Face at This (2013). “Reality is a concept that depends on where you point your face,” he says in the epigraph to the second book — an idea illustrated with this drawing. In Martin’s trademark simple style, the sketch focuses on just the lower legs of two people to tell a brief narrative, or story. What experience is depicted here? What do the details in each part of the sequence tell us about the characters, and what do they contribute to the narrative? What effect does Martin achieve by not showing the couple more fully? How does the unusual perspective shape your understanding of what has happened?

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THE METHOD “What happened?” you ask a friend who sports a swollen black eye. Unless he merely grunts, “A golf ball,” he may answer you with a narrative — a story, true or fictional. “Okay,” he sighs, “you know The Tenth Round? That gym down by the docks that smells like formaldehyde? Last night I heard they were giving away $500 to anybody who could stand up for three minutes against this karate expert, the Masked Samurai. And so…” You lean forward. At least, you lean forward if you love a story. Most of us do, particularly if the story tells us of people in action or in conflict, and if it is told briskly, vividly, or with insight into the human condition. NARRATION,

or storytelling, is therefore a powerful method by which to engage and hold the attention of

listeners — readers as well. A little of its tremendous power flows to the blogger who encapsulates events in a critical social moment, and to the lawyer who pulls together the threads of a compelling case.

Narration, narrative The mode of writing (narration) that tells a story (narrative). See Chapter 3.

The term narrative takes in abundant territory. A narrative may be short or long, factual or imagined, as artless as a tale told in a locker room or as artful as a novel by Toni Morrison. A narrative may instruct and inform, or simply entertain. It may set forth some point or message, or it may be no more significant than a horror tale that aims to curdle your blood. Because narration can both put across ideas and hold attention, the ability to tell a story — on paper, as well as in conversation — may be one of the most useful skills you can acquire.

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THE PROCESS

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Purpose and Shape At least a hundred times a year, you probably turn to narration, not always to tell an entertaining story, but often to report information or to illustrate an idea. Every good story has a purpose, because a narrative without a point is bound to irritate readers. In academic writing, you will use mainly brief narratives, or ANECDOTES, that recount single incidents as a way of supporting an explanation or argument with the flesh and blood of real life. That is, although a narrative can run from the beginning of an essay to the end, as those later in this chapter do, more often in your writing a narrative will be only a part of what you have to say. It will serve a larger purpose. For instance, say you’re writing about therapies for autism and you want readers to see how one particular method works. In a paragraph or so, you can narrate a session you observed between a child and his teacher. Your purpose will determine which of the session’s events you relate — not every action and exchange but the ones that, in your eyes, convey the essence of the therapy and make it interesting for readers.

Anecdote A brief NARRATIVE, or retelling of a story or event. Anecdotes have many uses: as essay openers or closers, as examples, as sheer entertainment. See Chapter 3.

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The Thesis In writing a news story, a reporter often begins by placing the main event in the opening paragraph (called the lead) so that readers get the essentials up front. Similarly, in using an anecdote to explain something or to argue a point, you’ll want to tell readers directly what the story demonstrates. But in most other kinds of narration, whether fiction or nonfiction, whether to entertain or to make an idea clear, the storyteller refrains from revealing the gist of the story, its point, right at the beginning. In fact, many narratives do not contain a

THESIS STATEMENT,

an assertion of the idea behind the story,

because such a statement can rob the reader of the very pleasure of narration, the excitement of seeing a story build. That doesn’t mean the story lacks a thesis, however — far from it. The writer has every obligation to construct the narrative as if a thesis statement shows the way at the start, even when it doesn’t.

Thesis, thesis statement The central idea in a work of writing (thesis), to which everything else in the work refers; one or more sentences that express that central idea (thesis statement). In some way, each sentence and PARAGRAPH

in an effective essay serves to support the thesis and to make it clear and explicit to

readers. Good writers, while writing, often set down a thesis statement to help them define their purpose. They also often include this statement in their essay as a promise and a guide to readers. See pages 19, 35–36, 40–41, and the introductions to Chapters 3–12.

By the end of the story, that thesis should become obvious, as the writer builds toward a memorable CONCLUSION.

of

IRONY,

Most storytellers end with a bang if they can, often by surprising the reader with a final moment

or an unexpected twist to the tale. In the drawing that opens this chapter, for instance, Demetri

Martin shows a marriage proposal that ends in a breakup. For another example, take specific notice in this chapter of Shirley Jackson’s ending for “The Lottery” (after you’ve read the whole story, that is). The final impact need not be as dramatic as Martin’s or Jackson’s, either. As Junot Díaz demonstrates in his narrative in this chapter, you can achieve a lot just by working up to your point, and stating your thesis at the very end. You can sometimes make your point just by saving the best incident — the most dramatic or the funniest — for last.

Conclusion The sentences or paragraphs that bring an essay to a satisfying and logical end. See pages 38–39. Irony A manner of speaking or writing that does not directly state a discrepancy, but implies one. Verbal irony is the intentional use of words to suggest a meaning other than literal: “What a mansion!” (said of a shack); “There’s nothing like sunshine” (said on a foggy morning). (For more examples, see the essays by Jessica Mitford and Judy Brady.) If irony is delivered contemptuously with an

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intent to hurt, we call it sarcasm: “Oh, you’re a real friend!” (said to someone who refuses to lend the speaker the coins to operate a clothes dryer). With situational irony, the circumstances themselves are incongruous, run contrary to expectations, or twist fate: Juliet regains consciousness only to find that Romeo, believing her dead, has stabbed himself. See also SATIRE.

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The Narrator in the Story Every story has a determines the

NARRATOR,

POINT OF VIEW,

the person telling the tale. The narrator’s role in relation to the story

or angle of seeing, that shapes the telling. Generally, writers use different

points of view to tell different kinds of stories.

Narrator The teller of a story, usually either in the first PERSON (I) or in the third (he, she, it, they). See pages 65–66. Point of view In an essay, the physical position or the mental angle from which a writer beholds a SUBJECT. On the subject of starlings, the following three writers would likely have different points of view: An ornithologist might write OBJECTIVELY about the introduction of these birds into North America, a farmer might advise other farmers how to prevent the birds from eating seed, and a bird watcher might SUBJECTIVELY describe a first glad sighting of the species. Whether objective or subjective, point of view also encompasses a writer’s biases and ASSUMPTIONS. For instance, the scientist, farmer, and bird watcher would likely all have different perspectives on starlings’ reputation as nuisances: Although such perspectives may or may not be expressed directly, they would likely influence each writer’s approach to the subject. See also PERSON.

Narratives that report personal experience: Whether you are telling of a real or a fictional event, your narrator will be the one who was there. The telling will probably be PERSON

SUBJECTIVE:

You will use the first

(“I did this; we did that”) and choose details and language to express the feelings of the narrator —

your own feelings when you are recounting your actual experience or the imagined feelings of a character you have invented. Of course, any experience told in the first person can use some artful telling and structuring, as the personal narratives in this chapter — by Amy Tan and Naomi Shihab Nye — both demonstrate.

Subjective See OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE. Person A grammatical distinction made between the speaker, the one spoken to, and the one spoken about. In the first person (I, we), the subject is speaking. In the second person (you), the subject is being spoken to. In the third person (he, she, it), the subject is being spoken about. The point of view of an essay or work of fiction is often specified according to person: “This short story is told from a first-person point of view.” See also POINT OF VIEW.

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Narratives that report others’ experiences: When a story isn’t your own but someone else’s, you proceed differently as narrator. You use the third person, he, she, it, or they: “The experimenter did this; she did that.” Your approach may be subjective, building in the real or imagined feelings of the person experiencing the events — as Junot Díaz does in this chapter, reporting his mother’s story. Or your approach may be OBJECTIVE, sticking to the facts as observed by you or by others. In objective narration — typical of writing such as news stories, history books, lab reports, and some fiction — you show what transpired as accurately and dispassionately as possible. In this chapter you can see objective narration in the police log by Scott Beltran and in the short story by Shirley Jackson.

Objective and subjective Kinds of writing that differ in emphasis. In objective writing the emphasis falls on the topic; in subjective writing it falls on the writer’s view of the topic. Objective writing occurs in factual journalism, science reports, certain

PROCESS ANALYSES

(such as recipes, directions, and

instructions), and logical arguments in which the writer attempts to downplay personal feelings and opinions. Subjective writing sets forth the writer’s feelings, opinions, and interpretations. It occurs in friendly letters, journals, bylined feature stories and columns in periodicals, personal essays, andARGUMENTS that appeal to emotion. Few essays, however, contain one kind of writing exclusive of the other.

A final element of the narrator’s place in the story is verb tense, whether present (I stare, she stares) or past (I stared, she stared). The present tense is often tempting because it gives events a sense of immediacy. Told as though everything were happening right now, the story of the Masked Samurai might begin: “I duck between the ropes and step into the ring. My heart is thudding fast.” But the present tense can seem artificial because we’re used to reading stories in the past tense, and it can be difficult to sustain throughout an entire narrative. (See p. 216 on consistency in tenses.) The past tense may be more removed, but it is still powerful.

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What to Emphasize

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Discovery of Details Whether you tell of your own experience or of someone else’s, even if it is brief, you need a whole story to tell. If the story is complex, do some searching and discovering in writing. One trusty method to test your memory (or to make sure you have all the necessary elements of a story) is that of a news reporter. Ask yourself: What happened? Who took part? When? Where? Why did it happen? How did it happen? Journalists call this handy list of questions “the five W’s and the H.” The H — how — isn’t merely another way of asking what happened. It means: In exactly what way or under what circumstances? If the event was a break-in, how was it done — with an ax or with a bulldozer?

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Scene versus Summary If you have prepared well — searching your memory or doing some research — you’ll have far more information on hand than you can use in your narrative. You’ll need to choose carefully, to pick out just those events and details that will accomplish your purpose with your readers. A key decision is to choose between the two main strategies of narration: Tell a story by

SCENE,

visualizing each event as vividly and precisely as if you were there. Think of the

scene as if it were in a film, with your reader sitting before the screen. This is the strategy Shirley Jackson uses in her account of a tense crowd’s behavior as, gathered in a small town square, they anticipate who will be at the center of an annual tradition (in “The Lottery,” p. 90). Instead of just mentioning people, you portray them. You recall dialog as best you can, or you invent some that could have been spoken. You include DESCRIPTION (a mode of writing to be dealt with fully in the next chapter). You might prolong one scene for an entire essay, or you could draw a scene in only two or three sentences (as Scott Beltran does in his police log on pp. 71–73).

Scene In a NARRATION, an event retold in detail to re-create an experience. See Chapter 3. Description A mode of writing that conveys the evidence of the senses: sight, hearing, touch, taste, smell. See Chapter 4.

Tell a story by SUMMARY, relating events concisely. Instead of depicting people and their surroundings in great detail, you set down just the essentials of what happened. Such is the strategy Junot Díaz uses in “The Dreamer” (p. 84) to tell of his mother’s childhood determination to get an education. Most of us employ this method in the everyday stories we tell, for it takes less time and fewer words. When chosen well, the economy of a story told in summary may be as effective as the lavish detail of a story told in scenes.

Summarize, summary To condense a work (essay, movie, news story) to its essence (summarize), or the act or result of doing so (summary). Summarizing a piece of writing in one’s own words is an effective way to come to understand it. (See pp. 15–16.) Summarizing (and acknowledging) others’ writing in your own text is a good way to support your ideas. (See pp. 43, 44, and 46.) Contrast PARAPHRASE.

As always, your choice of a strategy depends on your answers to the questions you ask yourself: What is my purpose? Who is my audience? Whether to flesh out a scene fully, how much detail to include — these 188

choices depend on what you seek to do and on how much your audience needs to know to follow you. You may find that you want to use both strategies in telling a single story, passing briskly from one scene to the next, distilling events of lesser importance. Were you to write, let’s say, the story of your grandfather’s emigration from Cuba, you might just summarize his decision to leave Cuba and his settlement in Florida. These summaries could frame and emphasize a detailed telling of the events that you consider essential and most interesting — his nighttime escape, his harrowing voyage in a small boat, his surprising welcome by immigration authorities.

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Dialog In this book we are primarily concerned with the kind of writing you do every day in college: nonfiction writing in which you explain ideas, organize information you have learned, analyze other people’s ideas, or argue a case. In fiction, though, we find an enormously popular and appealing use of narration and certain devices of storytelling from which all writers can learn. For these reasons, this chapter includes one celebrated short story by a master storyteller, Shirley Jackson. But fiction and fact barely separate Jackson’s tale and the equally compelling true stories in this chapter. All of the authors strive to make people and events come alive for us. Many of them also use a tool that academic writers generally do not:

DIALOG.

Reported speech, in

quotation marks, is invaluable for revealing characters’ feelings, as Amy Tan and Naomi Shihab Nye demonstrate with their tales from real life.

Dialog The quoted speech of participants in a story. Dialog is commonly included in a NARRATIVE, especially fiction, but it can also be useful in bringing any form of reported writing to life. See pages 68.

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Organization In any kind of narration, the simplest approach is to set down events in CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER, following the sequence in which they occurred. To do so is to have your story already organized for you.

Chronological order The arrangement of events as they occurred or occur in time, first to last. Most NARRATIVES and PROCESS ANALYSES

use chronological order.

Chronological order is an excellent pattern to follow unless you can see some special advantage in violating it. Ask: What am I trying to do? If you are trying to capture your readers’ attention right away, you might begin in medias res (Latin, “in the middle of things”) and open with a colorful, dramatic event, even though it took place late in the chronology. If trying for dramatic effect, you might save the most exciting or impressive event for last, even though it actually happened early. By this means, you can keep your readers in suspense for as long as possible. (You can return to earlier events in a

FLASHBACK,

an earlier scene recalled.) Let your

purpose be your guide.

Flashback A technique of NARRATION in which the sequence of events is interrupted to recall an earlier period.

No matter what order you choose, either following chronology or departing from it, make sure your audience can follow it. The sequence of events has to be clear. This calls for

TRANSITIONS

that mark time,

whether they are brief phrases that point out exactly when each event happened (“seven years later,” “a moment earlier”) or whole sentences that announce an event and clearly locate it in time (“Passing by the gym on Friday evening, I noticed the sign: ‘Go Three Minutes with the Masked Samurai and Win $500.’ ”). See Transitions in the Glossary for a list of possibilities.

Transitions Words, phrases, sentences, or even paragraphs that relate ideas. In moving from one topic to the next, a writer has to bring the reader along by showing how the ideas are developing, what bearing a new thought or detail has on an earlier discussion, or why a new topic is being introduced. A clear purpose, strong ideas, and logical development certainly aid COHERENCE, but to ensure that the reader is following along, good writers provide signals, or transitions. To bridge sentences or paragraphs and to point out relationships within them, you can use some of the following devices of transition: 191

Repeat or restate words or phrases to produce an echo in the reader’s mind. Use PARALLEL STRUCTURES to produce a rhythm that moves the reader forward. Use pronouns to refer back to nouns in earlier passages. Use transitional words and phrases. These may indicate a relationship of time (right away, later, soon, meanwhile, in a few minutes, that night), proximity (beside, close to, distant from, nearby, facing), effect (therefore, for this reason, as a result, consequently), comparison (similarly, in the same way, likewise), or contrast (yet, but, nevertheless, however, despite). Some words and phrases of transition simply add on: besides, too, also, moreover, in addition to, second, last, in the end.

FOCUS ON VERBS Narration depends heavily on verbs to clarify and enliven events. Strong verbs sharpen meaning and encourage you to add other informative details: WEAK The wind made an awful noise. STRONG The wind roared around the house and rattled the trees. Forms of make (as in the example above) and forms of be (as in the next example) can sap the life from narration: WEAK The noises were alarming to us. STRONG The noises alarmed us. Verbs in the ACTIVE VOICE (the subject does the action) usually pack more power into fewer words than verbs in the PASSIVE VOICE (the subject is acted upon):

Active voice The form of the verb when the sentence subject is the actor: Trees [subject] shed [active verb] their leaves in autumn. Contrast PASSIVE VOICE. Passive voice The form of the verb when the sentence subject is acted upon: The report [subject] was published [passive verb] anonymously. Contrast ACTIVE VOICE.

WEAK PASSIVE We were besieged in the basement by the wind, as the water at our feet was swelled by the rain. STRONG ACTIVE The wind besieged us in the basement, as the rain swelled the water at our feet. While strengthening verbs, also ensure that they’re consistent in tense. The tense you choose for relating events, present or past, should not shift unnecessarily. INCONSISTENT TENSES We held a frantic conference to consider our options. It takes only a minute to decide to stay put. CONSISTENT TENSE We held a frantic conference to consider our options. It took only a minute to decide to stay put. See page 49 for further discussion of passive versus active verbs and page 216 for advice on avoiding shifts in tense.

CHECKLIST FOR REVISING A NARRATIVE Thesis. What is the point of your narrative? Will it be clear to readers by the end? Even if you don’t provide a thesis statement, your story should focus on a central idea. If you can’t risk readers’ misunderstanding — if, for instance, you’re using

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narration to support an argument or explain a concept — then have you stated your thesis outright? Point of view. Is your narrator’s position in the story appropriate for your purpose and consistent throughout? Check for awkward or confusing shifts in point of view (subjective or objective; first or third person) and in the tenses of verbs (present to past or vice versa). Selection of events. Have you selected and emphasized events to suit your audience and fulfill your purpose? Tell the important parts of the story in the greatest detail. Summarize the less important, connective events. Organization. If your organization is not strictly chronological (first event to last), do you have a compelling reason for altering it? If you start somewhere other than the beginning of the story or use flashbacks at any point, will your readers benefit from your creativity? Transitions. Have you used transitions to help clarify the order of events and their duration? Dialog. If you have used dialog, quoting participants in the story, is it appropriate for your purpose? Is it concise, telling only the important, revealing lines? Does the language sound like spoken English? Verbs. Do strong, active verbs move your narrative from event to event? Are verb tenses consistent?

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NARRATION IN ACADEMIC WRITING A Geology Textbook In this paragraph from The Earth: An Introduction to Physical Geology, the authors Edward J. Tarbuck and Frederick K. Lutgens use narration to illustrate a powerful geological occurrence. Following a paragraph that explains landslides more generally, this narrative places the reader at a historic event. Generalization illustrated by narrative The news media periodically relate the terrifying and often grim details of landslides. Anecdote helps explain landslides: On May 31, 1970, one such event occurred when a gigantic rock avalanche buried more than 20,000 people in Yungay and Ranrahirca, Peru.

Sudden beginning

There was little warning of the impending disaster; it began and ended in just a matter of a few minutes. The avalanche started 14 kilometers from Yungay, near the summit of 6,700-meter-high Nevados Huascaran, the loftiest peak in the Peruvian Andes. Triggered by the ground motion from a strong offshore earthquake, a huge mass of rock and ice broke free from the precipitous north face of the mountain.

Fast movement

After plunging nearly one kilometer, the material pulverized on impact and immediately began rushing down the mountainside, made fluid by trapped air and melted ice. The initial mass ripped loose additional millions of tons of debris as it roared downhill. The shock waves produced by the event created thunderlike noise and stripped nearby hillsides of vegetation.

Irresistible force

Although the material followed a previously eroded gorge, a portion of the debris jumped a 200–300-meter-high bedrock ridge that had protected Yungay from past rock avalanches and buried the entire city. Transitions (underlined) clarify sequence and pace of events After inundating another town in its path, Ranrahirca, the mass of debris finally reached the bottom of the valley where its momentum carried it across the Rio Santa and tens of meters up the opposite bank.

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A Police Log What is it like to work in law enforcement? What takes place on a typical shift? What procedures are the police expected to follow, and why? To learn the answers to such questions, criminal justice students — and sometimes civilians — are often given the opportunity to ride along on patrol with seasoned officers and observe their activities. Whatever else the risks and rewards of the job, policing involves a good deal of paperwork. Every incident must be recorded in writing — sometimes in formal reports, but more often in simple activity logs. Kept by all police departments and often published in local newspapers, such logs provide straightforward public records of calls for help, motor vehicle stops, interactions with suspected criminals, and similar events. Always in chronological order, these narratives are generally presented as briefly and objectively as possible, written in the past tense and third-person point of view, and limited to the facts of each case: what happened, who was involved, where and when the events took place. Even so, as novelist Brian Doyle observes (p. 160), police logs offer some of the most engaging writing produced for general readers. For an introductory criminal justice class at Lone Star College–Montgomery in Texas, student Scott Beltran went on a Saturday-night ride-along with the Crime Reduction Unit (CRU) of the Houston Police Department. Like the officers themselves, he kept an activity log through the shift. He also

ANALYZED

each

event to better understand the experience. The final report he wrote and turned in to his instructor is excerpted on the following pages.

Analyze, analysis To separate a subject into its parts (analyze), or the act or result of doing so (analysis, also called division). Analysis is a key skill in CRITICAL THINKING, READING, AND WRITING; see pages 16, 18–22, and 24–25. It is also considered a method of development; see Chapter 8.

Narrative opens with beginning of shift 2000: CRU Roll Call. Two Sergeants take muster to make sure all officers are present and accounted for. Chronological order After muster they discuss any intelligence on open cases they’re actively investigating, and then they formulate a strategy to decide what part of town to focus their efforts…. Time markers (in military time) clarify sequence and pace of events 2030–2130: Officer Smith and I teamed up with one other unit and began conducting sweeps of previously identified drug trafficking locations…. During these sweeps, the officers were on alert for any type of suspicious activity, such as loitering, and they approached everyone in the area for at least some sort of brief questioning, but almost no one was detained or arrested. Narration by summary Officer Smith explained that these sweeps were done not only to make arrests, but also to establish HPD’s presence in high-crime areas and to get the word out that Houston Police are proactively working to stop crime.

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2200: We responded to an “officer needs assistance” call in the 800 block of N. Shepherd Drive. Narration by scene When we arrived there was one other unit on the scene; they already had two males and a female in custody. One male and the female were being detained for possession of crack cocaine, and the other male was being held for a parole violation warrant. After some investigation … it was determined that there were possibly more drugs in the suspect’s apartment. Past tense The officers asked for, and were granted, consent to search the apartment. The officers asked the suspect to sign a “Consent to Search” form, which she did voluntarily. This was witnessed and signed by two other officers. Objective, third-person point of view After a quick search of the residence, the officers located a small amount of marijuana, a chemical mixing beaker, and a hot plate that appeared to have been used to cook, or make drugs. These items were seized and the suspects were charged with possession of a controlled substance…. All three suspects were transported to the central police station in downtown Houston…. Narration by scene 0030: Officer Smith initiated a stop of a black Dodge Charger for the windows being tinted too dark. While running the driver’s license through the system he determined that the driver was wanted out of Louisiana for a felony warrant, but the warrant stipulated arrest-in-state only. Officer Smith attempted to contact the agency that issued the warrant to determine if they wanted him to make the arrest. While he was waiting for the Louisiana agency to return his phone call, Officer Smith made contact with the passenger, the owner of the vehicle, and got consent to search the car. A search was completed and nothing illegal was found. Because he still hadn’t gotten in touch with a supervisor in Louisiana, he took down all of the suspect’s information and released him…. Narration by scene 0400: While traveling northbound we came upon a vehicle stopped at a red light in the 6500 block of the Gulf Freeway. With our windows rolled up we could still easily hear the vehicle’s stereo system playing at a high volume. Officer Smith initiated a stop of the vehicle for violation of a city noise ordinance. After the vehicle pulled off the road we observed the driver making obvious furtive gestures while reaching toward the passenger seat. Officer Smith made contact with the driver and noticed that he was acting very nervous and appeared to be under the influence of some type of stimulant. Officer Smith removed the driver from the vehicle to investigate further. The driver admitted that he had been using cocaine and that he had a small amount still in the car…. Officer Smith placed a call to the District Attorney’s office to make sure they would accept charges. The DA did accept the charges and the suspect was charged with Felony Possession of a Controlled Substance and booked into the central police station. Narration concludes with the end of shift 0530: All of the Officers in the CRU met back at the station for an end of shift muster and de-briefing.

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EMBARRASSMENT

AMY TAN Amy Tan is a gifted storyteller whose first novel, The Joy Luck Club (1989), met with critical acclaim and huge success. The relationships it details between immigrant Chinese mothers and their Chinese American daughters came from Tan’s firsthand experience. She was born in 1952 in Oakland, California, the daughter of immigrants who had fled China’s civil war in the late 1940s. She majored in English and linguistics at San José State University, where she received a BA in 1973 and an MA in 1974. After two more years of graduate work, Tan became a consultant in language development for disabled children and then a freelancer writing reports and speeches for business corporations. Bored with such work, Tan began writing fiction to explore her ethnic ambivalence and to find her voice. Since The Joy Luck Club, she has published several more novels — most recently The Valley of Amazement (2013) — as well as children’s books and The Opposite of Fate (2003), a collection of autobiographical essays. She is also a founding member of the Rock Bottom Remainders, a “literary garage band” made up of popular writers.

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Fish Cheeks In Tan’s novel The Bonesetter’s Daughter (2001), one of the characters says, “Good manners are not enough…. They are not the same as a good heart.” Much of Tan’s writing explores those tensions between keeping up appearances and having true intentions. In the brief narrative that follows, the author deftly portrays the contradictory feelings of a girl with feet in different cultures. The essay first appeared in Seventeen, a magazine for teenage girls and young women, in 1987. For another entertaining story about a cultural misunderstanding, read the next essay, Naomi Shihab Nye’s “Museum.”

I fell in love with the minister’s son the winter I turned fourteen. He was not Chinese, but as white as Mary in the manger. For Christmas I prayed for this blond-haired boy, Robert, and a slim new American nose. When I found out that my parents had invited the minister’s family over for Christmas Eve dinner, I cried. What would Robert think of our shabby Chinese Christmas? What would he think of our noisy Chinese relatives who lacked proper American manners? What terrible disappointment would he feel upon seeing not a roasted turkey and sweet potatoes but Chinese food? On Christmas Eve I saw that my mother had outdone herself in creating a strange menu. She was pulling black veins out of the backs of fleshy prawns. The kitchen was littered with appalling mounds of raw food: A slimy rock cod with bulging eyes that pleaded not to be thrown into a pan of hot oil. Tofu, which looked like stacked wedges of rubbery white sponges. A bowl soaking dried fungus back to life. A plate of squid, their backs crisscrossed with knife markings so they resembled bicycle tires. And then they arrived — the minister’s family and all my relatives in a clamor of doorbells and rumpled Christmas packages. Robert grunted hello, and I pretended he was not worthy of existence. Dinner threw me deeper into despair. My relatives licked the ends of their chopsticks and reached across the table, dipping them into the dozen or so plates of food. Robert and his family waited patiently for platters to be passed to them. My relatives murmured with pleasure when my mother brought out the whole steamed fish. Robert grimaced. Then my father poked his chopsticks just below the fish eye and plucked out the soft meat. “Amy, your favorite,” he said, offering me the tender fish cheek. I wanted to disappear. At the end of the meal my father leaned back and belched loudly, thanking my mother for her fine cooking. “It’s a polite Chinese custom to show you are satisfied,” explained my father to our astonished guests. Robert was looking down at his plate with a reddened face. The minister managed to muster up a quiet burp. I was stunned into silence for the rest of the night. After everyone had gone, my mother said to me, “You want to be the same as American girls on the outside.” She handed me an early gift. It was a miniskirt in beige tweed. “But inside you must always be Chinese. You must be proud you are different. Your only shame is to have shame.” And even though I didn’t agree with her then, I knew that she understood how much I had suffered during the evening’s dinner. It wasn’t until many years later — long after I had gotten over my crush on Robert — that I was able to fully appreciate her lesson and the true purpose behind our particular menu. For Christmas Eve that year, she had chosen all my favorite foods.

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Journal Writing Do you sympathize with the shame Tan feels because of her family’s differences from their non-Chinese guests? Or do you think she should have been more proud to share her family’s customs? Think of an occasion when, for whatever reason, you were acutely aware of being different. How did you react? Did you try to hide your difference in order to fit in, or did you reveal or celebrate your uniqueness?

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Questions on Meaning 1. Why does Tan cry when she finds out that the boy she is in love with is coming to dinner? 2. Why does Tan’s mother go out of her way to prepare a disturbingly traditional Chinese dinner for her daughter and guests? What one sentence best sums up the lesson Tan was not able to understand until years later? 3. How does the fourteen-year-old Tan feel about her Chinese background? about her mother? 4. What is Tan’s PURPOSE in writing this essay? Does she just want to entertain readers, or might she have a weightier goal?

Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing. In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages 19, 31–32, and 40.

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Questions on Writing Strategy 1. How does Tan draw the reader into her story right from the beginning? 2. How does Tan use TRANSITIONS both to drive and to clarify her narrative?

Transitions Words, phrases, sentences, or even paragraphs that relate ideas. In moving from one topic to the next, a writer has to bring the reader along by showing how the ideas are developing, what bearing a new thought or detail has on an earlier discussion, or why a new topic is being introduced. A clear purpose, strong ideas, and logical development certainly aid COHERENCE, but to ensure that the reader is following along, good writers provide signals, or transitions. To bridge sentences or paragraphs and to point out relationships within them, you can use some of the following devices of transition: Repeat or restate words or phrases to produce an echo in the reader’s mind. Use PARALLEL STRUCTURES to produce a rhythm that moves the reader forward. Use pronouns to refer back to nouns in earlier passages. Use transitional words and phrases. These may indicate a relationship of time (right away, later, soon, meanwhile, in a few minutes, that night), proximity (beside, close to, distant from, nearby, facing), effect (therefore, for this reason, as a result, consequently), comparison (similarly, in the same way, likewise), or contrast (yet, but, nevertheless, however, despite). Some words and phrases of transition simply add on: besides, too, also, moreover, in addition to, second, last, in the end.

3. What is the IRONY of the last sentence of the essay?

Irony A manner of speaking or writing that does not directly state a discrepancy, but implies one. Verbal irony is the intentional use of words to suggest a meaning other than literal: “What a mansion!” (said of a shack); “There’s nothing like sunshine” (said on a foggy morning). (For more examples, see the essays by Jessica Mitford and Judy Brady.) If irony is delivered contemptuously with an intent to hurt, we call it sarcasm: “Oh, you’re a real friend!” (said to someone who refuses to lend the speaker the coins to operate a clothes dryer). With situational irony, the circumstances themselves are incongruous, run contrary to expectations, or twist fate: Juliet regains consciousness only to find that Romeo, believing her dead, has stabbed himself. See also SATIRE.

4. OTHER METHODS Paragraph 3 is a passage of pure DESCRIPTION. Why does Tan linger over the food? What is the EFFECT of this paragraph?

Description A mode of writing that conveys the evidence of the senses: sight, hearing, touch, taste, smell. See Chapter 4. Effect The result of an event or action, usually considered together with CAUSE as a method of development. See the discussion of cause and effect in Chapter 10. In discussing writing, the term effect also refers to the impression a word, a sentence, a paragraph, or an entire work makes on the reader: how convincing it is, whether it elicits an emotional response, what associations it conjures up, and so on.

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Questions on Language 1. The simile about Mary in the second sentence of the essay is surprising. Why? Why is it amusing? (See FIGURES OF SPEECH in the Glossary for a definition of simile.)

Figures of speech Expressions that depart from the literal meanings of words for the sake of emphasis or vividness. To say “She’s a jewel” doesn’t mean that the subject of praise is literally a kind of shining stone; the statement makes sense because the CONNOTATIONS of jewel come to mind: rare, priceless, worth cherishing. Some figures of speech involve comparisons of two objects apparently unlike: A simile (from the Latin, “likeness”) states the comparison directly, usually connecting the two things using like, as, or than: “The moon is like a snowball”; “He’s as lazy as a cat full of cream”; “My feet are flatter than flyswatters.” A metaphor (from the Greek, “transfer”) declares one thing to be another: “A mighty fortress is our God”; “The sheep were bolls of cotton on the hill.” (A dead metaphor is a word or phrase that, originally a figure of speech, has come to be literal through common usage: “the hands of a clock.”) Personification is a simile or metaphor that assigns human traits to inanimate objects or abstractions: “A stoopshouldered refrigerator hummed quietly to itself”; “The solution to the math problem sat there winking at me.” Other figures of speech consist of deliberate misrepresentations: Hyperbole (from the Greek, “throwing beyond”) is a conscious exaggeration: “I’m so hungry I could eat a saddle”; “I’d wait for you a thousand years.” The opposite of hyperbole, understatement, creates an ironic or humorous effect: “I accepted the ride. At the moment, I didn’t feel like walking across the Mojave Desert.” A paradox (from the Greek, “conflicting with expectation”) is a seemingly self-contradictory statement that, on reflection, makes sense: “Children are the poor person’s wealth” (wealth can be monetary, or it can be spiritual). Paradox may also refer to a situation that is inexplicable or contradictory, such as the restriction of one group’s rights in order to secure the rights of another group.

2. How does the narrator’s age affect the TONE of this essay? Give EXAMPLES of language particularly appropriate to a fourteen-year-old.

Tone The way a writer expresses his or her regard for subject, AUDIENCE, or self. Through word choice, sentence structures, and what is actually said, the writer conveys an attitude and sets a prevailing spirit. Tone in writing varies as greatly as tone of voice varies in conversation. It can be serious, distant, flippant, angry, enthusiastic, sincere, sympathetic. Whatever tone a writer chooses, usually it informs an entire essay and helps a reader decide how to respond. For examples of strong tone, see the essays by Diane Ackerman, Brian Doyle, Jessica Mitford, David Sedaris, Russell Baker, Chitra Divakaruni, Tal Fortgang, and Judy Brady. See also page 416. Example Also called exemplification or illustration, a method of development in which the writer provides instances of a general idea. See Chapter 5. An example is a verbal illustration.

3. In which paragraph does Tan use strong verbs most effectively? 4. Make sure you know the meanings of the following words: prawns, tofu (par. 3); clamor (4); grimaced (5); muster (6).

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Suggestions for Writing 1. FROM JOURNAL TO ESSAY Using Tan’s essay as a model, write a brief narrative based on your journal sketch (p. 75) about a time when you felt different from others. Try to imitate the way Tan integrates the external events of the dinner with her own feelings about what is going on. Your story may be humorous, like Tan’s, or more serious. 2. Take a perspective like that of the minister’s son, Robert: Write a narrative essay about a time when you had to adjust to participating in a culture different from your own. It could be a meal, a wedding or other rite of passage, a religious ceremony, a trip to another country. What did you learn from your experience, about yourself and others? 3. CRITICAL WRITING From this essay one can INFER two very different sets of ASSUMPTIONS about the extent to which immigrants should seek to integrate themselves into the culture of their adopted country. Take either of these positions, in favor of or against assimilation (cultural integration), and make an ARGUMENT for your case.

Critical thinking, reading, and writing A group of interlocking skills that are essential for college work and beyond. Each seeks the meaning beneath the surface of a statement, poem, editorial, picture, advertisement, Web site, or other TEXT. Using ANALYSIS, INFERENCE, SYNTHESIS, and often EVALUATION, the critical thinker, reader, and writer separates a text into its elements in order to see and judge meanings, relations, and ASSUMPTIONS that might otherwise remain buried. See also pages 12, 25–261, 255, and 406–07. Infer, inference To draw a conclusion (infer), or the act or result of doing so (inference). In CRITICAL THINKING, READING, AND WRITING, inference is the means to understanding a writer’s meaning, ASSUMPTIONS, PURPOSE, fairness, and other attributes. See also pages 16–17, 23, and 25. Assume, assumption To take something for granted (assume), or a belief or opinion taken for granted (assumption). Whether stated or unstated, assumptions influence a writer’s choices of subject, viewpoint, EVIDENCE and even language. See also pages 17 and 410. Argument A mode of writing intended to win readers’ agreement with an assertion by engaging their powers of reasoning. Argument often overlaps PERSUASION. See Chapter 12.

4. CONNECTIONS Both Amy Tan and Naomi Shihab Nye, in “Museum” (next page), write about embarrassment, but their POINTS OF VIEW are not the same: Tan’s is a teenager’s lament about not fitting in; Nye’s is an adult’s celebration of a past mistake. In an essay, ANALYZE the two authors’ uses of narration to convey their perspectives. What details do they focus on? What internal thoughts do they report? Is one essay more effective than the other? Why, or why not?

Point of view In an essay, the physical position or the mental angle from which a writer beholds a SUBJECT. On the subject of starlings, the following three writers would likely have different points of view: An ornithologist might write OBJECTIVELY about the introduction of these birds into North America, a farmer might advise other farmers how to prevent the birds from eating seed, and a bird watcher might SUBJECTIVELY describe a first glad sighting of the species. Whether objective or subjective, point of view also encompasses a writer’s biases and ASSUMPTIONS. For instance, the scientist, farmer, and bird watcher would likely all have different perspectives on starlings’ reputation as nuisances: Although such perspectives may or may not be expressed directly, they would likely influence each writer’s approach to the subject. See also PERSON. Analyze, analysis To separate a subject into its parts (analyze), or the act or result of doing so (analysis, also called division). Analysis is a key skill in CRITICAL THINKING, READING, AND WRITING; see pages 16, 18–22, and 24–25. It is also considered a method of development; see Chapter 8.

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EMBARRASSMENT

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NAOMI SHIHAB NYE Naomi Shihab Nye is an accomplished writer of poetry, fiction, and prose for young readers and adults alike. Born in 1952 in St. Louis, Missouri, she earned a BA in English and world religions from Trinity University in 1974 and teaches as a visiting writer at schools and colleges across the country. Growing up, Nye was enchanted by the lyricism of her father’s Palestinian folktales and her mother’s American lullabies; she published her first poem in a children’s magazine when she was seven years old. Since then, Nye’s entranced and entrancing writing has appeared regularly in The Horn Book, The Texas Observer, World Literature Today, and other magazines and in her wide-ranging books, including Habibi (1997), a young-adult novel based on Nye’s own time living in Jerusalem as a teenager; Sitti’s Secrets (1994) and Benito’s Dream Bottle (1995), picture books for children; and Honeybee (2008), poems and essays for adults. She has also compiled or translated several anthologies of world and student poetry, among them This Same Sky (1992) and Salting the Ocean (2000). In 2010 Nye was elected a chancellor of the Academy of American Poets. She lives in San Antonio, Texas, and enjoys singing.

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Museum Themes of human connection and cultural exchange run throughout Nye’s work. In this story from Honeybee, she leads us fleeing giddily from an honest mistake. Like all of her writing, this romp shows Nye’s unparalleled exuberance for everyday life and her skill at expressing it. The preceding essay, Amy Tan’s “Fish Cheeks,” also tells a tale of embarrassment.

I was 17, and my family had just moved to San Antonio. A local magazine featured an alluring article about a museum called the McNay, an old mansion once the home of an eccentric many-times-married watercolorist named Marian Koogler McNay. She had deeded it to the community to become a museum upon her death. I asked my friend Sally, who drove a cute little convertible and had moved to Texas a year before we did, if she wanted to go there. Sally said, “Sure.” She was a good friend that way. We had made up a few words in our own language and could dissolve into laughter just by saying them. Our mothers thought we were a bit odd. On a sunny Saturday afternoon, we drove over to Broadway. Sally asked, “Do you have the address of this place?” “No,” I said, “just drive very slowly and I’ll recognize it, there was a picture in the magazine.” I peered in both directions and pointed, saying, “There, there it is, pull in!” The parking lot under some palm trees was pretty empty. We entered, excited. The museum was free. Right away, the spirit of the arched doorways, carved window frames, and elegant artwork overtook us. Sally went left; I went right. A group of people seated in some chairs in the lobby stopped talking and stared at us. “May I help you?” a man said. “No,” I said. “We’re fine.” I didn’t like to talk to people in museums. Tours and docents got on my nerves. What if they talked a long time about a painting you weren’t that interested in? I took a deep breath, and moved on to another painting — fireworks over a patio in Mexico, maybe? There weren’t very good tags in this museum. In fact, there weren’t any. I stood back and gazed. Sally had gone upstairs. The people in the lobby had stopped chatting. They seemed very nosy, keeping their eyes on me with irritating curiosity. What was their problem? I turned down a hallway. Bougainvilleas and azaleas pressed up right against the windows. Maybe we should have brought a picnic. Where was the Moorish courtyard? I saw some nice sculptures in another room, and a small couch. This would be a great place for reading. Above the couch hung a radiant print by Paul Klee,1 my favorite artist, blues and pinks merging softly in his own wonderful way. I stepped closer. Suddenly I became aware of a man from the lobby standing behind me in the doorway.

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1 Paul Klee (1879–1940) was a Swiss artist in the German Expressionist school, known for his childish yet sophisticated imagery. — EDS.

“Where do you think you are?” he asked. I turned sharply. “The McNay Art Museum!” He smiled then, and shook his head. “Sorry to tell you. The McNay is three blocks over, on New Braunfels Street. Take a right when you go out of our driveway, then another right.” “What is this place?” I asked, still confused. He said, “Well, we thought it was our home.” My heart jolted. I raced past him to the bottom of the staircase and called out, “Sally! Come down immediately! Urgent!” I remember being tempted to shout something in our private language, but we didn’t have a word for this. Sally came to the top of the stairs smiling happily and said, “You have to come up here, there’s some really good stuff! And there are old beds too!” “No, Sally, no,” I said, as if she were a dog, or a baby. “Get down here. Speed it up. This is an emergency.” She stepped elegantly down the stairs as if in a museum trance, looking puzzled. I just couldn’t tell her out loud in front of those people what we had done. I actually pushed her toward the front door, waving my hand at the family in the chairs, saying, “Sorry, ohmygod, please forgive us, you have a really nice place.” Sally stared at me in the parking lot. When I told her, she covered her mouth and doubled over with laughter, shaking. We were still in their yard. I imagined them inside looking out the windows at us. She couldn’t believe how long they let us look around without saying anything, either. “That was really friendly of them!” “Get in the car,” I said sternly. “This is mortifying.” The real McNay was fabulous, splendid, but we felt a little nervous the whole time we were there. Van Gogh, Picasso, Tamayo.2 This time, there were tags. This time, we stayed together, in case anything else weird happened.

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2 All groundbreaking modern artists. Cubist Pablo Picasso (1881–1973) was Spanish; Post-Impressionist Vincent van Gogh (1853–90) was Dutch; Surrealist Rufino Tamayo (1899–1991) was Mexican. — EDS.

We never told anyone. Thirty years later, a nice-looking woman approached me in a public place. “Excuse me,” she said. “I need to ask a strange question. Did you ever, by any chance, enter a residence, long ago, thinking it was the McNay Museum?” Thirty years later, my cheeks still burned. “Yes. But how do you know? I never told anyone.” “That was my home. I was a teenager sitting with my family talking in the living room. Before you came over, I never realized what a beautiful place I lived in. I never felt lucky before. You thought it was a museum. My feelings changed about my parents after that too. They had good taste. I have always wanted to thank you.”

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Journal Writing Why do you suppose Nye remembers in such vivid detail a minor event that happened more than thirty years ago? What small embarrassments or misadventures from your youth seem momentous even now? List these incidents, along with some notes about their importance.

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Questions on Meaning 1. What is Nye’s PURPOSE in this essay? Obviously, she wants to entertain readers, but does she have another purpose as well?

Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing. In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages 19, 31–32, and 40.

2. How does Nye explain why she and her friend walked into the home of strangers and wandered around? What do you imagine the family thought was going on? 3. What does the incident represent for Nye? What does it represent for the daughter of the household? How did the teenager’s feelings about herself and her parents change after the other teenagers left the house, and why? 4. In your own words, try to express Nye’s THESIS, or the moral of her story.

Thesis, thesis statement The central idea in a work of writing (thesis), to which everything else in the work refers; one or more sentences that express that central idea (thesis statement). In some way, each sentence and PARAGRAPH in an effective essay serves to support the thesis and to make it clear and explicit to readers. Good writers, while writing, often set down a thesis statement to help them define their purpose. They also often include this statement in their essay as a promise and a guide to readers. See pages 19, 35–36, 40–41, and the introductions to Chapters 3–12.

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Questions on Writing Strategy 1. Does Nye narrate primarily by summary or by scene? How effective do you find her choice? 2. Discuss the author’s POINT OF VIEW. Is her perspective that of a seventeen-year-old or that of an adult writer reflecting on her experience?

Point of view In an essay, the physical position or the mental angle from which a writer beholds a SUBJECT. On the subject of starlings, the following three writers would likely have different points of view: An ornithologist might write OBJECTIVELY about the introduction of these birds into North America, a farmer might advise other farmers how to prevent the birds from eating seed, and a bird watcher might SUBJECTIVELY describe a first glad sighting of the species. Whether objective or subjective, point of view also encompasses a writer’s biases and ASSUMPTIONS. For instance, the scientist, farmer, and bird watcher would likely all have different perspectives on starlings’ reputation as nuisances: Although such perspectives may or may not be expressed directly, they would likely influence each writer’s approach to the subject. See also PERSON.

3. Nye writes poetry and books both for children and for adult readers. Who seems to be the intended AUDIENCE for this story? Why do you think so?

Audience A writer’s readers. Having in mind a particular audience helps the writer in choosing strategies, such as which method(s) to use, what details to include, and how to shape an ARGUMENT. You can increase your awareness of your audience by asking yourself a few questions before you begin to write. Who are to be your readers? What is their age level? background? education? Where do they live? What are their beliefs and attitudes? What interests them? What, if anything, sets them apart from most people? How familiar are they with your subject? Knowing your audience can help you write so that your readers will not only understand you better but care more deeply about what you say. See also pages 20, 30, and 407.

4. OTHER METHODS “Museum” implicitly COMPARES AND CONTRASTS Nye’s and the family’s appreciation for luxury and fine art. What are some of the differences (and similarities) that Nye implies?

Comparison and contrast Two methods of development usually found together. Using them, a writer examines the similarities and differences between two things to reveal their natures. See Chapter 6.

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Questions on Language 1. Look up any of the following words that you don’t already know: eccentric (par. 1); docents, bougainvilleas, azaleas, Moorish (2); mortifying (3). 2. Nye uses short and simple sentences through most of this essay. Why do you suppose that is? What does “Museum” gain (or lose) from lack of sentence variety? (If necessary, see pp. 49–53 and 144 on sentence structure.) 3. How does Nye use DIALOG to make the story easy to follow?

Dialog The quoted speech of participants in a story. Dialog is commonly included in a NARRATIVE, especially fiction, but it can also be useful in bringing any form of reported writing to life. See pages 68.

4. “Our mothers thought we were a bit odd,” Nye writes in the first paragraph. Pick out a few other instances of understatement in the essay. What is their effect? (For an explanation of understatement, look under FIGURES OF SPEECH in the Glossary.)

Figures of speech Expressions that depart from the literal meanings of words for the sake of emphasis or vividness. To say “She’s a jewel” doesn’t mean that the subject of praise is literally a kind of shining stone; the statement makes sense because the CONNOTATIONS of jewel come to mind: rare, priceless, worth cherishing. Some figures of speech involve comparisons of two objects apparently unlike: A simile (from the Latin, “likeness”) states the comparison directly, usually connecting the two things using like, as, or than: “The moon is like a snowball”; “He’s as lazy as a cat full of cream”; “My feet are flatter than flyswatters.” A metaphor (from the Greek, “transfer”) declares one thing to be another: “A mighty fortress is our God”; “The sheep were bolls of cotton on the hill.” (A dead metaphor is a word or phrase that, originally a figure of speech, has come to be literal through common usage: “the hands of a clock.”) Personification is a simile or metaphor that assigns human traits to inanimate objects or abstractions: “A stoopshouldered refrigerator hummed quietly to itself”; “The solution to the math problem sat there winking at me.” Other figures of speech consist of deliberate misrepresentations: Hyperbole (from the Greek, “throwing beyond”) is a conscious exaggeration: “I’m so hungry I could eat a saddle”; “I’d wait for you a thousand years.” The opposite of hyperbole, understatement, creates an ironic or humorous effect: “I accepted the ride. At the moment, I didn’t feel like walking across the Mojave Desert.” A paradox (from the Greek, “conflicting with expectation”) is a seemingly self-contradictory statement that, on reflection, makes sense: “Children are the poor person’s wealth” (wealth can be monetary, or it can be spiritual). Paradox may also refer to a situation that is inexplicable or contradictory, such as the restriction of one group’s rights in order to secure the rights of another group.

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Suggestions for Writing 1. FROM JOURNAL TO ESSAY Choose one embarrassing incident from the list of experiences you wrote for your journal, and narrate the incident as vividly as you can. Include the details: Where did the event take place? What did people say? How were they dressed? What was the weather like? Follow Nye’s model in putting CONCRETE IMAGES to work for an idea, in this case an idea about the significance of the incident to you then and now.

Concrete See ABSTRACT AND CONCRETE.

2. Nye and her friend were clearly amused when they discovered their mistake, but entering a private home uninvited — even unintentionally — can have serious consequences. Many states, including Texas, authorize homeowners to use deadly force against intruders regardless of immediate threat to their own safety. Write a serious argumentative essay that addresses the issue of gun rights and self-defense. To what extent should homeowners be allowed to shoot first and ask questions later in the case of home invasion? What about someone on the street who simply feels threatened? Under what circumstances, if any, should personal freedoms be limited in the name of public safety? (You might want to do some research on what’s known as the “castle doctrine” and on “stand your ground” laws to learn more about the issue.) Be sure to include evidence to support your opinion and to ARGUE your position calmly and rationally. You could, if you wish, include ANECDOTES — whether based on Nye’s story or other incidents you know of — to help develop your argument.

Argument A mode of writing intended to win readers’ agreement with an assertion by engaging their powers of reasoning. Argument often overlaps PERSUASION. See Chapter 12.

3. CRITICAL WRITING Using your answer to the second Question on Meaning (p. 80) as a starting point, tell Nye’s story from the father’s or the daughter’s point of view. What do you imagine they were talking about when Naomi and Sally walked in? What did they think was happening? Were they amused, or do you suppose they felt annoyed, even frightened? What lessons did they take from the incident? You could take a humorous approach, as Nye does, or you could choose to be more serious. 4. CONNECTIONS Write an essay about the humor gained from IRONY, relying on Nye’s essay and Amy Tan’s “Fish Cheeks” (p. 74). Why is irony often funny? What qualities does self-effacing humor have? Quote and PARAPHRASE from Nye’s and Tan’s essays for your support.

Irony A manner of speaking or writing that does not directly state a discrepancy, but implies one. Verbal irony is the intentional use of words to suggest a meaning other than literal: “What a mansion!” (said of a shack); “There’s nothing like sunshine” (said on a foggy morning). (For more examples, see the essays by Jessica Mitford and Judy Brady.) If irony is delivered contemptuously with an intent to hurt, we call it sarcasm: “Oh, you’re a real friend!” (said to someone who refuses to lend the speaker the coins to operate a clothes dryer). With situational irony, the circumstances themselves are incongruous, run contrary to expectations, or twist fate: Juliet regains consciousness only to find that Romeo, believing her dead, has stabbed himself. See also SATIRE. Paraphrase Putting another writer’s thoughts into your own words. In writing a research paper or an essay containing EVIDENCE gathered from your reading, you will find it necessary to paraphrase — unless you are using another writer’s very words with quotation marks around them — and to acknowledge your sources. Contrast SUMMARY. And see page 44.

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Naomi Shihab Nye on Writing In an interview with Nye for Pif Magazine, Rachel Barenblatt asked, “What is your advice to writers, especially young writers who are just starting out?” This was her response:

Number one: Read, Read, and then Read some more. Always Read. Find the voices that speak most to you. This is your pleasure and blessing, as well as responsibility! It is crucial to make one’s own writing circle — friends, either close or far, with whom you trade work and discuss it — as a kind of support system, place-of-conversation, and energy. Find those people, even a few, with whom you can share and discuss your works — then do it. Keep the papers flowing among you. Work does not get into the world by itself. We must help it…. Let that circle be sustenance. There is so much goodness happening in the world of writing today. And there is plenty of room and appetite for new writers. I think there always was. Don’t let anybody tell you otherwise. Attend all the readings you can, and get involved in giving some, if you like to do that. Be part of your own writing community. Often the first step in doing this is simply to let yourself become identified as One Who Cares About Writing! My motto early on was “Rest and be kind, you don’t have to prove anything” — Jack Kerouac’s advice about writing — I still think it’s true. But working always felt like resting to me. The Brief Bedford Reader on Writing Naomi Shihab Nye’s advice to beginning writers echoes our own. For more on how reading can make you a better writer, see Chapter 1 on Critical Reading, especially “Reading to Write” on pages 26–28. You can learn about the roles of AUDIENCE and PURPOSE in writing on pages 19–20 and 30–32. And for additional tips on writing freely without trying “to prove anything,” see “Drafting,” on pages 34–39.

Audience A writer’s readers. Having in mind a particular audience helps the writer in choosing strategies, such as which method(s) to use, what details to include, and how to shape an ARGUMENT. You can increase your awareness of your audience by asking yourself a few questions before you begin to write. Who are to be your readers? What is their age level? background? education? Where do they live? What are their beliefs and attitudes? What interests them? What, if anything, sets them apart from most people? How familiar are they with your subject? Knowing your audience can help you write so that your readers will not only understand you better but care more deeply about what you say. See also pages 20, 30, and 407. Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing. In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages 218

19, 31–32, and 40.

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JUNOT DÍAZ Junot Díaz is a writer well loved for his unique voice and unflinching fiction, which typically involves young Dominicans struggling with obstacles. Born in 1968 in Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic, he immigrated to New Jersey with his family in 1975. As a poor child who had trouble speaking English and who felt like an outsider, Díaz immersed himself in comic books and science fiction and discovered that writing helped him cope with his difficulties. He earned degrees in literature and history from Rutgers University in 1992 and an MFA in creative writing from Cornell University in 1995. Díaz’s critically acclaimed work includes the collections of short stories Drown (1996) and This Is How You Lose Her (2012) and the novel The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao (2007), which centers on the brutalities of Dominican history and an awkward boy’s struggles to adapt. Díaz won a National Book Critics Circle Award and a Pulitzer Prize for that novel; he has also been recognized with a PEN/Malamud Award, a Dayton Literary Peace Prize, an O. Henry Prize, and a Guggenheim Fellowship. He received a MacArthur “genius” grant in 2012. A frequent contributor to The New Yorker and the fiction editor at the Boston Review, Díaz teaches writing at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.

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The Dreamer In this essay Díaz relates a remarkable episode of his mother’s life in the Dominican Republic. In expressing his admiration for her determination to learn, Díaz hints at the myriad ways a young girl’s daring has influenced his own life and work. “The Dreamer” first appeared in More, a women’s magazine, in 2011.

I think of my mother, of course. She’s one of those ironwill rarely speak figures that haunt. See her in New Jersey, in the house with the squirrels in the back that she feeds sparingly (they shouldn’t get fat) and that she chides when she thinks they’re acting up. You wouldn’t know it looking at her in that kitchen, but she grew up one of those poor Third World–country girls. The brutalized backbone of our world. The kind of Dominican girl who was destined never to get off the mountain or out of the campo.1 Her own mother a straight-haired terror. Expected her to work on the family farm until she died or was married off, but my mother in those small spaces between the work cultivated dreams, that unbreakable habit of the young. When the field hands were hurt or fell ill, she was the one who cared for them. Opened in her a horizon. A dream of being a nurse in the capital, where she heard that every block had electricity. But to be a nurse, you needed education, and while there were some girls who attended the one-room school at the base of the hill, my mother was not one of them. Her mother, my grandmother, demanded that she stay on the farm, that she stay a mule. No one more threatened by the thought of an educated girl than my grandmother. Any time my mother was caught near the schoolhouse, my grandmother gave her a beating. And not the beatings of the First World but the beatings of the Third — which you do not so easily shake off.

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1 Spanish, “countryside.” — EDS.

So the months passed and the horizon started to dim, and that’s the way it should have stayed, but then the world, so far away, intervened. For his own complicated reasons the dictator of that time, Trujillo,2 passed a mandatory-education act stipulating that all Dominican children under the age of fifteen had to be in school and not stuck out in the fields. All children. Any parent keeping a child from school would be imprisoned! Nothing short of the threat of a year inside a Trujillo prison could snap the resistance that rural Dominicans had to the idea of educating their young.

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2 General Rafael Trujillo took over rule of the Dominican Republic in a 1930 military coup. His regime was characterized by violent oppression and lasted until he was assassinated in 1961. — EDS.

My mother heard about the law, of course. And she brooded on it. The house, like all other houses in the Dominican Republic, had a portrait of Trujillo hanging in it. I guess my mother figured if anyone was going to protect her from my grandmother’s wrath, it was going to be him. She’d only learn later how little our dictator protected her or anyone else. The news of the school came at a crucial time. My mother’s family was preparing for its seasonal move up higher into the hills, in the mist-soaked highlands where the coffee was waiting, but my mother had other plans. Two days before the move, she got down on her knees beside a stagnant puddle of water, put her mouth in it and drank deeply. She was so sick that the family decided to head into the hills without her. The coffee could not wait. My mother was left with a cousin, and as soon as my grandmother was out of sight, my mother, bent over double from the stomach pains, hobbled down to the schoolhouse and reported my grandmother. I want to go to school, was what she told the teacher. What should have happened was that the teacher should have laughed and sent her poor ass back to the hills to pick coffee. But as it turned out, the teacher was an idealistic young woman from the capital — God bless all idealistic educators — and she took my mother’s claim seriously. Went to the police, who always took Trujillo’s laws seriously, and so when my grandmother came back to fetch her daughter, she found my mother attending school. And when she tried to drag my mother up to the hills, the police put her in handcuffs, and that was that. “Your grandmother beat me almost every day,” my mother explained, “but I got my education.” She never did become a nurse, my mother. Immigration got in the way of that horizon — once in the United States, my mother never could master English, no matter how hard she tried, and my God, did she try. But strange how things work — her son became a reader and a writer, practices she encouraged as much as possible. I write professionally now, and life is long and complicated, and who knows how things might have turned out under different circumstances, but I do believe that who I am as an artist, everything that I’ve ever written, was possible because a seven-year-old girl up in the hills of Azua knelt before a puddle, found courage in herself and drank. Every time I’m in trouble in my art, I try to think of that girl. I think of that thirst, of that courage. I think of her.

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Journal Writing Díaz writes that his mother was severely beaten by her own mother, and distinguishes “the beatings of the First World [from] the beatings of the Third — which you do not so easily shake off” (par. 1). How do you react to this distinction? Why would beatings in developing countries be especially brutal? Do degrees of abuse matter? Why would any parent beat a child? And why wouldn’t families, neighbors, or authority figures (such as teachers) step in to stop the abuse? Explore your thoughts on any of these questions in your journal.

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Questions on Meaning 1. Why does Díaz admire his mother as he does? What does her experience represent to him? 2. Does Díaz have a THESIS? In which sentence or sentences does he state the point of his story most directly?

Thesis, thesis statement The central idea in a work of writing (thesis), to which everything else in the work refers; one or more sentences that express that central idea (thesis statement). In some way, each sentence and PARAGRAPH in an effective essay serves to support the thesis and to make it clear and explicit to readers. Good writers, while writing, often set down a thesis statement to help them define their purpose. They also often include this statement in their essay as a promise and a guide to readers. See pages 19, 35–36, 40–41, and the introductions to Chapters 3–12.

3. What would you say is Díaz’s PURPOSE in this essay? Is it simply to inform readers about his mother’s quest for an education, or does he seem to have another purpose in mind?

Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing. In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages 19, 31–32, and 40.

4. “She’d only learn later how little our dictator protected her or anyone else,” Díaz writes in paragraph 4. What does he mean? Based on this statement and other references to Rafael Trujillo in the essay, what can you INFER about life in the Dominican Republic under his dictatorship?

Infer, inference To draw a conclusion (infer), or the act or result of doing so (inference). In CRITICAL THINKING, READING, AND WRITING, inference is the means to understanding a writer’s meaning, ASSUMPTIONS, PURPOSE, fairness, and other attributes. See also pages 16–17, 23, and 25.

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Questions on Writing Strategy 1. Take note of the first and last sentences in “The Dreamer.” How are they related, and what is their effect? 2. In telling his mother’s story, does Díaz take mostly an objective or a subjective POINT OF VIEW? How effective do you find his choice?

Point of view In an essay, the physical position or the mental angle from which a writer beholds a SUBJECT. On the subject of starlings, the following three writers would likely have different points of view: An ornithologist might write OBJECTIVELY about the introduction of these birds into North America, a farmer might advise other farmers how to prevent the birds from eating seed, and a bird watcher might SUBJECTIVELY describe a first glad sighting of the species. Whether objective or subjective, point of view also encompasses a writer’s biases and ASSUMPTIONS. For instance, the scientist, farmer, and bird watcher would likely all have different perspectives on starlings’ reputation as nuisances: Although such perspectives may or may not be expressed directly, they would likely influence each writer’s approach to the subject. See also PERSON.

3. This essay originally appeared in a women’s magazine. What evidence in the text reveals that Díaz was writing for an AUDIENCE of female readers?

Audience A writer’s readers. Having in mind a particular audience helps the writer in choosing strategies, such as which method(s) to use, what details to include, and how to shape an ARGUMENT. You can increase your awareness of your audience by asking yourself a few questions before you begin to write. Who are to be your readers? What is their age level? background? education? Where do they live? What are their beliefs and attitudes? What interests them? What, if anything, sets them apart from most people? How familiar are they with your subject? Knowing your audience can help you write so that your readers will not only understand you better but care more deeply about what you say. See also pages 20, 30, and 407.

4. OTHER METHODS Explain the CAUSE-AND-EFFECT relationships Díaz outlines in his narrative. What actions — and whose — made it possible for his mother to attend school? What impact did her education have on her life? on his?

Cause and effect A method of development in which a writer ANALYZES reasons for an action, event, or decision, or analyzes its consequences. See Chapter 10. See also EFFECT.

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Questions on Language 1. Be sure you know how to define the following words: ironwill, chides, cultivated (par. 1); intervened, stipulating (2); brooded (3); stagnant (5). 2. In what sense does Díaz use the word horizon (pars. 1, 2, and 11)? What makes this IMAGE particularly appropriate to the story’s meaning?

Image A word or word sequence that evokes a sensory experience. Whether literal (“We picked two red apples”) or figurative (“His cheeks looked like two red apples, buffed and shining”), an image appeals to the reader’s memory of seeing, hearing, smelling, touching, or tasting. Images add concreteness to fiction — “The farm looked as tiny and still as a seashell, with the little knob of a house surrounded by its curved furrows of tomato plants” (Eudora Welty in a short story, “The Whistle”) — and are an important element in poetry. But writers of essays, too, use images to bring ideas down to earth. See also FIGURES OF SPEECH.

3. The first paragraph of this essay is loaded with sentence fragments, such as “The brutalized backbone of our world.” Where else do you find incomplete sentences? What do they contribute to (or take away from) Díaz’s VOICE and the effectiveness of his narrative?

Voice In writing, the sense of the author’s character, personality, and attitude that comes through the words. See TONE.

4. Díaz quotes his mother twice. Why do you suppose he uses quotation marks around her words in paragraph 10 but not in paragraph 7?

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Suggestions for Writing 1. FROM JOURNAL TO ESSAY Building on your journal entry, compose an essay that examines one of the causes or effects of child abuse, in the United States or elsewhere. If you have had some experience with abuse (as a counselor, a bystander, a victim, or an abuser) and you care to write about it, you might develop your thesis based on your experience and observation; otherwise, draw on information you have gleaned from the media and your reading, being sure to acknowledge any sources you use. 2. Using Díaz’s essay as a model, compose an essay in which you contemplate and explain your sense of identity. How do you define yourself? Has any one person had a significant effect on who you are? How so? 3. CRITICAL WRITING Write an essay in which you ANALYZE Díaz’s use of language in this essay or a portion of it. How would you characterize his DICTION? What are some especially creative uses of language? What overall EFFECT does Díaz create with the language he uses?

Analyze, analysis To separate a subject into its parts (analyze), or the act or result of doing so (analysis, also called division). Analysis is a key skill in CRITICAL THINKING, READING, AND WRITING; see pages 16, 18–22, and 24–25. It is also considered a method of development; see Chapter 8. Diction The choice of words. Every written or spoken statement uses diction of some kind. To describe certain aspects of diction, the following terms may be useful: Standard English: the common American language, words, and grammatical forms that are used and expected in schools, businesses, and other formal sites. Nonstandard English: words and grammatical forms such as theirselves and ain’t that are used mainly by people who speak a dialect other than standard English. Dialect: a variety of English based on differences in geography, education, or social background. Dialect is usually spoken but may be written. Shirley Jackson’s story in Chapter 3 transcribes the words of dialect speakers (“ ‘I looked out the window and the kids was gone, and then I remembered it was the twenty-seventh and came a-running’ ”). Slang: certain words in highly informal speech or writing, or in the speech of a particular group — for example, blow off, dweeb, wack. Colloquial expressions: words and phrases from conversation. See COLLOQUIAL EXPRESSIONS for examples. Regional terms: words heard in a certain locality, such as spritzing for “raining” in Pennsylvania Dutch country. Technical terms: words and phrases that form the vocabulary of a particular discipline (monocotyledon from botany), occupation (drawplate from die-making), or avocation (interval training from running). See also JARGON. Archaisms: old-fashioned expressions, once common but now used to suggest an earlier style, such as ere and forsooth. Obsolete diction: words that have passed out of use (such as the verb werien, “to protect or defend,” and the noun isetnesses, “agreements”). Obsolete may also refer to certain meanings of words no longer current (fond for foolish, clipping for hugging or embracing). Pretentious diction: use of words more numerous and elaborate than necessary, such as institution of higher learning for “college,” and partake of solid nourishment for “eat.” Archaic, obsolete, and pretentious diction usually have no place in good writing unless for ironic or humorous effect: The journalist and critic H. L. Mencken delighted in the hifalutin use of tonsorial studio instead of barber shop. Still, any diction may be the right diction for a certain occasion: The choice of words depends on a writer’s PURPOSE and AUDIENCE. Effect The result of an event or action, usually considered together with CAUSE as a method of development. See the discussion of cause and effect in Chapter 10. In discussing writing, the term effect also refers to the impression a word, a sentence, a paragraph, or an entire work makes on the reader: how convincing it is, whether it elicits an emotional response, what associations it conjures up, and so on.

4. CONNECTIONS In “Live Free and Starve” (p. 340), Chitra Divakaruni also writes about children in desperate circumstances. Write an

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essay that COMPARES AND CONTRASTS Díaz’s and Divakaruni’s attitudes toward child labor. Taken together, what do these two authors seem to believe is the best recourse for a family struggling in poverty? What do they suggest are a parent’s responsibilities to children? a community’s? a government’s? What is each writer saying about the role of education in particular? How do you respond to their ideas?

Comparison and contrast Two methods of development usually found together. Using them, a writer examines the similarities and differences between two things to reveal their natures. See Chapter 6.

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Junot Díaz on Writing In a 2009 essay for Oprah Winfrey’s O magazine, Díaz tells the story of how, in his mind, he became a writer. It begins with failure. He had drafted seventy-five pages of his second book, then got stuck. “It wasn’t that I couldn’t write,” he explains. “I wrote every day. I actually worked really hard at writing. At my desk by seven a.m., would work a full eight and more. Scribbled at the dinner table, in bed, on the toilet, on the No. 6 train, at Shea Stadium. I did everything I could. But none of it worked…. I wrote and I wrote and I wrote, but nothing I produced was worth a damn.” Díaz goes on to say that he kept trying all the same. “Want to talk about stubborn? I kept at it for five straight years. Five damn years. Every day failing for five years? I’m a pretty stubborn, pretty hard-hearted character, but those five years of fail did a number on my psyche. On me. Five years, sixty months? It just about wiped me out.” Frustrated and despondent, he considered pursuing another line of work: “I knew I couldn’t go on much more the way I was going. I just couldn’t…. So I put the manuscript away. All the hundreds of failed pages, boxed and hidden in a closet. I think I cried as I did it.” “I slipped into my new morose half-life,” Díaz recalls. “Started preparing for my next stage, back to school in September.” And then, on a sleepless night, “sickened that I was giving up, but even more frightened by the thought of having to return to the writing,” Díaz pulled the pages out of storage. “I figured if I could find one good thing in the pages I would go back to it,” he explains. “Spent the whole night reading everything I had written, and guess what? It was still terrible. In fact with the new distance the lameness was even worse than I’d thought…. I didn’t have the heart to go on. But I guess I did…. I separated the seventy-five pages that were worthy from the mountain of loss, sat at my desk, and despite every part of me shrieking no no no no, I jumped back down the rabbit hole again.” And after five more years of struggle and regular bouts “of being utterly, dismayingly lost,” he finally completed The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. “That,” concludes Díaz, is his “tale in a nutshell. Not the tale of how I came to write my novel but rather of how I became a writer. Because, in truth, I didn’t become a writer the first time I put pen to paper or when I finished my first book (easy) or my second one (hard). You see, in my view a writer is a writer not because she writes well and easily, because she has amazing talent, because everything she does is golden. In my view a writer is a writer because even when there is no hope, even when nothing you do shows any sign of promise, you keep writing anyway. Wasn’t until that night when I was faced with all those lousy pages that I realized, really realized, what it was exactly that I am.” The Brief Bedford Reader on Writing Díaz seems to have inherited a good streak of his mother’s determination and willingness to make personal sacrifices — as indeed he suggests in “The Dreamer.” Although you probably can’t imagine discarding hundreds of pages of manuscript during REVISION, you can surely empathize with the frustrations of failed writing and the agony of starting over. Have you ever, like Díaz, tossed out most of a DRAFT? How might “one good thing” justify, or even require, starting over? See our suggestions in “Revising,” pages 39–42.

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SHIRLEY JACKSON Shirley Jackson was a fiction writer best known for horror stories that probe the dark side of human nature and social behavior. But she also wrote humorously about domestic life, a subject she knew well as a wife and the mother of four children. Born in 1916 in California, Jackson moved as a teenager to upstate New York, and graduated from Syracuse University in 1940. She started writing as a young girl and was highly disciplined and productive all her life. She began publishing stories in 1941, and eventually her fiction appeared in The New Yorker, Harper’s, Good Housekeeping, and many other magazines. Her tales of family life appeared in two books, Life among the Savages (1953) and Raising Demons (1957). Her suspense novels, which were more significant to her, included The Haunting of Hill House (1959) and We Have Always Lived in the Castle (1962). After Jackson died in 1965, her husband, the literary critic Stanley Edgar Hyman, published two volumes of her stories, novels, and lectures: The Magic of Shirley Jackson (1966) and Come Along with Me (1968).

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The Lottery By far Jackson’s best-known work and indeed one of the best-known short stories ever written, “The Lottery” first appeared in The New Yorker in 1948 to loud applause and louder cries of outrage. The time was just after World War II, when Nazi concentration camps and the dropping of atomic bombs had revealed the horrors of organized human cruelty. Jackson’s husband, denying that her work purveyed “neurotic fantasies,” argued instead that it was fitting “for our distressing world.” Is the story still relevant today?

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 teenage club, the Halloween program — by Mr. Summers, who had time and energy to devote to civic activities. He was a round-faced, jovial man and he ran the coal business, and people were sorry for him, because he had no children and his wife was a scold. When he arrived in the square, carrying the black wooden box, there was a murmur of conversation among the villagers, and he waved and called, “Little late today, folks.” The postmaster, Mr. Graves, followed him, carrying a three-legged stool, and the stool was put in the center of the square and Mr. Summers set the black box down on it. The villagers kept their distance, leaving a space between themselves and the stool, and when Mr. Summers said, “Some of you fellows want to give me a hand?” there was a hesitation before two men, Mr. Martin and his oldest son, Baxter, came forward to hold the box steady on the stool while Mr. Summers stirred up the papers inside it. The original paraphernalia for the lottery had been lost long ago, and the black box now resting on the 232

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 the 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’s 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 away, 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. 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 arunning.” 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 233

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?” “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 anymore,” 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.”

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“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.” 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 anymore, 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.”

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“Shut up, Tessie,” Bill Hutchinson said. “Well, everyone,” Mr. Summers said, “that was done pretty fast, and now we’ve got to be hurrying a little more to get done in time.” He consulted his next list. “Bill,” he said, “you draw for the Hutchinson family. You got any other households in the Hutchinsons?” “There’s Don and Eva,” Mrs. Hutchinson yelled. “Make them take their chance!” “Daughters draw with their husbands’ families, Tessie,” Mr. Summers said gently. “You know that as well as anyone else.” “It wasn’t fair,” Tessie said. “I guess not, Joe,” Bill Hutchinson said regretfully. “My daughter draws with her husband’s family, that’s only fair. And I’ve got no other family except the kids.” “Then, as far as drawing for families is concerned, it’s you,” Mr. Summers said in explanation, “and as far as drawing for households is concerned, that’s you, too. Right?” “Right,” Bill Hutchinson said. “How many kids, Bill?” Mr. Summers asked formally. “Three,” Bill Hutchinson said. “There’s Bill, Jr., and Nancy, and little Dave. And Tessie and me.” “All right, then,” Mr. Summers said. “Harry, you got their tickets back?” Mr. Graves nodded and held up the slips of paper. “Put them in the box, then,” Mr. Summers directed. “Take Bill’s and put it in.” “I think we ought to start over,” Mrs. Hutchinson said, as quietly as she could. “I tell you it wasn’t fair. You didn’t give him time enough to choose. Everybody saw that.” Mr. Graves had selected the five slips and put them in the box, and he dropped all the papers but those onto the ground, where the breeze caught them and lifted them off. “Listen, everybody,” Mrs. Hutchinson was saying to the people around her. “Ready, Bill?” Mr. Summers asked, and Bill Hutchinson, with one quick glance around at his wife and children, nodded. “Remember,” Mr. Summers said, “take the slips and keep them folded until each person has taken one. Harry, you help little Dave.” Mr. Graves took the hand of the little boy, who came willingly with him up to the box. “Take a paper out of the box, Davy,” Mr. Summers said. Davy put his hand into the box and laughed. “Take just one paper,” Mr. Summers said. “Harry, you hold it for him.” Mr. Graves took the child’s hand and removed the folded paper from the tight fist and held it while little Dave stood next to him and looked up at him wonderingly. “Nancy next,” Mr. Summers said. Nancy was twelve, and her school friends breathed heavily as she went forward, switching her skirt, and took a slip daintily from the box. “Bill, Jr.,” Mr. Summers said, and Billy, his face red and his feet overlarge, 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. 236

“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.” Mrs. Dunbar had small stones in both hands, and she said, gasping for breath, “I can’t run at all. You’ll have to go ahead and I’ll catch up with you.” The children had stones already, and someone gave little Davy Hutchinson a few pebbles. Tessie Hutchinson was in the center of a cleared space by now, and she held her hands out desperately as the villagers moved in on her. “It isn’t fair,” she said. A stone hit her on the side of the head. Old Man Warner was saying, “Come on, come on, everyone.” Steve Adams was in front of the crowd of villagers, with Mrs. Graves beside him. “It isn’t fair, it isn’t right,” Mrs. Hutchinson screamed and then they were upon her.

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Journal Writing Think about rituals in which you participate, such as those involving holidays, meals, religious observances, family vacations, sporting events — anything that is repeated and traditional. List some of these in your journal and write about their significance to you.

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Questions on Meaning 1. The PURPOSE of all fiction might be taken as entertainment or self-expression. Does Jackson have any other purpose in “The Lottery”?

Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing. In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages 19, 31–32, and 40.

2. When does the reader know what is actually going to occur? 3. Describe this story’s community on the basis of what Jackson says of it. 4. What do the villagers’ attitudes toward the black box indicate about their feelings toward the lottery?

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Questions on Writing Strategy 1. Jackson uses the third PERSON (he, she, it, they) to narrate the story, and she does not enter the minds of her characters. Why do you think she keeps this distant POINT OF VIEW?

Person A grammatical distinction made between the speaker, the one spoken to, and the one spoken about. In the first person (I, we), the subject is speaking. In the second person (you), the subject is being spoken to. In the third person (he, she, it), the subject is being spoken about. The point of view of an essay or work of fiction is often specified according to person: “This short story is told from a first-person point of view.” See also POINT OF VIEW. Point of view In an essay, the physical position or the mental angle from which a writer beholds a SUBJECT. On the subject of starlings, the following three writers would likely have different points of view: An ornithologist might write OBJECTIVELY about the introduction of these birds into North America, a farmer might advise other farmers how to prevent the birds from eating seed, and a bird watcher might SUBJECTIVELY describe a first glad sighting of the species. Whether objective or subjective, point of view also encompasses a writer’s biases and ASSUMPTIONS. For instance, the scientist, farmer, and bird watcher would likely all have different perspectives on starlings’ reputation as nuisances: Although such perspectives may or may not be expressed directly, they would likely influence each writer’s approach to the subject. See also PERSON.

2. On your first reading of the story, what did you make of the references to rocks in paragraphs 2–3? Do you think they effectively forecast the ending? 3. Jackson has a character introduce a controversial notion in paragraph 31. Why does she do this? 4. OTHER METHODS Jackson is exploring — or inviting us to explore — CAUSE AND EFFECTs. Why do the villagers participate in the lottery every year? What does paragraph 32 hint might have been the original reason for it?

Cause and effect A method of development in which a writer ANALYZES reasons for an action, event, or decision, or analyzes its consequences. See Chapter 10. See also EFFECT.

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Questions on Language 1. Dialog provides much information not stated elsewhere in the story. Give three examples of such information about the community and its interactions. 2. Check a dictionary for definitions of the following words: profusely (par. 1); boisterous, reprimands (2); jovial, scold (4); paraphernalia (5); perfunctory, duly, interminably (7); petulantly (32). 3. In paragraph 64 we read that Mrs. Hutchinson “snatched” the paper out of the box. What does this verb suggest about her attitude? 4. Jackson admits to setting the story in her Vermont village in the present time (that is, 1948). Judging from the names of the villagers, where did these people’s ancestors originally come from? What do you make of the names Delacroix and Zanini? What is their significance? 5. Unlike much fiction, “The Lottery” contains few FIGURES OF SPEECH. Why do you think this is?

Figures of speech Expressions that depart from the literal meanings of words for the sake of emphasis or vividness. To say “She’s a jewel” doesn’t mean that the subject of praise is literally a kind of shining stone; the statement makes sense because the CONNOTATIONS of jewel come to mind: rare, priceless, worth cherishing. Some figures of speech involve comparisons of two objects apparently unlike: A simile (from the Latin, “likeness”) states the comparison directly, usually connecting the two things using like, as, or than: “The moon is like a snowball”; “He’s as lazy as a cat full of cream”; “My feet are flatter than flyswatters.” A metaphor (from the Greek, “transfer”) declares one thing to be another: “A mighty fortress is our God”; “The sheep were bolls of cotton on the hill.” (A dead metaphor is a word or phrase that, originally a figure of speech, has come to be literal through common usage: “the hands of a clock.”) Personification is a simile or metaphor that assigns human traits to inanimate objects or abstractions: “A stoopshouldered refrigerator hummed quietly to itself”; “The solution to the math problem sat there winking at me.” Other figures of speech consist of deliberate misrepresentations: Hyperbole (from the Greek, “throwing beyond”) is a conscious exaggeration: “I’m so hungry I could eat a saddle”; “I’d wait for you a thousand years.” The opposite of hyperbole, understatement, creates an ironic or humorous effect: “I accepted the ride. At the moment, I didn’t feel like walking across the Mojave Desert.” A paradox (from the Greek, “conflicting with expectation”) is a seemingly self-contradictory statement that, on reflection, makes sense: “Children are the poor person’s wealth” (wealth can be monetary, or it can be spiritual). Paradox may also refer to a situation that is inexplicable or contradictory, such as the restriction of one group’s rights in order to secure the rights of another group.

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Suggestions for Writing 1. FROM JOURNAL TO ESSAY Choose one of the rituals you wrote about in your journal (p. 97), and compose a narrative about the last time you participated in this ritual. Use DESCRIPTION and dialog to convey the significance of the ritual and your own and other participants’ attitudes toward it.

Description A mode of writing that conveys the evidence of the senses: sight, hearing, touch, taste, smell. See Chapter 4.

2. In his 1974 book Obedience to Authority, the psychologist Stanley Milgram reported and analyzed the results of a study he had conducted that caused a furor among psychologists and the general public. Under orders from white-coated “experimenters,” many subjects administered what they believed to be life-threatening electric shocks to other people whom they could hear but not see. In fact, the “victims” were actors and received no shocks, but the subjects thought otherwise and many continued to administer stronger and stronger “shocks” when ordered to do so. Find Obedience to Authority in the library and COMPARE AND CONTRAST the circumstances of Milgram’s experiment with those of Jackson’s lottery. For instance, who or what is the order-giving authority in the lottery? What is the significance of seeing or not seeing one’s victim?

Comparison and contrast Two methods of development usually found together. Using them, a writer examines the similarities and differences between two things to reveal their natures. See Chapter 6.

3. CRITICAL WRITING Jackson has said that a common response she received to “The Lottery” was “What does this story mean?” (She never answered the question.) In an essay, interpret the meaning of the story as you understand it. (What does it say, for instance, about conformity, guilt, or good and evil?) You will have to INFER meaning from such features as Jackson’s TONE as narrator, the villagers’ dialog, and, of course, the events of the story. Your essay should be supported with specific EVIDENCE from the story. (For a sample of another student’s interpretation of “The Lottery,” see Rachel O’Connor’s critical analysis on p. 260.)

Tone The way a writer expresses his or her regard for subject, AUDIENCE, or self. Through word choice, sentence structures, and what is actually said, the writer conveys an attitude and sets a prevailing spirit. Tone in writing varies as greatly as tone of voice varies in conversation. It can be serious, distant, flippant, angry, enthusiastic, sincere, sympathetic. Whatever tone a writer chooses, usually it informs an entire essay and helps a reader decide how to respond. For examples of strong tone, see the essays by Diane Ackerman, Brian Doyle, Jessica Mitford, David Sedaris, Russell Baker, Chitra Divakaruni, Tal Fortgang, and Judy Brady. See also page 416. Evidence The details that support an argument or an explanation, including facts, examples, and expert opinions. A writer’s opinions and GENERALIZATIONS must rest upon evidence. See pages 408–09.

4. CONNECTIONS Although very different from Jackson’s story, Firoozeh Dumas’s essay “Sweet, Sour, and Resentful” (p. 233) also focuses on observing a tradition. Taken together, what do these two pieces seem to say about the benefits and the dangers of adhering to tradition? Write an essay in which you explore the pros and cons of maintaining rituals, giving examples from these selections and from your own experience.

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ADDITIONAL WRITING TOPICS Narration 1. Write a narrative with one of the following as your subject. It may be (as your instructor may advise) either a first-PERSON memoir or a story written in the third person, observing the experience of someone else. Decide before you begin what your PURPOSE is and whether you are writing (1) an anecdote, (2) an essay consisting mainly of a single narrative, or (3) an essay that includes more than one story. A lesson you learned the hard way A trip into unfamiliar territory An embarrassing moment that taught you something A monumental misunderstanding An accident An adventure or misadventure A friendship An unexpected encounter A loss that lingers A moment of triumph A story about a famous person A legend from family history A conflict or contest A fierce storm A historical event of significance

Person A grammatical distinction made between the speaker, the one spoken to, and the one spoken about. In the first person (I, we), the subject is speaking. In the second person (you), the subject is being spoken to. In the third person (he, she, it), the subject is being spoken about. The point of view of an essay or work of fiction is often specified according to person: “This short story is told from a first-person point of view.” See also POINT OF VIEW. Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing. In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages 19, 31–32, and 40.

2. Tell a true story of your early or recent school days, either humorous or serious, relating a struggle you experienced (or still experience) in school. 3. Write a fictional narrative, set in the past, present, or future, of a ritual that demonstrates something about the people who participate in it. The ritual can be, but need not be, as sinister as Shirley Jackson’s lottery; yours could concern bathing, eating, dating, going to school, driving, growing older.

Note: Writing topics combining narration and description appear on page 139.

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4 DESCRIPTION Writing with Your Senses

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Description in a photograph Margaret Morton photographs homeless communities in New York City. This photograph, titled Doug and Mizan’s House, East River, depicts a makeshift dwelling on a Manhattan river-bank. Consider Morton’s photograph as a work of description — revealing a thing through the perceptions of the senses. What do you see through her eyes? What is the house made of? What do the overhanging structure on the upper left and the bridge behind the house add to the impression of the house? If you were standing in the picture, in front of the house, what might you hear or smell? If you touched the house, what textures might you feel? What main idea do you think Morton wants this photograph to convey?

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THE METHOD Like narration, DESCRIPTION is a familiar method of expression, already a working part of your life. In any chat, you probably do your share of describing. You depict in words someone you’ve met by describing her clothes, the look on her face, the way she walks. You describe somewhere you’ve been, something you admire, something you just can’t stand. In a message to a friend back home, you describe your college (concrete buildings, crowded walks, pigeons scuttling); or perhaps you describe your brand-new secondhand car, from the glitter of its hubcaps to the odd antiques wedged in its seat cushions. You can hardly go a day without describing (or hearing described) some person, place, or thing. Small wonder, then, that in written discourse description is almost as indispensable as words.

Description A mode of writing that conveys the evidence of the senses: sight, hearing, touch, taste, smell. See Chapter 4.

Description reports the testimony of your senses. It invites your readers to imagine that they, too, not only see but perhaps also hear, taste, smell, and touch the subject you describe. Usually, you write a description for either of two PURPOSES:

Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing. In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages 19, 31–32, and 40.

Convey information without bias, using description that is

OBJECTIVE

(or impartial, public, or functional).

You describe your subject so clearly and exactly that your reader will understand it or recognize it, and you leave your emotions out. The description in academic writing is usually objective: A biology report on a particular species of frog, for instance, might detail the animal’s appearance (four-inch-wide body, brightorange skin with light-brown spots), its sounds (hoarse clucks), and its feel (smooth, slippery). In writing an objective description your purpose is not to share your feelings. You are trying to make the frog or the subject easily recognized.

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Objective and subjective Kinds of writing that differ in emphasis. In objective writing the emphasis falls on the topic; in subjective writing it falls on the writer’s view of the topic. Objective writing occurs in factual journalism, science reports, certain

PROCESS ANALYSES

(such as recipes, directions, and

instructions), and logical arguments in which the writer attempts to downplay personal feelings and opinions. Subjective writing sets forth the writer’s feelings, opinions, and interpretations. It occurs in friendly letters, journals, bylined feature stories and columns in periodicals, personal essays, andARGUMENTS that appeal to emotion. Few essays, however, contain one kind of writing exclusive of the other.

Convey perceptions with feeling, using description that is

SUBJECTIVE

(or emotional, personal, or

impressionistic). This is the kind included in a magazine advertisement for a new car. It’s what you write in your message to a friend setting forth what your college is like — whether you are pleased or displeased with it. In this kind of description, you may use biases and personal feelings — in fact, they are essential.

Subjective See OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE.

For a splendid example of subjective description, read the following passenger’s-eye view of a storm at sea by Charles Dickens. Notice how the writer’s words convey the terror of the event: Imagine the ship herself, with every pulse and artery of her huge body swollen and bursting… sworn to go on or die. Imagine the wind howling, the sea roaring, the rain beating; all in furious array against her. Picture the sky both dark and wild, and the clouds in fearful sympathy with the waves, making another ocean in the air. Add to all this the clattering on deck and down below; the tread of hurried feet; the loud hoarse shouts of seamen; the gurgling in and out of water through the scuppers; with every now and then the striking of a heavy sea upon the planks above, with the deep, dead, heavy sound of thunder heard within a vault; and there is the head wind of that January morning.

Think of what a starkly different description of the very same storm the captain might set down — objectively — in the ship’s log: “At 0600 hours, watch reported a wind from due north of 70 knots. Whitecaps were noticed, in height two ells above the bow. Below deck water was reported to have entered the bilge.…” But Dickens, not content simply to record information, strives to ensure that his emotions are clear. Description is usually found in the company of other methods of writing. Often, for instance, it will enliven

NARRATION

ANALYSIS

and make the people in the story and the setting unmistakably clear. Writing a

PROCESS

in her essay “Sweet, Sour, and Resentful” (p. 233), Firoozeh Dumas begins with a description of her

family’s hometown in Iran. Description will help a writer in examining the COMPARING AND CONTRASTING

EFFECTS

of a storm or in

two paintings. Keep description in mind when you try expository and

argumentative writing. The method is key to clarity and to readers’ interest.

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Narration, narrative The mode of writing (narration) that tells a story (narrative). See Chapter 3. Process analysis A method of development that most often explains step by step how something is done or how to do something. See Chapter 7. Effect The result of an event or action, usually considered together with CAUSE as a method of development. See the discussion of cause and effect in Chapter 10. In discussing writing, the term effect also refers to the impression a word, a sentence, a paragraph, or an entire work makes on the reader: how convincing it is, whether it elicits an emotional response, what associations it conjures up, and so on. Comparison and contrast Two methods of development usually found together. Using them, a writer examines the similarities and differences between two things to reveal their natures. See Chapter 6.

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THE PROCESS

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Purpose and Audience Understand, first of all, why you are writing about your subject and thus what kind of description is called for. Is it appropriate to perceive and report without emotion or bias — and thus write an objective description? Or is it appropriate to express your personal feelings as well as your perceptions — and thus write a subjective description? Give some thought also to your AUDIENCE. What do your readers need to be told, if they are to share the perceptions you would have them share? If, let’s say, you are describing a downtown street on a Saturday night for an audience of fellow students who live in the same city, then you need not dwell on the street’s familiar geography. What must you tell? Only those details that make the place different on a Saturday night. But if you are remembering your home city, and writing for readers who don’t know it, you’ll need to establish a few central landmarks to sketch (in their minds) an unfamiliar street on a Saturday night.

Audience A writer’s readers. Having in mind a particular audience helps the writer in choosing strategies, such as which method(s) to use, what details to include, and how to shape an ARGUMENT. You can increase your awareness of your audience by asking yourself a few questions before you begin to write. Who are to be your readers? What is their age level? background? education? Where do they live? What are their beliefs and attitudes? What interests them? What, if anything, sets them apart from most people? How familiar are they with your subject? Knowing your audience can help you write so that your readers will not only understand you better but care more deeply about what you say. See also pages 20, 30, and 407.

Before you begin to write a description, go look at your subject. If that is not possible, your next best course is to spend a few minutes imagining the subject until, in your mind’s eye, you can see every speck of it. Then, having fixed your subject in mind, ask yourself which of its features you’ll need to report to your particular audience, for your particular purpose. Ask yourself, “What am I out to accomplish?”

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Dominant Impression and Thesis When you consider your aim in describing, you’ll begin to see what impression you intend your subject to make on readers. Let your description, as a whole, convey this one DOMINANT IMPRESSION. If you are writing a subjective description of an old house, laying weight on its spooky atmosphere to make readers shiver, then you might mention its squeaking bats and its shadowy halls. If, however, you are describing the house in a classified ad, for an audience of possible buyers, you might focus instead on its eat-in kitchen, working fireplace, and proximity to public transportation. Details have to be carefully selected. Feel no obligation to include every perceptible detail. To do so would only invite chaos — or perhaps, for the reader, tedium. Pick out the features that matter most.

Dominant impression The main idea a writer conveys about a subject through DESCRIPTION — that an elephant is gigantic, for example, or an experience scary. See Chapter 4.

Your dominant impression is like the THESIS of your description — the main idea about your subject that you want readers to take away with them. When you use description to explain or to argue, it’s usually a good strategy to state that dominant impression outright, tying it to your essay’s thesis or a part of it. In the biology report on a species of frog, for instance, you might preface your description with a statement like this one:

Thesis, thesis statement The central idea in a work of writing (thesis), to which everything else in the work refers; one or more sentences that express that central idea (thesis statement). In some way, each sentence and PARAGRAPH

in an effective essay serves to support the thesis and to make it clear and explicit to

readers. Good writers, while writing, often set down a thesis statement to help them define their purpose. They also often include this statement in their essay as a promise and a guide to readers. See pages 19, 35–36, 40–41, and the introductions to Chapters 3–12.

A number of unique features distinguish this frog from others in the order Anura.

Or in an argument in favor of cleaning a local toxic-waste site, you might begin with a description of the site and then state your point about it: This landscape is as poisonous as it looks, for underneath its barren crust are enough toxic chemicals to sicken an entire village.

When you use subjective description more for its own sake — to show the reader a place or a person, to evoke feelings — you needn’t always state your dominant impression as a impression is there dictating the details.

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THESIS STATEMENT,

as long as the

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Organization To help them arrange the details of a description, many writers rely on their POINT OF VIEW — the physical angle from which they’re perceiving and describing. As an observer who stays put and observes steadily, you can make a carefully planned inspection tour of your subject, using

SPATIAL ORDER

(from left to right, from

near to far, from top to bottom, from center to periphery), or perhaps moving from prominent objects to tiny ones, from dull to bright, from commonplace to extraordinary — or vice versa.

Point of view In an essay, the physical position or the mental angle from which a writer beholds a SUBJECT. On the subject of starlings, the following three writers would likely have different points of view: An ornithologist might write OBJECTIVELY about the introduction of these birds into North America, a farmer might advise other farmers how to prevent the birds from eating seed, and a bird watcher might SUBJECTIVELY describe a first glad sighting of the species. Whether objective or subjective, point of view also encompasses a writer’s biases and ASSUMPTIONS. For instance, the scientist, farmer, and bird watcher would likely all have different perspectives on starlings’ reputation as nuisances: Although such perspectives may or may not be expressed directly, they would likely influence each writer’s approach to the subject. See also PERSON. Spatial order An organizational technique in which a writer DESCRIBES an object or scene by presenting details parallel to the way people normally view them — for instance, near to far, top to bottom, left to right. See also pages 106–07.

The plan for you is the one that best fulfills your purpose, arranging details so that the reader receives the exact impression you mean to convey. If you were to describe, for instance, a chapel in the middle of a desert, you might begin with the details of the lonely terrain. Then, as if approaching the chapel with the aid of a zoom lens, you might detail its exterior before going on inside. That might be a workable method if you wanted to create the dominant impression of the chapel as an island of beauty in the midst of desolation. Say, however, that you had a different impression in mind: to emphasize the spirituality of the chapel’s interior. You might then begin your description inside the structure, perhaps with its most prominent feature, the stained glass windows. You might mention the surrounding desert later in your description, but only incidentally. Whatever pattern you follow, stick with it all the way through so that your arrangement causes no difficulty for the reader. In describing the chapel, you wouldn’t necessarily proceed in the way you explored the structure in person, first noting its isolation, then entering and studying its windows, then going outside again to see what the walls were made of, then moving back inside to look at the artwork. Instead, you would lead the reader around and through (or through and around) the structure in an organized manner. Even if a scene is chaotic, the prose should be orderly. 254

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Details Luckily, to write a memorable description, you don’t need a ferocious storm or any other awe-inspiring subject. As Brad Manning and N. Scott Momaday demonstrate later in this chapter, you can write about your family as effectively as you write about a hurricane. The secret is in the vividness, the evocativeness of the details. Momaday, for instance, uses many OF SPEECH

IMAGES

to call up concrete sensory experiences, including

FIGURES

(expressions that do not mean literally what they say). Using metaphor, he writes that “the walls

have closed in upon my grandmother’s house” to express his change in perception when he returns to the house as an adult. And using simile, Momaday describes grasshoppers “popping up like corn” to bring a sense of stinging suddenness to life for his readers.

Figures of speech Expressions that depart from the literal meanings of words for the sake of emphasis or vividness. To say “She’s a jewel” doesn’t mean that the subject of praise is literally a kind of shining stone; the statement makes sense because the CONNOTATIONS of jewel come to mind: rare, priceless, worth cherishing. Some figures of speech involve comparisons of two objects apparently unlike: A simile (from the Latin, “likeness”) states the comparison directly, usually connecting the two things using like, as, or than: “The moon is like a snowball”; “He’s as lazy as a cat full of cream”; “My feet are flatter than flyswatters.” A metaphor (from the Greek, “transfer”) declares one thing to be another: “A mighty fortress is our God”; “The sheep were bolls of cotton on the hill.” (A dead metaphor is a word or phrase that, originally a figure of speech, has come to be literal through common usage: “the hands of a clock.”) Personification is a simile or metaphor that assigns human traits to inanimate objects or abstractions: “A stoop-shouldered refrigerator hummed quietly to itself”; “The solution to the math problem sat there winking at me.” Other figures of speech consist of deliberate misrepresentations: Hyperbole (from the Greek, “throwing beyond”) is a conscious exaggeration: “I’m so hungry I could eat a saddle”; “I’d wait for you a thousand years.” The opposite of hyperbole, understatement, creates an ironic or humorous effect: “I accepted the ride. At the moment, I didn’t feel like walking across the Mojave Desert.” A paradox (from the Greek, “conflicting with expectation”) is a seemingly self-contradictory statement that, on reflection, makes sense: “Children are the poor person’s wealth” (wealth can be monetary, or it can be spiritual). Paradox may also refer to a situation that is inexplicable or contradictory, such as the restriction of one group’s rights in order to secure the rights of another group. Image A word or word sequence that evokes a sensory experience. Whether literal (“We picked two red apples”) or figurative (“His cheeks looked like two red apples, buffed and shining”), an image 256

appeals to the reader’s memory of seeing, hearing, smelling, touching, or tasting. Images add concreteness to fiction — “The farm looked as tiny and still as a seashell, with the little knob of a house surrounded by its curved furrows of tomato plants” (Eudora Welty in a short story, “The Whistle”) — and are an important element in poetry. But writers of essays, too, use images to bring ideas down to earth. See also FIGURES OF SPEECH.

FOCUS ON SPECIFIC AND CONCRETE LANGUAGE When you write effective description, you’ll convey your subject as exactly as possible. You may use figures of speech, as discussed above, and you’ll definitely rely on language that is specific (tied to actual things) and concrete (tied to the senses of sight, hearing, touch, smell, and taste). Such language enables readers to behold with the mind’s eye — and to feel with the mind’s fingertips. The first sentence below shows a writer’s first-draft attempt to describe something she saw. After editing, the second sentence is much more vivid. VAGUE Beautiful, scented wildflowers were in the field. CONCRETE AND SPECIFIC Backlighted by the sun and smelling faintly sweet, an acre of tiny lavender flowers spread away from me. When editing your description, keep a sharp eye out for vague words such as delicious, handsome, loud, and short that force readers to create their own impressions or, worse, leave them with no impression at all. Using details that call on readers’ sensory experiences, tell why delicious or why handsome, how loud or how short. When stuck for a word, conjure up your subject and see it, hear it, touch it, smell it, taste it. Note that concrete and specific do not mean “fancy”: Good description does not demand five-dollar words when nickel equivalents are just as informative. The writer who uses rubiginous instead of rusty red actually says less because fewer readers will understand the less common word and all readers will sense a writer showing off.

CHECKLIST FOR REVISING A DESCRIPTION Subjective or objective. Is the description appropriately subjective (emphasizing feelings) or objective (unemotional) for your purpose? Dominant impression. What is your dominant impression of the subject? If you haven’t stated it, will your readers be able to pinpoint it accurately? Point of view and organization. Do your point of view and organization work together to make the subject clear for readers? Are they consistent? Details. Have you provided all of the details — and just those details — needed to convey your dominant impression? What needs expanding? What needs condensing or cutting? Specific and concrete language. Have you used words that express your meaning exactly and appeal to the senses of sight, hearing, touch, taste, and smell?

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DESCRIPTION IN ACADEMIC WRITING An Art History Textbook Description interprets a familiar painting in the following paragraphs from Janson’s History of Art by H. W. Janson et al. The details “translate” the painting, creating a bridge between the reader and the text’s reproduction of the work. While working on The Battle of Anghiari, Leonardo painted his most famous portrait, the Mona Lisa. (Sfumato: soft gradations of light and dark) The delicate sfumato already noted in the Madonna of the Rocks is here so perfected that it seemed miraculous to the artist’s contemporaries. The forms are built from layers of glazes so gossamer-thin that the entire panel seems to glow with a gentle light from within. Main idea (topic sentence) of the paragraph, supported by description of “pictorial subtlety” (above) and “psychological fascination” (below) But the fame of the Mona Lisa comes not from this pictorial subtlety alone; even more intriguing is the psychological fascination of the sitter’s personality. Why, among all the smiling faces ever painted, has this particular one been singled out as “mysterious”? Perhaps the reason is that, as a portrait, the picture does not fit our expectations. Details (underlined) contribute to dominant impression The features are too individual for Leonardo to have simply depicted an ideal type, yet the element of idealization is so strong that it blurs the sitter’s character. Once again the artist has brought two opposites into harmonious balance. The smile, too, may be read in two ways: as the echo of a momentary mood, and as a timeless, symbolic expression (somewhat like the “Archaic smile” of the Greeks …). Clearly, the Mona Lisa embodies a quality of maternal tenderness which was to Leonardo the essence of womanhood. Even the landscape in the background, composed mainly of rocks and water, suggests elemental generative forces.

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A Field Observation In many of your classes, particularly those in the social sciences, you will be asked to observe people or phenomena in particular settings and to describe what your senses perceive. A systematic observation may produce evidence for an ARGUMENT, as when a writer describes the listlessness of kittens in an animal shelter to encourage support for a spay-and-neuter program. Just as often, however, an observation results in an objective report providing information from which readers draw their own conclusions. Like any description, such a field report emphasizes details and uses concrete language to convey the writer’s perceptions. Because the writer’s purpose is to inform, the report takes a neutral, third-PERSON (he, she, they) point of view, uses unemotional language, and refrains from interpretation or opinion — or withholds such analysis for a separate section near the end.

Argument A mode of writing intended to win readers’ agreement with an assertion by engaging their powers of reasoning. Argument often overlaps PERSUASION. See Chapter 12. Person A grammatical distinction made between the speaker, the one spoken to, and the one spoken about. In the first person (I, we), the subject is speaking. In the second person (you), the subject is being spoken to. In the third person (he, she, it), the subject is being spoken about. The point of view of an essay or work of fiction is often specified according to person: “This short story is told from a first-person point of view.” See also POINT OF VIEW.

For an education class in child development, Nick Fiorelli spent a morning in a private preschool, observing the teachers’ techniques and the children’s behaviors and taking note of how they interacted. The paragraphs below, excerpted from his finished report, “Teaching Methodologies at Child’s Play Preschool,” describe both the classroom itself and some of the activities Fiorelli witnessed. The full report goes on to outline the educational philosophies and developmental theories that inform the school’s approach, with additional examples and descriptions from Fiorelli’s visit. Background information sets the stage The preschool’s Web site explains that it draws on elements of Waldorf, Montessori, Reggio Emillia, and other educational models. This background was evident in the large and colorful classroom, which included separate interest areas for different activities. The room was also open and well lit, with long windows that looked out on a playground and an expansive lawn. Organization moves from the periphery to the center, then around the room’s distinct areas The walls of the room were decorated with students’ paintings and drawings. Colored rugs, floor tiles, or rubber mats indicated the boundaries of each activity area. Dominant impression: structured creativity At first, the general atmosphere appeared noisy and unstructured, but a sense of order emerged within a few minutes of

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observation. At a sturdy wooden art table, two students used safety scissors to cut shapes from sheets of red construction paper. Behind them, a child in a red smock stood at a small wooden easel and painted with a foam brush. Another strung multicolored beads on a string. Next to the art table, two children at a sensory station poured wet sand and rocks through an oversize funnel into a miniature sandbox, while a third filled a clear plastic tank with water from a blue enameled pail. Concrete details contribute to the dominant impression A teacher moved between the two tables, encouraging the students and asking questions about their play. In the back of the room, at a literacy area with a thick blue rug and low yellow bookshelves, six students lolled on beanbag chairs, pillows, and a low brown couch, listening to a teacher read a story from an illustrated children’s book. She paused on each page to help the children connect the pictures with the story.

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FAMILY

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BRAD MANNING Brad Manning was born in Little Rock, Arkansas, in 1967 and grew up near Charlottesville, Virginia. While a student at Harvard University he played intramural sports and wrote articles and reviews for the Harvard Independent. He graduated in 1990 with a BA in history and religion. Now living in Charlottesville, Manning is a psychiatrist specializing in the treatment of children and adolescents.

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Arm Wrestling with My Father In this essay written for his freshman composition course, Manning explores his physical contact with his father over the years, perceiving gradual changes that are, he realizes, inevitable. For Manning, description provides a way to express his feelings about his father and to comment on relations between sons and fathers. In the essay after Manning’s, N. Scott Momaday uses description for similar ends, but his subject is the death of his grandmother.

“Now you say when” is what he always said before an arm-wrestling match. He liked to put the responsibility on me, knowing that he would always control the outcome. “When!” I’d shout, and it would start. And I would tense up, concentrating and straining and trying to push his wrist down to the carpet with all my weight and strength. But Dad would always win; I always had to lose. “Want to try it again?” he would ask, grinning. He would see my downcast eyes, my reddened, sweating face, and sense my intensity. And with squinting eyes he would laugh at me, a high laugh, through his perfect white teeth. Too bitter to smile, I would not answer or look at him, but I would just roll over on my back and frown at the ceiling. I never thought it was funny at all. That was the way I felt for a number of years during my teens, after I had lost my enjoyment of arm wrestling and before I had given up that same intense desire to beat my father. Ours had always been a physical relationship, I suppose, one determined by athleticism and strength. We never communicated as well in speech or in writing as in a strong hug, battling to make the other gasp for breath. I could never find him at one of my orchestra concerts. But at my lacrosse games, he would be there in the stands, with an angry look, ready to coach me after the game on how I could do better. He never helped me write a paper or a poem. Instead, he would take me outside and show me a new move for my game, in the hope that I would score a couple of goals and gain confidence in my ability. Dad knew almost nothing about lacrosse and his movements were all wrong and sad to watch. But at those times I could just feel how hard he was trying to communicate, to help me, to show the love he had for me, the love I could only assume was there. His words were physical. The truth is, I have never read a card or a letter written in his hand because he never wrote to me. Never. Mom wrote me all the cards and letters when I was away from home. The closest my father ever came, that I recall, was in a newspaper clipping Mom had sent with a letter. He had gone through and underlined all the important words about the dangers of not wearing a bicycle helmet. Our communication was physical, and that is why we did things like arm wrestle. To get down on the floor and grapple, arm against arm, was like having a conversation. This ritual of father-son competition in fact had started early in my life, back when Dad started the matches with his arm almost horizontal, his wrist an inch from defeat, and still won. I remember in those battles how my tiny shoulders would press over our locked hands, my whole upper body pushing down in hope of winning that single inch from his calm, unmoving forearm. “Say when,” he’d repeat, killing my concentration and causing me to squeal, “I did, I did!” And so he’d grin with his eyes fixed on me, not seeming to notice his own arm, which would begin to rise slowly from its starting position. My greatest efforts could not slow it down. As soon as my hopes had disappeared I’d start to cheat and use both hands. But the arm would continue to move steadily along its arc toward the carpet. My brother, if he was watching, would sometimes join in against the arm. He once even wrapped his little legs around our embattled wrists and pulled back with everything he had. But he did not have much and, regardless of the opposition, the man 263

would win. My arm would lie at rest, pressed into the carpet beneath a solid, immovable arm. In that pinned position, I could only giggle, happy to have such a strong father. My feelings have changed, though. I don’t giggle anymore, at least not around my father. And I don’t feel pressured to compete with him the way I thought necessary for years. Now my father is not really so strong as he used to be and I am getting stronger. This change in strength comes at a time when I am growing faster mentally than at any time before. I am becoming less my father and more myself. And as a result, there is less of a need to be set apart from him and his command. I am no longer a rebel in the household, wanting to stand up against the master with clenched fists and tensing jaws, trying to impress him with my education or my views on religion. I am no longer a challenger, quick to correct his verbal mistakes, determined to beat him whenever possible in physical competition. I am not sure when it was that I began to feel less competitive with my father, but it all became clearer to me one day this past January. I was home in Virginia for a week between exams, and Dad had stayed home from work because the house was snowed in deep. It was then that I learned something I never could have guessed. I don’t recall who suggested arm wrestling that day. We hadn’t done it for a long time, for months. But there we were, lying flat on the carpet, face to face, extending our right arms. Our arms were different. His still resembled a fat tree branch, one which had leveled my wrist to the ground countless times before. It was hairy and white with some pink moles scattered about. It looked strong, to be sure, though not so strong as it had in past years. I expect that back in his youth it had looked even stronger. In high school he had played halfback and had been voted “best-built body” of the senior class. Between college semesters he had worked on road crews and on Louisiana dredges. I admired him for that. I had begun to row crew in college and that accounted for some small buildup along the muscle lines, but it did not seem to be enough. The arm I extended was lanky and featureless. Even so, he insisted that he would lose the match, that he was certain I’d win. I had to ignore this, however, because it was something he always said, whether or not he believed it himself. Our warm palms came together, much the same way we had shaken hands the day before at the airport. Fingers twisted and wrapped about once again, testing for a better grip. Elbows slid up and back making their little indentations on the itchy carpet. My eyes pinched closed in concentration as I tried to center as much of my thought as possible on the match. Arm wrestling, I knew, was a competition that depended less on talent and experience than on one’s mental control and confidence. I looked up into his eyes and was ready. He looked back, smiled at me, and said softly (did he sound nervous?), “You say when.” It was not a long match. I had expected him to be stronger, faster. I was conditioned to lose and would have accepted defeat easily. However, after some struggle, his arm yielded to my efforts and began to move unsteadily toward the carpet. I worked against his arm with all the strength I could find. He was working hard as well, straining, breathing heavily. It seemed that this time was different, that I was going to win. Then something occurred to me, something unexpected. I discovered that I was feeling sorry for my father. I wanted to win but I did not want to see him lose. It was like the thrill I had once experienced as a young boy at my grandfather’s lake house in Louisiana when I hooked my first big fish. There was that sudden tug that made me leap. The red bobber was sucked down beneath the surface and I pulled back against it, reeling it in excitedly. But when my cousin caught sight 264

of the fish and shouted out, “It’s a keeper,” I realized that I would be happier for the fish if it were let go rather than grilled for dinner. Arm wrestling my father was now like this, like hooking “Big Joe,” the old fish that Lake Quachita holds but you can never catch, and when you finally think you’ve got him, you want to let him go, cut the line, keep the legend alive. Perhaps at that point I could have given up, letting my father win. But it was so fast and absorbing. How could I have learned so quickly how it would feel to have overpowered the arm that had protected and provided for me all of my life? His arms have always protected me and the family. Whenever I am near him I am unafraid, knowing his arms are ready to catch me and keep me safe, the way they caught my mother one time when she fainted halfway across the room, the way he carried me, full grown, up and down the stairs when I had mononucleosis, the way he once held my feet as I stood on his shoulders to put up a new basketball net. My mother may have had the words or the touch that sustained our family, but his were the arms that protected us. And his were the arms now that I had pushed to the carpet, first the right arm, then the left. I might have preferred him to be always the stronger, the one who carries me. But this wish is impossible now; our roles have begun to switch. I do not know if I will ever physically carry my father as he has carried me, though I fear that someday I may have that responsibility. More than once this year I have hesitated before answering the phone late at night, fearing my mother’s voice calling me back to help carry his wood coffin. When I am home with him and he mentions a sharp pain in his chest, I imagine him collapsing onto the floor. And in that second vision I see me rushing to him, lifting him onto my shoulders, and running. A week after our match, we parted at the airport. The arm-wrestling match was by that time mostly forgotten. My thoughts were on school. I had been awake most of the night studying for my last exam, and by that morning I was already back into my college-student manner of reserve and detachment. To say goodbye, I kissed and hugged my mother and I prepared to shake my father’s hand. A handshake had always seemed easier to handle than a hug. His hugs had always been powerful ones, intended I suppose to give me strength. They made me suck in my breath and struggle for control, and the way he would pound his hand on my back made rumbles in my ears. So I offered a handshake; but he offered a hug. I accepted it, bracing myself for the impact. Once our arms were wrapped around each other, however, I sensed a different message. His embrace was softer, longer than before. I remember how it surprised me and how I gave an embarrassed laugh as if to apologize to anyone watching. I got on the airplane and my father and mother were gone. But as the plane lifted my throat was hurting with sadness. I realized then that Dad must have learned something as well, and what he had said to me in that last hug was that he loved me. Love was a rare expression between us, so I had denied it at first. As the plane turned north, I had a sudden wish to go back to Dad and embrace his arms with all the love I felt for him. I wanted to hold him for a long time and to speak with him silently, telling him how happy I was, telling him all my feelings, in that language we shared. In his hug, Dad had tried to tell me something he himself had discovered. I hope he tries again. Maybe this spring, when he sees his first crew match, he’ll advise me on how to improve my stroke. Maybe he has started doing pushups to rebuild his strength and challenge me to another match — if this were true, I know I would feel less challenged than loved. Or maybe, rather than any of this, he’ll just send me a card.

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Journal Writing Manning expresses conflicting feelings about his father. How do you respond to his conflict? When have you felt strongly mixed emotions about a person or an event, such as a relative, friend, breakup, ceremony, move? Write a paragraph or two exploring your feelings.

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Questions on Meaning 1. In paragraph 3 Manning says that his father’s “words were physical.” What does this mean? 2. After his most recent trip home, Manning says, “I realized then that Dad must have learned something as well” (par. 14). What is it that father and son have each learned? 3. Manning says in the last paragraph that he “would feel less challenged than loved” if his father challenged him to a rematch. Does this statement suggest that he did not feel loved earlier? Why, or why not? 4. What do you think is Manning’s PURPOSE in this essay? Does he want to express love for his father, or is there something more as well?

Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing. In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages 19, 31–32, and 40.

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Questions on Writing Strategy 1. Why does Manning start his essay with a match that leaves him “too bitter to smile” and then move backward to earlier bouts of arm wrestling? 2. In the last paragraph Manning suggests that his father might work harder at competing with him and pushing him to be competitive, or he might just send his son a card. Why does Manning present both of these options? Are we supposed to know which will happen? 3. Explain the fishing ANALOGY Manning uses in paragraph 10.

Analogy An extended comparison based on the like features of two unlike things: one familiar or easily understood, the other unfamiliar, abstract, or complicated. For instance, most people know at least vaguely how the human eye works: The pupil adjusts to admit light, which registers as an image on the retina at the back of the eye. You might use this familiar information to explain something less familiar to many people, such as how a camera works: The aperture (like the pupil) adjusts to admit light, which registers as an image on the film (like the retina) at the back of the camera. Analogies are especially helpful for explaining technical information in a way that is nontechnical, more easily grasped. For example, the spacecraft Voyager 2 transmitted spectacular pictures of Saturn to Earth. To explain the difficulty of their achievement, NASA scientists compared their feat to a golfer sinking a putt from five hundred miles away. Because it can make abstract ideas vivid and memorable, analogy is also a favorite device of philosophers, politicians, and preachers. Analogy is similar to the method of COMPARISON AND CONTRAST. Both identify the distinctive features of two things and then set the features side by side. But a comparison explains two obviously similar things — two Civil War generals, two responses to a mess — and considers both their differences and their similarities. An analogy yokes two apparently unlike things (eye and camera, spaceflight and golf) and focuses only on their major similarities. Analogy is thus an extended metaphor, the FIGURE OF SPEECH that declares one thing to be another — even though it isn’t, in a strictly literal sense — for the purpose of making us aware of similarity: “Hope,” writes the poet Emily Dickinson, “is the thing with feathers / That perches in the soul.” In an ARGUMENT, analogy can make readers more receptive to a point or inspire them, but it can’t prove anything because in the end the subjects are dissimilar. A false analogy is a logical FALLACY that claims a fundamental likeness when none exists. See page 413.

4. OTHER METHODS Manning’s essay is as much a NARRATIVE as a description: The author gives brief stories, like video clips, to show the dynamic of his relationship with his father. Look at the story in paragraph 4. How does Manning mix elements of both methods to convey his powerlessness?

Narration, narrative The mode of writing (narration) that tells a story (narrative). See Chapter 3.

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Questions on Language 1. Manning uses the word competition throughout this essay. Why is this a more accurate word than conflict to describe Manning’s relationship with his father? 2. What is the EFFECT of “the arm” in this sentence from paragraph 4: “But the arm would continue to move steadily along its arc toward the carpet”?

Effect The result of an event or action, usually considered together with CAUSE as a method of development. See the discussion of cause and effect in Chapter 10. In discussing writing, the term effect also refers to the impression a word, a sentence, a paragraph, or an entire work makes on the reader: how convincing it is, whether it elicits an emotional response, what associations it conjures up, and so on.

3. In paragraph 9 Manning writes, “I wanted to win but I did not want to see him lose.” What does this apparent contradiction mean? 4. If any of these words is unfamiliar, look it up in a dictionary: embattled (par. 4); dredges, crew (7); conditioned (9); mononucleosis (11).

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Suggestions for Writing 1. FROM JOURNAL TO ESSAY Expand your journal entry (p. 115) into a descriptive essay that brings to life your mixed feelings about a person or an event. Focus less on the circumstances and happenings than on emotions, both positive and negative. 2. Write an essay that describes your relationship with a parent or another close adult. You may want to focus on just one aspect of your relationship, or one especially vivid moment, in order to give yourself the space and time to build many sensory details into your description. 3. Arm wrestling is a highly competitive sport with a long history. Research the sport in the library or on the Internet. Then write a brief essay that traces its history and explains its current standing. 4. CRITICAL WRITING In paragraph 12 Manning says that “our roles have begun to switch.” Does this seem like an inevitable switch, or one that this father and son have been working to achieve? Use EVIDENCE from Manning’s essay to support your answer. Also consider whether Manning and his father would respond the same way to this question.

Evidence The details that support an argument or an explanation, including facts, examples, and expert opinions. A writer’s opinions and GENERALIZATIONS must rest upon evidence. See pages 408–09.

5. CONNECTIONS Like “Arm Wrestling with My Father,” the next essay, N. Scott Momaday’s “The Way to Rainy Mountain,” depicts the lasting influence of a family member. In an essay, COMPARE AND CONTRAST the two essays on this point. What conclusions do the authors draw about aging and maturity? How do they resolve their conflicts with older generations?

Comparison and contrast Two methods of development usually found together. Using them, a writer examines the similarities and differences between two things to reveal their natures. See Chapter 6.

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Brad Manning on Writing For this book, Brad Manning offered some valuable concrete advice on writing as a student.

You hear this a lot, but writing takes a long time. For me, this is especially true. The only difference between the “Arm Wrestling” essay and all the other essays I wrote in college (and the only reason it’s in this book and not thrown away) is that I rewrote it six or seven times over a period of weeks. If I have something to write, I need to start early. In college, I had a bad habit of putting off papers until 10 p.m. the night before they were due and spending a desperate night typing whatever ideas the coffee inspired. But putting off papers didn’t just lower my writing quality; it robbed me of a good time. I like starting early because I can jot down notes over a stretch of days; then I type them up fast, ignoring typos; I print the notes with narrow margins, cut them up, and divide them into piles that seem to fit together; then it helps to get away for a day and come back all fresh so I can throw away the corny ideas. Finally, I sit on the floor and make an outline with all the cutouts of paper, trying at the same time to work out some clear purpose for the essay. When the writing starts, I often get hung up most on trying to “sound” like a good writer. If you’re like me and came to college from a shy family that never discussed much over dinner, you might think your best shot is to sound like a famous writer like T. S. Eliot and you might try to sneak in words that aren’t really your own like ephemeral or the lilacs smelled like springtime. But the last thing you really want a reader thinking is how good or bad a writer you are. Also, in the essay on arm wrestling, I got hung up thinking I had to make my conflict with my father somehow “universal.” So in an early draft I wrote in a classical allusion — Aeneas lifting his old father up onto his shoulders and carrying him out of the burning city of Troy.1 I’d read that story in high school and guessed one classical allusion might make the reader think I knew a lot more. But Aeneas didn’t help the essay much, and I’m glad my teacher warned me off trying to universalize. He told me to write just what was true for me.

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1 In the Aeneid, by the Roman poet Virgil (70–19 BC), the mythic hero Aeneas escapes from the city of Troy when it is sacked by the Greeks and goes on to found Rome. — EDS.

But that was hard, too, and still is — especially in the first draft. I don’t know anyone who enjoys the first draft. If you do, I envy you. But in my early drafts, I always get this sensation like I have to impress somebody and I end up overanalyzing the effects of every word I am about to write. This self-consciousness may be unavoidable (I get self-conscious calling L.L. Bean to order a shirt), but, in this respect, writing is great for shy people because you can edit all you want, all day long, until it finally sounds right. I never feel that I am being myself until the third or fourth draft, and it’s only then that it gets personal and starts to be fun. When I said that putting off papers robbed me of a good time, I really meant it. Writing the essay about my father turned out to be a high point in my life. And on top of having a good time with it, I now have a record of what happened. And my ten-month-old son, when he grows up, can read things about his grandfather and father that he’d probably not have learned any other way. The Brief Bedford Reader on Writing Brad Manning has some good advice for other college writers, especially about taking the time to plan (pp. 30–32), organize (p. 37), and revise (pp. 39–42) a draft, often many times over. For guidelines on how to edit your writing as he did, especially to establish and maintain your own VOICE, refer to pages 47–53 of Chapter 2.

Voice In writing, the sense of the author’s character, personality, and attitude that comes through the words. See TONE.

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FAMILY

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N. SCOTT MOMADAY Navarre Scott Momaday was born in 1934 on the Kiowa Indian Reservation in Oklahoma and grew up there and on other reservations in the Southwest. His father was a Kiowa, his mother a descendant of white pioneers, and their fusion of Native and European American cultures permeates Momaday’s work. He has always pursued an academic career, earning a BA in 1958 from the University of New Mexico and a PhD in 1963 from Stanford University, teaching at several universities, and writing on poetry. At the same time he has been one of the country’s foremost interpreters of American Indian history, myths, and landscapes. His first novel, House Made of Dawn (1968), won the Pulitzer Prize, and he has since published more than fifteen books, including The Names (memoir, 1976), In the Presence of the Sun (stories and poems, 1992), In the Bear’s House (poems, essays, and artwork, 1999), and Again the Far Morning (poems, 2011). In 2007 he was awarded the National Medal of Arts. Momaday is also a playwright and a painter and is active with the Kiowa Gourd Dance Society. He teaches at the University of Arizona.

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The Way to Rainy Mountain Like the previous essay, Brad Manning’s “Arm Wrestling with My Father,” this one explores a relationship with family. “The Way to Rainy Mountain” is the introduction to a book of that title, published in 1969, in which Momaday tells Kiowa myths and history and his own story of discovering his heritage. Writing on the occasion of his grandmother’s death, Momaday begins and ends this essay in the same place, the Oklahoma plain where the Kiowa tribe was brought down by the US government. In between he visits the sites where the Kiowas had formed the powerful, noble society from which his grandmother sprang.

A single knoll rises out of the plain in Oklahoma, north and west of the Wichita Range.1 For my people, the Kiowas, it is an old landmark, and they gave it the name Rainy Mountain. The hardest weather in the world is there. Winter brings blizzards, hot tornadic winds arise in the spring, and in summer the prairie is an anvil’s edge. The grass turns brittle and brown, and it cracks beneath your feet. There are green belts along the rivers and creeks, linear groves of hickory and pecan, willow and witch hazel. At a distance in July or August the steaming foliage seems almost to writhe in fire. Great green and yellow grasshoppers are everywhere in the tall grass, popping up like corn to sting the flesh, and tortoises crawl about on the red earth, going nowhere in the plenty of time. Loneliness is an aspect of the land. All things in the plain are isolate; there is no confusion of objects in the eye, but one hill or one tree or one man. To look upon that landscape in the early morning, with the sun at your back, is to lose the sense of proportion. Your imagination comes to life, and this, you think, is where Creation was begun.

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1 The Wichita Mountains are southwest of Oklahoma City. — EDS.

I returned to Rainy Mountain in July. My grandmother had died in the spring, and I wanted to be at her grave. She had lived to be very old and at last infirm. Her only living daughter was with her when she died, and I was told that in death her face was that of a child. I like to think of her as a child. When she was born, the Kiowas were living that last great moment of their history. For more than a hundred years they had controlled the open range from the Smoky Hill River to the Red, from the headwaters of the Canadian to the fork of the Arkansas and Cimarron.2 In alliance with the Comanches, they had ruled the whole of the southern Plains. War was their sacred business, and they were among the finest horsemen the world has ever known. But warfare for the Kiowas was preeminently a matter of disposition rather than of survival, and they never understood the grim, unrelenting advance of the US Cavalry. When at last, divided and ill-provisioned, they were driven onto the Staked Plains in the cold rains of autumn, they fell into panic. In Palo Duro Canyon they abandoned their crucial stores to pillage and had nothing then but their lives. In order to save themselves, they surrendered to the soldiers at Fort Sill and were imprisoned in the old stone corral that now stands as a military museum.3 My grandmother was spared the humiliation of those high gray walls by eight or ten years, but she must have known from birth the affliction of defeat, the dark brooding of old warriors.

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2 Momaday describes an area covering much of present-day Kansas and Oklahoma as well as the Texas Panhandle and parts of Colorado and New Mexico. — EDS.

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3 The Palo Duro Canyon is south of Amarillo, Texas, and Fort Sill is southwest of Oklahoma City, near the Wichita Mountains. — EDS.

Her name was Aho, and she belonged to the last culture to evolve in North America. Her forebears came down from the high country in western Montana nearly three centuries ago. They were a mountain people, a mysterious tribe of hunters whose language has never been positively classified in any major group. In the late seventeenth century they began a long migration to the south and east. It was a journey toward the dawn, and it led to a golden age. Along the way the Kiowas were befriended by the Crows, who gave them the culture and religion of the Plains. They acquired horses, and their ancient nomadic spirit was suddenly free of the ground. They acquired Tai-me, the sacred Sun Dance doll, from that moment the object and symbol of their worship, and so shared in the divinity of the sun. Not least, they acquired the sense of destiny, therefore courage and pride. When they entered upon the southern Plains they had been transformed. No longer were they slaves to the simple necessity of survival; they were a lordly and dangerous society of fighters and thieves, hunters and priests of the sun. According to their origin myth, they entered the world through a hollow log. From one point of view, their migration was the fruit of an old prophecy, for indeed they emerged from a sunless world. Although my grandmother lived out her long life in the shadow of Rainy Mountain, the immense landscape of the continental interior lay like memory in her blood. She could tell of the Crows, whom she had never seen, and of the Black Hills,4 where she had never been. I wanted to see in reality what she had seen more perfectly in the mind’s eye, and traveled fifteen hundred miles to begin my pilgrimage.

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4 The Black Hills are in western South Dakota. Yellowstone (next paragraph) is in northwestern Wyoming. In paragraphs 7–8, Momaday describes movement eastward across the top of Wyoming. — EDS.

Yellowstone, it seemed to me, was the top of the world, a region of deep lakes and dark timber, canyons and waterfalls. But, beautiful as it is, one might have the sense of confinement there. The skyline in all directions is close at hand, the high wall of the woods and deep cleavages of shade. There is a perfect freedom in the mountains, but it belongs to the eagle and the elk, the badger and the bear. The Kiowas reckoned their stature by the distance they could see, and they were bent and blind in the wilderness. Descending eastward, the highland meadows are a stairway to the plain. In July the inland slope of the Rockies is luxuriant with flax and buckwheat, stonecrop and larkspur. The earth unfolds and the limit of the land recedes. Clusters of trees, and animals grazing far in the distance, cause the vision to reach away and wonder to build upon the mind. The sun follows a longer course in the day, and the sky is immense beyond all comparison. The great billowing clouds that sail upon it are shadows that move upon the grain like water, dividing light. Farther down, in the land of the Crows and Blackfeet, the plain is yellow. Sweet clover takes hold of the hills and bends upon itself to cover and seal the soil. There the Kiowas paused on their way; they had come to the place where they must change their lives. The sun is at home on the plains. Precisely there does it have the certain character of a god. When the Kiowas came to the land of the Crows, they could see the dark lees of the hills at dawn across the Bighorn River, the profusion of light on the grain shelves, the oldest deity ranging after the solstices. Not yet would they veer southward to the caldron of the land that lay below; they must wean their blood from the northern winter and hold the mountains a while longer in their view. They bore Tai-me in procession to the east. A dark mist lay over the Black Hills, and the land was like iron. At the top of a ridge I caught sight of Devil’s Tower5 upthrust against the gray sky as if in the birth of time the core of the earth had broken through its crust and the motion of the world was begun. There are things in nature that engender an awful quiet in the heart of man; Devil’s Tower is one of them. Two centuries ago, because they could not do otherwise, the Kiowas made a legend at the base of the rock. My grandmother said:

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5 Devil’s Tower is an 865-foot stone outcropping in northeastern Wyoming, now a national monument. — EDS. Eight children were there at play, seven sisters and their brother. Suddenly the boy was struck dumb; he trembled and began to run upon his hands and feet. His fingers became claws, and his body was covered with fur. Directly there was a bear where the boy had been. The sisters were terrified; they ran, and the bear after them. They came to the stump of a great tree, and the tree spoke to them. It bade them climb upon it, and as they did so it began to rise into the air. The bear came to kill them, but they were just beyond its reach. It reared against the tree and scored the bark all around with its claws. The seven sisters were borne into the sky, and they became the stars of the Big Dipper.

From that moment, and so long as the legend lives, the Kiowas have kinsmen in the night sky. Whatever they were in the mountains, they could be no more. However tenuous their well-being, however much they had suffered and would suffer again, they had found a way out of the wilderness. My grandmother had a reverence for the sun, a holy regard that now is all but gone out of mankind. There was a wariness in her, and an ancient awe. She was a Christian in her later years, but she had come a long way about, and she never forgot her birthright. As a child she had been to the Sun Dances; she had taken part in those annual rites, and by them she had learned the restoration of her people in the presence of Tai-me. She was about seven when the last Kiowa Sun Dance was held in 1887 on the Washita River above Rainy Mountain Creek.6 The buffalo were gone. In order to consummate the ancient sacrifice — to impale the head of a buffalo bull upon the medicine tree — a delegation of old men journeyed into Texas, there to beg and barter for an animal from the Goodnight herd. She was ten when the Kiowas came together for the last time as a living Sun Dance culture. They could find no buffalo; they had to hang an old hide from the sacred tree. Before the dance could begin, a company of soldiers rode out from Fort Sill under orders to disperse the tribe. Forbidden without cause the essential act of their faith, having seen the wild herds slaughtered and left to rot upon the ground, the Kiowas backed away forever from the medicine tree. That was July 20, 1890, at the great bend of the Washita. My grandmother was there. Without bitterness, and for as long as she lived, she bore a vision of deicide.7

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6 The Washita runs halfway between Oklahoma City and the Wichita Mountains. — EDS.

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7 The killing of a divine being or beings (from Latin words meaning “god” and “kill”). — EDS.

Now that I can have her only in memory, I see my grandmother in the several postures that were peculiar to her: standing at the wood stove on a winter morning and turning meat in a great iron skillet; sitting at the south window, bent above her beadwork, and afterwards, when her vision failed, looking down for a long time into the fold of her hands; going out upon a cane, very slowly as she did when the weight of age came upon her; praying. I remember her most often at prayer. She made long, rambling prayers out of suffering and hope, having seen many things. I was never sure that I had the right to hear, so exclusive were they of all mere custom and company. The last time I saw her she prayed standing by the side of her bed at night, naked to the waist, the light of a kerosene lamp moving upon her dark skin. Her long, black hair, always drawn and braided in the day, lay upon her shoulders and against her breasts like a shawl. I do not speak Kiowa, and I never understood her prayers, but there was something inherently sad in the sound, some merest hesitation upon the syllables of sorrow. She began in a high and descending pitch, exhausting her breath to silence; then again and again — and always the same intensity of effort, of something that is, and is not, like urgency in the human voice. Transported so in the dancing light among the shadows of her room, she seemed beyond the reach of time. But that was illusion; I think I knew then that I should not see her again. Houses are like sentinels in the plain, old keepers of the weather watch. There, in a very little while, wood takes on the appearance of great age. All colors wear soon away in the wind and rain, and then the wood is burned gray and the grain appears and the nails turn red with rust. The windowpanes are black and opaque; you imagine there is nothing within, and indeed there are many ghosts, bones given up to the land. They stand here and there against the sky, and you approach them for a longer time than you expect. They belong in the distance; it is their domain. Once there was a lot of sound in my grandmother’s house, a lot of coming and going, feasting and talk. The summers there were full of excitement and reunion. The Kiowas are a summer people; they abide the cold and keep to themselves, but when the season turns and the land becomes warm and vital they cannot hold still; an old love of going returns upon them. The aged visitors who came to my grandmother’s house when I was a child were made of lean and leather, and they bore themselves upright. They wore great black hats and bright ample shirts that shook in the wind. They rubbed fat upon their hair and wound their braids with strips of colored cloth. Some of them painted their faces and carried the scars of old and cherished enmities. They were an old council of warlords, come to remind and be reminded of who they were. Their wives and daughters served them well. The women might indulge themselves; gossip was at once the mark and compensation of their servitude. They made loud and elaborate talk among themselves, full of jest and gesture, fright and false alarm. They went abroad in fringed and flowered shawls, bright beadwork and German silver. They were at home in the kitchen, and they prepared meals that were banquets. There were frequent prayer meetings, and great nocturnal feasts. When I was a child I played with my cousins outside, where the lamp-light fell upon the ground and the singing of the old people rose up around us and carried away into the darkness. There were a lot of good things to eat, a lot of laughter and surprise. And afterwards, when the quiet returned, I lay down with my grandmother and could hear the frogs away by the river and feel the motion of the air. Now there is a funeral silence in the rooms, the endless wake of some final word. The walls have closed in 283

upon my grandmother’s house. When I returned to it in mourning, I saw for the first time in my life how small it was. It was late at night, and there was a white moon, nearly full. I sat for a long time on the stone steps by the kitchen door. From there I could see out across the land; I could see the long row of trees by the creek, the low light upon the rolling plains, and the stars of the Big Dipper. Once I looked at the moon and caught sight of a strange thing. A cricket had perched upon the handrail, only a few inches away from me. My line of vision was such that the creature filled the moon like a fossil. It had gone there, I thought, to live and die, for there, of all places, was its small definition made whole and eternal. A warm wind rose up and purled like the longing within me. The next morning I awoke at dawn and went out on the dirt road to Rainy Mountain. It was already hot, and the grasshoppers began to fill the air. Still, it was early in the morning, and the birds sang out of the shadows. The long yellow grass on the mountain shone in the bright light, and a scissortail hied above the land. There, where it ought to be, at the end of a long and legendary way, was my grandmother’s grave. Here and there on the dark stones were ancestral names. Looking back once, I saw the mountain and came away.

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Journal Writing “The Way to Rainy Mountain” is about Momaday’s associations between his grandmother and Rainy Mountain. Think of somebody special to you and a specific place that you associate with this person. Jot down as many details about the person and place as you can.

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Questions on Meaning 1. What is the significance of Momaday’s statement that the Kiowas “reckoned their stature by the distance they could see” (par. 6)? How does this statement relate to the ultimate fate of the Kiowas? 2. Remembering his grandmother, Momaday writes, “She made long, rambling prayers out of suffering and hope, having seen many things” (par. 10). What is the key point here, and how does the concept of prayer connect with the essay as a whole? 3. What do you think Momaday’s main idea is? What thread links all the essay’s parts? 4. What seems to be Momaday’s PURPOSE in writing this essay? Can we read this as more than a personal story about a visit to his grandmother’s grave?

Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing. In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages 19, 31–32, and 40.

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Questions on Writing Strategy 1. Who is Momaday’s AUDIENCE? Do you think he is writing for other Kiowa descendants? for non-Indians? for others who have lost an older relative?

Audience A writer’s readers. Having in mind a particular audience helps the writer in choosing strategies, such as which method(s) to use, what details to include, and how to shape an ARGUMENT. You can increase your awareness of your audience by asking yourself a few questions before you begin to write. Who are to be your readers? What is their age level? background? education? Where do they live? What are their beliefs and attitudes? What interests them? What, if anything, sets them apart from most people? How familiar are they with your subject? Knowing your audience can help you write so that your readers will not only understand you better but care more deeply about what you say. See also pages 20, 30, and 407.

2. “Loneliness is an aspect of the land,” Momaday writes (par. 1). To what extent do you think this sentence captures the DOMINANT IMPRESSION of the essay? If you perceive a different impression, what is it?

Dominant impression The main idea a writer conveys about a subject through DESCRIPTION — that an elephant is gigantic, for example, or an experience scary. See Chapter 4.

3. How does Momaday organize his essay? (It may help to plot the structure by preparing a rough outline.) How effective do you find this organization, and why? 4. Would you characterize Momaday’s description as SUBJECTIVE or OBJECTIVE? What about his use of language suggests one over the other?

Subjective See OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE. Objective and subjective Kinds of writing that differ in emphasis. In objective writing the emphasis falls on the topic; in subjective writing it falls on the writer’s view of the topic. Objective writing occurs in factual journalism, science reports, certain PROCESS ANALYSES (such as recipes, directions, and instructions), and logical arguments in which the writer attempts to downplay personal feelings and opinions. Subjective writing sets forth the writer’s feelings, opinions, and interpretations. It occurs in friendly letters, journals, bylined feature stories and columns in periodicals, personal essays, andARGUMENTS that appeal to emotion. Few essays, however, contain one kind of writing exclusive of the other.

5. OTHER METHODS Besides description, Momaday relies on mixing other methods, such as NARRATION, EXAMPLE, COMPARISON AND CONTRAST, and CAUSE AND EFFECT. What is the purpose of the comparison in paragraphs 12–14?

Narration, narrative The mode of writing (narration) that tells a story (narrative). See Chapter 3. Example Also called exemplification or illustration, a method of development in which the writer provides instances of a general idea. See Chapter 5. An example is a verbal illustration. Comparison and contrast Two methods of development usually found together. Using them, a writer examines the similarities and differences between

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two things to reveal their natures. See Chapter 6. Cause and effect A method of development in which a writer ANALYZES reasons for an action, event, or decision, or analyzes its consequences. See Chapter 10. See also EFFECT.

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Questions on Language 1. If you do not know the meanings of the following words, look them up in a dictionary: anvil (par. 1); infirm (2); preeminently, pillage, affliction (3); nomadic (4); cleavages (6); lees, profusion, deity, caldron (7); engender, tenuous (8); reverence, consummate (9); inherently (10); purled (14); hied (15). 2. Momaday uses many vivid FIGURES OF SPEECH. Locate at least one use each of metaphor, simile, and hyperbole (review these terms in the Glossary if necessary). What does each of these figures convey?

Figures of speech Expressions that depart from the literal meanings of words for the sake of emphasis or vividness. To say “She’s a jewel” doesn’t mean that the subject of praise is literally a kind of shining stone; the statement makes sense because the CONNOTATIONS of jewel come to mind: rare, priceless, worth cherishing. Some figures of speech involve comparisons of two objects apparently unlike: A simile (from the Latin, “likeness”) states the comparison directly, usually connecting the two things using like, as, or than: “The moon is like a snowball”; “He’s as lazy as a cat full of cream”; “My feet are flatter than flyswatters.” A metaphor (from the Greek, “transfer”) declares one thing to be another: “A mighty fortress is our God”; “The sheep were bolls of cotton on the hill.” (A dead metaphor is a word or phrase that, originally a figure of speech, has come to be literal through common usage: “the hands of a clock.”) Personification is a simile or metaphor that assigns human traits to inanimate objects or abstractions: “A stoopshouldered refrigerator hummed quietly to itself”; “The solution to the math problem sat there winking at me.” Other figures of speech consist of deliberate misrepresentations: Hyperbole (from the Greek, “throwing beyond”) is a conscious exaggeration: “I’m so hungry I could eat a saddle”; “I’d wait for you a thousand years.” The opposite of hyperbole, understatement, creates an ironic or humorous effect: “I accepted the ride. At the moment, I didn’t feel like walking across the Mojave Desert.” A paradox (from the Greek, “conflicting with expectation”) is a seemingly self-contradictory statement that, on reflection, makes sense: “Children are the poor person’s wealth” (wealth can be monetary, or it can be spiritual). Paradox may also refer to a situation that is inexplicable or contradictory, such as the restriction of one group’s rights in order to secure the rights of another group.

3. Momaday’s first and last paragraphs present contrasting IMAGES of Rainy Mountain and the surrounding plain: At first, “the prairie is an anvil’s edge” and the “grass turns brittle and brown”; in the end, “the birds sang out of the shadows” and the “long yellow grass on the mountain shone in the bright light.” How does this contrast serve Momaday’s purpose?

Image A word or word sequence that evokes a sensory experience. Whether literal (“We picked two red apples”) or figurative (“His cheeks looked like two red apples, buffed and shining”), an image appeals to the reader’s memory of seeing, hearing, smelling, touching, or tasting. Images add concreteness to fiction — “The farm looked as tiny and still as a seashell, with the little knob of a house surrounded by its curved furrows of tomato plants” (Eudora Welty in a short story, “The Whistle”) — and are an important element in poetry. But writers of essays, too, use images to bring ideas down to earth. See also FIGURES OF SPEECH.

4. Notice Momaday’s use of PARALLELISM in describing the visitors to his grandmother’s house (par. 12) — for instance, “They wore…. They rubbed…. They made….” What does the parallelism convey about the people being described?

Parallelism, parallel structure A habit of good writers: keeping related ideas of equal importance in similar grammatical form. A writer may place nouns

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side by side (“Trees and streams are my weekend tonic”) or in a series (“Give me wind, sea, and stars”). Phrases, too, may be arranged in parallel structure (“Out of my bed, into my shoes, up to my classroom — that’s my life”), as may clauses (“Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country”). Parallelism may be found not only in single sentences but in larger units as well. A paragraph might read: “Rhythm is everywhere. It throbs in the rain forests of Brazil. It vibrates ballroom floors in Vienna. It snaps its fingers on street corners in Chicago.” In a whole essay, parallelism may be the principle used to arrange ideas in a balanced or harmonious structure. See the famous speech given by Judy Brady (p. 459), in which paragraphs 4–7 all begin with the words “I want a wife who will” and describe an imagined partner. Not only does such a parallel structure organize ideas, but it also lends them force. See also pages 50 and 176–77.

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Suggestions for Writing 1. FROM JOURNAL TO ESSAY Develop your journal entry (p. 125) into an essay that describes both the person and the place, using concrete and specific details to make the connection between them clear to your readers. 2. Momaday writes about his ancestors and a way of life very different from that of the present. For this assignment you may need to investigate your family’s history. Write an essay that describes your ancestors’ way of life. (Your ancestors may be as recent as your grandparents or as distant as your research allows.) Who were these people? How did they live? How does that way of life differ from the way you and your family live now? Be specific in your description and comparison, providing concrete details and examples for clarity. 3. One of Momaday’s underlying themes in this essay is the difficulties American Indians often face on reservations. Do some research about the conditions of reservation life. Then write an essay in which you report your findings. 4. CRITICAL WRITING In an essay, ANALYZE Momaday’s attitudes toward the Kiowas as revealed in the language he uses to describe them. Support your THESIS (your central idea about Momaday’s attitudes) with specific quotations from the essay.

Analyze, analysis To separate a subject into its parts (analyze), or the act or result of doing so (analysis, also called division). Analysis is a key skill in CRITICAL THINKING, READING, AND WRITING; see pages 16, 18–22, and 24–25. It is also considered a method of development; see Chapter 8. Thesis, thesis statement The central idea in a work of writing (thesis), to which everything else in the work refers; one or more sentences that express that central idea (thesis statement). In some way, each sentence and PARAGRAPH in an effective essay serves to support the thesis and to make it clear and explicit to readers. Good writers, while writing, often set down a thesis statement to help them define their purpose. They also often include this statement in their essay as a promise and a guide to readers. See pages 19, 35–36, 40–41, and the introductions to Chapters 3–12.

5. CONNECTIONS Both Momaday and Manning write about traditions and the evolution of relationships in their families. Write an essay that contrasts the sense of continuity in Manning’s essay with the sense of loss and change in Momaday’s. Are there also similarities in the feelings and influences they describe?

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DIANE ACKERMAN Diane Ackerman is a poet and essayist who writes extensively on the natural world. She was born in Waukegan, Illinois, in 1948 and grew up mostly in gritty Allentown, Pennsylvania. She studied English at Penn State (BA, 1970) and, after completing an MFA (1973) and PhD (1978) at Cornell University, took up travel, college teaching, and constant writing. A former staff writer for The New Yorker, Ackerman is consistently praised for her detailed scientific observations, expressed with a poet’s knack for sensuous language and a child’s sense of wonder. She has published several books of poetry, including The Planets: A Cosmic Pastoral (1976) and I Praise My Destroyer (1998), and more than a dozen works of exuberant nonfiction ranging from memoir to philosophy to anthropology, most notably A Natural History of the Senses (1991) and The Zookeeper’s Wife (2008). Ackerman is also a regular contributor to Smithsonian, National Geographic, Parnassus, and many other magazines and literary journals. She lives in Ithaca, New York, where she is an avid gardener and cyclist.

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Black Marble Ackerman’s latest book, The Human Age: The World Shaped by Us (2014), offers a refreshingly optimistic take on the causes and implications of our changing environment. Suggesting that the world has entered a new geological era and calling it the Anthropocene, or “Human Age,” Ackerman insists that “our relationship with nature has changed … radically, irreversibly, but by no means all for the bad.” In this chapter from the book, she imagines what travelers from outer space might encounter as they approach the Earth — and what we might make of their observations.

As our spaceship enters the roulette wheel of a new solar system, hope starts building its fragile crystals once again. Disappointment has dogged our travels, but we are nomads with restless minds, and this sun resembles our own middle-aged star. Like ours, it rules a tidy jumble of planets looping in atypical orbits, some unfurling a pageant of seasons, others hard-hearted, monotone, and remote. They’re a strange assortment for siblings, with many small straggling hangers-on, but we’ve encountered odder night-fellows, and variety is their lure. One fizzy giant trails dozens of sycophantic moons; another floats inside a white cocoon. We weave between rocky, hard-boiled worlds, swing by a blimp tugging a retinue of jagged moons, dodge the diffuse rubble of asteroids, skirt a hothouse of acid clouds and phantom light. Slowing to a hyperglide, we admire all the dappled colors, mammoth canyons of razor-backed rust, icespewing volcanoes, fountains fifty miles high, hydrocarbon lakes, scarlet welts and scourges, drooling oceans of frozen methane, light daggers, magma flows, sulfur rain, and many other intrigues of climate and geology. Yet there’s no sign of living, breathing life forms anywhere. We are such a lonely species. Maybe this solar system will be the harbor where we find others like ourselves, curious, questing beings of unknown ardor or bloom. Life will have whittled them to fit their world, it doesn’t matter how. One more planet to survey, and then it’s on to the next port of call. On a small water planet flocked over by clouds, sequins sparkle everywhere. Racing toward it with abandon, we give in to its pull, and orbit in step with nightfall shadowing the world, transfixed by the embroidery of gold and white lights — from clusters and ribbons to willful circles and grids. Crafted lights, not natural auroras or lightning, but designed, and too many, too regular, too rare to ignore. In 2003, aboard the Space Station, Don Pettit1 felt his heart pin-wheel whenever he viewed Earth’s cities at night. If only everyone could see Earth like this, he thought, they’d marvel at how far we’ve come, and they’d understand what we share. A born tinkerer, he used spare parts he found in the Space Station to photograph the spinning planet with pristine clarity, as if it were sitting still. When he returned home he stitched the photographs together into a video montage, an orbital tour of Earth’s cities at night, which he posted on YouTube. His voice-over identifies each glowing spiderweb as we sail toward it with him, as if we too were peering out of a Space Station window: “Zurich, Switzerland; Milan, Italy; Madrid, Spain.

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1 Don Pettit (born 1955) is an American astronaut, chemical engineer, and NASA photographer. He worked aboard the International Space Station from November 2002 to May 2003. – Eds.

“Cities at night are caught in a triangle,” he says with awe tugging at his voice, “between culture, geography, and technology…. Cities in Europe display a characteristic network of roads that radiate outwards…. London, with a tour down the English coast to Bristol. Cairo, Egypt, with the Nile River seen as a dark shape running south to north, the Pyramids of Giza are well lit at night … Tel Aviv on the left, Jerusalem on the right …” Glowing gold, green, and yellow, the Middle Eastern cities seem especially lustrous. He points out India’s hallmark — village lights dotted over the countryside, softly glowing as through a veil. Then we fly above Manila, where geometrical lights define the waterfront. The dragon-shaped lights of Hong Kong flutter under us, and the southeast tip of South Korea. In the welling darkness of the Korea Strait, a band of dazzling white grains is a fleet of fishing boats shining high-intensity xenon lamps as lures. “There’s Tokyo, Brisbane, the San Francisco Bay, Houston,” Pettit notes. We don’t intend our cities to be so beautiful from space. They’re humanity’s electric fingerprints on the planet, the chrome-yellow energy that flows through city veins. Dwarfed by the infinite dome of space with its majestic coliseum of stars, we’ve created our own constellations on the ground and named them after our triumphs, enterprises, myths, and leaders. Copenhagen (“Merchants Harbor”), Amsterdam (“A Dam on the Amstel River”), Ottawa (“Traders”), Bogotá (“Planted Fields”), Cotonou (“Mouth of the River of Death”), Canberra (“Meeting Place”), Fleissenberg (“Castle of Diligence”), Ouagadougou (“Where People Get Honor and Respect”), Athens (City of Athena, Greek goddess of wisdom). We play out our lives amid a festival of lights. The story the lights tell would be unmistakable to any space traveler: some bold life form has crisscrossed the planet with an exuberance of cities, favoring settlements along the coast and beside flowing water, and connecting them all with a labyrinth of brilliantly lit roads, so that even without a map the outlines of the continents loom and you can spot the meandering rivers. The silent message of this spectacle is timely, strange, and wonderful. We’ve tattooed the planet with our doings. Our handiwork is visible everywhere, which NASA has captured with graphic poignancy in Black Marble, its December 7, 2012, portrait of Earth ablaze at night. A companion to the famous Blue Marble photograph of Earth that appeared forty years ago, this radical new self-portrait promises to awaken and inspire us just as mightily. On December 7, 1972, the crew of Apollo 17, the last manned lunar mission, shot the Blue Marble photograph of the whole Earth floating against the black velvet of space. Africa and Europe were eye-catching under swirling white clouds, but the predominant color was blue. This was the one picture from the Apollo missions that dramatically expanded our way of thinking. It showed us how small the planet is in the vast sprawl of space, how entwined and spontaneous its habitats are. Despite all the wars and hostilities, when viewed from space Earth had no national borders, no military zones, no visible fences. One could see how storm systems swirling above the Amazon might affect the grain yield half a planet away in China. An Indian Ocean hurricane, swirling at the top of the photo, had pummeled India with whirlwinds and floods only two days before. Because it was nearly winter solstice, the white lantern of Antarctica glowed. The entire atmosphere of the planet — all the air we breathe, the sky we fly through, even the ozone layer — was visible 294

as the thinnest rind. Released during a time of growing environmental concern, it became an emblem of global consciousness, the most widely distributed photo in human history. It gave us an image to float in the lagoon of the mind’s eye. It helped us embrace something too immense to focus on as a single intricately known and intricately unknown organism. Now we could see Earth in one eye-gulp, the way we gaze on a loved one. We could paste the image into our Homo sapiens family album. Here was a view of every friend, every loved one and acquaintance, every path ever traveled, all together in one place. No wonder it adorned so many college dorm rooms. As the ultimate group portrait, it helped us understand our global kinship and cosmic address. It proclaimed our shared destiny. NASA’s new image of city lights, a panorama of the continents emblazoned with pulsating beacons, startles and transforms our gaze once again. Ours is the only planet in our solar system that glitters at night. Earth is 4.5 billion years old, and for eons the nighttime planet was dark. In a little over two hundred years we’ve wired up the world and turned on the lights, as if we signed the planet in luminous ink. In another forty years our scrawl won’t look the same. There are so many of us who find urban life magnetic that our cities no longer simply sprawl — they’ve begun to grow exponentially. Millions of us pack up, leave jobs and neighbors behind, and migrate to the city every year, joining nearly two-thirds of all the people on Earth. In the future, more and more clusters will appear, with even wider lattices and curtains of lights connecting them. Many display our curious tastes and habits. A harlequin thread drawn from Moscow to Vladivostok and dipping into China is the Trans-Siberian Railway. A golden streak through a profound darkness, the Nile River pours between the Aswan Dam and the Mediterranean Sea. A trellis connecting bright dots is the US interstate highway system. The whole continent of Antarctica is still invisible at night. The vast deserts of Mongolia, Africa, Arabia, Australia, and the United States look almost as dark. So, too, teeming jungles in Africa and South America, the colossal arc of the Himalayas, and the rich northern forests of Canada and Russia. But shopping centers and seaports sizzle with light, as if they’re frying electrons. The single brightest spot on the entire planet isn’t Jerusalem or the Pyramids of Giza, though those do sparkle, but a more secular temple of neon, the Las Vegas Strip. Newer settlements in the American West tend to be boxy, with streets that bolt north-south and eastwest, before trickling into darkness at the fringes of town. In big cities like Tokyo, the crooked, meandering lines of the oldest neighborhoods glow mantis-green from mercury vapor streetlights, while the newer streets wrapped around them shine orange from modern sodium vapor lamps. Our shimmering cities tell all (including us) that Earth’s inhabitants are thinkers, builders and rearrangers who like to bunch together in hivelike settlements, and for some reason — bad night vision, primal fear, sheer vanity, to scare predators, or as a form of group adornment — we bedeck them all with garlands of light.

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Journal Writing Imagine you’re an alien visiting Earth for the first time, and that the spaceship has touched down in the neighborhood you currently occupy (or, if you prefer, in a region you have lived in or visited in the past). Look around and describe what you find, absorbing as much as you can and taking nothing for granted. Consider, for instance, the area’s physical attributes, any movements you perceive, subtle or overpowering scents, the weather, and any human alterations to the natural surroundings such as roads, buildings, and power lines. Jot down your impressions in your journal.

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Questions on Meaning 1. What DOMINANT IMPRESSION does Ackerman create of the Earth as viewed from space at night?

Dominant impression The main idea a writer conveys about a subject through DESCRIPTION — that an elephant is gigantic, for example, or an experience scary. See Chapter 4.

2. What would you say is Ackerman’s PURPOSE in this essay? Does she express her purpose in a THESIS STATEMENT, or is it implied?

Thesis, thesis statement The central idea in a work of writing (thesis), to which everything else in the work refers; one or more sentences that express that central idea (thesis statement). In some way, each sentence and PARAGRAPH in an effective essay serves to support the thesis and to make it clear and explicit to readers. Good writers, while writing, often set down a thesis statement to help them define their purpose. They also often include this statement in their essay as a promise and a guide to readers. See pages 19, 35–36, 40–41, and the introductions to Chapters 3–12. Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing. In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages 19, 31–32, and 40.

3. What does Ackerman mean when she says in paragraph 2, “Life will have whittled them to fit their world, it doesn’t matter how”? Where in the essay does she return to this notion, and why? 4. In what ways does light serve as a SYMBOL for Ackerman?

Symbol A visible object or action that suggests further meaning. The flag suggests country; the crown suggests royalty — these are conventional symbols familiar to us. Life abounds in such clear-cut symbols. Football teams use dolphins and rams for easy identification; married couples symbolize their union with a ring. In writing, symbols usually do not have such a one-to-one correspondence, but evoke a whole constellation of associations. In Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick, the whale suggests more than the large mammal it is. It hints at evil, obsession, and the untamable forces of nature. Such a symbol carries meanings too complex or elusive to be neatly defined. Although more common in fiction and poetry, symbols can be used to good purpose in nonfiction because they often communicate an idea in a compact and concrete way.

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Questions on Writing Strategy 1. Reread the first four paragraphs of the essay closely. What sense do you make of Ackerman’s introduction? What is the EFFECT of opening the way she does? 2. How does Ackerman organize her description?

Effect The result of an event or action, usually considered together with CAUSE as a method of development. See the discussion of cause and effect in Chapter 10. In discussing writing, the term effect also refers to the impression a word, a sentence, a paragraph, or an entire work makes on the reader: how convincing it is, whether it elicits an emotional response, what associations it conjures up, and so on.

3. What does Ackerman seem to ASSUME about the interests and knowledge of her AUDIENCE? To what extent do you fit her assumptions?

Assume, assumption To take something for granted (assume), or a belief or opinion taken for granted (assumption). Whether stated or unstated, assumptions influence a writer’s choices of subject, viewpoint, EVIDENCE and even language. See also pages 17 and 410. Audience A writer’s readers. Having in mind a particular audience helps the writer in choosing strategies, such as which method(s) to use, what details to include, and how to shape an ARGUMENT. You can increase your awareness of your audience by asking yourself a few questions before you begin to write. Who are to be your readers? What is their age level? background? education? Where do they live? What are their beliefs and attitudes? What interests them? What, if anything, sets them apart from most people? How familiar are they with your subject? Knowing your audience can help you write so that your readers will not only understand you better but care more deeply about what you say. See also pages 20, 30, and 407.

4. Ackerman’s description is based on viewing online SOURCES. What are they? What strategies does she use to SYNTHESIZE information and ideas from her sources without losing her own voice? How well does she succeed?

Synthesize, synthesis To link elements into a whole (synthesize), or the act or result of doing so (synthesis). In CRITICAL THINKING, READING, AND WRITING, synthesis is the key step during which you use your own perspective to reassemble a work you have ANALYZED or to connect the work with others. (See pp. 17 and 25.) Synthesis is a hallmark of ACADEMIC WRITING in which you respond to others’ work or use multiple sources to support your ideas. (See pp. 46–47 and 496–98.)

5. OTHER METHODS Where in the essay does Ackerman use COMPARISON AND CONTRAST to explain her meaning to readers? What does the method contribute to her essay?

Comparison and contrast Two methods of development usually found together. Using them, a writer examines the similarities and differences between two things to reveal their natures. See Chapter 6.

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Questions on Language 1. Ackerman uses an abundance of FIGURES OF SPEECH in this essay, most notably metaphor, but also simile and personification. Find at least two or three examples of each and comment on their effectiveness.

Figures of speech Expressions that depart from the literal meanings of words for the sake of emphasis or vividness. To say “She’s a jewel” doesn’t mean that the subject of praise is literally a kind of shining stone; the statement makes sense because the CONNOTATIONS of jewel come to mind: rare, priceless, worth cherishing. Some figures of speech involve comparisons of two objects apparently unlike: A simile (from the Latin, “likeness”) states the comparison directly, usually connecting the two things using like, as, or than: “The moon is like a snowball”; “He’s as lazy as a cat full of cream”; “My feet are flatter than flyswatters.” A metaphor (from the Greek, “transfer”) declares one thing to be another: “A mighty fortress is our God”; “The sheep were bolls of cotton on the hill.” (A dead metaphor is a word or phrase that, originally a figure of speech, has come to be literal through common usage: “the hands of a clock.”) Personification is a simile or metaphor that assigns human traits to inanimate objects or abstractions: “A stoopshouldered refrigerator hummed quietly to itself”; “The solution to the math problem sat there winking at me.” Other figures of speech consist of deliberate misrepresentations: Hyperbole (from the Greek, “throwing beyond”) is a conscious exaggeration: “I’m so hungry I could eat a saddle”; “I’d wait for you a thousand years.” The opposite of hyperbole, understatement, creates an ironic or humorous effect: “I accepted the ride. At the moment, I didn’t feel like walking across the Mojave Desert.” A paradox (from the Greek, “conflicting with expectation”) is a seemingly self-contradictory statement that, on reflection, makes sense: “Children are the poor person’s wealth” (wealth can be monetary, or it can be spiritual). Paradox may also refer to a situation that is inexplicable or contradictory, such as the restriction of one group’s rights in order to secure the rights of another group.

2. How would you characterize Ackerman’s DICTION and TONE? Is her language appropriate given her subject? Why, or why not?

Diction The choice of words. Every written or spoken statement uses diction of some kind. To describe certain aspects of diction, the following terms may be useful: Standard English: the common American language, words, and grammatical forms that are used and expected in schools, businesses, and other formal sites. Nonstandard English: words and grammatical forms such as theirselves and ain’t that are used mainly by people who speak a dialect other than standard English. Dialect: a variety of English based on differences in geography, education, or social background. Dialect is usually spoken but may be written. Shirley Jackson’s story in Chapter 3 transcribes the words of dialect speakers (“ ‘I looked out the window and the kids was gone, and then I remembered it was the twenty-seventh and came a-running’ ”). Slang: certain words in highly informal speech or writing, or in the speech of a particular group — for example, blow off, dweeb, wack. Colloquial expressions: words and phrases from conversation. See COLLOQUIAL EXPRESSIONS for examples. Regional terms: words heard in a certain locality, such as spritzing for “raining” in Pennsylvania Dutch country. Technical terms: words and phrases that form the vocabulary of a particular discipline (monocotyledon from botany), occupation (drawplate from die-making), or avocation (interval training from running). See also JARGON. Archaisms: old-fashioned expressions, once common but now used to suggest an earlier style, such as ere and forsooth. Obsolete diction: words that have passed out of use (such as the verb werien, “to protect or defend,” and the noun

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isetnesses, “agreements”). Obsolete may also refer to certain meanings of words no longer current (fond for foolish, clipping for hugging or embracing). Pretentious diction: use of words more numerous and elaborate than necessary, such as institution of higher learning for “college,” and partake of solid nourishment for “eat.” Archaic, obsolete, and pretentious diction usually have no place in good writing unless for ironic or humorous effect: The journalist and critic H. L. Mencken delighted in the hifalutin use of tonsorial studio instead of barber shop. Still, any diction may be the right diction for a certain occasion: The choice of words depends on a writer’s PURPOSE and AUDIENCE. Tone The way a writer expresses his or her regard for subject, AUDIENCE, or self. Through word choice, sentence structures, and what is actually said, the writer conveys an attitude and sets a prevailing spirit. Tone in writing varies as greatly as tone of voice varies in conversation. It can be serious, distant, flippant, angry, enthusiastic, sincere, sympathetic. Whatever tone a writer chooses, usually it informs an entire essay and helps a reader decide how to respond. For examples of strong tone, see the essays by Diane Ackerman, Brian Doyle, Jessica Mitford, David Sedaris, Russell Baker, Chitra Divakaruni, Tal Fortgang, and Judy Brady. See also page 416.

3. Ackerman uses a number of words that may not be familiar to you. Consult a dictionary if you need help defining the following: nomads, atypical, sycophantic, retinue, diffuse (par. 1); hyperglide, hydrocarbon, scourges, magma, ardor (2); transfixed, auroras (4); pristine, orbital (5); lustrous, xenon (7); coliseum, enterprises, exuberance, labyrinth (9); poignancy (10); lunar, entwined, solstice, ozone (11); lagoon, Homo sapiens (12); luminous, exponentially, lattices, harlequin, colossal, secular (13); mantis (14); primal (15). From what field(s) of academic study does much of her vocabulary derive?

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Suggestions for Writing 1. FROM JOURNAL TO ESSAY Working from your journal entry (p. 131), write an essay that describes a particular aspect of your corner of the planet Earth from the perspective of someone experiencing it for the first time. Draw on as many of the five senses as you like, but make your description as lively as possible, letting your feelings influence your selection of details, what you say about them, and the dominant impression you create. 2. Go online and find the Blue Marble and Black Marble photographs that Ackerman describes so subjectively. Pick one (or both) of the photographs, and in a paragraph or essay of your own, describe it as objectively as possible, leaving emotions out of your description and focusing on the observable details. 3. CRITICAL WRITING Using your response to the first Question on Language (p. 131) as a starting point, analyze Ackerman’s use of sensory IMAGES in “Black Marble.” How does the abundant imagery and figurative language help convey her ideas about a changing environment? What else do the images contribute to the essay?

Image A word or word sequence that evokes a sensory experience. Whether literal (“We picked two red apples”) or figurative (“His cheeks looked like two red apples, buffed and shining”), an image appeals to the reader’s memory of seeing, hearing, smelling, touching, or tasting. Images add concreteness to fiction — “The farm looked as tiny and still as a seashell, with the little knob of a house surrounded by its curved furrows of tomato plants” (Eudora Welty in a short story, “The Whistle”) — and are an important element in poetry. But writers of essays, too, use images to bring ideas down to earth. See also FIGURES OF SPEECH.

4. CONNECTIONS Like Ackerman, National Geographic, in “Wild Weather” (p. 330), Randall Munroe, in “Everybody Jump” (p. 352), and Margaret Lundberg, in “Eating Green” (p. 514) address the issue of human impacts on the planet. While Ackerman suggests such impacts might be beneficial, Munroe believes they are negligible, Lundberg asserts that they are damaging, and National Geographic implies they are catastrophic. What do you think? Write a brief essay about your view of one aspect of the environment. Do you regard energy consumption, carbon emissions, climate change, overpopulation, or dwindling natural resources as critical problems? Do you believe that governments are taking adequate steps to protect the environment? Do you believe that the actions of individuals can make a difference? Your essay may but need not be an ARGUMENT: That is, you could explain your answer to any of these questions or argue a specific point. Either way, choose a narrow focus and use examples and details to support your ideas, drawing on evidence from any of these selections as appropriate.

Argument A mode of writing intended to win readers’ agreement with an assertion by engaging their powers of reasoning. Argument often overlaps PERSUASION. See Chapter 12.

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SVEN BIRKERTS Born in Pontiac, Michigan, in 1951 to immigrants from Latvia, Sven Birkerts grew up near Detroit “wrestling,” as he once put it, “with the ghosts of another culture.” For much of his childhood he heard only Latvian at home and was regularly regaled with stories of a happier life in northern Europe before World War II. Birkerts was a voracious reader in his youth and studied literature at the University of Michigan, earning a bachelor’s degree in 1973. He stumbled on his career as a literary critic in the early 1980s while working as a bookstore clerk. On a whim he wrote a review of a novel for his own enjoyment and submitted it to a journal; to his surprise the amateur effort led to regular assignments. Birkerts’s essays have been collected in several volumes, starting with An Artificial Wilderness: Essays on Twentieth-Century Literature (1987) and including The Gutenberg Elegies: The Fate of Reading in an Electronic Age (1994), The Art of Time in Memoir: Then, Again (2008), The Other Walk (2011), and Changing the Subject: Art and Attention in the Internet Age (2015). He has also taught college writing and is a co-author of two literature textbooks. Often praised for his lack of pretention, Birkerts is known for his skill at distilling complex thoughts into simple prose. He lives in Arlington, Massachusetts, a suburb of Boston.

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Ladder Birkerts’s book The Other Walk (2011) mixes critical analysis and personal reflection and was praised by Publisher’s Weekly for “the humor and insights conveyed in [its] enchanting and well-crafted essays,” such as the one we include here. In “Ladder,” Birkerts describes with precision and embarrassment what it felt like to discover a crippling phobia at a most inopportune time.

It was already there when I came around the side of the house. I saw it in that sidelong way you register one thing while looking for another. I was trying to find the man I’d spoken to on the phone, who had hired me for the day, and there he was, cross-legged on the grass, wearing a bright white T-shirt, with a full head of silvery hair, camera hair, though he didn’t really look like the kind of older man who would go to all the trouble. But maybe he was, because when he heard me coming and turned full-face I saw he was handsome, lady-killer handsome the way some older men are, and these men are always vain. He was cleaning paintbrushes — they were neatly lined up on a sheet of newspaper — and he didn’t get up. He had stronglooking arms, maybe even an old-style tattoo. I was looking, staring, at his face, but not so distracted that I didn’t take in the other thing. Off to my right, propped up against the side of the house, going up and up in sections, was the tallest ladder I’d ever seen. I felt a bump in my stomach. I hadn’t even really turned yet, or followed the ladder up into the light to see where the ends were propped against the highest gable. I was still making my way across the grass, and the man, I don’t remember his name anymore, was squinting up and saluting me, or maybe lifting his arm to block the sun, saying, “Here to do some work?” I nodded and said I was. That was the deal. I’d been living on the edge all winter in our little seaside Maine town, buying dented canned goods at discount and even signing on one day with my girlfriend, Sally, to deliver phone books in nearby Biddeford, the mill town in which every other person was named Pelletier or Thibodeaux — and we were required to check off the right recipient and address. Thibodeaux, Thibodeaux, Thibodeaux … We quit after a day. Next I’d put up a sign in our little cracker-box post office offering my odd-job services for a laughably low hourly rate. My logic: who could resist? And now it was one of the first real spring days and this man had called with a job, and my attention was evenly split between the shock of his seasoned movie-star looks and my growing awareness of that ladder. Did I already know how it was with me and heights? How could I not? I was in my early twenties and had done enough playing in trees and high places as a kid to have an idea. I’d always been a reluctant climber, though maybe I’d later chalked it off as a fear outgrown — as if a decade of not testing the edge would have made it go away. I don’t know. I only know that the man — my boss — walked me over to where the ladder stood flat on its grips and showed me my bucket and brushes and handed me a rag that I tucked into my belt. But just before he did that — this comes back with close-up clarity — he reached his thumb and forefinger into the two corners of his mouth and took out his teeth. Out. The whole apparatus. He pulled it from his mouth and held it up like one of those party jokes that you wind with a key. I looked away — I felt embarrassed — and when I glanced back I must have done a double take. Impossible. His face had completely fallen in on itself — the strong jaw was gone, the mouth was crimped like the top of a string bag. I watched as he bent down and set the teeth on another sheet of newspaper in the grass. When he straightened up, I was face-to-face with an old man with a thick, groomed head of silver hair. I don’t know if he had any idea of the effect he had just achieved. He was standing with me by the ladder,

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telling me to make sure I got enough paint onto the wood, and I was nodding, agreeing, and already registering — I’m sure of it — that first nervous heaviness in my legs, and that tightness in the chest that starts you drawing deep breaths as if a good deep rush of air will make everything better. And then I was on the ladder, starting, a few rungs up, hauling the bucket with my left hand, the shore in sight, the ground still an easy jump. I had that instinct, or instruction, picked up somewhere, to keep my gaze straight ahead, taking in the lapping shingles row by row, the voice that said, “Don’t look, just climb.” Which I did, so carefully, every bit of my focus on my legs and hands, and on keeping the line of the vertical steady — no twists or turns, just plant the foot on the rung and pull with my one free arm, the right arm, the other gripping the bucket, which I was to hang on a hook next to where I painted — and I was already telling myself the facts of the matter, that people did this all the time, everywhere; that the ladder was strong, well planted at the base; and that little wobbles would naturally be magnified as sensations, that there was no real danger, and that even if I were to fall — I would not fall — it would be nothing more than a bad bump and some embarrassment at this point. So I stepped and pulled and steadied and watched myself in slow blurry sections pass by the frame of the first big window, which I knew was about halfway up. But here the ordinary sequence stops. This upward progress was not happening in units anymore, never mind the rungs lined up ahead of me. Somewhere between one step and another the time stream balked, then stopped and started backing up. Every movement was suddenly breaking into its parts, the one arm aware of itself lifting, wrapping its fingers around the metal of the next rung, the other hand feeling in its joints the cut of the handle, the weight of the bucket, the weathered shingles mere inches away now gathering into the clearest detail: nail heads, streaks and smears and hardened little droplets of ancient paint, the ribbing of the wood grain visible under the color. “Don’t look down, just climb.” And I could feel it then, on my skin, up the armholes, the April wind, sweetly cool even in the spots of full sun, which I knew without looking was moving in and out behind the clouds. The moment of the shift. It comes now. I hear myself breathing and realize that I’ve stopped. I don’t remember stopping, but all at once I know that I’ve been staring and staring at the same few warps and scratches. How long? I don’t know. The window below me rattles in the breeze, I hear it. Suddenly I can’t help myself: I turn my head just slightly to the left and I look down. Mainly to see if the man, my boss, is still there somewhere, but also because I need to know where I am. I feel a kind of thud as the scene clicks in. Ground, grass. He’s not anywhere on the left side. Nor — I’ve moved my head so carefully, as if that little action could make a difference — on the other. The lawn falls away in either direction, empty. I am halfway up the side of the tallest house I’ve ever seen, and I’m alone. And that little twist of the neck was like breaking the seal. The calm, the focus, whatever story I was telling myself up here, is gone. I take in the great wide lawn, and over there, tiny as a kit for dolls, the newspaper with its row of tiny brushes lined up, and one corner flipping up in the breeze. That repeating movement makes me feel sick, that and the ground all at once so far away, the wind now pulling at the back of my shirt, and I feel the fingers of my right hand tighten their grasp and my chest and stomach push in harder against the rungs. What have I done? I can’t unsee the distance down, or lose the sense of the ladder shrinking away to nothing below me and above me. My hand hurts where I hold the metal, and now my knees go soft, just like that. I have the weight of the bucket in my other hand. For the first time I think, Let it go, just drop it — drop it and reach up with that hand, as if maybe with both hands gripping I can make it down. But somehow I can’t make myself loosen my hold on the bucket, or do anything. Except close my eyes. Close my eyes and start to count, slowly: One 305

thousand one, one thousand two … I don’t know how high I get, but after enough numbers I feel something in me settle, I say to myself, OK now, and as I say that I get my fingers to go loose, and then without ever taking them away from the ladder I slide them, along the rung to the right-hand side, and then down the metal slowly, clutching between thumb and forefinger, until I reach the nearer rung, which I grab, and as I do that I let my left leg loose to find the lower support, and this I find, and lower the other leg, foot, shuddering my torso inch by inch down along the rungs, and again repeating the whole sequence, gaining just the first slight ease as the ground lifts slightly toward me, again, again, until I reach the first rung and take the backward step to earth, almost crazy with reaching it, bending to set the bucket down, letting go my other grip and straightening slowly up … and only then becoming aware of the man standing right in back of me. He’s arrived from somewhere, and I know he’s seen the whole of it, and at the same time I can feel that the fingers of my left hand, free from the clutch and the weight, are shaking. But I have no doubt, no question. Standing there, I notice where the shadows — mine, his — break from the grass against the side of the house, and I say to him without turning around, “I can’t go up that high. I didn’t know it before.” I wait for a moment. When I finally turn and meet his eye, he shrugs, saying basically, What can you do? He’s wearing a painter’s cap now, flecked with white paint, and I see that he has put the teeth back in — and he looks good, not quite Paul Newman,1 but very handsome. Obviously a lady-killer.

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1 Paul Newman (1925–2008) was a movie actor famous for striking good looks that seemed to improve as he aged. — EDS.

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Journal Writing Using Birkerts’s essay as a springboard, consider any irrational fears that you may have. Are you afraid of heights, for instance, or snakes or spiders or tight spaces? Does any one instance involving your phobia stand out in your memory? Write about the experience in your journal.

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Questions on Meaning 1. How would you describe the writer’s PURPOSE in this essay? What DOMINANT IMPRESSION does Birkerts create?

Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing. In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages 19, 31–32, and 40. Dominant impression The main idea a writer conveys about a subject through DESCRIPTION — that an elephant is gigantic, for example, or an experience scary. See Chapter 4.

2. In describing turning his head while high up during his climb, Birkert says, “that little twist of the neck was like breaking the seal” (par. 4)? What do you think he means? What phenomenon does “breaking the seal” ALLUDE to?

Allude, allusion To refer to a person, place, or thing believed to be common knowledge (allude), or the act or result of doing so (allusion). An allusion may point to a famous event, a familiar saying, a noted personality, or a well-known story or song. Usually brief, an allusion is a space-saving way to convey much meaning. For example, the statement “The game was Coach Johnson’s Waterloo” informs the reader that, like Napoleon meeting defeat in a celebrated battle, the coach led a confrontation resulting in his downfall and that of his team. If the writer is also showing Johnson’s character, the allusion might further tell us that the coach is a man of Napoleonic ambition and pride. To make an effective allusion, you have to ensure that it will be clear to your audience. Not every reader, for example, would understand an allusion to a neighbor, to a seventeenth-century Russian harpsichordist, or to a little-known stock-car driver.

3. Why did the author seek out odd jobs like a day of house painting? How do those circumstances hint at the deeper implications of his fear? 4. Why is Birkerts terrified by the ladder? What does it represent to him?

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Questions on Writing Strategy 1. What strategy does Birkerts use to connect with his readers? How well does he succeed, in your estimation? 2. What point of view does Birkerts take, and how does he arrange the details of his description? 3. What is the intended effect of the unusually long final paragraph? 4. OTHER METHODS Where does Birkerts use COMPARISON AND CONTRAST? What do these passages contribute to the essay?

Comparison and contrast Two methods of development usually found together. Using them, a writer examines the similarities and differences between two things to reveal their natures. See Chapter 6.

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Questions on Language 1. Consult a dictionary if you are unsure of the meaning of any of the following: sidelong, vain, gable (par. 1); lapping (3); balked (4). 2. In paragraph 1 Birkerts describes his boss as “lady-killer handsome.” What does that mean? Where in his essay does Birkerts come back to this idea, and what is the EFFECT of the repetition?

Effect The result of an event or action, usually considered together with CAUSE as a method of development. See the discussion of cause and effect in Chapter 10. In discussing writing, the term effect also refers to the impression a word, a sentence, a paragraph, or an entire work makes on the reader: how convincing it is, whether it elicits an emotional response, what associations it conjures up, and so on.

3. Point to a few instances in the essay that make particularly effective use of CONCRETE details and sensory IMAGES to convey Birkerts’s feelings.

Concrete See ABSTRACT AND CONCRETE. Image A word or word sequence that evokes a sensory experience. Whether literal (“We picked two red apples”) or figurative (“His cheeks looked like two red apples, buffed and shining”), an image appeals to the reader’s memory of seeing, hearing, smelling, touching, or tasting. Images add concreteness to fiction — “The farm looked as tiny and still as a seashell, with the little knob of a house surrounded by its curved furrows of tomato plants” (Eudora Welty in a short story, “The Whistle”) — and are an important element in poetry. But writers of essays, too, use images to bring ideas down to earth. See also FIGURES OF SPEECH.

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Suggestions for Writing 1. FROM JOURNAL TO ESSAY Write an essay on the experience you explored in your journal, using SUBJECTIVE description to convey the effect a phobia had on you.

Subjective See OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE.

2. Have you ever initiated a course of action but then, as events unfolded, lost control of the situation? What happened, and how did you respond? Write a NARRATIVE essay in which you relate your experience.

Narration, narrative The mode of writing (narration) that tells a story (narrative). See Chapter 3.

3. Think of some job you have held, whether something temporary like a day of house painting or more structured work for a regular employer. What was the job? Did you do it because you wanted to, because you needed the income, or for some other reason? How do you feel about working? Write about your work experience, using PROCESS ANALYSIS to explain the mechanics of the job to a new or future employee. Or, if you wish, use description and narration to convey the effect the experience had on you. 4. CRITICAL WRITING In an essay, ANALYZE the image that Birkerts presents of himself. Consider specific examples of his language and TONE, along with what he says about himself and his implied attitude toward traditional measures of masculinity.

Analyze, analysis To separate a subject into its parts (analyze), or the act or result of doing so (analysis, also called division). Analysis is a key skill in CRITICAL THINKING, READING, AND WRITING; see pages 16, 18–22, and 24–25. It is also considered a method of development; see Chapter 8. Tone The way a writer expresses his or her regard for subject, AUDIENCE, or self. Through word choice, sentence structures, and what is actually said, the writer conveys an attitude and sets a prevailing spirit. Tone in writing varies as greatly as tone of voice varies in conversation. It can be serious, distant, flippant, angry, enthusiastic, sincere, sympathetic. Whatever tone a writer chooses, usually it informs an entire essay and helps a reader decide how to respond. For examples of strong tone, see the essays by Diane Ackerman, Brian Doyle, Jessica Mitford, David Sedaris, Russell Baker, Chitra Divakaruni, Tal Fortgang, and Judy Brady. See also page 416.

5. CONNECTIONS Both Sven Birkerts’s “Ladder” and the pair of students essays on trigger warnings in Chapter 12 (pp. 426–435) examine how anxiety can interfere with completing an important task. Write an essay that considers the extent to which attitude affects a person’s ability to cope with fears and worries, using these three essays and your own experience for examples and EVIDENCE.

Evidence The details that support an argument or an explanation, including facts, examples, and expert opinions. A writer’s opinions and GENERALIZATIONS must rest upon evidence. See pages 408–09.

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ADDITIONAL WRITING TOPICS Description 1. Try this in-class writing experiment. Describe another person in the room so clearly and unmistakably that when you read your description aloud, your subject will be recognized. (Be OBJECTIVE. No insulting descriptions, please!)

Objective and subjective Kinds of writing that differ in emphasis. In objective writing the emphasis falls on the topic; in subjective writing it falls on the writer’s view of the topic. Objective writing occurs in factual journalism, science reports, certain PROCESS ANALYSES (such as recipes, directions, and instructions), and logical arguments in which the writer attempts to downplay personal feelings and opinions. Subjective writing sets forth the writer’s feelings, opinions, and interpretations. It occurs in friendly letters, journals, bylined feature stories and columns in periodicals, personal essays, andARGUMENTS that appeal to emotion. Few essays, however, contain one kind of writing exclusive of the other.

2. Write a paragraph describing one subject from each of the following categories. It will be up to you to make the general subject refer to a particular person, place, or thing. Write at least one paragraph as an objective description and at least one as a SUBJECTIVE description.

Subjective See OBJECTIVE AND SUBJECTIVE.

PERSON

THING

A friend or roommate

A city or rural bus

A rap, pop, or country musician

A favorite toy or gadget

A parent or grandparent

A painting or photograph

A child you know

A foggy day

A prominent politician

A season of the year

A historical figure

A musical instrument

PLACE An office A classroom A college campus A peaceful spot A waiting room A lake or pond 3. In a brief essay, describe your ideal place — perhaps an apartment or dorm room, a home office, a restaurant, a gym, a store, a garden, a dance club, a theater. With concrete details, try to make the ideal seem actual.

Narration and Description 4. Use a combination of NARRATION and description to develop any one of the following topics, or a topic they suggest for you:

Narration, narrative The mode of writing (narration) that tells a story (narrative). See Chapter 3.

Your first day on the job or at college A vacation

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Returning to an old neighborhood Getting lost An encounter with a wild animal Delivering bad (or good) news

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5 EXAMPLE Pointing to Instances

Examples in a cartoon This cartoon by Glen Le Lievre, first published in The New Yorker, uses the method of example in a complex way. Most simply, the drawings propose instances of the general category stated in the title — imaginary “low-energy drinks.” At the same time, the humor of the examples comes from their contrast with real caffeine-laced high-energy drinks such as Red Bull, Monster Energy, Xtreme Shock Fruit Punch, and Zippfizz Liquid Shot. Whom are these drinks marketed to? (Consider visiting a grocery store or a gas station minimart to see some samples up close.) Whom does their marketing ignore? How would you express the general idea of Le Lievre’s cartoon?

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THE METHOD “There have been many women runners of distinction,” a writer begins, and quickly goes on, “among them Joan Benoit Samuelson, Florence Griffith Joyner, Grete Waitz, Uta Pippig, and Marla Runyan.” You have just seen examples at work. An

EXAMPLE

(from the Latin exemplum: “one thing selected from

among many”) is an instance that reveals a whole type. By selecting an example, a writer shows the nature or character of the group from which it is taken. In a written essay, examples will often serve to illustrate a general statement, or

GENERALIZATION.

Here, for instance, the writer Linda Wolfe makes a point about the

food fetishes of Roman emperors (Domitian and Claudius ruled in the first century AD).

Example Also called exemplification or illustration, a method of development in which the writer provides instances of a general idea. See Chapter 5. An example is a verbal illustration. Generalization A statement about a class based on an examination of some of its members: “Lions are fierce.” The more members examined and the more representative they are of the class, the sturdier the generalization. The statement “Solar energy saves home owners money” would be challenged by home owners who have yet to recover their installation costs. “Solar energy can save home owners money in the long run” would be a sounder generalization. Insufficient or nonrepresentative EVIDENCE

often leads to a hasty generalization, such as “All freshmen hate their roommates” or

“Men never express their feelings.” Words such as all, every, only, never, and always have to be used with care: “Some men don’t express their feelings” is more credible. Making a trustworthy generalization involves the use of INDUCTIVE REASONING (discussed on pp. 410–411).

The emperors used their gastronomical concerns to indicate their contempt of the country and the whole task of governing it. Domitian humiliated his cabinet by forcing them to attend him at his villa to help solve a serious problem. When they arrived he kept them waiting for hours. The problem, it finally appeared, was that the emperor had just purchased a giant fish, too large for any dish he owned, and he needed the learned brains of his ministers to decide whether the fish should be minced or whether a larger pot should be sought. The emperor Claudius one day rode hurriedly to the Senate and demanded they deliberate the importance of a life without pork. Another time he sat in his tribunal ostensibly administering justice but actually allowing the litigants to argue and orate while he grew dreamy, interrupting the discussions only to announce, “Meat pies are wonderful. We shall have them for dinner.”

Wolfe might have allowed the opening sentence of her paragraph — the

TOPIC SENTENCE

— to remain a

vague generalization. Instead, she supports it with three examples, each a brief story of an emperor’s contemptuous behavior. With these examples, Wolfe not only explains and supports her generalization but also animates it.

Topic sentence The statement of the central idea in a PARAGRAPH, usually asserting one aspect of an essay’s

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THESIS.

Often the topic sentence will appear at (or near) the beginning of the paragraph,

announcing the idea and beginning its development. Because all other sentences in the paragraph explain and support this central idea, the topic sentence is a way to create UNITY.

The method of giving examples — of illustrating what you’re saying with a “for instance” — is not merely helpful to all kinds of writing; it is essential. Writers who bore us, or lose us completely, often have an ample supply of ideas; their trouble is that they never pull their ideas down from the clouds. A dull writer, for instance, might declare, “The emperors used food to humiliate their governments,” and then, instead of giving examples, go on, “They also manipulated their families,” or something — adding still another large, unillustrated idea. Specific examples are needed elements in effective prose. Not only do they make ideas understandable, but they also keep readers from falling asleep.

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THE PROCESS

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The Generalization and the Thesis Examples illustrate a generalization, such as Linda Wolfe’s opening statement about the Roman emperors. Any example essay is bound to have such a generalization as its

THESIS,

expressed in a

THESIS STATEMENT.

Here are examples from the essays in this chapter:

Thesis, thesis statement The central idea in a work of writing (thesis), to which everything else in the work refers; one or more sentences that express that central idea (thesis statement). In some way, each sentence and PARAGRAPH

in an effective essay serves to support the thesis and to make it clear and explicit to

readers. Good writers, while writing, often set down a thesis statement to help them define their purpose. They also often include this statement in their essay as a promise and a guide to readers. See pages 19, 35–36, 40–41, and the introductions to Chapters 3–12.

That first encounter, and those that followed, signified that a vast, unnerving gulf lay between nighttime pedestrians — particularly women — and me. — Brent Staples, “Black Men and Public Space” The truth is, I slip in and out of my black consciousness, as if I’m in a racial coma. Sometimes, I’m so deep in my anger, my irritation, my need to stir change, that I can’t see anything outside of the lens of race. At other times I feel guilty about my apathy. — Issa Rae, “The Struggle” I think we love animals as images because we miss them in the flesh, and I think we love them as images because they matter to us spiritually in ways we cannot hope to articulate. — Brian Doyle, “A Note on Mascots” Sometimes I think we would be better off [in dealing with social problems such as homelessness] if we forgot about the broad strokes and concentrated on the details. — Anna Quindlen, “Homeless”

The thesis statement establishes the backbone, the central idea, of an essay developed by example. Then the specifics flesh the idea out for readers, bringing it to life.

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The Examples An essay developed by example will often start with a random observation. That is, you’ll see something — a man pilfering a dollar from a child’s lemonade stand, a friend copying another friend’s homework, a roommate downloading pirated movies — and your observation will suggest a generalization (perhaps a statement about the problem of stealing). But a mere example or two probably won’t demonstrate your generalization for readers and thus won’t achieve your

PURPOSE

in writing. For that you’ll need a range of

instances.

Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing. In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages 19, 31–32, and 40.

Where do you find more? In anything you know — or care to learn. Start close to home. Seek examples in your own immediate knowledge and experience. Explore your conversations with others, your studies, and the storehouse of information you have gathered from books, newspapers, radio, TV, and the Internet as well as from popular hearsay: proverbs and sayings, popular songs, bits of wisdom you’ve heard voiced in your family. Now and again, you may feel an irresistible temptation to make up an example out of thin air. Suppose you have to write about the benefits — any benefits — that rocket science has conferred on society. You might imagine one such benefit: the prospect of one day being able to vacation in outer space and drift about like a soap bubble. That imagined benefit would be all right, but it is obviously a conjecture that you dreamed up. An example from fact or experience is likely to carry more weight. Do a little digging on the Internet or in recent books and magazines. Your reader will feel better informed to be told that science — specifically, the NASA space program — has produced useful inventions. You add: Among these are the smoke detector, originally developed as Skylab equipment; the inflatable air bag to protect drivers and pilots, designed to cushion astronauts in splashdowns; a walking chair that enables paraplegics to mount stairs and travel over uneven ground, derived from the moonwalkers’ surface buggy; and the technique of cryosurgery, the removal of cancerous tissue by fast freezing.

By using specific examples like these, you render the idea of “benefits to society” more concrete and more definite. Such examples are not mere decoration for your essay; they are necessary if you are to hold your readers’ attention and convince them that you are worth listening to. When giving examples, you’ll find other methods useful. Sometimes, as in the paragraph by Linda Wolfe, an example takes the form of a

NARRATIVE

(Chap. 3): an

ANECDOTE

embodies a vivid DESCRIPTION of a person, place, or thing (Chap. 4).

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or a case history. Sometimes an example

Narration, narrative The mode of writing (narration) that tells a story (narrative). See Chapter 3. Anecdote A brief NARRATIVE, or retelling of a story or event. Anecdotes have many uses: as essay openers or closers, as examples, as sheer entertainment. See Chapter 3. Description A mode of writing that conveys the evidence of the senses: sight, hearing, touch, taste, smell. See Chapter 4.

Lazy writers think, “Oh well, I can’t come up with any example here — I’ll just leave it to the reader to find one.” The flaw in this ASSUMPTION is that the reader may be as lazy as the writer. As a result, a perfectly good idea may be left suspended in the stratosphere.

Assume, assumption To take something for granted (assume), or a belief or opinion taken for granted (assumption). Whether stated or unstated, assumptions influence a writer’s choices of subject, viewpoint, EVIDENCE

and even language. See also pages 17 and 410.

FOCUS ON SENTENCE VARIETY While accumulating and detailing examples during drafting — both essential tasks for a successful essay — you may find yourself writing strings of similar sentences: UNVARIED One example of a movie that deals with chronic illness is Rockingham Place. Another example is The Beating Heart. Another is Tree of Life. These three movies treat misunderstood or little-known diseases in a way that increases the viewer’s sympathy and understanding. Rockingham Place deals with a little boy who suffers from cystic fibrosis. The Beating Heart deals with a mother of four who is weakening from multiple sclerosis. Tree of Life deals with brothers who are both struggling with muscular dystrophy. All three movies show complex, struggling human beings caught blamelessly in desperate circumstances. The writer of this paragraph was clearly pushing to add examples and to expand them, but the resulting passage needs editing so that the writer’s labor isn’t so obvious. In the more readable and interesting revision, the sentences vary in structure, group similar details, and distinguish the specifics from the generalizations: VARIED Three movies dealing with disease are Rockingham Place, The Beating Heart, and Tree of Life. In these movies people with little-known or misunderstood diseases become subjects for the viewer’s sympathy and understanding. A little boy suffering from cystic fibrosis, a mother weakening from multiple sclerosis, a pair of brothers coping with muscular dystrophy — these complex, struggling human beings are caught blamelessly in desperate circumstances. As you review your draft, be alert to repetitive sentence structures and look for opportunities to change them: Try coordinating and subordinating ideas, varying the beginnings and endings of sentences, shortening some and lengthening others (see pp. 49–50).

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CHECKLIST FOR REVISING AN EXAMPLE ESSAY Generalization. What general statement do your examples illustrate? Will it be clear to readers what ties the examples together? Support. Do you have enough examples to establish your generalization, or will readers be left needing more? Specifics. Are your examples detailed? Does each one capture some aspect of the generalization? Relevance. Do all your examples relate to your generalization? Should any be cut because they go off track? Sentence variety. Have you varied sentence structures for clarity and interest?

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EXAMPLES IN ACADEMIC WRITING

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An Economics Textbook The following paragraph from Microeconomics, by Lewis C. Solmon, appears amid the author’s explanation of how markets work. To dispel what might seem like clouds of theory, the author here brings an abstract principle down to earth with a concrete and detailed example. Generalization to be illustrated The primary function of the market is to bring together suppliers and demanders so that they can trade with one another. Buyers and sellers do not necessarily have to be in face-to-face contact; they can signal their desires and intentions through various intermediaries. Single extended example For example, the demand for green beans in California is not expressed directly by the green bean consumers to the green bean growers. People who want green beans buy them at a grocery store; the store orders them from a vegetable wholesaler; the wholesaler buys them from a bean cooperative, whose manager tells local farmers of the size of the current demand for green beans. The demanders of green beans are able to signal their demand schedule to the original suppliers, the farmers who raise the beans, without any personal communication between the two parties.

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A Job-Application Letter To obtain the kinds of jobs a college education prepares you for, you’ll submit a résumé that presents your previous work experience, your education, and your qualifications for a specific career field. To capture the prospective employer’s interest, you’ll introduce yourself and your résumé with a cover letter. Rather than merely repeat or summarize the contents of a résumé, a job-application letter highlights the connections between your background and the employer’s need for someone with particular training and skills. Typically brief and tightly focused on the job in question, an application letter aims to persuade the reader to look at the accompanying résumé and then to follow up with an interview. When college junior Kharron Reid was applying for a summer internship implementing computer networks for businesses, he put together a résumé tailored for a specific opportunity posted at his school’s placement office. (See the résumé on p. 298.) His cover letter, opposite, pulls out examples from the résumé to support the statement (in the second-to-last paragraph) that “my education and my hands-on experience with network development have prepared me for the opening you have.” 137 Chester St., Apt. E Allston, MA 02134 February 21, 2017 Dolores Jackson Human Resources Director E-line Systems 75 Arondale Avenue Boston, MA 02114 Dear Ms. Jackson: Introduction states purpose of letter I am applying for the network development internship in your information technology department, advertised in the career services office of Boston University. Generalization about experience

Two examples of experience

I have considerable experience in network development from summer internships at NBS Systems and at Pioneer Networking. At NBS I planned and laid the physical platforms and configured the software for seven WANs on Windows Server 2016. At Pioneer, I laid the physical platforms and configured the software to connect eight workstations into a LAN. Both internships gave me experience in every stage of network development. Generalization about education and skills

Two sets of examples about education and skills In my three years in Boston University’s School of Management, I have concentrated on developing skills in business administration and information systems. I have completed courses in organizational behavior, computer science (including programming), and networking and data communications. At the same time, I have become proficient in Unix, Windows 10/8, Windows Server 2016/2012, and Red Hat Enterprise Linux. Concluding paragraphs summarize qualifications, refer reader to résumé, and invite a response

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As the enclosed résumé indicates, my education and my hands-on experience with network development have prepared me for the opening you have. I am available for an interview at your convenience. Please call me at (617) 555–4009 or e-mail me at [email protected]. Sincerely,

Kharron Reid

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MISPERCEPTIONS

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BRENT STAPLES Brent Staples is a member of the editorial board of the New York Times, where he writes on culture, politics, and special education, advocating for children with learning disabilities. Born in 1951 in Chester, Pennsylvania, Staples has a BA in behavioral science from Widener University in Chester and a PhD in psychology from the University of Chicago. Before joining the New York Times in 1985, he worked for the Chicago Sun-Times, the Chicago Reader, Chicago magazine, and Down Beat magazine. He has also taught psychology and contributed to the New York Times Magazine, New York Woman, Ms., Harper’s, and other periodicals.

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Black Men and Public Space “Black Men and Public Space” first appeared in the December 1986 issue of Harper’s magazine and was then published, in a slightly different version, in Staples’s memoir, Parallel Time: Growing Up in Black and White (1994). To explain a recurring experience of African American men, Staples relates incidents when he has been “an avid night walker” in the urban landscape. Sometimes his only defense against others’ stereotypes is to whistle. In the essay following this one, “The Struggle,” Issa Rae offers a contemporary woman’s counterpoint to Staples’s perspective.

My first victim was a woman — white, well dressed, probably in her late twenties. I came upon her late one evening on a deserted street in Hyde Park, a relatively affluent neighborhood in an otherwise mean, impoverished section of Chicago. As I swung onto the avenue behind her, there seemed to be a discreet, uninflammatory distance between us. Not so. She cast back a worried glance. To her, the youngish black man — a broad six feet two inches with a beard and billowing hair, both hands shoved into the pockets of a bulky military jacket — seemed menacingly close. After a few more quick glimpses, she picked up her pace and was soon running in earnest. Within seconds she disappeared into a cross street. That was more than a decade ago. I was twenty-two years old, a graduate student newly arrived at the University of Chicago. It was in the echo of that terrified woman’s footfalls that I first began to know the unwieldy inheritance I’d come into — the ability to alter public space in ugly ways. It was clear that she thought herself the quarry of a mugger, a rapist, or worse. Suffering a bout of insomnia, however, I was stalking sleep, not defenseless wayfarers. As a softy who is scarcely able to take a knife to a raw chicken — let alone hold one to a person’s throat — I was surprised, embarrassed, and dismayed all at once. Her flight made me feel like an accomplice in tyranny. It also made it clear that I was indistinguishable from the muggers who occasionally seeped into the area from the surrounding ghetto. That first encounter, and those that followed, signified that a vast, unnerving gulf lay between nighttime pedestrians — particularly women — and me. And I soon gathered that being perceived as dangerous is a hazard in itself. I only needed to turn a corner into a dicey situation, or crowd some frightened, armed person in a foyer somewhere, or make an errant move after being pulled over by a policeman. Where fear and weapons meet — and they often do in urban America — there is always the possibility of death. In that first year, my first away from my hometown, I was to become thoroughly familiar with the language of fear. At dark, shadowy intersections, I could cross in front of a car stopped at a traffic light and elicit the thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk of the driver — black, white, male, or female — hammering down the door locks. On less traveled streets after dark, I grew accustomed to but never comfortable with people crossing to the other side of the street rather than pass me. Then there were the standard unpleasantries with policemen, doormen, bouncers, cabdrivers, and others whose business it is to screen out troublesome individuals before there is any nastiness. I moved to New York nearly two years ago and I have remained an avid night walker. In central Manhattan, the near-constant crowd cover minimizes tense one-on-one street encounters. Elsewhere — in SoHo, for example, where sidewalks are narrow and tightly spaced buildings shut out the sky — things can get very taut indeed. After dark, on the warrenlike streets of Brooklyn where I live, I often see women who fear the worst from 330

me. They seem to have set their faces on neutral, and with their purse straps strung across their chests bandolier-style, they forge ahead as though bracing themselves against being tackled. I understand, of course, that the danger they perceive is not a hallucination. Women are particularly vulnerable to street violence, and young black males are drastically overrepresented among the perpetrators of that violence. Yet these truths are no solace against the kind of alienation that comes of being ever the suspect, a fearsome entity with whom pedestrians avoid making eye contact. It is not altogether clear to me how I reached the ripe old age of twenty-two without being conscious of the lethality nighttime pedestrians attributed to me. Perhaps it was because in Chester, Pennsylvania, the small, angry industrial town where I came of age in the 1960s, I was scarcely noticeable against a backdrop of gang warfare, street knifings, and murders. I grew up one of the good boys, had perhaps a half-dozen fistfights. In retrospect, my shyness of combat has clear sources. As a boy, I saw countless tough guys locked away; I have since buried several, too. They were babies, really — a teenage cousin, a brother of twenty-two, a childhood friend in his mid-twenties — all gone down in episodes of bravado played out in the streets. I came to doubt the virtues of intimidation early on. I chose, perhaps unconsciously, to remain a shadow — timid, but a survivor. The fearsomeness mistakenly attributed to me in public places often has a perilous flavor. The most frightening of these confusions occurred in the late 1970s and early 1980s, when I worked as a journalist in Chicago. One day, rushing into the office of a magazine I was writing for with a deadline story in hand, I was mistaken for a burglar. The office manager called security and, with an ad hoc posse, pursued me through the labyrinthine halls, nearly to my editor’s door. I had no way of proving who I was. I could only move briskly toward the company of someone who knew me. Another time I was on assignment for a local paper and killing time before an interview. I entered a jewelry store on the city’s affluent Near North Side. The proprietor excused herself and returned with an enormous red Doberman pinscher straining at the end of a leash. She stood, the dog extended toward me, silent to my questions, her eyes bulging nearly out of her head. I took a cursory look around, nodded, and bade her good night. Relatively speaking, however, I never fared as badly as another black male journalist. He went to nearby Waukegan, Illinois, a couple of summers ago to work on a story about a murderer who was born there. Mistaking the reporter for the killer, police officers hauled him from his car at gunpoint and but for his press credentials would probably have tried to book him. Such episodes are not uncommon. Black men trade tales like this all the time. Over the years, I learned to smother the rage I felt at so often being taken for a criminal. Not to do so would surely have led to madness. I now take precautions to make myself less threatening. I move about with care, particularly late in the evening. I give a wide berth to nervous people on subway platforms during the wee hours, particularly when I have exchanged business clothes for jeans. If I happen to be entering a building behind some people who appear skittish, I may walk by, letting them clear the lobby before I return, so as not to seem to be following them. I have been calm and extremely congenial on those rare occasions when I’ve been pulled over by the police. And on late-evening constitutionals I employ what has proved to be an excellent tension-reducing measure: I whistle melodies from Beethoven and Vivaldi and the more popular classical composers. Even 331

steely New Yorkers hunching toward nighttime destinations seem to relax, and occasionally they even join in the tune. Virtually everybody seems to sense that a mugger wouldn’t be warbling bright, sunny selections from Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. It is my equivalent of the cowbell that hikers wear when they know they are in bear country.

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Journal Writing Staples explains how he perceives himself altering public space. Write in your journal about a time when you felt as if you altered public space — in other words, you changed people’s attitudes or behavior just by being in a place or entering a situation. If you haven’t had this experience, write about a time when you saw someone else alter public space in this way.

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Questions on Meaning 1. What is the PURPOSE of this essay? Do you think Staples believes that he (or other African American men) will cease “to alter public space in ugly ways” (par. 2) in the near future? Does he suggest any long-term solution for “the kind of alienation that comes of being ever the suspect” (5)?

Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing. In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages 19, 31–32, and 40.

2. In paragraph 5 Staples says he understands that the danger women fear when they see him “is not a hallucination.” Do you take this to mean that Staples perceives himself to be dangerous? Explain. 3. Staples says, “I chose, perhaps unconsciously, to remain a shadow — timid, but a survivor” (par. 7). What are the usual CONNOTATIONS of the word survivor? Is “timid” one of them? How can you explain this apparent discrepancy?

Connotation and denotation Two types of meanings most words have. Denotation is the explicit, literal, dictionary definition of a word. Connotation refers to a word’s implied meaning, resonant with associations. The denotation of blood is “the fluid that circulates in the vascular system.” The connotations of blood range from life force to gore to family bond. A doctor might use the word blood for its denotation, and a mystery writer might rely on the word’s connotations to heighten a scene. Because people have different experiences, they bring to the same word different associations. A conservative’s emotional response to the word welfare is not likely to be the same as a liberal’s. And referring to your senator as a diplomat evokes a different response, from the senator and from others, than would baby-kisser, political hack, or even politician. The effective use of words involves knowing both what they mean literally and what they are likely to suggest.

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Questions on Writing Strategy 1. The concept of altering public space is relatively abstract. How does Staples convince you that this phenomenon really takes place? 2. Staples employs a large number of examples in a fairly short essay. How does he avoid having the piece sound like a list? How does he establish COHERENCE among all these examples? (Look, for example, at details and TRANSITIONS.)

Coherence The clear connection of the parts in effective writing so that the reader can easily follow the flow of ideas between sentences, paragraphs, and larger divisions, and can see how they relate successively to one another. In making your essay coherent, you may find certain devices useful. TRANSITIONS, for instance, can bridge ideas. Reminders of points you have stated earlier are helpful to a reader who may have forgotten them — as readers tend to do sometimes, particularly if an essay is long. However, a coherent essay is not one merely pasted together with transitions and reminders. It derives its coherence from the clear relationship between its THESIS (or central idea) and all its parts. See also pages 41–42 and 257–58. Transitions Words, phrases, sentences, or even paragraphs that relate ideas. In moving from one topic to the next, a writer has to bring the reader along by showing how the ideas are developing, what bearing a new thought or detail has on an earlier discussion, or why a new topic is being introduced. A clear purpose, strong ideas, and logical development certainly aid COHERENCE, but to ensure that the reader is following along, good writers provide signals, or transitions. To bridge sentences or paragraphs and to point out relationships within them, you can use some of the following devices of transition: Repeat or restate words or phrases to produce an echo in the reader’s mind. Use PARALLEL STRUCTURES to produce a rhythm that moves the reader forward. Use pronouns to refer back to nouns in earlier passages. Use transitional words and phrases. These may indicate a relationship of time (right away, later, soon, meanwhile, in a few minutes, that night), proximity (beside, close to, distant from, nearby, facing), effect (therefore, for this reason, as a result, consequently), comparison (similarly, in the same way, likewise), or contrast (yet, but, nevertheless, however, despite). Some words and phrases of transition simply add on: besides, too, also, moreover, in addition to, second, last, in the end.

3. OTHER METHODS Many of Staples’s examples are actually ANECDOTES — brief NARRATIVES. The opening paragraph is especially notable. Why is it so effective?

Anecdote A brief NARRATIVE, or retelling of a story or event. Anecdotes have many uses: as essay openers or closers, as examples, as sheer entertainment. See Chapter 3. Narration, narrative The mode of writing (narration) that tells a story (narrative). See Chapter 3.

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Questions on Language 1. What does the author accomplish by using the word victim in the essay’s opening line? Is the word used literally? What TONE does it set for the essay?

Tone The way a writer expresses his or her regard for subject, AUDIENCE, or self. Through word choice, sentence structures, and what is actually said, the writer conveys an attitude and sets a prevailing spirit. Tone in writing varies as greatly as tone of voice varies in conversation. It can be serious, distant, flippant, angry, enthusiastic, sincere, sympathetic. Whatever tone a writer chooses, usually it informs an entire essay and helps a reader decide how to respond. For examples of strong tone, see the essays by Diane Ackerman, Brian Doyle, Jessica Mitford, David Sedaris, Russell Baker, Chitra Divakaruni, Tal Fortgang, and Judy Brady. See also page 416.

2. Be sure you know how to define the following words, as used in this essay: affluent, uninflammatory (par. 1); unwieldy, tyranny, pedestrians (2); intimidation (7); congenial (11); constitutionals (12). 3. The word dicey (par. 2) comes from British slang. Without looking it up in your dictionary, can you figure out its meaning from the context in which it appears?

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Suggestions for Writing 1. FROM JOURNAL TO ESSAY Write an essay narrating your experience of either altering public space yourself or being a witness when someone else did so. What changes did you observe in people’s behavior? Was your behavior similarly affected? In retrospect, do you think your reactions were justified? 2. Write an essay using examples to show how a trait of your own or of someone you know well always seems to affect people, whether positively or negatively. 3. The ironic term “driving while black” expresses the common perception that African American drivers are more likely than white drivers to be pulled over by police for minor infractions — or no infraction at all. Research and write an essay about the accuracy of this perception in one state or municipality: Is there truth to it? If African Americans have been discriminated against, what, if anything, has been done to address the problem? 4. CRITICAL WRITING Consider, more broadly than Staples does, what it means to alter public space. Staples would rather not have the power to do so, but it is a power, and it could perhaps be positive in some circumstances (wielded by a street performer, for instance, or the architect of a beautiful new building on campus). Write an essay that expands on Staples’s idea and examines the pros and cons of altering public space. Use specific examples as your EVIDENCE.

Evidence The details that support an argument or an explanation, including facts, examples, and expert opinions. A writer’s opinions and GENERALIZATIONS must rest upon evidence. See pages 408–409.

5. CONNECTIONS Like Brent Staples, Issa Rae, in “The Struggle” (p. 155), considers misplaced expectations of African Americans. In an essay, examine the POINTS OF VIEW of these two authors. How does point of view affect each author’s selection of details and tone?

Point of view In an essay, the physical position or the mental angle from which a writer beholds a SUBJECT. On the subject of starlings, the following three writers would likely have different points of view: An ornithologist might write OBJECTIVELY about the introduction of these birds into North America, a farmer might advise other farmers how to prevent the birds from eating seed, and a bird watcher might SUBJECTIVELY describe a first glad sighting of the species. Whether objective or subjective, point of view also encompasses a writer’s biases and ASSUMPTIONS. For instance, the scientist, farmer, and bird watcher would likely all have different perspectives on starlings’ reputation as nuisances: Although such perspectives may or may not be expressed directly, they would likely influence each writer’s approach to the subject. See also PERSON.

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Brent Staples on Writing In comments written especially for this book, Brent Staples talks about the writing of “Black Men and Public Space”: “I was only partly aware of how I felt when I began this essay. I knew only that I had this collection of experiences (facts) and that I felt uneasy with them. I sketched out the experiences one by one and strung them together. The bridge to the essay — what I wanted to say, but did not know when I started — sprang into life quite unexpectedly as I sat looking over these experiences. The crucial sentence comes right after the opening anecdote, in which my first ‘victim’ runs away from me: ‘It was in the echo of that terrified woman’s footfalls that I first began to know the unwieldy inheritance I’d come into — the ability to alter public space in ugly ways.’ ‘Aha!’ I said. ‘This is why I feel bothered and hurt and frustrated when this happens. I don’t want people to think I’m stalking them. I want some fresh air. I want to stretch my legs. I want to be as anonymous as any other person out for a walk in the night.’ ” A news reporter and editor by training and trade, Staples sees much similarity between the writing of a personal essay like “Black Men and Public Space” and the writing of, say, a murder story for a daily newspaper. “The newspaper murder,” he says, “begins with standard newspaper information: the fact that the man was found dead in an alley in such-and-such a section of the city; his name, occupation, and where he lived; that he died of gunshot wounds to such-and-such a part of his body; that arrests were or were not made; that such-and-such a weapon was found at the scene; that the police have established no motive; etc. “Personal essays take a different tack, but they, too, begin as assemblies of facts. In ‘Black Men and Public Space,’ I start out with an anecdote that crystallizes the issue I want to discuss — what it is like to be viewed as a criminal all the time. I devise a sentence that serves this purpose and also catches the reader’s attention: ‘My first victim was a woman — white, well dressed, probably in her late twenties.’ The piece gives examples that are meant to illustrate the same point and discusses what those examples mean. “The newspaper story stacks its details in a specified way, with each piece taking a prescribed place in a prescribed order. The personal essay begins often with a flourish, an anecdote, or the recounting of a crucial experience, then goes off to consider related experiences and their meanings. But both pieces rely on reporting. Both are built of facts. Reporting is the act of finding and analyzing facts. “A fact can be a state of the world — a date, the color of someone’s eyes, the arc of a body that flies through the air after having been struck by a car. A fact can also be a feeling — sorrow, grief, confusion, the sense of being pleased, offended, or frustrated. ‘Black Men and Public Space’ explores the relationship between two sets of facts: (1) the way people cast worried glances at me and sometimes run away from me on the streets after dark, and (2) the frustration and anger I feel at being made an object of fear as I try to go about my business in the city.” Personal essays and news stories share one other quality as well, Staples thinks: They affect the writer even when the writing is finished. “The discoveries I made in ‘Black Men and Public Space’ continued long after the essay was published. Writing about the experiences gave me access to a whole range of internal concerns and ideas, much the way a well-reported news story opens the door onto a given neighborhood, situation, or set of issues.” The Brief Bedford Reader on Writing

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Staples provides an enlightening illustration of how writing generates ideas, rather than merely recording them. As often happens, he discovered his THESIS by writing about his subject, that is, by working out his examples and finding the connecting threads in the process. And as Staples observes, although personal essays and newspaper stories are different GENRES, both types of writing rely on gathering EVIDENCE first, before starting to draft. For tips on “finding and analyzing facts” for your own writing, see “Developing Ideas” in Chapter 2, pages 36–37.

Thesis, thesis statement The central idea in a work of writing (thesis), to which everything else in the work refers; one or more sentences that express that central idea (thesis statement). In some way, each sentence and PARAGRAPH

in an effective essay serves to support the thesis and to make it clear and explicit to

readers. Good writers, while writing, often set down a thesis statement to help them define their purpose. They also often include this statement in their essay as a promise and a guide to readers. See pages 19, 35–36, 40–41, and the introductions to Chapters 3–12. Genre The category into which a piece of writing fits. Shaped by PURPOSE, AUDIENCE, and context, genres range from broad types (such as fiction and nonfiction) to general groups (novel, essay) to narrower groups (science fiction novel, personal narrative) to specific document formats (steampunk graphic novel, post on a retail workers’ forum) — and they tend to overlap. The genres of college writing vary widely. Examples appear on pages 71 (police log), 109 (field observation), 146 (job-application letter), 178 (review), 218 (lab report), 259 (critical analysis), 297 (résumé), 338 (letter to the editor), 373 (essay exam), and 418 (proposal). Most readers are instinctively aware of individual genres and the characteristics that distinguish them, and they expect writers to follow the genre’s conventions for organization, types of

EVIDENCE

language,

TONE,

POINT OF VIEW,

structure and

length, appearance, and so forth. Consider, for

instance, a daily newspaper: Readers expect the news articles to be objective statements of fact, with none of the reporters’ personal thoughts and little rhetorical flourish; but when they turn to the op-ed page or their favorite columnists, such opinions and clever turns of phrase are precisely what they’re looking for. Similar expectations exist for every kind of writing, and good writers make a point of knowing what they are. See also pages 10, 32, and 40 and the individual chapter introductions in Part Two. Evidence The details that support an argument or an explanation, including facts, examples, and expert opinions. A writer’s opinions and GENERALIZATIONS must rest upon evidence. See pages 408–09.

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ISSA RAE Jo-Issa Rae Diop was born in 1985 and raised in Potomac, Maryland, and Los Angeles, California, with extended stays with family in Senegal (a country in West Africa). Frustrated by the lack of positive roles for black women in television and film, she started producing and acting in her own online programming while a student at Stanford University, adopted the screen name Issa Rae in 2008, and created the award-winning Web series The Misadventures of Awkward Black Girl shortly out of college with funding from a Kickstarter campaign. The popular comedy follows a self-deprecating introvert, “J,” as she navigates the pitfalls of social interaction; it has captured more than twenty million views and the attention of traditional media outlets including Elle, Forbes, Essence, MSNBC, and HBO. Rae’s first book of memoir and essays, also titled The Misadventures of Awkward Black Girl, was published in 2015. She lives in Los Angeles.

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The Struggle In this selection from her book, Rae tackles the fraught subject of race with characteristically acerbic wit. While Brent Staples in the previous essay expresses embarrassment at strangers’ reactions to his skin color, Rae has a different problem with stereotypes: Her peers don’t think she’s “black enough.”

I don’t remember the exact day I demilitarized from my blackness. It’s all a blur and since I’m fairly certain that militants never forget, and I forget stuff all the time, I guess I wasn’t meant to be one. I love being black; that’s not a problem. The problem is that I don’t want to always talk about it because honestly, talking about being “black” is extremely tiring. I don’t know how Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson do it. I know why Cornel West and Tavis Smiley do it.1 They love the attention and the groupies. But the rest of these people who talk, think, and breathe race every single day — how? Just how? Aren’t they exhausted?

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1 The Reverend Jesse Jackson (1941–) and Baptist minister Al Sharpton (1954–) are prominent civil rights activists; Dr. Cornel West (1953–) is a public intellectual and college professor; Tavis Smiley (1964–) is a talk show host. — EDS.

The pressure to contribute to these conversations now that we have a black president is even more infuriating. “What do you think about what’s going on in the world? And how our black president is handling it?” asks a race baiter. “It’s all good, I guess,” I want to answer, apathetically, with a Kanye shrug. “I’m over it.” But am I really? Could I be even if I wanted to? Even now, I feel obligated to write about race. It’s as though it’s expected of me to acknowledge what we all already know. The truth is, I slip in and out of my black consciousness, as if I’m in a racial coma. Sometimes, I’m so deep in my anger, my irritation, my need to stir change, that I can’t see anything outside of the lens of race. At other times I feel guilty about my apathy. But then I think, isn’t this what those who came before me fought for? The right not to have to deal with race? If faced with a choice between fighting until the death for freedom and civil rights and living life without any acknowledgment of race, they’d choose the latter. Growing up as a young black girl in Potomac, Maryland, was easy. I never really had to put much thought into my race, and neither did anybody else. I had a Rainbow Coalition of friends of all ethnicities, and we would carelessly skip around our elementary school like the powerless version of Captain Planet’s Planeteers. I knew I was black. I knew there was a history that accompanied my skin color and my parents taught me to be proud of it. End of story. All that changed when my family moved to Los Angeles and placed me in a middle school where my blackness was constantly questioned — and not even necessarily in the traditional sense, i.e., “You talk white, Oreo girl” or “You can’t dance, white girl.” Those claims were arguable, for the most part. My biggest frustration in the challenge to prove my “blackness” usually stemmed from two very annoying, very repetitive situations. SITUATION #1: “I’m not even black, and I’m blacker than you.” It’s one thing when other African Americans try to call me out on my race card, but when people outside my ethnicity have the audacity to question how “down” I am because of the bleak, stereotypical picture pop culture has painted of black women, it’s a whole other thing. Unacceptable. I can recall a time when I was having a heated discussion with a white, male classmate of mine. Our eighth-grade class was on a museum field trip as the bus driver blasted Puff Daddy’s “Been around the World” to drown us out. It began as a passive competition of lyrics, as we each silently listened for who would mess up first. By the second verse, our lazy rap-whispers escalated to an aggressive volume, accompanied by rigorous side-eyes by the time we got to, “Playa please, I’m the macaroni with the cheese,” and I felt threatened. Was this fool seriously trying to outrap me? And why did I care? After the song ended, he offered his opinion: “Puff Daddy is wack, yo.” How dare he? Not only was I angry, but I felt as if he had insulted my own father (who did I think I was? Puff Daughter?). “Puff Daddy is tight,” I retorted. He rolled his eyes and said, “Have you heard of [insert Underground rapper]? Now, he’s dope.” I hadn’t heard of him, but I couldn’t let this white boy defeat me in rap music 342

knowledge, especially as others started to listen. “Yeah, I know him. He’s not dope,” I lied, for the sake of saving face. Perhaps because he saw through me or because he actually felt strongly about this particular artist, he asked me to name which songs I thought were “not dope.” Panic set in as I found myself exposed, then — “You don’t even know him, huh? Have you even heard of [insert Random Underground rapper]?” As he continued to rattle off the names of make-believe-sounding MCs, delighted that he had one-upped me, he managed to make me feel as though my credibility as a black person relied on my knowledge of hiphop culture. My identity had been reduced to the Bad Boy label clique as this boy seemingly claimed my black card as his own. Of course, as I grew older and Ma$e found his calling as a reverend, I realized there was more to being black than a knowledge of rap music, and that I didn’t have to live up to this pop cultural archetype. I began to take pride in the fact that I couldn’t be reduced to a stereotype and that I didn’t have to be. This leads me to my next situation. SITUATION #2: “Black people don’t do that.” Or so I’m told by a black person. These, too, are derived from (mostly negative) stereotypes shaped by popular culture. The difference is that in these situations, we black people are the ones buying into these stereotypes. When I was a teenager, for example, others questioned my blackness because some of the life choices I made weren’t considered to be “black” choices: joining the swim team when it is a known fact that “black people don’t swim,” or choosing to become a vegetarian when blacks clearly love chicken. These choices and the various positive and negative responses to them helped to broaden my own perspective on blackness and, eventually, caused me to spurn these self-imposed limitations. But not before embarrassing the hell out of myself in a poor attempt to prove I was “down.” I’ll never forget submitting a school project in “Ebonics” for my seventh-grade English class, just to prove that I could talk and write “black.” I was trying to prove it to myself just as much as I was to everyone around me. Even in my early adulthood, post-college, I’d overtip to demonstrate I was one of the good ones. Only recently have I come to ask, What am I trying to prove and to whom am I proving it? Today, I haven’t completely rid myself of the feeling that I’m still working through Du Bois’s double consciousness.2

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2 In The Souls of Black Folk (1903), the sociologist and historian W. E. B. Du Bois famously proposed that African Americans struggle to reconcile the conflict of belonging simultaneously to two cultures in opposition to each other, a mental state he called double consciousness. — EDS.

For the majority of my life I cared too much about how my blackness was perceived, but now? At this very moment? I couldn’t care less. Call it maturation or denial or self-hatred — I give no f%^&s. And it feels great. I’ve decided to focus only on the positivity of being black, and especially of being a black woman. Am I supposed to feel oppressed? Because I don’t. Is racism supposed to hurt me? That’s so 1950s. Should I feel marginalized? I prefer to think of myself as belonging to an “exclusive” club. While experiencing both types of situations — being made to feel not black enough by “down” white people on one hand and not black enough by the blacks in the so-called know on the other — has played a role in shaping a more comfortably black me, in the end, I have to ask: Who is to say what we do and don’t do? What we can and can’t do? The very definition of “blackness” is as broad as that of “whiteness,” yet the media seemingly always tries to find a specific, limited definition. As CNN produces news specials about us, and white and Latino rappers feel culturally dignified in using the N-word, our collective grasp of “blackness” is becoming more and elusive. And that may not be a bad thing.

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Journal Writing Rae shares examples of times when her perception of her “blackness” did not match the expectations of those around her. Think of a defining characteristic you hold for yourself — your race, perhaps, or your gender, your sexual orientation, your nationality, your sports affiliations, your career aspirations, and so forth. Has your sense of who and what you are ever been challenged by others? How, and why? List some such instances in your journal.

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Questions on Meaning 1. Rae opens her essay by saying she is tired of discussing race. What, then, would you say was her PURPOSE in writing? Does she have a THESIS?

Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing. In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages 19, 31–32, and 40. Thesis, thesis statement The central idea in a work of writing (thesis), to which everything else in the work refers; one or more sentences that express that central idea (thesis statement). In some way, each sentence and PARAGRAPH in an effective essay serves to support the thesis and to make it clear and explicit to readers. Good writers, while writing, often set down a thesis statement to help them define their purpose. They also often include this statement in their essay as a promise and a guide to readers. See pages 19, 35–36, 40–41, and the introductions to Chapters 3–12.

2. To whom does Rae feel she needs to prove her “blackness”? How do you know? 3. How does Rae characterize society’s expectations for black people, especially black women? What does she blame as the source of these stereotypes?

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Questions on Writing Strategy 1. “The Struggle” contains one extended example and several brief examples. How does Rae organize them? What is the effect of grouping these “situations” as she does? 2. What ASSUMPTIONS about her readers are evident in Rae’s choice of ALLUSIONS, particularly in paragraphs 10–14? Do you need to be familiar with the musicians she mentions to understand her point?

Assume, assumption To take something for granted (assume), or a belief or opinion taken for granted (assumption). Whether stated or unstated, assumptions influence a writer’s choices of subject, viewpoint, EVIDENCE and even language. See also pages 17 and 410. Allude, allusion To refer to a person, place, or thing believed to be common knowledge (allude), or the act or result of doing so (allusion). An allusion may point to a famous event, a familiar saying, a noted personality, or a well-known story or song. Usually brief, an allusion is a space-saving way to convey much meaning. For example, the statement “The game was Coach Johnson’s Waterloo” informs the reader that, like Napoleon meeting defeat in a celebrated battle, the coach led a confrontation resulting in his downfall and that of his team. If the writer is also showing Johnson’s character, the allusion might further tell us that the coach is a man of Napoleonic ambition and pride. To make an effective allusion, you have to ensure that it will be clear to your audience. Not every reader, for example, would understand an allusion to a neighbor, to a seventeenth-century Russian harpsichordist, or to a little-known stock-car driver.

3. OTHER METHODS Rae’s essay is in some ways an attempt at DEFINITION. What do her examples of being “not black enough” (par. 19) contribute to that attempt?

Definition A statement of the literal and specific meaning or meanings of a word or a method of developing an essay. In the latter, the writer usually explains the nature of a word, a thing, a concept, or a phenomenon. Such a definition may employ NARRATION, DESCRIPTION, or any other method. See Chapter 11.

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Questions on Language 1. Consider Rae’s DICTION, especially her use of slang and references to racial slurs such as “Oreo” (par. 9) and “N-word” (19). What is the EFFECT of such language? Where in the essay, if at all, does Rae explain her decision to use it?

Diction The choice of words. Every written or spoken statement uses diction of some kind. To describe certain aspects of diction, the following terms may be useful: Standard English: the common American language, words, and grammatical forms that are used and expected in schools, businesses, and other formal sites. Nonstandard English: words and grammatical forms such as theirselves and ain’t that are used mainly by people who speak a dialect other than standard English. Dialect: a variety of English based on differences in geography, education, or social background. Dialect is usually spoken but may be written. Shirley Jackson’s story in Chapter 3 transcribes the words of dialect speakers (“ ‘I looked out the window and the kids was gone, and then I remembered it was the twenty-seventh and came a-running’ ”). Slang: certain words in highly informal speech or writing, or in the speech of a particular group — for example, blow off, dweeb, wack. Colloquial expressions: words and phrases from conversation. See COLLOQUIAL EXPRESSIONS for examples. Regional terms: words heard in a certain locality, such as spritzing for “raining” in Pennsylvania Dutch country. Technical terms: words and phrases that form the vocabulary of a particular discipline (monocotyledon from botany), occupation (drawplate from die-making), or avocation (interval training from running). See also JARGON. Archaisms: old-fashioned expressions, once common but now used to suggest an earlier style, such as ere and forsooth. Obsolete diction: words that have passed out of use (such as the verb werien, “to protect or defend,” and the noun isetnesses, “agreements”). Obsolete may also refer to certain meanings of words no longer current (fond for foolish, clipping for hugging or embracing). Pretentious diction: use of words more numerous and elaborate than necessary, such as institution of higher learning for “college,” and partake of solid nourishment for “eat.” Archaic, obsolete, and pretentious diction usually have no place in good writing unless for ironic or humorous effect: The journalist and critic H. L. Mencken delighted in the hifalutin use of tonsorial studio instead of barber shop. Still, any diction may be the right diction for a certain occasion: The choice of words depends on a writer’s PURPOSE and AUDIENCE. Effect The result of an event or action, usually considered together with CAUSE as a method of development. See the discussion of cause and effect in Chapter 10. In discussing writing, the term effect also refers to the impression a word, a sentence, a paragraph, or an entire work makes on the reader: how convincing it is, whether it elicits an emotional response, what associations it conjures up, and so on.

2. The words “black” and “blackness” often appear in quotation marks in this essay. Why? What does Rae intend by employing this device? 3. Be sure you know how to define the following words: demilitarized (par. 1); apathetically (5); coalition (8); rigorous (11); archetype (14); Ebonics (16); maturation (18).

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Suggestions for Writing 1. FROM JOURNAL TO ESSAY Building on the episodes you recorded in your journal, write about a time or times when others made you think deeply about who you are and how you present yourself to the world. Use Rae’s work as a model: Incorporate concrete examples into your essay and try to address the larger social implications of your reflection. 2. Consider an incident from your childhood that has stuck with you. You might choose an embarrassing or frustrating moment, as Rae did in writing about her school-bus rap battle, or a proud or defining event, such as a sports victory or a sudden understanding of a truth. Write a personal reflection, that, like Rae’s essay, explains how your understanding of the incident has changed now that you are older. 3. CRITICAL WRITING In an essay, examine Rae’s TONE. Is it consistent throughout? Are there passages where she seems self-pitying? mocking? determined? resigned? triumphant? What is the overall tone of the essay? Is it effective? Why?

Tone The way a writer expresses his or her regard for subject, AUDIENCE, or self. Through word choice, sentence structures, and what is actually said, the writer conveys an attitude and sets a prevailing spirit. Tone in writing varies as greatly as tone of voice varies in conversation. It can be serious, distant, flippant, angry, enthusiastic, sincere, sympathetic. Whatever tone a writer chooses, usually it informs an entire essay and helps a reader decide how to respond. For examples of strong tone, see the essays by Diane Ackerman, Brian Doyle, Jessica Mitford, David Sedaris, Russell Baker, Chitra Divakaruni, Tal Fortgang, and Judy Brady. See also page 416.

4. CONNECTIONS COMPARE AND CONTRAST Issa Rae’s and Brent Staples’s (p. 148) perceptions of “blackness” and of the stereotypes that have been assigned to them. Use specific passages from each essay to support your comparison.

Comparison and contrast Two methods of development usually found together. Using them, a writer examines the similarities and differences between two things to reveal their natures. See Chapter 6.

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BRIAN DOYLE Widely admired for his breathless reflections on spirituality, human connection, and the natural world, Brian Doyle defies boundaries of genre and style. Born in 1956 in New York City, he graduated from the University of Notre Dame in 1978, worked for US Catholic Magazine and Boston College Magazine, and is now the editor of Portland, an award-winning quarterly publication for the University of Portland. A frequent contributor to that magazine and to many others, including The Atlantic Monthly, Orion, The Sun, and Harper’s, Doyle has published two nonfiction books on family and faith, four novels, and multiple collections of short fiction, poetry, and essays, among them Leaping: Revelations and Epiphanies (2003), Grace Notes (2011), and So Very Much the Best of Us: Songs of Praise in Prose (2015) — all consistently lauded for their high quality and Doyle’s unique voice. He describes himself as a “shambling shuffling mumbling grumbling muttering muddled maundering meandering male being” with a “deep and abiding love” for his wife, his three children, and basketball.

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A Note on Mascots Whatever he writes, Doyle has a reputation for crafting prose that is unusually poetic; in fact, he calls many of his own works “proems.” In this piece from Children and Other Wild Animals (2014), he uses examples to ponder the meaning of animals — some of them imaginary or simply odd — standing in as representatives of college sports teams.

The first sports team I remember loving as a child, in the dim dewy days when I was two or three years old and just waking up to things that were not milk and mama and dirt and dogs, was the Fighting Irish of the University of Notre Dame, who were on television every day, it seemed, in our bustling brick Irish Catholic house; and then, inasmuch as I was hatched and coddled near Manhattan, there were Metropolitans and Knickerbockers and Rangers and Islanders; and then, as I shuffled shyly into high school, there were, for the first time, snarling and roaring mammalian mascots, notably the Cougars of my own alma mater, which was plopped in marshlands where I doubt a cougar had been seen for three hundred years; but right about then I started paying attention to how we fetishize animals as symbols for our athletic adventures, and I have become only more attentive since, for I have spent nearly thirty years now working for colleges and universities, and you could earn a degree in zoology just by reading the college sports news, where roar and fly and sprint and lope and canter and gallop and prowl animals from anteater to wasp — among them, interestingly, armadillos, bees, boll weevils, herons, owls, koalas, turtles, moose, penguins, gulls, sea lions, and squirrels, none of which seem especially intimidating or prepossessing, although I know a man in North Carolina who once lost a fistfight with a heron, and certainly many of us have run away from angry bees and moose, and surely there are some among us who could relate stories of furious boll weevils, but perhaps this is not the time, although anyone who has a story like that should see me right after class. There are vast numbers of canids (coyotes, foxes, huskies, salukis, wolves), felids (lions, tigers, panthers, lynx, bobcats), ruminants (bulls, chargers, broncs, broncos, and bronchoes, though no bronchials), mustelids (badgers, wolverine, otters), and denizens of the deep (dolphins, gators, sharks, sailfish, and “seawolves,” or orca). There are two colleges which have an aggrieved camel as their mascot. There are schools represented by snakes and tomcats. There is a school whose symbol is a frog and one whose mascot is a large clam and one whose mascot famously is a slug. There is a school whose mascot is the black fly. There are the Fighting Turtles of the College of Insurance in New York. There are schools represented by lemmings and scorpions and spiders. There are the Fighting Stormy Petrels of Oglethorpe University in Georgia. There is a school represented by an animal that has never yet been seen in the Americas, the bearcat of Asia, although perhaps that is meant to be a wolverine, which did once inhabit southern Ohio, and may still live in Cincinnati, which has tough neighborhoods. The most popular mascot appears to be the eagle, especially if you count the fifteen schools represented by golden eagles, which brings us to a round total of eighty-two schools symbolized by a bird Benjamin Franklin considered “a bird of bad moral character, too lazy to fish for himself … like those among men who live by sharping & robbing he is generally poor and often very lousy. Besides he is a rank coward…” But the two schools that Franklin helped establish are nicknamed the Quakers and the Diplomats, so we can safely ignore Ben on this matter. And this is not even to delve into the mysterious world of fantastical fauna — blue bears and blue tigers, crimson hawks, trolls, dragons and firebirds, griffins and griffons and gryphons, delta devils and jersey devils

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(there are a lot of devils, which says something interesting), jayhawks and kohawks and duhawks, green eagles and phoenixes, thunderhawks and thunderwolves, the mind reels, and then there is the whole subset of nicknamery that has to do with botany, as evidenced most memorably by the Fighting Violets of New York University, on which image we had better pull this whole essay to the side of the road and sit silently for a moment. Beyond all the obvious reasons we choose animals as symbols for our sporting teams — their incredible energy and muscle, grace and strength, intelligence and verve, our ancient conviction of their power and magic, ancient associations as clan signs and tribal totems, even more ancient shivers perhaps of fear at animals who hunted and ate us, not to mention the way their images look cool on letterhead and sweatshirts and pennants and fundraising appeals — there is something else, something so deep and revelatory about human beings that I think we do not admit it because it is too sad. I think we love animals as images because we miss them in the flesh, and I think we love them as images because they matter to us spiritually in ways we cannot hope to articulate. The vast majority of us will never see a cougar or a wolverine, not to mention a boll weevil, but even wearing one on a shirt, or shouting the miracle of its name in a stadium, or grinning to see its rippling beauty on the window of a car, gives us a tiny subtle crucial electric jolt in the heart, connects us somehow to what we used to be with animals, which was thrilled and terrified. We’ve lost the salt of that feeling forever, but even a hint of it matters immensely to us as animals too. Maybe that’s what we miss the most — the feeling that they are our cousins, and not clans of creatures who once filled the earth and now are shreds of memory, mere symbols, beings who used to be.

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Journal Writing Doyle provides quite a few examples of the many school mascots he has encountered over the years, as well as a reflection on why, generally, we select animals to represent our sports teams. Choose your favorite of the mascots he names and in your journal brainstorm possible explanations for why that particular mascot might be a good choice for a college or university.

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Questions on Meaning 1. What do you take to be Doyle’s PURPOSE with “A Note on Mascots”? Is it meant to be a straightforward essay, do you think, or more like a poem? Why do you think so?

Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing. In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages 19, 31–32, and 40.

2. Why does Doyle cite Benjamin Franklin’s thoughts on eagles (par. 2)? What might have been the impact if he had chosen to quote, say, a naturalist or sports enthusiast instead? 3. Doyle observes of mascots that “there are a lot of devils, which says something interesting” (par. 3). What does he mean? What exactly does it say? 4. How does Doyle explain the appeal of animal mascots? What is his THESIS? Why does he wait until the final paragraph to state it?

Thesis, thesis statement The central idea in a work of writing (thesis), to which everything else in the work refers; one or more sentences that express that central idea (thesis statement). In some way, each sentence and PARAGRAPH in an effective essay serves to support the thesis and to make it clear and explicit to readers. Good writers, while writing, often set down a thesis statement to help them define their purpose. They also often include this statement in their essay as a promise and a guide to readers. See pages 19, 35–36, 40–41, and the introductions to Chapters 3–12.

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Questions on Writing Strategy 1. Examine Doyle’s sentences. How varied are they? Taken as a whole, what is the EFFECT of their structures and length?

Effect The result of an event or action, usually considered together with CAUSE as a method of development. See the discussion of cause and effect in Chapter 10. In discussing writing, the term effect also refers to the impression a word, a sentence, a paragraph, or an entire work makes on the reader: how convincing it is, whether it elicits an emotional response, what associations it conjures up, and so on.

2. Doyle concludes the first paragraph by dropping the reader into a classroom setting that should be familiar to you. Why? Where else in the essay does he employ a similar strategy? What do these lines reveal about his imagined AUDIENCE?

Audience A writer’s readers. Having in mind a particular audience helps the writer in choosing strategies, such as which method(s) to use, what details to include, and how to shape an ARGUMENT. You can increase your awareness of your audience by asking yourself a few questions before you begin to write. Who are to be your readers? What is their age level? background? education? Where do they live? What are their beliefs and attitudes? What interests them? What, if anything, sets them apart from most people? How familiar are they with your subject? Knowing your audience can help you write so that your readers will not only understand you better but care more deeply about what you say. See also pages 20, 30, and 407.

3. OTHER METHODS Explain how Doyle uses CLASSIFICATION to organize his examples. What does the method contribute to his purpose?

Classification A method of development in which a writer sorts out multiple things (contact sports, college students, kinds of music) into categories. See Chapter 9.

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Questions on Language 1. Be sure you know how to define the following words: zoology, boll weevils, prepossessing (par. 1); canids, ruminants, mustelids, denizens (2); fauna, botany (3); verve, totems (4). 2. Doyle’s style in this piece is unusual in that he mixes scientific language with the first person (I and we). Does this POINT OF VIEW seem appropriate, given the author’s subject and purpose? Why, or why not? How does it affect his TONE?

Point of view In an essay, the physical position or the mental angle from which a writer beholds a SUBJECT. On the subject of starlings, the following three writers would likely have different points of view: An ornithologist might write OBJECTIVELY about the introduction of these birds into North America, a farmer might advise other farmers how to prevent the birds from eating seed, and a bird watcher might SUBJECTIVELY describe a first glad sighting of the species. Whether objective or subjective, point of view also encompasses a writer’s biases and ASSUMPTIONS. For instance, the scientist, farmer, and bird watcher would likely all have different perspectives on starlings’ reputation as nuisances: Although such perspectives may or may not be expressed directly, they would likely influence each writer’s approach to the subject. See also PERSON. Tone The way a writer expresses his or her regard for subject, AUDIENCE, or self. Through word choice, sentence structures, and what is actually said, the writer conveys an attitude and sets a prevailing spirit. Tone in writing varies as greatly as tone of voice varies in conversation. It can be serious, distant, flippant, angry, enthusiastic, sincere, sympathetic. Whatever tone a writer chooses, usually it informs an entire essay and helps a reader decide how to respond. For examples of strong tone, see the essays by Diane Ackerman, Brian Doyle, Jessica Mitford, David Sedaris, Russell Baker, Chitra Divakaruni, Tal Fortgang, and Judy Brady. See also page 416.

3. Doyle identifies several “Fighting” mascots. List them for yourself. What makes these names funny? 4. In his comments on writing (next page), Doyle stresses the importance of using “energized” verbs. Point to any particularly strong verbs you find in “A Note on Mascots.” What makes them effective?

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Suggestions for Writing 1. FROM JOURNAL TO ESSAY Expand your journal entry into an ARGUMENT proposing that your school should adopt a new mascot. Remember to select several convincing examples to support your choice.

Argument A mode of writing intended to win readers’ agreement with an assertion by engaging their powers of reasoning. Argument often overlaps PERSUASION. See Chapter 12.

2. Besides sports, where else do you often see animals represented for some purpose beyond their literal existence? Consider Halloween costumes, toys, and television shows, for instance. Do the representations you have observed seem to be fulfilling a longing, such as the one Doyle describes in “A Note on Mascots”? If so, how? If not, what purpose do they seem to serve? Write a reflective essay that contemplates these questions. 3. CRITICAL WRITING Select one of the plants or animals that Doyle highlights and research its current population and habitat. Is Doyle correct that the mascot you chose is something rare that most people will not casually encounter? Have any conservation efforts been made on behalf of the mascot you selected (plants, as well as animals, can be endangered)? How might being a mascot help preserve awareness of the plant or animal you selected? If you chose a mascot that is common or not threatened, make a case for its continuing value as a SYMBOL.

Symbol A visible object or action that suggests further meaning. The flag suggests country; the crown suggests royalty — these are conventional symbols familiar to us. Life abounds in such clear-cut symbols. Football teams use dolphins and rams for easy identification; married couples symbolize their union with a ring. In writing, symbols usually do not have such a one-to-one correspondence, but evoke a whole constellation of associations. In Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick, the whale suggests more than the large mammal it is. It hints at evil, obsession, and the untamable forces of nature. Such a symbol carries meanings too complex or elusive to be neatly defined. Although more common in fiction and poetry, symbols can be used to good purpose in nonfiction because they often communicate an idea in a compact and concrete way.

4. CONNECTIONS As a fan, Doyle expresses a certain amount of reverence for sports and their icons. In “Jock Culture” (p. 276), on the other hand, sportswriter Robert Lipsyte argues that athleticism in general fuels unhealthy competition in the working environment. In an essay, consider how Doyle’s admiration of sports mascots supports or contradicts Lipsyte’s analysis of the implications of Jock Culture for individuals and society.

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ANNA QUINDLEN Anna Quindlen was born in 1953 and graduated from Barnard College in 1974. She worked as a reporter for the New York Post and the New York Times before taking over the latter’s “About New York” column, eventually serving as the paper’s deputy metropolitan editor and creating her own weekly column. Quindlen later wrote a twice-weekly op-ed column for the Times on social and political issues, earning a Pulitzer Prize for commentary in 1992. She also wrote a biweekly column for Newsweek magazine. Quindlen’s essays and columns are collected in Living Out Loud (1988), Thinking Out Loud (1993), and Loud and Clear (2004). Her memoir, Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake, appeared in 2012. Quindlen has also published two books for children, three books of nonfiction with a how-to bent, and seven successful novels, most recently Still Life with Bread Crumbs (2014). She lives in New York City.

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Homeless In this essay from Living Out Loud, Quindlen mingles a reporter’s respect for details with a keen sense of empathy, using examples to explore a persistent social issue. When Quindlen wrote, in 1987, homelessness had become a severe and highly visible problem in New York City and elsewhere in the United States. The problem has not abated since then: Using government data, the National Alliance to End Homelessness estimates that more than half a million Americans are homeless on any given day.

Her name was Ann, and we met in the Port Authority Bus Terminal several Januarys ago. I was doing a story on homeless people. She said I was wasting my time talking to her; she was just passing through, although she’d been passing through for more than two weeks. To prove to me that this was true, she rummaged through a tote bag and a manila envelope and finally unfolded a sheet of typing paper and brought out her photographs. They were not pictures of family, or friends, or even a dog or cat, its eyes brown-red in the flashbulb’s light. They were pictures of a house. It was like a thousand houses in a hundred towns, not suburb, not city, but somewhere in between, with aluminum siding and a chain-link fence, a narrow driveway running up to a one-car garage and a patch of backyard. The house was yellow. I looked on the back for a date or a name, but neither was there. There was no need for discussion. I knew what she was trying to tell me, for it was something I had often felt. She was not adrift, alone, anonymous, although her bags and her raincoat with the grime shadowing its creases had made me believe she was. She had a house, or at least once upon a time had had one. Inside were curtains, a couch, a stove, potholders. You are where you live. She was somebody. I’ve never been very good at looking at the big picture, taking the global view, and I’ve always been a person with an overactive sense of place, the legacy of an Irish grandfather. So it is natural that the thing that seems most wrong with the world to me right now is that there are so many people with no homes. I’m not simply talking about shelter from the elements, or three square meals a day or a mailing address to which the welfare people can send the check — although I know that all these are important for survival. I’m talking about a home, about precisely those kinds of feelings that have wound up in cross-stitch and French knots on samplers over the years. Home is where the heart is. There’s no place like it. I love my home with a ferocity totally out of proportion to its appearance or location. I love dumb things about it: the hot-water heater, the plastic rack you drain dishes in, the roof over my head, which occasionally leaks. And yet it is precisely those dumb things that make it what it is — a place of certainty, stability, predictability, privacy, for me and for my family. It is where I live. What more can you say about a place than that? That is everything. Yet it is something that we have been edging away from gradually during my lifetime and the lifetimes of my parents and grandparents. There was a time when where you lived often was where you worked and where you grew the food you ate and even where you were buried. When that era passed, where you lived at least was where your parents had lived and where you would live with your children when you became enfeebled. Then, suddenly where you lived was where you lived for three years, until you could move on to something else and something else again. And so we have come to something else again, to children who do not understand what it means to go to their rooms because they have never had a room, to men and women whose fantasy is a wall they can paint a color of their own choosing, to old people reduced to sitting on molded plastic chairs, their skin blue-white in 359

the lights of a bus station, who pull pictures of houses out of their bags. Homes have stopped being homes. Now they are real estate. People find it curious that those without homes would rather sleep sitting up on benches or huddled in doorways than go to shelters. Certainly some prefer to do so because they are emotionally ill, because they have been locked in before and they are damned if they will be locked in again. Others are afraid of the violence and trouble they may find there. But some seem to want something that is not available in shelters, and they will not compromise, not for a cot, or oatmeal, or a shower with special soap that kills the bugs. “One room,” a woman with a baby who was sleeping on her sister’s floor, once told me, “painted blue.” That was the crux of it; not size or location, but pride of ownership. Painted blue. This is a difficult problem, and some wise and compassionate people are working hard at it. But in the main I think we work around it, just as we walk around it when it is lying on the sidewalk or sitting in the bus terminal — the problem, that is. It has been customary to take people’s pain and lessen our own participation in it by turning it into an issue, not a collection of human beings. We turn an adjective into a noun: the poor, not poor people; the homeless, not Ann or the man who lives in the box or the woman who sleeps on the subway grate. Sometimes I think we would be better off if we forgot about the broad strokes and concentrated on the details. Here is a woman without a bureau. There is a man with no mirror, no wall to hang it on. They are not the homeless. They are people who have no homes. No drawer that holds the spoons. No window to look out upon the world. My God. That is everything.

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Journal Writing What does the word home mean to you? Does it involve material things, privacy, family, a sense of permanence? In your journal, explore your ideas about this word.

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Questions on Meaning 1. What is Quindlen’s THESIS?

Thesis, thesis statement The central idea in a work of writing (thesis), to which everything else in the work refers; one or more sentences that express that central idea (thesis statement). In some way, each sentence and PARAGRAPH in an effective essay serves to support the thesis and to make it clear and explicit to readers. Good writers, while writing, often set down a thesis statement to help them define their purpose. They also often include this statement in their essay as a promise and a guide to readers. See pages 19, 35–36, 40–41, and the introductions to Chapters 3–12.

2. What distinction is Quindlen making in her CONCLUSION with the sentences “They are not the homeless. They are people who have no homes”?

Conclusion The sentences or paragraphs that bring an essay to a satisfying and logical end. See pages 38–39.

3. Why does Quindlen believe that having a home is essential?

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Questions on Writing Strategy 1. Why do you think Quindlen begins with the story of Ann? How else might Quindlen have begun her essay? 2. What is the EFFECT of Quindlen’s examples about her own home?

Effect The result of an event or action, usually considered together with CAUSE as a method of development. See the discussion of cause and effect in Chapter 10. In discussing writing, the term effect also refers to the impression a word, a sentence, a paragraph, or an entire work makes on the reader: how convincing it is, whether it elicits an emotional response, what associations it conjures up, and so on.

3. What key ASSUMPTIONS does the author make about her AUDIENCE? Are the assumptions reasonable? Where does she specifically address an assumption that might undermine her view?

Assume, assumption To take something for granted (assume), or a belief or opinion taken for granted (assumption). Whether stated or unstated, assumptions influence a writer’s choices of subject, viewpoint, EVIDENCE and even language. See also pages 17 and 410. Audience A writer’s readers. Having in mind a particular audience helps the writer in choosing strategies, such as which method(s) to use, what details to include, and how to shape an ARGUMENT. You can increase your awareness of your audience by asking yourself a few questions before you begin to write. Who are to be your readers? What is their age level? background? education? Where do they live? What are their beliefs and attitudes? What interests them? What, if anything, sets them apart from most people? How familiar are they with your subject? Knowing your audience can help you write so that your readers will not only understand you better but care more deeply about what you say. See also pages 20, 30, and 407.

4. How does Quindlen vary the sentences in paragraph 7 that give examples of why homeless people avoid shelters? 5. OTHER METHODS Quindlen uses examples to support an ARGUMENT. What position does she want readers to recognize and accept?

Argument A mode of writing intended to win readers’ agreement with an assertion by engaging their powers of reasoning. Argument often overlaps PERSUASION. See Chapter 12.

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Questions on Language 1. What is the effect of “My God” in the last paragraph? 2. How might Quindlen be said to give new meaning to the old CLICHÉ “Home is where the heart is” (par. 4)?

Cliché A worn-out, trite expression that a writer employs thoughtlessly. Although at one time the expression may have been colorful, from heavy use it has lost its luster. It is now “old as the hills.” In conversation, most of us sometimes use clichés, but in writing they “stick out like sore thumbs.” Alert writers, when they revise, replace a cliché with a fresh, CONCRETE expression. Writers who have trouble recognizing clichés should be suspicious of any phrase they’ve heard before and should try to read more widely. Their problem is that, because so many expressions are new to them, they do not know which ones are full of moths.

3. What is meant by “crux” (par. 7)? Where does the word come from?

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Suggestions for Writing 1. FROM JOURNAL TO ESSAY Write an essay that gives a detailed DEFINITION of home by using your own home, hometown, or experiences with homes as supporting examples. (See Chap. 11 if you need help with definition.)

Definition A statement of the literal and specific meaning or meanings of a word or a method of developing an essay. In the latter, the writer usually explains the nature of a word, a thing, a concept, or a phenomenon. Such a definition may employ NARRATION, DESCRIPTION, or any other method. See Chapter 11.

2. Have you ever moved from one place to another? What sort of experience was it? Write an essay about leaving an old home and moving to a new one. Was there an activity or a piece of furniture that helped ease the transition? 3. Write an essay on the problem of homelessness in your town or city. Use examples to support your view of the problem and a possible solution. 4. CRITICAL WRITING Write a brief essay in which you agree or disagree with Quindlen’s assertion that a home is “everything.” Can one, for instance, be a fulfilled person without a home? In your answer, take account of the values that might underlie an attachment to home; Quindlen mentions “certainty, stability, predictability, privacy” (par. 4), but there are others, including some (such as fear of change) that are less positive. 5. CONNECTIONS Quindlen makes an emphatic distinction between “the homeless” and “people who have no homes” (par. 9). Read William Lutz’s “The World of Doublespeak” (p. 309), which examines how language can be used to distort our perceptions of unpleasant truths. Drawing on what he and Quindlen have to say, write an essay that explores how the way we label a problem like homelessness influences what solutions we may (or may not) be able to find.

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Anna Quindlen on Writing Anna Quindlen started her writing career as a newspaper reporter. “I had wanted to be a writer for most of my life,” she recalls in the introduction to her book Living Out Loud, “and in the service of the writing I became a reporter. For many years I was able to observe, even to feel, life vividly, but at secondhand. I was able to stand over the chalk outline of a body on a sidewalk dappled with black blood; to stand behind the glass and look down into an operating theater where one man was placing a heart in the yawning chest of another; to sit in the park on the first day of summer and find myself professionally obligated to record all the glories of it. Every day I found answers: who, what, when, where, and why.” Quindlen was a good reporter, but the business of finding answers did not satisfy her personally. “In my own life,” she continues, “I had only questions.” Then she switched from reporter to columnist at the New York Times. It was “exhilarating,” she says, that “my work became a reflection of my life. After years of being a professional observer of other people’s lives, I was given the opportunity to be a professional observer of my own. I was permitted — and permitted myself — to write a column, not about my answers, but about my questions. Never did I make so much sense of my life as I did then, for it was inevitable that as a writer I would find out most clearly what I thought, and what I only thought I thought, when I saw it written down…. After years of feeling secondhand, of feeling the pain of the widow, the joy of the winner, I was able to allow myself to feel those emotions for myself.” The Brief Bedford Reader on Writing While Brent Staples (p. 148) and Brian Doyle (p. 160) in this chapter both stress the strategies and techniques essay writers can learn from newspaper reporters, Quindlen seems to stress the opposite. For her, GENRE and PURPOSE (see pp. 31–32) impose restrictions as much as they open up possibilities. What did she feel she could accomplish in a column that she could not accomplish in a news article? What evidence of this difference do you see in her essay “Homeless”?

Genre The category into which a piece of writing fits. Shaped by PURPOSE, AUDIENCE, and context, genres range from broad types (such as fiction and nonfiction) to general groups (novel, essay) to narrower groups (science fiction novel, personal narrative) to specific document formats (steampunk graphic novel, post on a retail workers’ forum) — and they tend to overlap. The genres of college writing vary widely. Examples appear on pages 71 (police log), 109 (field observation), 146 (job-application letter), 178 (review), 218 (lab report), 259 (critical analysis), 297 (résumé), 338 (letter to the editor), 373 (essay exam), and 418 (proposal). Most readers are instinctively aware of individual genres and the characteristics that distinguish them, and they expect writers to follow the genre’s conventions for organization, types of

EVIDENCE

language,

TONE,

POINT OF VIEW,

structure and

length, appearance, and so forth. Consider, for

instance, a daily newspaper: Readers expect the news articles to be objective statements of fact, with none of the reporters’ personal thoughts and little rhetorical flourish; but when they turn to the op-ed page or their favorite columnists, such opinions and clever turns of phrase are precisely what they’re looking for. Similar expectations exist for every kind of writing, and good writers 366

make a point of knowing what they are. See also pages 10, 32, and 40 and the individual chapter introductions in Part Two. Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing. In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages 19, 31–32, and 40.

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ADDITIONAL WRITING TOPICS Example 1. Select one of the following general statements, or set forth a general statement of your own that one of these inspires. Making it your central idea (or THESIS), support it in an essay full of examples. Draw your examples from your reading, your studies, your conversations, or your own experience.

Thesis, thesis statement The central idea in a work of writing (thesis), to which everything else in the work refers; one or more sentences that express that central idea (thesis statement). In some way, each sentence and PARAGRAPH in an effective essay serves to support the thesis and to make it clear and explicit to readers. Good writers, while writing, often set down a thesis statement to help them define their purpose. They also often include this statement in their essay as a promise and a guide to readers. See pages 19, 35–36, 40–41, and the introductions to Chapters 3–12.

Text messaging has many advantages (or many disadvantages) over making a phone call. Individual consumers can (or cannot) help slow down global climate change. Friendships don’t always start off easily. Spending (or saving) is necessary to the nation’s economy. Each family has its own distinctive culture. Certain games, closely inspected, promote violence. Graphic novels have become a serious form of literary art. Most people can triumph over crushing difficulties. Churchgoers aren’t perfect. Online articles use misleading titles to get readers to click on the stories. Local foods, in season, are best for everyone (or not). Ordinary lives sometimes give rise to legends. Some people are born winners (or losers). Music can change lives. Certain machines do have personalities. Some road signs lead drivers astray. 2. In a brief essay, make a GENERALIZATION about the fears, joys, or contradictions that members of minority groups seem to share. To illustrate your generalization, draw examples from personal experience, from outside reading, or from two or three of the essays in this book by the following authors: Nancy Mairs (p. 12), Amy Tan (p. 74), Junot Díaz (p. 84), N. Scott Momaday (p. 119), Brent Staples (p. 148), Issa Rae (p. 155), Andrea Roman (p. 187), Firoozeh Dumas (p. 233), Tal Fortgang (p. 376), Roxane Gay (p. 383), and Linda Chavez (p. 421).

Generalization A statement about a class based on an examination of some of its members: “Lions are fierce.” The more members examined and the more representative they are of the class, the sturdier the generalization. The statement “Solar energy saves home owners money” would be challenged by home owners who have yet to recover their installation costs. “Solar energy can save home owners money in the long run” would be a sounder generalization. Insufficient or nonrepresentative EVIDENCE often leads to a hasty generalization, such as “All freshmen hate their roommates” or “Men never express their feelings.” Words such as all, every, only, never, and always have to be used with care: “Some men don’t express their feelings” is more credible. Making a trustworthy generalization involves the use of INDUCTIVE REASONING (discussed on pp. 410–411).

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6 COMPARISON AND CONTRAST Setting Things Side by Side

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Comparison and contrast in a graphic memoir In the highly praised and influential Fun Home (2006), comic artist Alison Bechdel explores the complications of growing up the lesbian daughter of a closeted gay man while living in a nineteenth-century house that held the family’s funeral business. In this panel, from the first chapter of the book, she compares herself with her father on four points: politics (ancient Sparta, in Greece, was a warrior society; neighboring Athens focused on education and the arts), cultural sensibilities, gender stereotypes, and values. What striking and not-sostriking differences do you notice? What is the most obvious similarity? What are some more subtle similarities? How would you

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summarize the conflict Bechdel portrays?

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THE METHOD Which team do you place your money on, the Giants or the Patriots? To go to school full-time or parttime: What are the rewards and drawbacks of each way of life? How do the Republican and the Democratic platforms stack up against each other? In what ways are the psychological theories of Carl Jung like or unlike those of Sigmund Freud? Should we pass laws to regulate medical marijuana or just let recreational use run wild? These are questions that may be addressed by the dual method of

COMPARISON AND CONTRAST.

In

comparing, you point to similar features of the subjects; in contrasting, to different features. (The features themselves you identify by the method of DIVISION or ANALYSIS; see Chap. 8.)

Comparison and contrast Two methods of development usually found together. Using them, a writer examines the similarities and differences between two things to reveal their natures. See Chapter 6. Division See ANALYZE, ANALYSIS. Analyze, analysis To separate a subject into its parts (analyze), or the act or result of doing so (analysis, also called division). Analysis is a key skill in CRITICAL THINKING, READING, AND WRITING; see pages 16, 18– 22, and 24–25. It is also considered a method of development; see Chapter 8.

In practice, comparison and contrast are usually inseparable because two subjects are generally neither entirely alike nor entirely unlike. When Bruce Catton sets out to portray the Civil War generals Ulysses S. Grant and Robert E. Lee (p. 193), he considers both their similarities and their differences. Often, as in this case, the similarities make the subjects comparable at all and the differences make comparison worthwhile.

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Uses of Comparison and Contrast Comparison and contrast are especially helpful in academic writing. You can use the method in expository writing to illuminate two or more subjects and demonstrate that you understand your material thoroughly. And in an argument in which you support one of two possible choices, a careful and detailed comparison and contrast may be extremely convincing as you show why you prefer one thing to another, one course of action to another, one idea to another. Because comparison and contrast reveal knowledge about the subjects under investigation, you will also often be asked to use the method in exams that call for essay answers. Sometimes the examiner will come right out and say, “Compare and contrast nineteenth-century methods of treating drug addiction with those of the present day.” Sometimes, however, comparison and contrast won’t even be mentioned by name; instead, the examiner may ask, “What resemblances do you find between John Updike’s short story ‘A & P’ and the Grimm fairy tale ‘Godfather Death’?” Or, “Explain the relative desirability of holding a franchise against going into business as an independent proprietor.” But those — as you realize when you begin to plan your reply — are just other ways of asking you to compare and contrast.

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Purposes A good essay in comparing and contrasting serves a PURPOSE. Most of the time, the writer of such an essay has one of two purposes in mind:

Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing. In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages 19, 31–32, and 40.

To explain the similarities and differences between two things, the writer shows each of the subjects distinctly by considering both, side by side. With such a purpose, the writer doesn’t necessarily find one of the subjects better than the other. In his essay on Grant and Lee, Bruce Catton does not favor either general but concludes that each reflected strong currents of American history. To choose between two things, or EVALUATE them, the writer shows how one of the subjects is better than the other on the basis of some standard: Which of two films more convincingly captures the experience of being a teenager? Which of two chemical processes works better to clean waste water? To answer either question, the writer has to consider the features of both subjects — both the positive and the negative — and then choose the subject whose positive features more clearly predominate.

Evaluate, evaluation To judge the merits of something (evaluate) or the act or result of doing so (evaluation). Evaluation is often part of CRITICAL THINKING, READING, AND WRITING. In evaluating a work of writing, you base your judgment on your

ANALYSIS

value. See also pages 17–18, 23, 26, and 492–95.

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of it and your sense of its quality or

THE PROCESS Subjects for Comparison Comparison usually works best with two of a kind: two means of reading for the visually impaired, two films on the same theme, two processes for cleaning waste water, two mystery writers, two schools of political thought. When you find yourself considering two subjects side by side or preferring one subject over another, you have already embarked on comparison and contrast. Just be sure that your two subjects display a clear basis for comparison. In other words, they should have something significant in common. It can sometimes be effective, however, to find similarities between evidently unlike subjects — a city and a country town, say — and a special form of comparison, ANALOGY, equates two very unlike things, explaining one in terms of the other. In an analogy you might explain how the human eye works by comparing it to a simple camera, or you might explain the forces in a thunderstorm by comparing them to armies in battle. In “Tragedy” (p. 199), the pop philosopher Alain de Botton explains the civilizing functions of tabloid news stories by equating them with ancient Greek dramas.

Analogy An extended comparison based on the like features of two unlike things: one familiar or easily understood, the other unfamiliar, abstract, or complicated. For instance, most people know at least vaguely how the human eye works: The pupil adjusts to admit light, which registers as an image on the retina at the back of the eye. You might use this familiar information to explain something less familiar to many people, such as how a camera works: The aperture (like the pupil) adjusts to admit light, which registers as an image on the film (like the retina) at the back of the camera. Analogies are especially helpful for explaining technical information in a way that is nontechnical, more easily grasped. For example, the spacecraft Voyager 2 transmitted spectacular pictures of Saturn to Earth. To explain the difficulty of their achievement, NASA scientists compared their feat to a golfer sinking a putt from five hundred miles away. Because it can make abstract ideas vivid and memorable, analogy is also a favorite device of philosophers, politicians, and preachers. Analogy is similar to the method of

COMPARISON AND CONTRAST.

Both identify the

distinctive features of two things and then set the features side by side. But a comparison explains two obviously similar things — two Civil War generals, two responses to a mess — and considers both their differences and their similarities. An analogy yokes two apparently unlike things (eye and camera, spaceflight and golf) and focuses only on their major similarities. Analogy is thus an extended metaphor, the FIGURE OF SPEECH that declares one thing to be another — even though it isn’t, in a strictly literal sense — for the purpose of making us aware of similarity: “Hope,” writes the poet Emily Dickinson, “is the thing with feathers / That perches in the soul.” In an

ARGUMENT,

analogy can make readers more receptive to a point or inspire them, but it

can’t prove anything because in the end the subjects are dissimilar. A false analogy is a logical FALLACY

that claims a fundamental likeness when none exists. See page 413.

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In any comparison, you must have a valid reason for bringing the two things together — that is, the similarities and differences must be significant enough to warrant examination. In a comparison of a city and a country town, for instance, the features must extend beyond the obvious — that people live in them, that both have streets and shops — and venture into likenesses that are more meaningful — perhaps that both places create a sense of community that residents depend on, for instance.

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Basis for Comparison and Thesis Beginning to identify the shared and dissimilar features of your subjects will get you started, but the comparison won’t be manageable for you or interesting to your readers unless you also limit it. You would be overly ambitious to try to compare and contrast the Russian way of life with the American way of life in five hundred words; you couldn’t include all the important similarities and differences. In a brief paper, you would be wise to select a single basis for comparison: to show, for instance, how representative day-care centers in Russia and the United States are both like and unlike each other. This basis for comparison will eventually underpin the THESIS of your essay — the claim you have to make about the similarities and dissimilarities of two things or about one thing’s superiority over another. Here, from essays in this chapter, are THESIS STATEMENTS that clearly lay out what’s being compared and why:

Thesis, thesis statement The central idea in a work of writing (thesis), to which everything else in the work refers; one or more sentences that express that central idea (thesis statement). In some way, each sentence and PARAGRAPH

in an effective essay serves to support the thesis and to make it clear and explicit to

readers. Good writers, while writing, often set down a thesis statement to help them define their purpose. They also often include this statement in their essay as a promise and a guide to readers. See pages 19, 35–36, 40–41, and the introductions to Chapters 3–12.

One would think that language would create the biggest barriers for immigrants but in my mother’s case, the biggest obstacles were the small cultural differences. — Andrea Roman, “We’re Not …” They were two strong men, these oddly different generals, and they represented the strengths of two conflicting currents that, through them, had come into collision. — Bruce Catton, “Grant and Lee: A Study in Contrasts”

Notice that each author not only identifies his or her subjects (cultural differences, two generals) but also previews the purpose of the comparison.

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Organization Even with a limited basis for comparison, the method of comparison and contrast can be tricky without some planning. We suggest that you make an outline (formal or informal), using one of two organizations described below: subject by subject or point by point. Say you’re writing an essay on two guitarists, Jed and Jake. Your purpose is to explain the distinctive identities of the two players, and your thesis statement might be the following: Jed and Jake are both excellent guitarists whose differences in style reflect their training.

Here are the two ways you might arrange the BODY of your comparison: Subject by subject. Set forth all your facts about Jed; then do the same for Jake. Next, sum up their similarities and differences. In your conclusion, state what you think you have shown. 1. Jed Training Choice of instrument Technical dexterity Playing style 2. Jake Training Choice of instrument Technical dexterity Playing style

This procedure works well for a paper of a few paragraphs, but for a longer one, it has a built-in disadvantage: Readers need to remember all the facts about subject 1 while they read about subject 2. If the essay is long and lists many facts, a subject-by-subject arrangement may be difficult to hold in mind. Point by point. Usually more workable in writing a long paper than the first method, the second scheme is to compare and contrast as you go. You consider one point at a time, taking up your two subjects alternately. In this way, you continually bring the subjects together, perhaps in every paragraph. Notice the differences in the outline: 1. Training Jed: self-taught Jake: classically trained 2. Choice of instrument Jed: electric Jake: acoustic 3. Technical dexterity Jed: highly skilled Jake: highly skilled 4. Playing style Jed: rapid-fire Jake: impressionistic

For either organizing scheme, your conclusion might be as follows: “Although similar in skills, the two differ greatly in aims and in personalities. Jed is better suited to a local club and Jake to a concert hall.” By the way, a subject-by-subject organization works most efficiently for a pair of subjects. If you want to 379

write about three guitarists, you might first consider Jed and Jake, then Jake and Josh, then Josh and Jed — but it would probably be easier to compare and contrast all three point by point.

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Balance and Flexibility An outline will help you see the shape of your paper and keep your points in mind as you draft. A trick of comparison and contrast will be to balance the treatment of both subjects while allowing them to breathe. You do have to give the subjects equivalence: You can’t discuss Jed’s on-stage manner without discussing Jake’s, too. If you have nothing to say about Jake’s on-stage manner, then you might as well omit the point. A surefire loser is the paper that proposes to compare and contrast two subjects but then proceeds to discuss quite different elements in each: Jed’s playing style and Jake’s choice of material, Jed’s fondness for Italian food and Jake’s hobby of antique-car collecting. The writer of such a paper doesn’t compare and contrast the two musicians at all, but engages in two entirely separate discussions. Balance your subjects’ features, but don’t let your outline constrain you too tightly. The reader of a mechanically written comparison-and-contrast essay comes to feel like a weary tennis spectator whose head has to swivel from side to side: now Jed, now Jake; now Jed again, now back to Jake. You need to mention the same features of both subjects, it is true, but no law says how you must mention them. You need not follow your outline in lockstep order, or cover similarities and differences at precisely the same length (none of the authors later in this chapter do), or spend a hundred words on Jed’s fingering skill just because you spend a hundred words on Jake’s. As you write, keep casting your thoughts upon a living, particular world — not twisting and squeezing that world into a rigid scheme. FOCUS ON PARALLELISM With several points of comparison and alternating subjects, a comparison will be easier for your readers to follow if you emphasize likenesses and differences in your wording. Take advantage of the technique of parallelism discussed in Chapter 2 (p. 50). PARALLELISM — the use of similar grammatical structures for elements of similar importance — balances a comparison and clarifies the relations between elements. At the same time, lack of parallelism can distract or confuse readers.

Parallelism, parallel structure A habit of good writers: keeping related ideas of equal importance in similar grammatical form. A writer may place nouns side by side (“Trees and streams are my weekend tonic”) or in a series (“Give me wind, sea, and stars”). Phrases, too, may be arranged in parallel structure (“Out of my bed, into my shoes, up to my classroom — that’s my life”), as may clauses (“Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country”). Parallelism may be found not only in single sentences but in larger units as well. A paragraph might read: “Rhythm is everywhere. It throbs in the rain forests of Brazil. It vibrates ballroom floors in Vienna. It snaps its fingers on street corners in Chicago.” In a whole essay, parallelism may be the principle used to arrange ideas in a balanced or harmonious structure. See the famous speech given by Judy Brady (p. 459), in which paragraphs 4–7 all begin with the words “I want a wife who will” and describe an imagined partner. Not only does such a parallel structure organize ideas, but it also lends them force. See also pages 50 and 176–77.

To make the elements of a comparison parallel, repeat the forms of related words, phrases, and sentences: NONPARALLEL Harris expects dieters who follow his plan to limit bread, dairy, and meat, while Marconi’s diet forbids few foods. PARALLEL Harris’s diet limits bread, dairy, and meat, while Marconi’s diet forbids few foods. NONPARALLEL Harris emphasizes self-denial, but when following Marconi’s plan you can eat whatever you want in moderation.

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PARALLEL Harris emphasizes self-denial, but Marconi stresses moderation. NONPARALLEL If you want to lose weight quickly, choose Harris’s diet. You’ll have more success keeping the weight off if you follow Marconi’s plan. PARALLEL If you want to lose weight quickly, choose Harris’s diet. If you want to keep the weight off, follow Marconi’s plan.

CHECKLIST FOR REVISING A COMPARISON-AND-CONTRAST ESSAY Purpose. What is the aim of your comparison: to explain two (or more) subjects or to evaluate them? Will the purpose be clear to readers from the start? Subjects. Are the subjects enough alike, sharing enough features, to make comparison worthwhile? Thesis. Does your thesis establish a limited basis for comparison so that you have room and time to cover all the relevant similarities and differences? Organization. Does your arrangement of material, whether subject by subject or point by point, do justice to your subjects and help readers follow the comparison? Balance and flexibility. Have you covered the same features of both subjects? At the same time, have you avoided a rigid back-and-forth movement that could bore or exhaust a reader? Parallelism. Have you used parallel structure to clarify the subjects and points you are discussing?

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COMPARISON AND CONTRAST IN ACADEMIC WRITING A Communications Textbook Taken from Steven McCornack’s Reflect and Relate, the following point-by-point comparison explains a key difference between men and women. The in-text citations, in APA style (See pp. 519–29 of the Appendix), refer readers to a list of sources provided at the end of McCornack’s textbook. Point-by-point comparison supporting this topic sentence Immediately after birth, we begin a lifelong process of gender socialization, learning from others what it means personally, interpersonally, and culturally to be “male” or “female.” 1. First point: Learned behaviors Girls Boys Girls are typically taught feminine behaviors, such as sensitivity to one’s own and others’ emotions, nurturance, and compassion (Lippa, 2002). Boys are usually taught masculine behaviors, learning about assertiveness, competitiveness, and independence from others. As a result of gender socialization, men and women often end up forming comparatively different self-concepts (Cross & Madson, 1997). 2. Second point: Self-concepts Women Men For example, women are more likely than men to perceive themselves as connected to others and to assess themselves based on the quality of these interpersonal connections. Men are more likely than women to think of themselves as a composite of their individual achievements, abilities, and beliefs — viewing themselves as separate from other people. At the same time, the existence of these differences doesn’t mean that all men and all women think of themselves in identical ways. Many men and women appreciate and embrace both feminine and masculine characteristics in their self-concepts.

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A Review If you browse the Web or flip through any newspaper or magazine, you’re bound to spot a review: a writer’s assessment of anything from a restaurant to a scholarly book. Commonly assigned in college, too, reviews rely mainly on

ANALYSIS

to identify and interpret the elements of a subject. But because a review

evaluates quality, writers naturally turn to comparison and contrast as well, weighing two or more products, works, or ideas to determine their relative worth. Such a comparison takes its evidence from the subjects themselves, as in descriptions of paintings in an exhibit or quotations from written works.

Analyze, analysis To separate a subject into its parts (analyze), or the act or result of doing so (analysis, also called division). Analysis is a key skill in CRITICAL THINKING, READING, AND WRITING; see pages 16, 18– 22, and 24–25. It is also considered a method of development; see Chapter 8.

For a course in popular culture, Charlotte Pak wrote a review of singer Beyoncé Knowles’s solo career. Pak chose her subject because “Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It)” bolstered Beyoncé’s reputation as a champion of women. Although Pak enjoyed the song, she was bothered by some of the implications in its lyrics, and she decided to investigate the singer’s work for similar themes. In the paragraphs below, excerpted from her full review, Pak compares “Single Ladies” with a popular song from the 1960s, with unexpected results. Basis for comparison: portrayals of women’s strength Critics and fans often view Beyoncé as one of the leaders in the “strong woman” style that encourages female independence, equality, and self-worth. These listeners offer her 2009 hit “Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It)” as a symbol of how far women have come since the 1950s and 1960s. Subject-by-subject organization supporting this claim But this and other songs by Beyoncé just seem strong when in fact they present women who are no more independent than the ones portrayed half a century ago.

1. Representative older song: “Chapel of Love” by the Dixie Cups

A classic example of the older style is the Dixie Cups’ 1964 hit “Chapel of Love.” The refrain of the song is familiar even today: “Goin’ to the chapel and we’re / Gonna get married / … Goin’ to the chapel of love.” • Quotations from song The song itself seems sentimental and even naive on the surface. In a sweet, dreamy voice, the female singer imagines marital bliss, as “Birds all sing as if they knew / Today’s the day we’ll say ‘I do.’ ” • Interpretation She sings of marriage as the fulfillment of her life, implying her dependence on a man. Yet despite the tone and the sentimentality, the song also suggests equality between the singer and her husband-to-be within the bounds of traditional marriage: “I’ll be his and he’ll be mine.” The possession is mutual. Two independent individuals will say “I do.”

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2. Representative Beyoncé song: “Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It)”

In contrast, the singer in Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies” seems pleased to be free from an ex-boyfriend. She dances with another man in a club while her ex jealously watches: “Don’t pay him any attention / ’Cause you had your turn and now you’re gonna learn / What it really feels like to miss me.”

Quotations from song Her tone is feisty and no-nonsense, the voice of a sophisticated and independent woman.

Interpretation Yet she remains preoccupied with her ex-boyfriend and still sees herself through his eyes. In the song’s chorus — “If you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it” — the “it” suggests that she has a sense of herself as an object to be possessed rather than an independent being. That suggestion is explicit in the lines “Pull me into your arms, / Say I’m the one you own.” Concluding sentences express judgment The wimpy “Chapel of Love” at least offers an image of equality. “Single Ladies” misleads by casting dependency as strength.

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UPBRINGINGS

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DAVID SEDARIS Winner of the Thurber Prize for American Humor, David Sedaris was born in 1957 and grew up in North Carolina. After graduating from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago in 1987, Sedaris taught writing there part-time and then moved to New York City, where he took various odd jobs. One of these jobs — a stint as a department-store Christmas elf — provided Sedaris with material for “The Santaland Diaries,” the essay that launched his career as a humorist after he read it on National Public Radio’s Morning Edition in 1993. Since then, Sedaris has contributed numerous commentaries to public radio’s Morning Edition and This American Life, and his work appears frequently in The New Yorker, Esquire, and other magazines. He has published eight collections of essays and fiction, including Naked (1997), Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim (2004), When You Are Engulfed in Flames (2008), and Let’s Explore Diabetes with Owls (2013). Sedaris frequently tours and gives readings of his essays and works in progress; in 2013 he adapted his story “C.O.G.,” about an apple-picking job in Oregon, into the script for a feature film. He lives in rural England.

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Remembering My Childhood on the Continent of Africa Many of Sedaris’s essays locate comedy in exaggerated depictions of his basically normal North Carolina childhood. In this essay from Me Talk Pretty One Day (2000), Sedaris highlights that normality by contrasting it with the distinctly unusual childhood of his partner. For another approach to a similar subject, see the next essay, by student writer Andrea Roman.

When Hugh was in the fifth grade, his class took a field trip to an Ethiopian slaughterhouse. He was living in Addis Ababa at the time, and the slaughterhouse was chosen because, he says, “it was convenient.” This was a school system in which the matter of proximity outweighed such petty concerns as what may or may not be appropriate for a busload of eleven-year-olds. “What?” I asked. “Were there no autopsies scheduled at the local morgue? Was the federal prison just a bit too far out of the way?” Hugh defends his former school, saying, “Well, isn’t that the whole point of a field trip? To see something new?” “Technically yes, but …” “All right then,” he says. “So we saw some new things.” One of his field trips was literally a trip to a field where the class watched a wrinkled man fill his mouth with rotten goat meat and feed it to a pack of waiting hyenas. On another occasion they were taken to examine the bloodied bedroom curtains hanging in the palace of the former dictator. There were tamer trips, to textile factories and sugar refineries, but my favorite is always the slaughterhouse. It wasn’t a big company, just a small rural enterprise run by a couple of brothers operating out of a low-ceilinged concrete building. Following a brief lecture on the importance of proper sanitation, a small white piglet was herded into the room, its dainty hooves clicking against the concrete floor. The class gathered in a circle to get a better look at the animal, who seemed delighted with the attention he was getting. He turned from face to face and was looking up at Hugh when one of the brothers drew a pistol from his back pocket, held it against the animal’s temple, and shot the piglet, execution-style. Blood spattered, frightened children wept, and the man with the gun offered the teacher and bus driver some meat from a freshly slaughtered goat. When I’m told such stories, it’s all I can do to hold back my feelings of jealousy. An Ethiopian slaughterhouse. Some people have all the luck. When I was in elementary school, the best we ever got was a trip to Old Salem or Colonial Williamsburg, one of those preserved brick villages where time supposedly stands still and someone earns his living as a town crier. There was always a blacksmith, a group of wandering patriots, and a collection of bonneted women hawking corn bread or gingersnaps made “the ol’-fashioned way.” Every now and then you might come across a doer of bad deeds serving time in the stocks, but that was generally as exciting as it got. Certain events are parallel, but compared with Hugh’s, my childhood was unspeakably dull. When I was seven years old, my family moved to North Carolina. When he was seven years old, Hugh’s family moved to the Congo. We had a collie and a house cat. They had a monkey and two horses named Charlie Brown and Satan. I threw stones at stop signs. Hugh threw stones at crocodiles. The verbs are the same, but he definitely wins the prize when it comes to nouns and objects. An eventful day for my mother might have involved a trip to the dry cleaner or a conversation with the potato-chip deliveryman. Asked one ordinary Congo afternoon what she’d done with her day, Hugh’s mother answered that she and a fellow member of the Ladies’ Club had

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visited a leper colony on the outskirts of Kinshasa. No reason was given for the expedition, though chances are she was staking it out for a future field trip. Due to his upbringing, Hugh sits through inane movies never realizing that they’re often based on inane television shows. There were no poker-faced sitcom martians in his part of Africa, no oil-rich hillbillies or aproned brides trying to wean themselves from the practice of witchcraft. From time to time a movie would arrive packed in a dented canister, the film scratched and faded from its slow trip around the world. The theater consisted of a few dozen folding chairs arranged before a bedsheet or the blank wall of a vacant hangar out near the airstrip. Occasionally a man would sell warm soft drinks out of a cardboard box, but that was it in terms of concessions. When I was young, I went to the theater at the nearby shopping center and watched a movie about a talking Volkswagen. I believe the little car had a taste for mischief but I can’t be certain, as both the movie and the afternoon proved unremarkable and have faded from my memory. Hugh saw the same movie a few years after it was released. His family had left the Congo by this time and were living in Ethiopia. Like me, Hugh saw the movie by himself on a weekend afternoon. Unlike me, he left the theater two hours later, to find a dead man hanging from a telephone pole at the far end of the unpaved parking lot. None of the people who’d seen the movie seemed to care about the dead man. They stared at him for a moment or two and then headed home, saying they’d never seen anything as crazy as that talking Volkswagen. His father was late picking him up, so Hugh just stood there for an hour, watching the dead man dangle and turn in the breeze. The death was not reported in the newspaper, and when Hugh related the story to his friends, they said, “You saw the movie about the talking car?” I could have done without the flies and the primitive theaters, but I wouldn’t have minded growing up with a houseful of servants. In North Carolina it wasn’t unusual to have a once-a-week maid, but Hugh’s family had houseboys, a word that never fails to charge my imagination. They had cooks and drivers, and guards who occupied a gatehouse, armed with machetes. Seeing as I had regularly petitioned my parents for an electric fence, the business with the guards strikes me as the last word in quiet sophistication. Having protection suggests that you are important. Having that protection paid for by the government is even better, as it suggests your safety is of interest to someone other than yourself. Hugh’s father was a career officer with the US State Department, and every morning a black sedan carried him off to the embassy. I’m told it’s not as glamorous as it sounds, but in terms of fun for the entire family, I’m fairly confident that it beats the sack race at the annual IBM picnic. By the age of three, Hugh was already carrying a diplomatic passport. The rules that applied to others did not apply to him. No tickets, no arrests, no luggage search: He was officially licensed to act like a brat. Being an American, it was expected of him, and who was he to deny the world an occasional tantrum? They weren’t rich, but what Hugh’s family lacked financially they more than made up for with the sort of exoticism that works wonders at cocktail parties, leading always to the remark “That sounds fascinating.” It’s a compliment one rarely receives when describing an adolescence spent drinking Icees at the North Hills Mall. No fifteen-foot python ever wandered onto my school’s basketball court. I begged, I prayed nightly, but it just never happened. Neither did I get to witness a military coup in which forces sympathetic to the colonel arrived late at night to assassinate my next-door neighbor. Hugh had been at the Addis Ababa teen club when the electricity was cut off and soldiers arrived to evacuate the building. He and his friends had to hide in the back 389

of a jeep and cover themselves with blankets during the ride home. It’s something that sticks in his mind for one reason or another. Among my personal highlights is the memory of having my picture taken with Uncle Paul, the legally blind host of a Raleigh children’s television show. Among Hugh’s is the memory of having his picture taken with Buzz Aldrin on the last leg of the astronaut’s world tour. The man who had walked on the moon placed his hand on Hugh’s shoulder and offered to sign his autograph book. The man who led Wake County schoolchildren in afternoon song turned at the sound of my voice and asked, “So what’s your name, princess?” When I was fourteen years old, I was sent to spend ten days with my maternal grandmother in western New York State. She was a small and private woman named Billie, and though she never came right out and asked, I had the distinct impression she had no idea who I was. It was the way she looked at me, squinting through her glasses while chewing on her lower lip. That, coupled with the fact that she never once called me by name. “Oh,” she’d say, “are you still here?” She was just beginning her long struggle with Alzheimer’s disease, and each time I entered the room, I felt the need to reintroduce myself and set her at ease. “Hi, it’s me. Sharon’s boy, David. I was just in the kitchen admiring your collection of ceramic toads.” Aside from a few trips to summer camp, this was the longest I’d ever been away from home and I like to think I was toughened by the experience. About the same time I was frightening my grandmother, Hugh and his family were packing their belongings for a move to Somalia. There were no English-speaking schools in Mogadishu, so, after a few months spent lying around the family compound with his pet monkey, Hugh was sent back to Ethiopia to live with a beer enthusiast his father had met at a cocktail party. Mr. Hoyt installed security systems in foreign embassies. He and his family gave Hugh a room. They invited him to join them at the table, but that was as far as they extended themselves. No one ever asked him when his birthday was, so when the day came, he kept it to himself. There was no telephone service between Ethiopia and Somalia, and letters to his parents were sent to Washington and then forwarded on to Mogadishu, meaning that his news was more than a month old by the time they got it. I suppose it wasn’t much different than living as a foreign-exchange student. Young people do it all the time, but to me it sounds awful. The Hoyts had two sons about Hugh’s age who were always saying things like “Hey that’s our sofa you’re sitting on” and “Hands off that ornamental stein. It doesn’t belong to you.” He’d been living with these people for a year when he overheard Mr. Hoyt tell a friend that he and his family would soon be moving to Munich, Germany, the beer capital of the world. “And that worried me,” Hugh said, “because it meant I’d have to find some other place to live.” Where I come from, finding shelter is a problem the average teenager might confidently leave to his parents. It was just something that came with having a mom and a dad. Worried that he might be sent to live with his grandparents in Kentucky, Hugh turned to the school’s guidance counselor, who knew of a family whose son had recently left for college. And so he spent another year living with strangers and not mentioning his birthday. While I wouldn’t have wanted to do it myself, I can’t help but envy the sense of fortitude he gained from the experience. After graduating from college, he moved to France knowing only the phrase “Do you speak French?” — a question guaranteed to get you nowhere unless you also speak the language. While living in Africa, Hugh and his family took frequent vacations, often in the company of their monkey. The Nairobi Hilton, some suite of high-ceilinged rooms in Cairo or Khartoum: These are the places 390

his people recall when gathered at a common table. “Was that the summer we spent in Beirut or, no, I’m thinking of the time we sailed from Cyprus and took the Orient Express to Istanbul.” Theirs was the life I dreamt about during my vacations in eastern North Carolina. Hugh’s family was hobnobbing with chiefs and sultans while I ate hush puppies at the Sanitary Fish Market in Morehead City, a beach towel wrapped like a hijab around my head. Someone unknown to me was very likely standing in a muddy ditch and dreaming of an evening spent sitting in a clean family restaurant, drinking iced tea and working his way through an extra-large seaman’s platter, but that did not concern me, as it meant I should have been happy with what I had. Rather than surrender to my bitterness, I have learned to take satisfaction in the life that Hugh has led. His stories have, over time, become my own. I say this with no trace of a kumbaya.1 There is no spiritual symbiosis; I’m just a petty thief who lifts his memories the same way I’ll take a handful of change left on his dresser. When my own experiences fall short of the mark, I just go out and spend some of his. It is with pleasure that I sometimes recall the dead man’s purpled face or the report of the handgun ringing in my ears as I studied the blood pooling beneath the dead white piglet. On the way back from the slaughterhouse, we stopped for Cokes in the village of Mojo, where the gas-station owner had arranged a few tables and chairs beneath a dying canopy of vines. It was late afternoon by the time we returned to school, where a second bus carried me to the foot of Coffeeboard Road. Once there, I walked through a grove of eucalyptus trees and alongside a bald pasture of starving cattle, past the guard napping in his gatehouse, and into the waiting arms of my monkey.

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1 From the gospel-folk song with the line “Kumbaya, my Lord, kumbaya,” meaning “Come by here.” Probably because of its popularity in folk music, the word now also has negative connotations of passivity or touchy-feely spiritualism. — EDS.

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Journal Writing Hugh’s experiences living with strangers gave him a “sense of fortitude” (par. 19), according to Sedaris. Have you ever gone through a difficult experience that left you somehow stronger? Write about the struggle in your journal. Was the trouble caused by family relationships? Educational or employment obstacles? Travel experiences? Something else?

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Questions on Meaning 1. What is the subject of Sedaris’s comparison and contrast in this essay? 2. What do you think is the THESIS of this essay? Take into account both Sedaris’s obvious envy of Hugh’s childhood and his awareness that Hugh’s life was often lonely and insecure. Is the thesis stated or only implied?

Thesis, thesis statement The central idea in a work of writing (thesis), to which everything else in the work refers; one or more sentences that express that central idea (thesis statement). In some way, each sentence and PARAGRAPH in an effective essay serves to support the thesis and to make it clear and explicit to readers. Good writers, while writing, often set down a thesis statement to help them define their purpose. They also often include this statement in their essay as a promise and a guide to readers. See pages 19, 35–36, 40–41, and the introductions to Chapters 3–12.

3. There is a certain amount of IRONY in Sedaris’s envy of Hugh’s childhood. What is this irony? How does Sedaris make this irony explicit in paragraph 21?

Irony A manner of speaking or writing that does not directly state a discrepancy, but implies one. Verbal irony is the intentional use of words to suggest a meaning other than literal: “What a mansion!” (said of a shack); “There’s nothing like sunshine” (said on a foggy morning). (For more examples, see the essays by Jessica Mitford and Judy Brady.) If irony is delivered contemptuously with an intent to hurt, we call it sarcasm: “Oh, you’re a real friend!” (said to someone who refuses to lend the speaker the coins to operate a clothes dryer). With situational irony, the circumstances themselves are incongruous, run contrary to expectations, or twist fate: Juliet regains consciousness only to find that Romeo, believing her dead, has stabbed himself. See also SATIRE.

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Questions on Writing Strategy 1. Does Sedaris develop his comparison and contrast subject by subject or point by point? Briefly outline the essay to explain your answer. 2. Point to some of the TRANSITIONS Sedaris uses in moving between his and Hugh’s lives. 3. Sedaris refers to Hugh’s monkey in paragraphs 8, 16, 20, and 21. In what sense does he use the monkey as a SYMBOL?

Transitions Words, phrases, sentences, or even paragraphs that relate ideas. In moving from one topic to the next, a writer has to bring the reader along by showing how the ideas are developing, what bearing a new thought or detail has on an earlier discussion, or why a new topic is being introduced. A clear purpose, strong ideas, and logical development certainly aid COHERENCE, but to ensure that the reader is following along, good writers provide signals, or transitions. To bridge sentences or paragraphs and to point out relationships within them, you can use some of the following devices of transition: Repeat or restate words or phrases to produce an echo in the reader’s mind. Use PARALLEL STRUCTURES to produce a rhythm that moves the reader forward. Use pronouns to refer back to nouns in earlier passages. Use transitional words and phrases. These may indicate a relationship of time (right away, later, soon, meanwhile, in a few minutes, that night), proximity (beside, close to, distant from, nearby, facing), effect (therefore, for this reason, as a result, consequently), comparison (similarly, in the same way, likewise), or contrast (yet, but, nevertheless, however, despite). Some words and phrases of transition simply add on: besides, too, also, moreover, in addition to, second, last, in the end.

4. The first five paragraphs of the essay include a conversation between Sedaris and Hugh about Hugh’s childhood. Why do you think the author opened the essay this way? 5. OTHER METHODS How does Sedaris use NARRATION to develop his comparison and contrast?

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Questions on Language 1. How does Sedaris use PARALLEL STRUCTURE in paragraph 8 to highlight the contrast between himself and Hugh? How does he then point up this parallelism?

Parallelism, parallel structure A habit of good writers: keeping related ideas of equal importance in similar grammatical form. A writer may place nouns side by side (“Trees and streams are my weekend tonic”) or in a series (“Give me wind, sea, and stars”). Phrases, too, may be arranged in parallel structure (“Out of my bed, into my shoes, up to my classroom — that’s my life”), as may clauses (“Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country”). Parallelism may be found not only in single sentences but in larger units as well. A paragraph might read: “Rhythm is everywhere. It throbs in the rain forests of Brazil. It vibrates ballroom floors in Vienna. It snaps its fingers on street corners in Chicago.” In a whole essay, parallelism may be the principle used to arrange ideas in a balanced or harmonious structure. See the famous speech given by Judy Brady (p. 459), in which paragraphs 4–7 all begin with the words “I want a wife who will” and describe an imagined partner. Not only does such a parallel structure organize ideas, but it also lends them force. See also pages 50 and 176–77.

2. Sedaris offers the image of himself as a “petty thief” in paragraph 21. What is the effect of this IMAGE?

Image A word or word sequence that evokes a sensory experience. Whether literal (“We picked two red apples”) or figurative (“His cheeks looked like two red apples, buffed and shining”), an image appeals to the reader’s memory of seeing, hearing, smelling, touching, or tasting. Images add concreteness to fiction — “The farm looked as tiny and still as a seashell, with the little knob of a house surrounded by its curved furrows of tomato plants” (Eudora Welty in a short story, “The Whistle”) — and are an important element in poetry. But writers of essays, too, use images to bring ideas down to earth. See also FIGURES OF SPEECH.

3. Sedaris’s language in this essay is notably SPECIFIC and CONCRETE. Point to examples of such language just in paragraph 6.

Specific See GENERAL AND SPECIFIC. Concrete See ABSTRACT AND CONCRETE.

4. Consult a dictionary if necessary to learn the meanings of the following words: proximity, petty (par. 2); hyenas (6); hawking, stocks (7); leper (8); hangar (9); machetes (11); diplomatic (12); exoticism, coup, evacuate (13); ornamental, stein (16); fortitude (19); hobnobbing, symbiosis, report, canopy, eucalyptus (21).

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Suggestions for Writing 1. FROM JOURNAL TO ESSAY Starting from your journal entry (p. 185), write an essay about a difficult experience that shows how it changed you, whether for better or for worse. How are you different now than before? What did the experience teach you? 2. In your library or on the Internet, locate and read reviews of Sedaris’s book Me Talk Pretty One Day, the source of “Remembering My Childhood,” or of another essay collection by Sedaris. Write an essay in which you SYNTHESIZE the reviewers’ responses to Sedaris’s work.

Synthesize, synthesis To link elements into a whole (synthesize), or the act or result of doing so (synthesis). In CRITICAL THINKING, READING, AND WRITING, synthesis is the key step during which you use your own perspective to reassemble a work you have ANALYZED or to connect the work with others. (See pp. 17 and 25.) Synthesis is a hallmark of ACADEMIC WRITING in which you respond to others’ work or use multiple sources to support your ideas. (See pp. 46–47 and 496–98.)

3. CRITICAL WRITING How seriously does Sedaris want the readers of his essay to take him? Write an essay in which you analyze his TONE, citing specific passages from the text to support your conclusions.

Tone The way a writer expresses his or her regard for subject, AUDIENCE, or self. Through word choice, sentence structures, and what is actually said, the writer conveys an attitude and sets a prevailing spirit. Tone in writing varies as greatly as tone of voice varies in conversation. It can be serious, distant, flippant, angry, enthusiastic, sincere, sympathetic. Whatever tone a writer chooses, usually it informs an entire essay and helps a reader decide how to respond. For examples of strong tone, see the essays by Diane Ackerman, Brian Doyle, Jessica Mitford, David Sedaris, Russell Baker, Chitra Divakaruni, Tal Fortgang, and Judy Brady. See also page 416.

4. CONNECTIONS Andrea Roman, in “We’re Not…” (p. 187), writes about a childhood unlike Sedaris’s or Hugh’s. In an essay, consider how Sedaris and Roman might view each other’s childhoods.

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UPBRINGINGS

ANDREA ROMAN The daughter of Bolivian immigrants, Andrea Roman was born in 1992 in Washington, DC, and grew up in Rockville, Maryland. She attended Saint Andrews Episcopal School, where she was captain of the varsity girls’ soccer team and a volunteer medical translator. As a political science major at Boston College, she volunteered as a Big Sister and served on the cabinet for the school’s Organization of Latin American Affairs. Roman graduated in 2014 and is now pursuing a master’s degree in education at the University of Pennsylvania, where she works with Teach for America and remains “extremely devoted” to Caporales, a popular Bolivian folk dance.

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“We’re Not …” Roman wrote “We’re Not …” at the end of a first-year writing seminar. She revised it with feedback from her classmates and saw it selected for Fresh Ink, Boston College’s annual collection of student writing. Assigned to write a personal account of a significant event in her life, she chose to focus on a series of disagreements with her mother. Like David Sedaris in the previous essay, Roman compares two distinct cultures, both of them important to the writer’s identity.

“No somos pobres, Andrea. Para qué tienes que prestar ropa?”1 These were words I heard continually from my mother as I grew up. My parents, being immigrants from Bolivia during the eighties, experienced a complete culture clash when they arrived in America. One would think that language would create the biggest barriers for immigrants but in my mother’s case, the biggest obstacles were the small cultural differences. Sooner or later, this became a generic formula for strict rules given by my parents: “We’re not _______, Andrea. Why do you have to _______?” Typically, the first blank was filled in by the word “American,” while the second invariably changed. My mother could not understand that certain unacceptable actions in our culture were quite acceptable here in the States.

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1 Spanish, “We’re not poor, Andrea. Why do you have to borrow clothes?” — EDS.

I was eleven years old when I first showed up at my house with an article of clothing that was not mine. I had spilled hot chocolate all over my sweater during lunch that day. Luckily, my best friend Emily had an extra zip-up in her locker. As any good friend would do, she offered me her sweater to wear for the rest of the day since it was the middle of December. Logically, I accepted the sweater with gratitude and went on with my day as if nothing strange had happened. Little did I know, when my mother picked me up from school, I would receive the familiar speech about how embarrassing my act had been. “De quien es esa chompa?!” Those were the very first words that came out of my mother’s mouth. Not a breath, not an intake of air, just these words in a ridiculing tone: “Whose sweater is that?!” I remained clueless and answered the question, simply, “Emily’s.” Immediately after my answer, my mother gave me one of the longest speeches I have ever heard. “We’re not poor, Andrea. Why do you have to borrow clothes? I buy you clothes. You have sweaters. You wore one this morning!” I could not grasp the magnitude of my mother’s anger or disturbance as I did not see what the big deal was in borrowing a sweater. Kids in my class did it all the time without any problem. They’d borrow a sweater one day and give it back the other. It was as simple as that — but not to my mother. “In Bolivia,” my mother said, “we do not borrow clothes from other people. It is seen as an insult to the family in saying that we cannot afford to take care of our family. It’s a want of an unnecessary thing seeing as you already have your own.” The speech went on and on, usually repeating the same points, until I finally got a word in: “I stained my sweater. I had nothing to wear and was cold. I just don’t see why it’s such a big deal.” Boy, was that a mistake. Talking back to my mother was the worst thing I could have done. The second I got home I got a good deep mouth-washing with dishwasher soap as punishment. “We’re not American, Andrea. Why do you want a sleepover?” Sleepovers were a big no to my family. In fact, they were unheard of. “You want to sleep where?” If my girlfriends were having a slumber party over the weekend, I knew better than to ask for permission. I learned this through multiple attempts and failed experiences: “Mami, puedo ir a dormir donde la Caroline este viernes, porfa?” “Para qué?” Great. Every time I asked to sleep over at a friend’s house my mother’s response was always, “Why?” So I would then respond, “Because all my friends are sleeping over and it’s going to be fun and her parents said we could all spend the night.” “Mmm, then no.” “Pero por qué???” “Te dije que no.”2

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2 Spanish, “I told you no.” — EDS.

And just like that my attempt to go to a sleepover would end. “We’re not American, Andrea. We don’t do that in Bolivia. Everyone has their own house for a reason. If you want to go over to Caroline’s your father will gladly take you and pick you up later tonight, but don’t try to convince him to stay over because it just won’t work.” I suppose my mother letting me go to Caroline’s for some time was better than nothing, yet I always longed for that sleepover. Growing up, I quickly learned that what my mother said was the rule in the household. After several attempts to attend a sleepover, I gave up — not because I didn’t want to sleep over, but because I began to understand why my mother didn’t want me to stay over. Sunday, 1:00 p.m. My family is just getting out of church and deciding where to go for lunch, when all of a sudden I remember that a six-page paper is due in class on Monday. I assume I had a stunned look on my face, because my mother asked what was wrong. “Oh, nothing. I just remembered that I have an essay due tomorrow, so I’ll probably have to start working on that rather soon, if that influences our lunch decision.” “You mean to say that you left all your homework due Monday to do today?” “Yeah …” “Why would you do that? Don’t you know Sunday is family day? A day to worship God and be thankful for family?” “Yes …” “Okay then, so you don’t have any work due tomorrow right?” “No, Mami, I just said I have an essay due.” “Sundays are not the day to leave homework for. That’s why you get Friday and Saturday. You have two days to complete it; there is no reason why you need Sunday, too.” Geesh. My mother sure did accumulate rules over the years. “Okay, Mami, but I really have to do this essay now.” “Well you should have thought of that sooner, no?” Silence overtook the car on our way home and I could feel the disappointment on my mother’s face. When I first arrived at Boston College, I immediately knew that my conservative cultural position would have to become more open-minded. I knew that not everyone had grown up with strict Bolivian parents, as I had. I would not have to lose my cultural identity, however. As I lay in my new bed for the very first time in an unfamiliar room filled with familiar things, I started to ask myself the same question that my hall mates confronted me with: “Why do you have such a big American flag?” This question constantly arose when I met someone. Why did I have an American flag next to my Bolivian one? My mother instilled Bolivian values in me; Bolivian culture was the only thing I had ever been exposed to, and I loved it. I had just bought this American flag a week before move-in day for my room decorations. Through my mother’s multiple rules, I had become comfortable enough with my identity and culture that

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showing pride in another country would not take away from my heritage. I now borrow clothes, have sleepovers, and do a ton of work on Sundays, but I have not left behind that little Bolivian girl who received the mouth-washing with dishwasher soap, no matter what flag hangs on my wall.

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Journal Writing Write about a time when you were punished for an act that you didn’t think was a “big deal.” What did you do, and what was the punishment? Was it fair? How did the situation make you feel about your action? about whoever punished you? about yourself? about others involved, such as anyone who may have gotten you into trouble?

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Questions on Meaning 1. What is Roman’s THESIS? Where does she state it?

Thesis, thesis statement The central idea in a work of writing (thesis), to which everything else in the work refers; one or more sentences that express that central idea (thesis statement). In some way, each sentence and PARAGRAPH in an effective essay serves to support the thesis and to make it clear and explicit to readers. Good writers, while writing, often set down a thesis statement to help them define their purpose. They also often include this statement in their essay as a promise and a guide to readers. See pages 19, 35–36, 40–41, and the introductions to Chapters 3–12.

2. What seems to be Roman’s PURPOSE in this essay? Does she mean to explain or to evaluate? How can you tell?

Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing. In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages 19, 31–32, and 40.

3. Why was Roman’s mother so upset that her daughter borrowed a sweater from a classmate? What prompted her to wash Roman’s mouth with soap? 4. Why does Roman hang two flags on the wall of her dorm room? What do they represent to her?

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Questions on Writing Strategy 1. What is the function of the extra spaces between certain paragraphs in Roman’s essay? What do they indicate? 2. Roman organizes her essay point by point. What points does she compare? What is her basis of comparison? 3. To whom does Roman seem to be writing? Why do you think so? 4. What is notable about Roman’s concluding paragraph? 5. OTHER METHODS Roman uses NARRATION to relate three telling episodes involving her mother. What does the dialog contribute to her essay?

Narration, narrative The mode of writing (narration) that tells a story (narrative). See Chapter 3.

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Questions on Language 1. How does Roman ensure that English-speaking readers will understand the Spanish phrases she quotes in her essay? Are any statements left unclear to you? 2. Where in the essay does Roman include variations on her mother’s complaint “We’re not ______, Andrea. Why do you have to ________?” (par. 1)? What is the EFFECT of this repetition?

Effect The result of an event or action, usually considered together with CAUSE as a method of development. See the discussion of cause and effect in Chapter 10. In discussing writing, the term effect also refers to the impression a word, a sentence, a paragraph, or an entire work makes on the reader: how convincing it is, whether it elicits an emotional response, what associations it conjures up, and so on.

3. Consult a dictionary if necessary to learn the meanings of the following words: invariably (par. 1), magnitude (3), accumulate (21), instilled (26), heritage (27).

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Suggestions for Writing 1. FROM JOURNAL TO ESSAY Based on your journal entry, write an essay in which you narrate your experience (or, perhaps, experiences) with being punished while growing up. As you plan and draft your essay, try to draw a larger point about the results of the punishment(s) on your sense of fairness. What did you learn about yourself and the world around you? 2. Roman writes of differences with her mother that frustrated her but that also helped form her sense of identity. In a narrative and descriptive essay, relate some aspect of a relationship with a parent or other figure of authority that you found troubling or even maddening at the time but that now seems to have shaped you in positive ways. Did a parent (or someone else) push you to study when you wanted to play sports or hang out with your friends? make you attend religious services when they seemed unimportant to you? refuse to let you participate in certain activities? try to direct you onto a path that you didn’t care to take? 3. CRITICAL WRITING Roman attributes many of her mother’s attitudes to her Bolivian heritage. As an extension of the previous assignment, consider whether Roman’s experiences are particular to Bolivian American families or are common in all families, whatever their ethnicity. Are conflicts between children and their parents inevitable, do you think? Why, or why not? 4. CONNECTIONS Much as David Sedaris, in the previous essay, expresses envy for his partner’s more exotic childhood in Africa, Roman reveals a certain amount of envy for her classmates’ less restrictive American upbringings. Write an essay in which you compare and contrast your own experiences with those of someone you’ve envied. What in that person’s life was attractive to you? Have your feelings, like Sedaris’s and Roman’s, changed over time? Why, or why not?

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Andrea Roman on Writing Asked how she chose the

SUBJECT

for “We’re Not…,” Andrea Roman answered, “I had a lot of difficulty

in deciding what to write about because truthfully, I didn’t think I was all that interesting.” Away from her family, she was painfully homesick and seriously contemplated moving back. Being assigned to write about an event in her life prompted Roman to think about why she was having such a hard time adjusting to college. “After a lot of self-reflection,” she says, she pinpointed the source of her discomfort: While at home her “school-life was separate from home-life,” at college “school was home.” For the first time, she felt her “two cultures were colliding.” The effort to “integrate” her “American and Bolivian lives,” she decided, was a struggle worth exploring in writing.

Subject What a piece of a writing is about. The subject of an essay starts with a general topic, but because writers narrow their FOCUS on a subject until they have a specific point to make about it, multiple works on the same topic will typically be very different from one another. See also page 30, PURPOSE,

and THESIS.

Roman wrote two drafts and then, with “amazing help” from her teacher and her classmates, was able to “refine and refocus the most important aspects” of her experience. “They informed me of the parts they found most interesting,” she explains, “so that I could expand on those specific ideas and events.” By the time she was finished, she was gratified to discover that writing had “guided” her “in understanding and embracing the difficult time” she was having. Roman encourages other writers to always ask for feedback as well, particularly when writing about their own lives. “You lived through the story,” she points out, “but no one else did. An outsider’s perspective can highlight ambiguity and confusion” and help you “be as clear as possible.” The best advice Roman ever received? “Don’t hold back, be true, and let yourself go.” She explains why this mantra has proven so useful: “Our personal experiences and inspirations can never be taken away from us, and we should not shy away from telling our stories. If we do not share our obstacles and adversities, they will be lost and unheard. When you try to write what you think the audience wants, a feeling of forcedness is apparent. Inversely, when you write truthfully, genuineness becomes evident.” The Brief Bedford Reader on Writing Roman’s experience bears out a lesson that many beginning writers have trouble grasping: DRAFTING provides an opportunity to explore a subject for yourself, to “let yourself go” and discover what you think. REVISION is the time to rework an essay with a particular AUDIENCE in mind. For help identifying the most interesting parts of your drafts and developing those ideas with specifics, you can always turn to your peers — and to pages 39–42 of this book.

Drafting The stage of the writing process during which a writer expresses ideas in complete sentences, links 408

them, and arranges them in a sequence. See also pages 34–39 and 53–54. Revision The stage of the writing process during which a writer “re-sees” a draft from the viewpoint of a reader. Revision usually involves rethinking fundamental matters such as PURPOSE and organization as well as rewriting to ensure COHERENCE and UNITY. See pages 39–42 and 55–57. See also EDITING. Audience A writer’s readers. Having in mind a particular audience helps the writer in choosing strategies, such as which method(s) to use, what details to include, and how to shape an ARGUMENT. You can increase your awareness of your audience by asking yourself a few questions before you begin to write. Who are to be your readers? What is their age level? background? education? Where do they live? What are their beliefs and attitudes? What interests them? What, if anything, sets them apart from most people? How familiar are they with your subject? Knowing your audience can help you write so that your readers will not only understand you better but care more deeply about what you say. See also pages 20, 30, and 407.

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BRUCE CATTON Bruce Catton (1899–1978) was one of America’s best-known historians of the American Civil War. As a boy in Benzonia, Michigan, Catton acted out historical battles on local playing fields. In his memoir Waiting for the Morning Train (1972), he recalls how he would listen by the hour to the memories of Union army veterans. His studies at Oberlin College were interrupted by service in World War I, and he never finished his bachelor’s degree. Instead, he worked as a reporter, columnist, and editorial writer for the Cleveland Plain Dealer and other newspapers, then became a speechwriter and information director for government agencies. Of Catton’s eighteen books, seventeen were written after he turned fifty. A Stillness at Appomattox (1953) won him both a Pulitzer Prize for history and a National Book Award; other notable works include This Hallowed Ground (1956) and Gettysburg: The Final Fury (1974). From 1954 until his death, Catton edited American Heritage, a magazine of history. President Gerald Ford awarded him a Medal of Freedom for his life’s accomplishment.

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Grant and Lee: A Study in Contrasts “Grant and Lee: A Study in Contrasts” first appeared in The American Story, a book of essays written by eminent historians for interested general readers. Ulysses S. Grant and Robert E. Lee were opposing generals of the Civil War, Grant commanding forces of the North and Lee commanding forces of the South (called the Confederacy). The war lasted from 1861 to 1865, ending with Lee’s surrender to Grant during the meeting Catton describes. Contrasting the two great generals allows Catton to portray not only two very different men but also the conflicting traditions they represented. Catton’s essay builds toward the conclusion that, in one outstanding way, the two leaders were more than a little alike.

When Ulysses S. Grant and Robert E. Lee met in the parlor of a modest house at Appomattox Court House, Virginia, on April 9, 1865, to work out the terms for the surrender of Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia, a great chapter in American life came to a close, and a great new chapter began. These men were bringing the Civil War to its virtual finish. To be sure, other armies had yet to surrender, and for a few days the fugitive Confederate government would struggle desperately and vainly, trying to find some way to go on living now that its chief support was gone. But in effect it was all over when Grant and Lee signed the papers. And the little room where they wrote out the terms was the scene of one of the poignant, dramatic contrasts in American history. They were two strong men, these oddly different generals, and they represented the strengths of two conflicting currents that, through them, had come into final collision. Back of Robert E. Lee was the notion that the old aristocratic concept might somehow survive and be dominant in American life. Lee was tidewater Virginia, and in his background were family, culture, and tradition … the age of chivalry transplanted to a New World which was making its own legends and its own myths. He embodied a way of life that had come down through the age of knighthood and the English country squire. America was a land that was beginning all over again, dedicated to nothing much more complicated than the rather hazy belief that all men had equal rights, and should have an equal chance in the world. In such a land Lee stood for the feeling that it was somehow of advantage to human society to have a pronounced inequality in the social structure. There should be a leisure class, backed by ownership of land; in turn, society itself should be keyed to the land as the chief source of wealth and influence. It would bring forth (according to this ideal) a class of men with a strong sense of obligation to the community; men who lived not to gain advantage for themselves, but to meet the solemn obligations which had been laid on them by the very fact that they were privileged. From them the country would get its leadership; to them it could look for the higher values — of thought, of conduct, of personal deportment — to give it strength and virtue. Lee embodied the noblest elements of this aristocratic ideal. Through him, the landed nobility justified itself. For four years, the Southern states had fought a desperate war to uphold the ideals for which Lee stood. In the end, it almost seemed as if the Confederacy fought for Lee; as if he himself was the Confederacy … the best thing that the way of life for which the Confederacy stood could ever have to offer. He had passed into legend before Appomattox. Thousands of tired, underfed, poorly clothed Confederate soldiers, long since past the simple enthusiasm of the early days of the struggle, somehow considered Lee the symbol of everything for which they had been willing to die. But they could not quite put this feeling into words. If the Lost Cause, sanctified by so much heroism and so many deaths, had a living justification, its justification was General Lee.

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Grant, the son of a tanner on the Western frontier, was everything Lee was not. He had come up the hard way, and embodied nothing in particular except the eternal toughness and sinewy fiber of the men who grew up beyond the mountains. He was one of a body of men who owed reverence and obeisance to no one, who were self-reliant to a fault, who cared hardly anything for the past but who had a sharp eye for the future. These frontier men were the precise opposites of the tidewater aristocrats. Back of them, in the great surge that had taken people over the Alleghenies and into the opening Western country, there was a deep, implicit dissatisfaction with a past that had settled into grooves. They stood for democracy, not from any reasoned conclusion about the proper ordering of human society, but simply because they had grown up in the middle of democracy and knew how it worked. Their society might have privileges, but they would be privileges each man had won for himself. Forms and patterns meant nothing. No man was born to anything, except perhaps to a chance to show how far he could rise. Life was competition. Yet along with this feeling had come a deep sense of belonging to a national community. The Westerner who developed a farm, opened a shop, or set up in business as a trader could hope to prosper only as his own community prospered — and his community ran from the Atlantic to the Pacific and from Canada down to Mexico. If the land was settled, with towns and highways and accessible markets, he could better himself. He saw his fate in terms of the nation’s own destiny. As its horizons expanded, so did his. He had, in other words, an acute dollars-and-cents stake in the continued growth and development of his country. And that, perhaps, is where the contrast between Grant and Lee becomes most striking. The Virginia aristocrat, inevitably, saw himself in relation to his own region. He lived in a static society which could endure almost anything except change. Instinctively, his first loyalty would go to the locality in which that society existed. He would fight to the limit of endurance to defend it, because in defending it he was defending everything that gave his own life its deepest meaning. The Westerner, on the other hand, would fight with an equal tenacity for the broader concept of society. He fought so because everything he lived by was tied to growth, expansion, and a constantly widening horizon. What he lived by would survive or fall with the nation itself. He could not possibly stand by unmoved in the face of an attempt to destroy the Union. He would combat it with everything he had, because he could only see it as an effort to cut the ground out from under his feet. So Grant and Lee were in complete contrast, representing two diametrically opposed elements in American life. Grant was the modern man emerging; beyond him, ready to come on the stage, was the great age of steel and machinery, of crowded cities and a restless, burgeoning vitality. Lee might have ridden down from the old age of chivalry, lance in hand, silken banner fluttering over his head. Each man was the perfect champion of his cause, drawing both his strengths and his weaknesses from the people he led. Yet it was not all contrast, after all. Different as they were — in background, in personality, in underlying aspiration — these two great soldiers had much in common. Under everything else, they were marvelous fighters. Furthermore, their fighting qualities were really very much alike. Each man had, to begin with, the great virtue of utter tenacity and fidelity. Grant fought his way down the Mississippi Valley in spite of acute personal discouragement and profound military handicaps. Lee hung on in the trenches at Petersburg after hope itself had died. In each man there was an indomitable quality … the born fighter’s refusal to give up as long as he can still remain on his feet and lift his two fists. Daring and resourcefulness they had, too; the ability to think faster and move faster than the enemy. 412

These were the qualities which gave Lee the dazzling campaigns of Second Manassas and Chancellorsville and won Vicksburg for Grant. Lastly, and perhaps greatest of all, there was the ability, at the end, to turn quickly from war to peace once the fighting was over. Out of the way these two men behaved at Appomattox came the possibility of a peace of reconciliation. It was a possibility not wholly realized, in the years to come, but which did, in the end, help the two sections to become one nation again … after a war whose bitterness might have seemed to make such a reunion wholly impossible. No part of either man’s life became him more than the part he played in their brief meeting in the McLean house at Appomattox. Their behavior there put all succeeding generations of Americans in their debt. Two great Americans, Grant and Lee — very different, yet under everything very much alike. Their encounter at Appomattox was one of the great moments of American history.

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Journal Writing How do you respond to the opposing political beliefs represented by Grant and Lee? During the American Civil War, nearly every citizen had an opinion and chose sides. Do you think Americans today commit themselves as strongly to political and social causes? In your journal, explain why, or why not.

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Questions on Meaning 1. What is Catton’s PURPOSE in writing: to describe the meeting of two generals at a famous moment in history, to explain how the two men stood for opposing social forces in America, or to show how the two differed in personality?

Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing. In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages 19, 31–32, and 40.

2. SUMMARIZE the background and the way of life that produced Robert E. Lee; then do the same for Ulysses S. Grant. According to Catton, what ideals did each man represent?

Summarize, summary To condense a work (essay, movie, news story) to its essence (summarize), or the act or result of doing so (summary). Summarizing a piece of writing in one’s own words is an effective way to come to understand it. (See pp. 15–16.) Summarizing (and acknowledging) others’ writing in your own text is a good way to support your ideas. (See pp. 43, 44, and 46.) Contrast PARAPHRASE.

3. In the historian’s view, what essential traits did the two men have in common? Which trait does Catton think most important of all? For what reason? 4. How does this essay help you understand why Grant and Lee were such determined fighters?

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Questions on Writing Strategy 1. From the content of this essay, and from knowing where it first appeared, what can you INFER about Catton’s original AUDIENCE? At what places in “Grant and Lee: A Study in Contrasts” does the writer expect of his readers a familiarity with US history?

Infer, inference To draw a conclusion (infer), or the act or result of doing so (inference). In CRITICAL THINKING, READING, AND WRITING, inference is the means to understanding a writer’s meaning, ASSUMPTIONS, PURPOSE, fairness, and other attributes. See also pages 16–17, 23, and 25. Audience A writer’s readers. Having in mind a particular audience helps the writer in choosing strategies, such as which method(s) to use, what details to include, and how to shape an ARGUMENT. You can increase your awareness of your audience by asking yourself a few questions before you begin to write. Who are to be your readers? What is their age level? background? education? Where do they live? What are their beliefs and attitudes? What interests them? What, if anything, sets them apart from most people? How familiar are they with your subject? Knowing your audience can help you write so that your readers will not only understand you better but care more deeply about what you say. See also pages 20, 30, and 407.

2. What EFFECT does the writer achieve by setting both his INTRODUCTION and his CONCLUSION in Appomattox?

Effect The result of an event or action, usually considered together with CAUSE as a method of development. See the discussion of cause and effect in Chapter 10. In discussing writing, the term effect also refers to the impression a word, a sentence, a paragraph, or an entire work makes on the reader: how convincing it is, whether it elicits an emotional response, what associations it conjures up, and so on. Introduction The opening of a written work. Often it states the writer’s subject, narrows it, and communicates the writer’s main idea (THESIS). See page 38. Conclusion The sentences or paragraphs that bring an essay to a satisfying and logical end. See pages 38–39.

3. For what reasons does Catton contrast the two generals before he compares them? Suppose he had reversed his outline, and had dealt first with Grant’s and Lee’s mutual resemblances. Why would his essay have been less effective? 4. Closely read the first sentence of every paragraph and underline each word or phrase in it that serves as a TRANSITION. Then review your underlinings. How much COHERENCE has Catton given his essay?

Transitions Words, phrases, sentences, or even paragraphs that relate ideas. In moving from one topic to the next, a writer has to bring the reader along by showing how the ideas are developing, what bearing a new thought or detail has on an earlier discussion, or why a new topic is being introduced. A clear purpose, strong ideas, and logical development certainly aid COHERENCE, but to ensure that the reader is following along, good writers provide signals, or transitions. To bridge sentences or paragraphs and to point out relationships within them, you can use some of the following devices of transition: Repeat or restate words or phrases to produce an echo in the reader’s mind. Use PARALLEL STRUCTURES to produce a rhythm that moves the reader forward. Use pronouns to refer back to nouns in earlier passages. Use transitional words and phrases. These may indicate a relationship of time (right away, later, soon, meanwhile, in a

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few minutes, that night), proximity (beside, close to, distant from, nearby, facing), effect (therefore, for this reason, as a result, consequently), comparison (similarly, in the same way, likewise), or contrast (yet, but, nevertheless, however, despite). Some words and phrases of transition simply add on: besides, too, also, moreover, in addition to, second, last, in the end. Coherence The clear connection of the parts in effective writing so that the reader can easily follow the flow of ideas between sentences, paragraphs, and larger divisions, and can see how they relate successively to one another. In making your essay coherent, you may find certain devices useful. TRANSITIONS, for instance, can bridge ideas. Reminders of points you have stated earlier are helpful to a reader who may have forgotten them — as readers tend to do sometimes, particularly if an essay is long. However, a coherent essay is not one merely pasted together with transitions and reminders. It derives its coherence from the clear relationship between its THESIS (or central idea) and all its parts. See also pages 41–42 and 257–58.

5. What is the TONE of this essay — that is, what is the writer’s attitude toward his two subjects? Is Catton poking fun at Lee by imagining the Confederate general as a knight of the Middle Ages, “lance in hand, silken banner fluttering over his head” (par. 12)?

Tone The way a writer expresses his or her regard for subject, AUDIENCE, or self. Through word choice, sentence structures, and what is actually said, the writer conveys an attitude and sets a prevailing spirit. Tone in writing varies as greatly as tone of voice varies in conversation. It can be serious, distant, flippant, angry, enthusiastic, sincere, sympathetic. Whatever tone a writer chooses, usually it informs an entire essay and helps a reader decide how to respond. For examples of strong tone, see the essays by Diane Ackerman, Brian Doyle, Jessica Mitford, David Sedaris, Russell Baker, Chitra Divakaruni, Tal Fortgang, and Judy Brady. See also page 416.

6. OTHER METHODS In identifying “two conflicting currents,” Catton uses CLASSIFICATION to sort Civil War–era Americans into two groups represented by Lee and Grant. Catton then uses ANALYSIS to tease out the characteristics of each current, each type. How do classification and analysis serve Catton’s comparison and contrast?

Classification A method of development in which a writer sorts out multiple things (contact sports, college students, kinds of music) into categories. See Chapter 9. Analyze, analysis To separate a subject into its parts (analyze), or the act or result of doing so (analysis, also called division). Analysis is a key skill in CRITICAL THINKING, READING, AND WRITING; see pages 16, 18–22, and 24–25. It is also considered a method of development; see Chapter 8.

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Questions on Language 1. In his opening paragraph, Catton uses a metaphor: American life is a book containing chapters. Find other FIGURES OF SPEECH in his essay (consulting the Glossary if you need help). What do the figures of speech contribute?

Figures of speech Expressions that depart from the literal meanings of words for the sake of emphasis or vividness. To say “She’s a jewel” doesn’t mean that the subject of praise is literally a kind of shining stone; the statement makes sense because the CONNOTATIONS of jewel come to mind: rare, priceless, worth cherishing. Some figures of speech involve comparisons of two objects apparently unlike: A simile (from the Latin, “likeness”) states the comparison directly, usually connecting the two things using like, as, or than: “The moon is like a snowball”; “He’s as lazy as a cat full of cream”; “My feet are flatter than flyswatters.” A metaphor (from the Greek, “transfer”) declares one thing to be another: “A mighty fortress is our God”; “The sheep were bolls of cotton on the hill.” (A dead metaphor is a word or phrase that, originally a figure of speech, has come to be literal through common usage: “the hands of a clock.”) Personification is a simile or metaphor that assigns human traits to inanimate objects or abstractions: “A stoopshouldered refrigerator hummed quietly to itself”; “The solution to the math problem sat there winking at me.” Other figures of speech consist of deliberate misrepresentations: Hyperbole (from the Greek, “throwing beyond”) is a conscious exaggeration: “I’m so hungry I could eat a saddle”; “I’d wait for you a thousand years.” The opposite of hyperbole, understatement, creates an ironic or humorous effect: “I accepted the ride. At the moment, I didn’t feel like walking across the Mojave Desert.” A paradox (from the Greek, “conflicting with expectation”) is a seemingly self-contradictory statement that, on reflection, makes sense: “Children are the poor person’s wealth” (wealth can be monetary, or it can be spiritual). Paradox may also refer to a situation that is inexplicable or contradictory, such as the restriction of one group’s rights in order to secure the rights of another group.

2. What information do you glean from “Lee was tidewater Virginia” (par. 5)? 3. Look up poignant in the dictionary. Why is it such a fitting word in paragraph 2? Why wouldn’t touching, sad, or teary have been as good? 4. Define aristocratic (pars. 4 and 6), obeisance (7), and indomitable (14) as Catton uses them, based solely on their context in the essay.

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Suggestions for Writing 1. FROM JOURNAL TO ESSAY Using your journal entry (p. 196) as a starting point, write an essay that offers an explanation for public participation in or commitment to political and social causes today. What fires people up or turns them off? To help focus your essay, zero in on a specific issue, such as education, government spending, health insurance, or terrorism. 2. In your thinking and your attitudes, whom do you more closely resemble — Grant or Lee? Compare and contrast your outlook with that of one of these famous Americans or the other. (A serious tone for this topic isn’t required.) 3. Catton writes with respect for the Confederacy and its values as they were exemplified in Robert E. Lee’s background and beliefs. The flag that Lee fought under is currently the subject of much heated debate, as some argue that it represents hatred and violence against African Americans, while others insist that it represents Southern tradition and heritage. What is your take on the issue? Should any states or institutions, for instance, fly the Confederate flag on public land? Should individuals display it on their private property or on their persons? Why do you feel the way you do? Present your argument in a brief essay, taking care to consider both sides of the debate. 4. CRITICAL WRITING Although slavery, along with other issues, helped precipitate the Civil War, Catton in this particular essay does not deal with it. Perhaps he assumes that his readers will supply the missing context themselves. Is this a fair ASSUMPTION? If Catton had recalled the facts of slavery, would he have undermined any of his assertions about Lee? (Though the general of the proslavery Confederacy, Lee was personally opposed to slavery.) In a brief essay, judge whether or not the omission of slavery weakens the essay, and explain why.

Assume, assumption To take something for granted (assume), or a belief or opinion taken for granted (assumption). Whether stated or unstated, assumptions influence a writer’s choices of subject, viewpoint, EVIDENCE and even language. See also pages 17 and 410.

5. CONNECTIONS Catton contrasts Robert E. Lee’s and Ulysses S. Grant’s ideas about the privileges and obligations inherent in aristocracy and democracy, respectively. Tal Fortgang, in “Checking My Privilege” (p. 376), and Roxane Gay, in “Peculiar Benefits” (p. 383), also examine the notion that some people enjoy built-in advantages in American society. In a brief essay full of specific examples, discuss whether the “two diametrically opposed elements in American life” (as Catton calls them in par. 12) still exist in the country today. Is there any “advantage to human society to have a pronounced inequality in the social structure,” as Lee believed (5)? Or is it true, as Grant exemplified, that nobody “was born to anything, except perhaps to a chance to show how far he could rise” (8)?

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ALAIN DE BOTTON Alain de Botton is a journalist whom the Houston Chronicle has credited with creating his “own subgenre of nonfiction, one that examines the preoccupations of everyday life… through the lens of philosophy.” He was born in 1969 in Zurich, Switzerland, emigrated to England in 1981, and earned degrees in history and philosophy from Caius College, Cambridge (1991) and King’s College London (1992). For a time de Botton directed the graduate philosophy program at London University but decided that the academic world was too rigid and stifling for his tastes. As a writer, de Botton debuted as an experimental novelist in the mid-1990s before inventing the distinct blend of criticism and self-help for which he is known. He has published a dozen such books on subjects ranging from art and architecture to love and sex, including Status Anxiety (1994), How Proust Can Change Your Life (1997), The Pleasures and Sorrows of Work (2006), Religion for Atheists (2012), and, most recently, The News: A User’s Manual (2014). As a producer, he has adapted several of his books into documentaries for PBS and the BBC and recorded lectures for YouTube. In 2008 de Botton founded (and still helps to run) the School of Life, an international offering of classes, workshops, and therapies “dedicated to a new vision of education” and designed to foster emotional intelligence in its students. He lives in London.

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Tragedy This essay, a self-contained section of The News: A User’s Manual, illustrates de Botton’s knack for distilling heady concepts for general readers. As he does throughout the book, the author takes a critical look at contemporary journalistic practices. In this case, our self-help philosopher examines the tendency of newspapers and broadcasters to fixate on the most gruesome of tragedies, finding in ancient Greek dramas a possible purpose in telling such stories. A Manhattan doctor plunged 30 stories to his death from his Upper East Side high-rise yesterday in an apparent suicide, police and witnesses said. The body of Dr. Sheldon “Shelly” Steinbach, 68, an anesthesiologist, slammed into a second-floor balcony at the building, at 246 E. 63rd St., at 9:35 a.m. “I heard a large bang, and we looked outside and saw him. His body just exploded,” said resident Jonathan Kershner, 25, who lives two floors above where the doctor landed. “Then a doorman came by saying a woman was looking for her husband,” Kershner added. Steinbach had a Twitter page but had not updated it since October 2011. The personal description on his account reads: “I am an anesthesiologist in New York City and am having a great day. Married. Love aerobic activities and music.” — New York Post

Every time we connect with the news, we can be sure that we will be confronted by graphic accounts of some of the most appalling eventualities that can befall our species: A depressed man leaps out of the window, a mother poisons her children, a teacher rapes his pupil, a husband beheads his wife, a teenager shoots his classmates. The news leads us very reliably into the crucible of human horror. A decent impulse is to look away and to insist that such deaths and traumas are simply too sad and too private to be subjected to a stranger’s gaze. Any curiosity seems, from this perspective, to be a particularly shameful and modern kind of pathology. Motivated by fears of intrusion, the more serious news organizations typically adopt a reserved tone in their reports on the sorts of events that severely test any faith one might still have in the reasonableness and decency of mankind. They leave it to their less dignified colleagues, unfettered by scruples, to evoke the truly vivid details of the latest outrages: to give us a close-up view of the body after it fell from the balcony, the bedroom where the little child was tied up or the carving knife with the spouse’s blood still on its blade. Their reward for being willing to undertake such investigations is the occasionally guilty but concerted and lucrative interest of many millions of readers and viewers. It isn’t hard to characterize the interest of the public in horror stories as tasteless and unproductive. But beneath the surface banality, we should allow that we are often — in confused and inarticulate ways — attempting to get at something important. When immersing ourselves in blood-soaked narratives, we are not always solely in search of entertainment or distraction; we are not always being merely prurient or callously appropriating intensities of feeling that our own lives have failed to provide. We may also be looking to expose ourselves to barbaric tales to help us retain a tighter hold on our more civilized selves — and in particular, to nurture our always ephemeral reserves of patience, self-control, forgiveness and empathy. Rather than just inveigh moralistically against our fascination with heinous events, the challenge should be to tweak how they are reported — in order that they better release their important, yet too often latent, emotional and societal benefits. Every year, at the end of March, the citizens of ancient Athens would gather under open skies on the 421

southern slopes of the Acropolis in the Theater of Dionysus and there listen to the latest works by the great tragedians of their city. The plot lines of these plays were unmitigatingly macabre, easily matching anything our own news could provide: A man kills his father, marries his mother and gouges out his own eyes (Oedipus Rex); a man has his daughter murdered as part of a plan to revenge the infidelity of his brother’s wife (Iphigenia); a mother murders her two children to spoil her unfaithful husband’s plans to start a new family with another woman (Medea).1

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1 All three are classical Greek dramas. Oedipus Rex, by Sophocles (c. 496–406 BC), was first performed around 429 BC. Iphigenia and Medea were penned by Euripides (c. 480–406 BC) and debuted in 405 BC and 431 BC, respectively. — EDS.

Rather than regarding these stories as grotesque spectacles that all right-minded people should avoid, in his Poetics of c. 335

BC,

the philosopher Aristotle looked generously upon the human fascination with them.

He proposed that, when they are well written and artfully staged, such stories can become crucial resources for the emotional and moral education of a whole society. Despite the barbarity they describe, they themselves can function as civilizing forces. But in order for this to happen, in order for a horror (a meaningless narration of revolting events) to turn into what Aristotle called a tragedy (an educative tale fashioned from abominations), the philosopher thought it was vital that the plot should be well arranged and the motives and the personalities of the characters properly outlined to us. Extreme dramatic skill would be required in order for the audience to spontaneously reach a point at which it recognized that the apparently unhinged protagonist of the story, who had acted impetuously, arrogantly and blindly, who had perhaps killed others and destroyed his own reputation and life, the person whom one might at first (had one come across the story in the news) dismissed as nothing but a maniac, was, in the final analysis, rather like us in certain key ways. A work of tragedy would rise to its true moral and edifying possibilities when the audience looked upon the hero’s ghastly errors and crimes and was left with no option but to reach the terrifying conclusion: “How easily I, too, might have done the same.” Tragedy’s task was to demonstrate the ease with which an essentially decent and likeable person could end up generating hell. If we were entirely sane, if madness did not have a serious grip on one side of us, other people’s tragedies would hold a great deal less interest for us. While we circle gruesome stories in the media, we may at a highly unconscious level be exploring shocking but important questions: “If things got really out of hand late one night, and I was feeling wound up and tired and insecure, might I be capable of killing my partner?” “If I was divorced and my spouse was keeping my children from me, would I ever be able to kill them in a form of twisted revenge?” “Could I ever start chatting with a minor on the Internet and, without quite realizing the enormity of what I was doing, end up trying to seduce him or her?”

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A man drives into his family home to punish his wife, Manchester, 2012.

Medea kills her son to punish her husband, Greek jar, c. 330 bc.

Our fascination with crimes may be part of an unconscious effort to make sure we never commit them.

For civilization to proceed, we naturally need the answers to be a firm no in all cases. There is a serious task for the news here: The disasters we are introduced to should be framed in order to give us the maximum encouragement to practice not doing the things that the more chaotic parts of us would — under extreme circumstances — be attracted to exploring. We may never actually fling our children off a bridge at the end of

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our access day or shoot our partner dead during an argument, but we are all, at times, emotionally in the space where these sorts of things can happen. Tragedies remind us how badly we need to keep controlling ourselves by showing us what happens when people don’t. Tragedies shouldn’t only help us to be good, they should also prompt us to be kind. How likely we are to be sympathetic to someone who kills their spouse or children depends in large part on how their story happens to be told to us: what information we are given about them, how we are introduced to their motives and with what degree of insight and complexity their psyches are laid before us. In Greek tragedies, a Chorus regularly interrupts events to direct sentiments and richly contextualize characters’ actions. It tends to speak with solemn respect about the protagonists, whatever the sins they have committed. Such sensitivity ensures that few audience members are likely to leave a performance of Oedipus Rex dismissing the unfortunate central character as a “loser” or “psycho.” The news is less careful in its narrations; and our judgements are — as a result — far more intemperate and nastier: A Teesside doctor who downloaded more than 1,300 child porn images, including scenes of torture, has been jailed. Police found the “sickening” images on the laptop of James Taylor, 31, from Wensleydale Gardens, Thornaby. The doctor, who worked at Pinderfields Hospital in Wakefield, earlier admitted looking at indecent images of children. Taylor was sentenced to a year and a day in prison by a judge at Teesside Crown Court on Friday and was banned from working with children for life. — BBC

At first glance, the doctor seems to deserve no sympathy whatsoever. But our decision about how we consider him is crucially dependent on how the facts of his case are presented to us. We could sympathize with more or less anyone if their story was told to us in a certain way — and we wouldn’t necessarily be wrong to do so (as Dostoevsky or Jesus would have reminded us).2

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2 Russian author Fyodor Dostoevsky (1821–81) is known especially for the philosophical novels The Brothers Karamazov (1880) and Crime and Punishment (1886), both of which examine questions of murder and morality. — EDS.

In the context of news reporting, this claim seems contentious, even dangerous, because we have to juggle two ideas which sound opposing: that we can sympathize with a criminal and at the same time firmly condemn his or her crime. The news is tacitly convinced that its audience wouldn’t be able to pull off this conceptual feat, and that any sympathy it might express would lead the audience to want to open up the prisons and let murderers roam the streets. It hence remains steadfast in its refusal to undertake the narrative and psychological maneuvers required to humanize criminals. Instead it rushes through their stories. A performance of Oedipus Rex might last an hour and a half; the news story in which the doctor appears is 304 words long. Inevitably, a feeling of outrage is likely to be at its height when we confront the headline “Doctor had ‘sickening’ child porn.” But, as we read on, our certainty might be challenged. Towards the end of the piece, we learn, “Ordering Taylor to sign the Sex Offenders Register for 10 years, the judge said: ‘As a result of this conviction no doubt your career will come to an end.’ ” We might feel a chill at the thought of how seven long years of medical school had come to this. The article gives a hint of the panic the doctor must have felt: “The court was told Taylor initially denied being responsible, but later admitted, during police interviews, that he had downloaded the images.” And the enormous price that he has subsequently had to pay: “Stephen Rich, defending, told Judge George Moorhouse that Taylor’s wife and newborn baby had left him and that his life had collapsed.” An addendum informs us that while in prison, the man tried to commit suicide. All this is no less sad than the plot line of Madame Bovary or Hamlet — and, let’s argue, the character of the doctor is not fundamentally any worse; Hamlet is, after all, a murderer and Emma Bovary is guilty of extreme child cruelty.3 We consider them “tragic” figures — that is, entitled to a degree of complex understanding — because we imagine that there must have been something unusually noble and dignified about their nature and circumstances. But really it is only the generosity of spirit of Flaubert and Shakespeare that elevates Bovary and Hamlet above the ordinary criminal and dissuades us from judging them as harshly as we might the imprisoned doctor.

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3 Hamlet, by William Shakespeare (1564–1616), was first published in print form in 1603. Madame Bovary, by French novelist Gustave Flaubert (1821–80), appeared in 1856. — EDS.

When reporting on a tragedy, the news tends to make dreadful conduct seem unique to a particular person. It resists the wider resonance and the more helpful conclusion: that we are all a hair’s breadth away from catastrophe. This knowledge should, if properly absorbed, sink us into a mood of reflective, mature sadness. We are more implicated than we might like to believe in the misdeeds of other members of our species. A lack of a serious criminal record is in large measure a matter of luck and good circumstance, not proof of an incorruptible nature. A clean conscience is the preserve of those without sufficient imagination. Were life, or what the Greeks termed the gods, ever really to test us, we would almost surely be found wanting — an awareness upon which a measure of understanding towards the guilty should be founded. The tragedians of ancient Greece never forgot this. They liked to tell us how vicious, stupid, sexual, enraged and blind we could be, but they allowed room for complex compassion as well. Through the examples they leave us, we are coaxed into accepting that we are members of a noble but hideously flawed species; capable of performing amazing feats, ably practicing medicine or parenting with love for many years, and then of turning around and blowing up our existence with a single rash move. We should be scared. The ancient Greeks saw tragic plays once a year, at a specific time, within a particular context and with some knowledge of the works’ larger purpose. By contrast, we take in tragic news stories almost every day, but we rarely recognize them as belonging to a coherent narrative cycle with a distinctive moral to impart. The news doesn’t help us to place in a single genre all those incidents in which self-control is lost and the monster within is released. It doesn’t, as it should, gather all its varied tales of horror under the unified heading of “Tragedy” and then narrate them in such a way that we can more easily recognize our own smoldering tendencies in the demented actions of the bloody protagonists. Much of the news is in the end an account of people around the globe, in all sorts of positions, getting things very wrong. They fail to master their emotions, contain their obsessions, judge right from wrong and act decently when there is still time. We shouldn’t waste their failures. The news, like literature and history, can serve as that most vital of instruments, a “life simulator” — which is to say, a machine that inserts us into a variety of scenarios stretching far beyond anything we might ordinarily have to cope with and that affords us a chance safely, and at our leisure, to hone our best responses. Yet too often the news doesn’t help us to learn from the experiences of our wretched brethren; it doesn’t actively try to spare us and our societies the full force of error at every new turn. If a good life demands that we learn from, and imitate, the example of inspiring figures, it also requires us to undertake close study of those whose behavior should profoundly scare, horrify and warn us. These are two sides of the same coin of growth and development, and it lies within the remit of the news, if not yet on its agenda, to help us with both.

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Journal Writing In his conclusion de Botton remarks that a lot “of the news is in the end an account of people around the globe, in all sorts of positions, getting things very wrong” (par. 22). In your journal, reflect on some things you have gotten wrong. When is the last time you remember slipping up? What was the most significant mistake you ever made? Could it have destroyed you or someone else, or were the potential consequences less serious? What actually happened?

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Questions on Meaning 1. What is the PURPOSE of de Botton’s essay? Does he seek to justify sloppy or sensationalistic journalism? to defend readers who are drawn to gruesome stories? something else? How do you know?

Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing. In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages 19, 31–32, and 40.

2. How OBJECTIVE is de Botton’s portrayal of contemporary news and Greek tragedy? Does he seem to prefer one GENRE over the other?

Objective and subjective Kinds of writing that differ in emphasis. In objective writing the emphasis falls on the topic; in subjective writing it falls on the writer’s view of the topic. Objective writing occurs in factual journalism, science reports, certain PROCESS ANALYSES (such as recipes, directions, and instructions), and logical arguments in which the writer attempts to downplay personal feelings and opinions. Subjective writing sets forth the writer’s feelings, opinions, and interpretations. It occurs in friendly letters, journals, bylined feature stories and columns in periodicals, personal essays, andARGUMENTS that appeal to emotion. Few essays, however, contain one kind of writing exclusive of the other. Genre The category into which a piece of writing fits. Shaped by PURPOSE, AUDIENCE, and context, genres range from broad types (such as fiction and nonfiction) to general groups (novel, essay) to narrower groups (science fiction novel, personal narrative) to specific document formats (steampunk graphic novel, post on a retail workers’ forum) — and they tend to overlap. The genres of college writing vary widely. Examples appear on pages 71 (police log), 109 (field observation), 146 (job-application letter), 178 (review), 218 (lab report), 259 (critical analysis), 297 (résumé), 338 (letter to the editor), 373 (essay exam), and 418 (proposal). Most readers are instinctively aware of individual genres and the characteristics that distinguish them, and they expect writers to follow the genre’s conventions for POINT OF VIEW, structure and organization, types of EVIDENCE language, TONE, length, appearance, and so forth. Consider, for instance, a daily newspaper: Readers expect the news articles to be objective statements of fact, with none of the reporters’ personal thoughts and little rhetorical flourish; but when they turn to the op-ed page or their favorite columnists, such opinions and clever turns of phrase are precisely what they’re looking for. Similar expectations exist for every kind of writing, and good writers make a point of knowing what they are. See also pages 10, 32, and 40 and the individual chapter introductions in Part Two.

3. Does de Botton have a THESIS? Explain the central idea of his essay. What is the basis for comparison?

Thesis, thesis statement The central idea in a work of writing (thesis), to which everything else in the work refers; one or more sentences that express that central idea (thesis statement). In some way, each sentence and PARAGRAPH in an effective essay serves to support the thesis and to make it clear and explicit to readers. Good writers, while writing, often set down a thesis statement to help them define their purpose. They also often include this statement in their essay as a promise and a guide to readers. See pages 19, 35–36, 40–41, and the introductions to Chapters 3–12.

4. Summarize de Botton’s comparison and contrast. What do news reports and Greek tragedies have in common? How are they different?

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What does de Botton see as the major problem with the reporting he describes? 5. The author refers to three ancient plays (Oedipus Rex, Iphigenia, and Medea) and mentions a few other works of philosophy and literature (such as Aristotle’s Poetics, Shakespeare’s Hamlet, and Flaubert’s Madame Bovary). Does he seem to expect that his audience will understand these ALLUSIONS? Do readers need to be familiar with the texts de Botton cites to understand his comparison or appreciate his meaning?

Allude, allusion To refer to a person, place, or thing believed to be common knowledge (allude), or the act or result of doing so (allusion). An allusion may point to a famous event, a familiar saying, a noted personality, or a well-known story or song. Usually brief, an allusion is a space-saving way to convey much meaning. For example, the statement “The game was Coach Johnson’s Waterloo” informs the reader that, like Napoleon meeting defeat in a celebrated battle, the coach led a confrontation resulting in his downfall and that of his team. If the writer is also showing Johnson’s character, the allusion might further tell us that the coach is a man of Napoleonic ambition and pride. To make an effective allusion, you have to ensure that it will be clear to your audience. Not every reader, for example, would understand an allusion to a neighbor, to a seventeenth-century Russian harpsichordist, or to a little-known stock-car driver.

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Questions on Writing Strategy 1. De Botton’s comparison is organized point by point — similarities in basic plots, then differences in the writers’ sensitivity to context and their audiences’ capacity for empathy. What is the EFFECT of this organization? Or, from another angle, what would have been the effect of a subject-by-subject organization — just contemporary news, then just Greek tragedies (or vice versa)?

Effect The result of an event or action, usually considered together with CAUSE as a method of development. See the discussion of cause and effect in Chapter 10. In discussing writing, the term effect also refers to the impression a word, a sentence, a paragraph, or an entire work makes on the reader: how convincing it is, whether it elicits an emotional response, what associations it conjures up, and so on.

2. How does de Botton indicate when he’s changing points of comparison? 3. “Tragedy” includes two visuals. What do the parallels in the pictures of a video frame and a vase contribute to de Botton’s comparison? 4. OTHER METHODS Take note of de Botton’s reliance on Aristotle’s ANALYSIS of drama (pars. 9–10) to support his own interpretation of the news. What, according to the ancient philosopher, are the major elements of tragedy? How is it distinct from horror?

Analyze, analysis To separate a subject into its parts (analyze), or the act or result of doing so (analysis, also called division). Analysis is a key skill in CRITICAL THINKING, READING, AND WRITING; see pages 16, 18–22, and 24–25. It is also considered a method of development; see Chapter 8.

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Questions on Language 1. Consult a dictionary if you are unable to determine the meanings of the following words from their context in de Botton’s essay: crucible (par. 1); pathology (2); unfettered, scruples, lucrative (4); banality, prurient (5); ephemeral, empathy (6); inveigh, latent (7); unmitigatingly, macabre (8); abominations, protagonist, impetuously, edifying (10); psyches (13); tacitly, steadfast (16); brethren (23). 2. This essay opens with some particularly graphic IMAGES from crime reports. What do you take to be de Botton’s intended effect of including such disturbing language? How well does he succeed, in your estimation?

Image A word or word sequence that evokes a sensory experience. Whether literal (“We picked two red apples”) or figurative (“His cheeks looked like two red apples, buffed and shining”), an image appeals to the reader’s memory of seeing, hearing, smelling, touching, or tasting. Images add concreteness to fiction — “The farm looked as tiny and still as a seashell, with the little knob of a house surrounded by its curved furrows of tomato plants” (Eudora Welty in a short story, “The Whistle”) — and are an important element in poetry. But writers of essays, too, use images to bring ideas down to earth. See also FIGURES OF SPEECH.

3. The author includes several quotations from newspapers but only SUMMARIZES the plays he cites. Why do you think that is?

Summarize, summary To condense a work (essay, movie, news story) to its essence (summarize), or the act or result of doing so (summary). Summarizing a piece of writing in one’s own words is an effective way to come to understand it. (See pp. 15–16.) Summarizing (and acknowledging) others’ writing in your own text is a good way to support your ideas. (See pp. 43, 44, and 46.) Contrast PARAPHRASE.

4. How would you characterize de Botton’s DICTION and TONE? What does his language contribute to the overall effectiveness of his comparison?

Diction The choice of words. Every written or spoken statement uses diction of some kind. To describe certain aspects of diction, the following terms may be useful: Standard English: the common American language, words, and grammatical forms that are used and expected in schools, businesses, and other formal sites. Nonstandard English: words and grammatical forms such as theirselves and ain’t that are used mainly by people who speak a dialect other than standard English. Dialect: a variety of English based on differences in geography, education, or social background. Dialect is usually spoken but may be written. Shirley Jackson’s story in Chapter 3 transcribes the words of dialect speakers (“ ‘I looked out the window and the kids was gone, and then I remembered it was the twenty-seventh and came a-running’ ”). Slang: certain words in highly informal speech or writing, or in the speech of a particular group — for example, blow off, dweeb, wack. Colloquial expressions: words and phrases from conversation. See COLLOQUIAL EXPRESSIONS for examples. Regional terms: words heard in a certain locality, such as spritzing for “raining” in Pennsylvania Dutch country. Technical terms: words and phrases that form the vocabulary of a particular discipline (monocotyledon from botany), occupation (drawplate from die-making), or avocation (interval training from running). See also JARGON. Archaisms: old-fashioned expressions, once common but now used to suggest an earlier style, such as ere and forsooth. Obsolete diction: words that have passed out of use (such as the verb werien, “to protect or defend,” and the noun isetnesses, “agreements”). Obsolete may also refer to certain meanings of words no longer current (fond for foolish, clipping for hugging or embracing).

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Pretentious diction: use of words more numerous and elaborate than necessary, such as institution of higher learning for “college,” and partake of solid nourishment for “eat.” Archaic, obsolete, and pretentious diction usually have no place in good writing unless for ironic or humorous effect: The journalist and critic H. L. Mencken delighted in the hifalutin use of tonsorial studio instead of barber shop. Still, any diction may be the right diction for a certain occasion: The choice of words depends on a writer’s PURPOSE and AUDIENCE. Tone The way a writer expresses his or her regard for subject, AUDIENCE, or self. Through word choice, sentence structures, and what is actually said, the writer conveys an attitude and sets a prevailing spirit. Tone in writing varies as greatly as tone of voice varies in conversation. It can be serious, distant, flippant, angry, enthusiastic, sincere, sympathetic. Whatever tone a writer chooses, usually it informs an entire essay and helps a reader decide how to respond. For examples of strong tone, see the essays by Diane Ackerman, Brian Doyle, Jessica Mitford, David Sedaris, Russell Baker, Chitra Divakaruni, Tal Fortgang, and Judy Brady. See also page 416.

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Suggestions for Writing 1. FROM JOURNAL TO ESSAY Do you agree with de Botton that most people have the capacity to lose control and fall victim to the kinds of mistakes that make headlines? How common are the kinds of stories he relates? What are your attitudes toward them? Do you tend to sympathize with the characters, for instance, or are you more likely to judge them? Drawing on the mistakes you recalled in your journal (p. 206) for inspiration, write an essay in which you consider the average person’s likelihood of committing a heinous crime. Who does these things? Why? What should a civilized society do about it? 2. Analyze the similarities and differences between two characters in your favorite play, film, or TV show. Which aspects of their personalities make them work well together, within the context in which they appear? Which characteristics work against each other, and therefore provide the necessary conflict to hold the reader’s or viewer’s attention? 3. CRITICAL WRITING Find a recent newspaper story of the gruesome sort de Botton discusses and analyze it using his basis of comparison. Does the reporter, for instance, rush through the details, or does the report provide the kind of background and context that humanizes a subject? Are readers given a reason to sympathize with the perpetrator and learn from his or her example, or is the story mere spectacle? How well does the article conform to the careful style of writing de Botton would like to see more of in the news? Quote, paraphrase, and summarize the story as appropriate to support your conclusions. 4. CONNECTIONS Christopher Beam, in “Blood Loss” (p. 358), also criticizes the news media. But where de Botton believes that crime reports, thoughtfully crafted, can make us better people, Beam suggests that they may actually incite violence and mayhem. What do you think? How much power do the media — newspapers, magazines, television, the Internet — hold over individuals’ thoughts and behaviors? Are some forms of reporting more influential than others? Do news accounts affect world events, or merely record them? Taking evidence from both essays as well as your own reading, experience, and observation, write an essay that examines the state of journalism today.

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Alain de Botton on Writing As a generalist, Alain de Botton is known for writing on whatever subjects capture his imagination: His books have examined love, fine art, literature, religion, work, airports, journalism, and more. In a 2014 interview for the Deloitte Review, Scott Wilson asked him, “Does wielding such an obviously wide, diverse lens through which to observe, think, and write demand some sort of a process to getting stuff done?” The author responded:

Yes. Broadly speaking, my discipline base is the humanities. So I feed off history, psychology, philosophy, sociology. I’m not a scientist; I’m not an economist. I look at a number of areas related to, let’s say, emotional satisfaction or well-being, which encompasses lots of different areas. So it can go as widely as architecture because architecture and the spaces we inhabit are part of what contribute to well-being. Overall I think it’s about getting to grips with a topic and trying to find out what belongs to that topic. Really what I’m trying to do is to work out what ideas belong where. It’s a chance to structure an order to a topic. So, if I’m writing about architecture, I want to try and gather all my thoughts that are around space and aesthetics and the psychology of location. I want to try and get all those ideas in there. And so the working process starts off relatively freeform and fluid and I’m just trying to get to the main idea. The best analogy is again with architecture. You start with a sketch. You then build it up into detailed plans. You then go into the actual construction of the thing. You put down the main bones and supporting pillars, and then at the very end, you’re tidying and decorating the little details, the minor things. So it’s very similar to putting up a building except you’re putting up chapter three rather than a floor. The Brief Bedford Reader on Writing In describing his method of exploring a topic, finding the main idea, planning, drafting, revising, and editing, de Botton likens writing to architecture, one of his favorite academic disciplines. What do you make of this ANALOGY? How else is writing similar to constructing a building? For a concrete overview of the foundations of writing and the stages within it, see Chapter 2, especially pages 30–53.

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ADDITIONAL WRITING TOPICS Comparison and Contrast 1. In an essay replete with EXAMPLES, compare and contrast the two subjects in any one of the following pairs:

Example Also called exemplification or illustration, a method of development in which the writer provides instances of a general idea. See Chapter 5. An example is a verbal illustration.

Toys marketed to girls and boys Vampires and zombies A photograph and a painting The special skills of two basketball players High school and college Introverts and extraverts Liberals and conservatives: their opposing views of the role of government How city dwellers and country dwellers spend their leisure time The presentation styles of two popular comedians Science and the humanities 2. Approach a comparison-and-contrast essay on one of the following general subjects by explaining why you prefer one thing to the other: Vehicles: hybrid and electric engines; sedans and SUVs; American and Asian; Asian and European Smartphone platforms: Apple and Android Two buildings on campus or in town Two baseball teams Two horror movie franchises Television when you were a child and television today High art and low art Malls and main streets Two sports A vegetarian (or vegan) diet and a meat-based diet 3. Write an essay in which you compare a reality (what actually exists) with an ideal (what should exist). Some possible topics: The affordable car Available living quarters Parenthood A job A personal relationship A companion animal The college curriculum Public transportation Financial aid for college students Political candidates

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7 PROCESS ANALYSIS Explaining Step by Step

Process analysis in a photograph In a factory in Shenzhen, China, workers create dolls for export to the United States. This single image catches several steps in the dollmaking process. At the very back of the assembly line, flat, unstuffed dolls begin the journey past the ranks of workers who stuff the body parts, using material prepared by other workers on the sides. A supervisor, hands behind his or her back, oversees the process. What do you think the photographer, Wally McNamee, wants viewers to understand about this process? What do you imagine the workers themselves think about it?

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THE METHOD A chemist working for a soft-drink firm is asked to improve on a competitor’s product, Hydra Sports Water. First, she chemically tests a sample to figure out what’s in the drink. This is the method of DIVISION or ANALYSIS,

the separation of something into its parts in order to understand it (see the next chapter). Then the

chemist writes a report telling her boss how to make a drink like Hydra Sports Water, but better. This recipe is a special kind of analysis, called

PROCESS ANALYSIS:

explaining step by step how to do something or how

something is done.

Division See ANALYZE, ANALYSIS. Analyze, analysis To separate a subject into its parts (analyze), or the act or result of doing so (analysis, also called division). Analysis is a key skill in CRITICAL THINKING, READING, AND WRITING; see pages 16, 18– 22, and 24–25. It is also considered a method of development; see Chapter 8. Process analysis A method of development that most often explains step by step how something is done or how to do something. See Chapter 7.

Like any type of analysis, process analysis divides a subject into its components: It divides a continuous action into stages. Processes much larger and more involved than the making of a sports drink may also be analyzed. When geologists explain how a formation such as the Grand Canyon developed — a process taking several hundred million years — they describe the successive layers of sediment deposited by oceans, floods, and wind; then the great uplift of the entire region by underground forces; and then the erosion, visible to us today, by the Colorado River and its tributaries, by little streams and flash floods, by crumbling and falling rock, and by wind. Exactly what are the geologists doing in this explanation? They are taking a complicated event (or process) and dividing it into parts. They are telling us what happened first, second, and third, and what is still happening today. Because it is useful in explaining what is complicated, process analysis is a favorite method of scientists such as chemists and geologists. The method, however, may be useful to anybody. Two

PURPOSES

of process

analysis are very familiar to you:

Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing.

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In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages 19, 31–32, and 40.

A directive process analysis explains how to do something or how to make something. You make use of it when you read a set of instructions for taking an exam or for assembling a new bookcase (“Lay part A on a flat surface and, using two of the lock tabs provided, attach part B on the left …”). An informative process analysis explains how something is done or how it takes place. You see it in textbook descriptions of how atoms behave when they split, how lions hunt, and how a fertilized egg develops into a child. In this chapter, you will find examples of both kinds of process analysis — both the “how to” and the “how.” For instance, Anne Lamott and Koji Frahm offer their own directives for writing successfully, while Jessica Mitford spellbindingly explains how corpses are embalmed. Sometimes process analysis is used imaginatively. Foreseeing that eventually the sun will burn out and all life on Earth will perish, an astronomer who cannot possibly behold the end of the world nevertheless can write a process analysis of it. An exercise in learned guesswork, such an essay divides a vast and almost inconceivable event into stages that, taken one at a time, become clearer and more readily imaginable. Whether it is useful or useless (but fun or scary to imagine), an effective process analysis can grip readers and even hold them fascinated. Say you were proposing a change in the procedures for course registration at your school. You could argue your point until you were out of words, but you would get nowhere if you failed to tell your readers exactly how the new process would work: That’s what makes your proposal sing. Readers, it seems, have an unslakable thirst for process analysis. Leaf through any magazine, and you will find that instructions abound. You may see, for instance, articles telling you how to do a magic trick, make a difficult decision, build muscle, overcome anxiety, and score at stock trading. Less practical, but not necessarily less interesting, are the informative articles: how brain surgeons work, how diamonds are formed, how cities fight crime. Every issue of the New York Times Book Review features an entire best-seller list devoted to “Advice, How-to, and Miscellaneous,” including books on how to make money in real estate, how to lose weight, how to find a good mate, and how to lose a bad one. Evidently, if anything can still make a busy person crack open a book, it is a step-by-step explanation of how he or she can be a success at living.

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THE PROCESS Here are suggestions for writing an effective process analysis of your own. (In fact, what you are about to read is itself a process analysis.) 1. Understand clearly the process you are about to analyze. Think it through. This preliminary survey will make the task of writing far easier for you. 2. Consider your thesis. What is the point of your process analysis? Why are you bothering to tell readers about it? The THESIS STATEMENT for a process analysis need do no more than say what the subject is and maybe outline its essential stages, as in this example:

Thesis, thesis statement The central idea in a work of writing (thesis), to which everything else in the work refers; one or more sentences that express that central idea (thesis statement). In some way, each sentence and PARAGRAPH in an effective essay serves to support the thesis and to make it clear and explicit to readers. Good writers, while writing, often set down a thesis statement to help them define their purpose. They also often include this statement in their essay as a promise and a guide to readers. See pages 19, 35–36, 40–41, and the introductions to Chapters 3–12.

The main stages in writing a process analysis are listing the steps in the process, drafting to explain the steps, and revising to clarify the steps. But your readers will surely appreciate something livelier and more pointed, something that says “You can use this” or “This may surprise you” or “Listen up.” Here are two thesis statements from essays in this chapter: Almost all good writing begins with terrible first efforts. You need to start somewhere. — Anne Lamott, “The Crummy First Draft” [In a mortuary the body] is in short order sprayed, sliced, pierced, pickled, trussed, trimmed, creamed, waxed, painted, rouged, and neatly dressed — transformed from a common corpse into a Beautiful Memory Picture. — Jessica Mitford, “Behind the Formaldehyde Curtain”

3. Think about preparatory steps. If the reader should do something before beginning the process, list these steps. For instance, you might begin, “Assemble the needed equipment: a 20-milliliter beaker, a 5milliliter burette, safety gloves, and safety goggles.” 4. List the steps or stages in the process. Try setting them down in CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER, one at a time — if this is possible. Some processes, however, do not happen in an orderly sequence, but occur all at once. If, for instance, you are writing an account of a typical earthquake, what do you mention first? The shifting of underground rock strata? cracks in the earth? falling houses? bursting water mains? toppling trees? mangled cars? casualties? For this subject the method of CLASSIFICATION (Chap. 9) might come to your aid. You might sort out apparently simultaneous events into categories: injury to people; damage to homes, to land, to public property. 442

Chronological order The arrangement of events as they occurred or occur in time, first to last. Most NARRATIVES and PROCESS ANALYSES use chronological order. Classification A method of development in which a writer sorts out multiple things (contact sports, college students, kinds of music) into categories. See Chapter 9.

5. Check the completeness and order of the steps. Make sure your list includes all the steps in the right order. Sometimes a stage of a process may contain a number of smaller stages. Make sure none has been left out. If any seems particularly tricky or complicated, underline it on your list to remind yourself when you write your essay to slow down and detail it with extra care. 6. Define your terms. Ask yourself, “Do I need any specialized or technical terms?” If so, be sure to define them. You’ll sympathize with your reader if you have ever tried to assemble a bicycle according to a directive that begins, “Position sleeve casing on wheel center in fork with shaft in tongue groove, and gently but forcibly tap in pal-nut head.” 7. Use time-markers or TRANSITIONS. These words or phrases indicate when one stage of a process stops and the next begins, and they greatly aid your reader in following you. Consider, for example, the following paragraph, in which plain medical prose makes good use of helpful time-markers (underlined). (The paragraph is adapted from Pregnancy and Birth: A Book for Expectant Parents, by Alan Frank Guttmacher.)

Transitions Words, phrases, sentences, or even paragraphs that relate ideas. In moving from one topic to the next, a writer has to bring the reader along by showing how the ideas are developing, what bearing a new thought or detail has on an earlier discussion, or why a new topic is being introduced. A clear purpose, strong ideas, and logical development certainly aid COHERENCE,

but to ensure that the reader is following along, good writers provide signals,

or transitions. To bridge sentences or paragraphs and to point out relationships within them, you can use some of the following devices of transition: Repeat or restate words or phrases to produce an echo in the reader’s mind. Use PARALLEL STRUCTURES to produce a rhythm that moves the reader forward. Use pronouns to refer back to nouns in earlier passages. Use transitional words and phrases. These may indicate a relationship of time (right away, later, soon, meanwhile, in a few minutes, that night), proximity (beside, close to, distant from, nearby, facing), effect (therefore, for this reason, as a result, consequently), comparison (similarly, in the same way, likewise), or contrast (yet, but, nevertheless, 443

however, despite). Some words and phrases of transition simply add on: besides, too, also, moreover, in addition to, second, last, in the end.

In the human, thirty-six hours after the egg is fertilized, a two-cell egg appears. A twelve-cell development takes place in seventytwo hours. The egg is still round and has increased little in diameter. In this respect it is like a real estate development. At first a road bisects the whole area, then a cross road divides it into quarters, and later other roads divide it into eighths and twelfths. This happens without the taking of any more land, simply by subdivision of the original tract. On the third or fourth day, the egg passes from the Fallopian tube into the uterus. By the fifth day the original single large cell has subdivided into sixty small cells and floats about the slitlike uterine cavity a day or two longer, then adheres to the cavity’s inner lining. By the twelfth day the human egg is already firmly implanted. Impregnation is now completed, as yet unbeknown to the woman. At present, she has not even had time to miss her first menstrual period, and other symptoms of pregnancy are still several days distant.

Brief as these time-markers are, they define each stage of the human egg’s journey. When using timemarkers, vary them so that they won’t seem mechanical. If you can, avoid the monotonous repetition of a fixed phrase (In the fourteenth stage …, In the fifteenth stage …). Even boring time-markers, though, are better than none at all. Words and phrases such as in the beginning, first, second, next, then, after that, three seconds later, at the same time, and finally can help a process move smoothly in the telling and lodge firmly in the reader’s mind. 8. Be specific. When you write a first draft, explain your process analysis in generous detail, even at the risk of being wordy. When you revise, it will be easier to delete than to amplify. 9. Revise. When your essay is finished, reread it carefully against the checklist on page 217. You might also enlist a friend’s help. If your process analysis is directive (“How to Eat an Ice-Cream Cone without Dribbling”), see if your friend can follow the instructions without difficulty. If your process analysis is informative (“How a New Word Enters the Dictionary”), ask whether the process unfolds as clearly in his or her mind as it does in yours. FOCUS ON CONSISTENCY While drafting a process analysis, you may start off with subjects or verbs in one form and then shift to another form because the original choice feels awkward. In directive analyses, shifts occur most often with the subjects a person and one: INCONSISTENT To keep the car from rolling while changing the tire, one should first set the car’s emergency brake. Then you should block the three other tires with objects like rocks or chunks of wood. In informative analyses, shifts usually occur from singular to plural as a way to get around he when the meaning includes males and females: INCONSISTENT The poll worker first checks each voter against the registration list. Then they ask the voter to sign another list. To repair inconsistencies, start with a subject that is both comfortable and sustainable: CONSISTENT To keep the car from rolling while changing the tire, you should set the car’s emergency brake. Then you should block the three other tires with objects like rocks or chunks of wood. CONSISTENT Poll workers first check each voter against the registration list. Then they ask the voter to sign another list. Sometimes, writers try to avoid naming or shifting subjects by using PASSIVE verbs that don’t require actors: INCONSISTENT To keep the car from rolling while changing the tire, one should first set the car’s emergency brake. Then the three other tires should be blocked with objects like rocks or chunks of wood.

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INCONSISTENT Poll workers first check each voter against the registration list. Then the voter is asked to sign another list. In directive analyses, avoid passive verbs by using you, as shown in the consistent example above, or by using the commanding form of verbs, in which you is understood as the subject: CONSISTENT To keep the car from rolling while changing the tire, first set the car’s emergency brake. Then block the three other tires with objects like rocks or chunks of wood. In informative analyses, passive verbs may be necessary if you don’t know who the actor is or want to emphasize the action over the actor. But identifying the actor is generally clearer and more concise: CONSISTENT Poll workers first check each voter against the registration list. Then they ask the voter to sign another list.

CHECKLIST FOR REVISING A PROCESS ANALYSIS Thesis. Does your process analysis have a point? Have you made sure readers know what it is? Organization. Have you arranged the steps of your process in a clear chronological order? If steps occur simultaneously, have you grouped them so that readers perceive some order? Completeness. Have you included all the necessary steps and explained each one fully? Is it clear how each one contributes to the result? Definitions. Have you explained the meanings of any terms your readers may not know? Transitions. Do time-markers distinguish the steps of your process and clarify their sequence? Consistency. Have you maintained comfortable, consistent, and clear subjects and verb forms?

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PROCESS ANALYSIS IN ACADEMIC WRITING A Psychology Textbook This passage on our descent into sleep comes from a section in Psychology, by Carole Wade and Carol Tavris, on “the most perplexing of all our biological rhythms.” Before this paragraph the authors review the history of sleep research; after it they continue to analyze the night-long process that follows this initial descent. Steps preceding the process When you first climb into bed, close your eyes, and relax, your brain emits bursts of alpha waves. On an EEG recording, alpha waves have a regular, slow rhythm and high amplitude (height). Process to be explained with informative analysis Gradually, these waves slow down even further, and you drift into the Land of Nod, passing through four stages, each deeper than the previous one. Step 1 Stage 1. Your brain waves become small and irregular, and you feel yourself drifting on the edge of consciousness, in a state of light sleep. If awakened, you may recall fantasies or a few visual images. Step 2 Stage 2. Your brain emits occasional short bursts of rapid, high-peaking waves called sleep spindles. Minor noises probably won’t disturb you. Step 3 Stage 3. In addition to the waves that are characteristic of stage 2, your brain occasionally emits delta waves, very slow waves with very high peaks. Your breathing and pulse have slowed down, your muscles are relaxed, and you are hard to waken. Step 4 Stage 4. Delta waves have now largely taken over, and you are in deep sleep. It will take vigorous shaking or a loud noise to awaken you. Oddly, though, if you walk in your sleep, this is when you are likely to do so.

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A Lab Report When scientists conduct experiments to test their hypotheses, or theories, they almost always write reports outlining the processes they followed so that other researchers can attempt to duplicate the outcomes. Laboratory reports are straightforward and objective and are generally organized under standardized headings, such as Purpose, Materials, Procedure, and Results. They often include tables, figures, and calculations pertaining to the experiment. Most writers of lab reports put the focus on the experiment by keeping themselves in the background: They avoid I or we and use the PASSIVE VOICE of verbs (the solution was heated, as opposed to we heated the solution). The passive voice is not universal, however. Most lab assignments you receive in college will include detailed instructions for writing up the experiment and its results, so the best writing strategy is to follow those instructions to the letter.

Passive voice The form of the verb when the sentence subject is acted upon: The report [subject] was published [passive verb] anonymously. Contrast ACTIVE VOICE.

For a first-year chemistry experiment, Victor Khoury used mostly household materials to extract and isolate deoxyribonucleic acid (DNA) from an onion. Found in all plants and animals, DNA is the molecule that holds the genetic information needed to create and direct living organisms. Khoury’s instructor intended the experiment to teach students basic techniques and interactions in chemistry and to help them understand genetics at a molecular level. In the following excerpt from his lab report, Khoury explains the procedure and the main result. Procedure Step 1 A small onion was coarsely chopped and placed in a 1000-ml measuring cup along with 100 ml of a solution consisting of 10 ml of liquid dishwashing detergent, 1.5 g of table salt, and distilled water. Reason for step The solution was intended to dissolve the proteins and lipids binding the cell membranes of the onion. Step 2 The onion pieces were next pressed with the back of a spoon for 30 seconds to break the onion structure down into a mash. Reason for step

Step 3

Reason for step The measuring cup was then placed in a pan of preheated 58°C water for 13 minutes to further separate the DNA from the walls of the onion cells. For the first 7 minutes, the onion was continuously pressed with a spoon.

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Step 4

Reason for step After 13 minutes of heating, the cup of mixture was then placed in a pan of ice water and the mixture was pressed and stirred for 5 minutes to cool it and to slow enzyme activity that would otherwise break down the DNA. Step 5

Reason for step The onion mixture was then placed in a coffee filter over a lab beaker and stored for 1 hour in a 4°C refrigerator in order to filter and further cool the solution. Steps 6, 7, and 8 After refrigeration, the filtered solution was stirred for 30 seconds and 10 ml were poured into a clean vial. A toothpick dipped in meat tenderizer was placed into the onion solution so that the enzymes in the tenderizer would further separate any remaining proteins from the DNA. Reason for steps

Step 9 Then refrigerated ethyl alcohol was poured into the vial until it formed a 1-cm layer on top of the onion solution. Results Discussion of results After the solution sat for 2 minutes, the DNA precipitated into the alcohol layer. The DNA was long, white, and stringy, with a gelatinous texture. This experiment demonstrated that DNA can be extracted and isolated using a process of homogenization and deproteinization….

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ANNE LAMOTT Born in San Francisco in 1954, Anne Lamott is a novelist and essayist whom Amazon once characterized as “your run-of-the-mill recovering alcoholic and drug addict, born-again Christian, left-wing liberal, and single mother who just so happens to have written New York Times–best-selling books.” Those books, including Bird by Bird (1994), Traveling Mercies (1999), Blue Shoe (2002), Imperfect Birds (2010), and Small Victories (2014), touch on subjects ranging from fiction to family to faith and have earned Lamott a devoted following. Her biweekly diary for Salon, “Word by Word,” ran from 1996 to 1999 and was voted “The Best of the Web” by Time magazine. Lamott has taught at the University of California, Davis, and at writing workshops across the country. She lives in northern California.

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The Crummy First Draft Lamott’s Bird by Bird is an inspiring and often very funny guide to writing. In this excerpt from the book, Lamott advises others how to begin writing by silencing their noisy inner critics. In the next essay, “How to Write an A Paper,” college student Koji Frahm offers a different take on succeeding as a writer.

For me and most of the other writers I know, writing is not rapturous. In fact, the only way I can get anything written at all is to write really, really crummy first drafts. The first draft is the child’s draft, where you let it all pour out and then let it romp all over the place, knowing that no one is going to see it and that you can shape it later. You just let this childlike part of you channel whatever voices and visions come through and onto the page. If one of the characters wants to say “Well, so what, Mr. Poopy Pants?” you let her. No one is going to see it. If the kid wants to get into really sentimental, weepy, emotional territory, you let him. Just get it all down on paper, because there may be something great in those six crazy pages that you would never have gotten to by more rational, grown-up means. There may be something in the very last line of the very last paragraph on page six that you just love, that is so beautiful or wild that you now know what you’re supposed to be writing about, more or less, or in what direction you might go — but there was no way to get to this without first getting through the first five and a half pages. I used to write food reviews for California magazine before it folded. (My writing food reviews had nothing to do with the magazine folding, although every single review did cause a couple of canceled subscriptions. Some readers took umbrage at my comparing mounds of vegetable puree with various expresidents’ brains.) These reviews always took two days to write. First I’d go to a restaurant several times with a few opinionated, articulate friends in tow. I’d sit there writing down everything anyone said that was at all interesting or funny. Then on the following Monday I’d sit down at my desk with my notes, and try to write the review. Even after I’d been doing this for years, panic would set in. I’d try to write a lead, but instead I’d write a couple of dreadful sentences,

XX

them out, try again,

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everything out, and then feel despair and

worry settle on my chest like an x-ray apron. It’s over, I’d think, calmly. I’m not going to be able to get the magic to work this time. I’m ruined. I’m through. I’m toast. Maybe, I’d think, I can get my old job back as a clerk-typist. But probably not. I’d get up and study my teeth in the mirror for a while. Then I’d stop, remember to breathe, make a few phone calls, hit the kitchen and chow down. Eventually I’d go back and sit down at my desk, and sigh for the next ten minutes. Finally I would pick up my one-inch picture frame, stare into it as if for the answer, and every time the answer would come: All I had to do was to write a really crummy first draft of, say, the opening paragraph. And no one was going to see it. So I’d start writing without reining myself in. It was almost just typing, just making my fingers move. And the writing would be terrible. I’d write a lead paragraph that was a whole page, even though the entire review could only be three pages long, and then I’d start writing up descriptions of the food, one dish at a time, bird by bird, and the critics would be sitting on my shoulders, commenting like cartoon characters. They’d be pretending to snore, or rolling their eyes at my overwrought descriptions, no matter how hard I tried to tone those descriptions down, no matter how conscious I was of what a friend said to me gently in my early days of restaurant reviewing. “Annie,” she said, “it is just a piece of chicken. It is just a bit of cake.”

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But because by then I had been writing for so long, I would eventually let myself trust the process — sort of, more or less. I’d write a first draft that was maybe twice as long as it should be, with a self-indulgent and boring beginning, stupefying descriptions of the meal, lots of quotes from my black-humored friends that made them sound more like the Manson girls1 than food lovers, and no ending to speak of. The whole thing would be so long and incoherent and hideous that for the rest of the day I’d obsess about getting creamed by a car before I could write a decent second draft. I’d worry that people would read what I’d written and believe that the accident had really been a suicide, that I had panicked because my talent was waning and my mind was shot.

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1The Manson girls were young, troubled members of the cult led by Charles Manson (born 1934). In 1969 Manson and some of his followers were convicted of murder in California. — EDS.

The next day, though, I’d sit down, go through it all with a colored pen, take out everything I possibly could, find a new lead somewhere on the second page, figure out a kicky place to end it, and then write a second draft. It always turned out fine, sometimes even funny and weird and helpful. I’d go over it one more time and mail it in. Then, a month later, when it was time for another review, the whole process would start again, complete with the fears that people would find my first draft before I could rewrite it. Almost all good writing begins with terrible first efforts. You need to start somewhere. Start by getting something — anything — down on paper. A friend of mine says that the first draft is the down draft — you just get it down. The second draft is the up draft — you fix it up. You try to say what you have to say more accurately. And the third draft is the dental draft, where you check every tooth, to see if it’s loose or cramped or decayed, or even, God help us, healthy. What I’ve learned to do when I sit down to work on a crummy first draft is to quiet the voices in my head. First there’s the vinegar-lipped Reader Lady, who says primly, “Well, that’s not very interesting, is it?” And there’s the emaciated German male who writes these Orwellian2 memos detailing your thought crimes. And there are your parents, agonizing over your lack of loyalty and discretion; and there’s William Burroughs,3 dozing off or shooting up because he finds you as bold and articulate as a houseplant; and so on. And there are also the dogs: Let’s not forget the dogs, the dogs in their pen who will surely hurtle and snarl their way out if you ever stop writing, because writing is, for some of us, the latch that keeps the door of the pen closed, keeps those crazy, ravenous dogs contained….

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2In his novel 1984, the British writer George Orwell (1903–50) depicts a futuristic world in which a totalitarian government controls citizens’ behavior and thoughts. — EDS.

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3The American novelist William Burroughs (1914–97) wrote experimental and often surreal works on drug addiction and other aspects of contemporary life. — EDS.

Close your eyes and get quiet for a minute, until the chatter starts up. Then isolate one of the voices and imagine the person speaking as a mouse. Pick it up by the tail and drop it into a mason jar. Then isolate another voice, pick it up by the tail, drop it in the jar. And so on. Drop in any high-maintenance parental units, drop in any contractors, lawyers, colleagues, children, anyone who is whining in your head. Then put the lid on, and watch all these mouse people clawing at the glass, jabbering away, trying to make you feel crummy because you won’t do what they want — won’t give them more money, won’t be more successful, won’t see them more often. Then imagine that there is a volume-control button on the bottle. Turn it all the way up for a minute, and listen to the stream of angry, neglected, guilt-mongering voices. Then turn it all the way down and watch the frantic mice lunge at the glass, trying to get to you. Leave it down, and get back to your crummy first draft. A writer friend of mine suggests opening the jar and shooting them all in the head. But I think he’s a little angry, and I’m sure nothing like this would ever occur to you.

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Journal Writing Describe what usually happens when you begin a writing project. Is the blank paper or screen an invitation or an obstacle? Do the words flow freely or haltingly or not at all? Do you feel creative? competent? helpless? tortured?

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Questions on Meaning 1. What is Lamott’s THESIS? Which sentences best convey her main idea?

Thesis, thesis statement The central idea in a work of writing (thesis), to which everything else in the work refers; one or more sentences that express that central idea (thesis statement). In some way, each sentence and PARAGRAPH in an effective essay serves to support the thesis and to make it clear and explicit to readers. Good writers, while writing, often set down a thesis statement to help them define their purpose. They also often include this statement in their essay as a promise and a guide to readers. See pages 19, 35–36, 40–41, and the introductions to Chapters 3–12.

2. According to Lamott, what role can other people, real or imaginary, play in the writing process? Are they helpful? 3. Review the comment by Lamott’s friend (par. 8) that “the first draft is the down draft…. The second draft is the up draft…. And the third draft is the dental draft….” What do you think is the difference in the writer’s approach and focus at each stage? In what ways, if any, do these stages relate to your own approach to writing? 4. What do you think Lamott means when she says that “writing is, for some of us, the latch that keeps the door of the pen closed, keeps those crazy, ravenous dogs contained” (par. 9)? What might the dogs and control of them stand for in this IMAGE?

Image A word or word sequence that evokes a sensory experience. Whether literal (“We picked two red apples”) or figurative (“His cheeks looked like two red apples, buffed and shining”), an image appeals to the reader’s memory of seeing, hearing, smelling, touching, or tasting. Images add concreteness to fiction — “The farm looked as tiny and still as a seashell, with the little knob of a house surrounded by its curved furrows of tomato plants” (Eudora Welty in a short story, “The Whistle”) — and are an important element in poetry. But writers of essays, too, use images to bring ideas down to earth. See also FIGURES OF SPEECH.

5. What is the PURPOSE of Lamott’s piece? To advise inexperienced writers? To relate her own difficulties with writing? Both, or something else? How do you know?

Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing. In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages 19, 31–32, and 40.

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Questions on Writing Strategy 1. Lamott’s book Bird by Bird, the source of this piece, is subtitled Some Instructions on Writing and Life. Who do you believe would find Lamott’s advice most useful? Will it be useful to you? Why, or why not? 2. In paragraph 4 Lamott says that she wrote food reviews “one dish at a time” and “bird by bird” (a metaphor from earlier in her book, meaning one step at a time). What steps does her process analysis outline for overcoming obstacles? 3. Process analysis can be directive or explanatory (see p. 212), and Lamott’s piece has good examples of both types. In which paragraphs does Lamott use each type? Where does she combine them? What does each type contribute? Is the mixture effective? Why, or why not? 4. What transitions does Lamott use to guide the reader through the steps of her process analysis? Is her use of transitions effective? 5. OTHER METHODS Paragraphs 3–7 NARRATE Lamott’s experience writing food reviews for a magazine. What is the effect of this story?

Narration, narrative The mode of writing (narration) that tells a story (narrative). See Chapter 3.

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Questions on Language 1. Although trying to be encouraging, Lamott uses many negative adjectives to describe her own first efforts: for example, “terrible” (par. 4) and “incoherent” (5). Find some other examples of negative adjectives. Why do you think Lamott uses so many of them? 2. What is Lamott’s TONE? How seriously does she take the difficulties facing the writer?

Tone The way a writer expresses his or her regard for subject, AUDIENCE, or self. Through word choice, sentence structures, and what is actually said, the writer conveys an attitude and sets a prevailing spirit. Tone in writing varies as greatly as tone of voice varies in conversation. It can be serious, distant, flippant, angry, enthusiastic, sincere, sympathetic. Whatever tone a writer chooses, usually it informs an entire essay and helps a reader decide how to respond. For examples of strong tone, see the essays by Diane Ackerman, Brian Doyle, Jessica Mitford, David Sedaris, Russell Baker, Chitra Divakaruni, Tal Fortgang, and Judy Brady. See also page 416.

3. Lamott uses several original images, such as the “vinegar-lipped Reader Lady” (par. 9). List some images that made a particular impression on you, and explain their effect. 4. Be sure you know how to define the following words: overwrought (par. 4); self-indulgent, stupefying, waning (5); emaciated, hurtle, ravenous (9); guilt-mongering (10).

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Suggestions for Writing 1. FROM JOURNAL TO ESSAY Write an essay that explains your own writing process (in general or on a specific project) as you progress from idea to final draft. Enliven the process with specific methods and incidents — techniques of procrastination, ripping up draft after draft, listening to and silencing (or not) your own imagined voices, and so on. Try to draw some conclusions about what the writing process means to you. 2. Writing is, of course, only one way to communicate ideas. Other forms of communication can also be difficult: speaking up in class, making a presentation to a group of people, meeting with a teacher, interviewing for a job, making an important telephone call. Write a process analysis in which you first examine an oral encounter that was particularly difficult for you and then offer advice about how best to tackle such a situation. 3. CRITICAL WRITING We are usually taught to respect our parents and other authority figures, but Lamott advises writers to ignore them while composing. Is her advice justified in your view? Are there times when we can, even should, disregard authority? Write an essay about a time when you felt you could accomplish something only by disregarding the advice of someone you would normally listen to — or, in contrast, when you heeded advice even though it held you back or ignored advice and eventually regretted doing so. How difficult was your action? How did the situation turn out? Looking back, do you believe you did the right thing? 4. CONNECTIONS Lamott stresses the importance of ignoring the perspectives of others in order to hear your own voice, and in the next essay, Koji Frahm (satirically) encourages writers to be hostile toward their readers. Citing examples from your own experience and from Lamott’s and Frahm’s essays, write an essay that examines writers’ obligations to others versus obligations to themselves. When are we justified in following our own paths regardless of what readers think, and when are we not?

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KOJI FRAHM Koji Frahm was born in 1987 and grew up in Palo Alto, California, a suburb of San Francisco. In high school he competed on the swim team and spent much of his time playing video games. After enrolling at the University of California, Davis, as a biomechanical engineering student, he found himself getting up early to write short stories before classes, and so switched his major to creative writing. He graduated in 2009 and currently lives in Brooklyn, New York, where he runs a makerspace for artists and continues to write.

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How to Write an A Paper “How to Write an A Paper” was written in response to an assignment given in a freshman composition class. Like Anne Lamott in the previous essay, Frahm considers the challenges and frustrations of writing. Focusing on the advice typically offered to college students, his essay is largely a directive process analysis, but it is also a SATIRE: By outwardly showing us one way to approach a writing project, the author implicitly urges us to do the opposite.

Be nebulous. Scratch that, be amphibological. The vaguer, the better. The reader should be thinking, what the hell does that mean? right off the bat. The first sentence is key. Make it short, deadly, and impossible to understand. Convoluted is the term to use here. And remember, I’m not talking indiscernible due to stupidity; I’m talking indiscernible due to smarts. You have to sound brilliant. Scratch that, perspicacious. Be as opaque as a dense fog settling in front of a concrete wall — let them see nothing. Make them understand that you’re smarter than they are. The sooner you establish this, the better. Hitting them hard and fast on the first sentence is the quickest way to do it. Make them so unsure of their own acumen from the start that they won’t question you afterwards. Get them on the ground, and keep them there. Your God-like intelligence should never be questioned by these mere mortals — that’s how you should be writing. Look at your first sentence for a moment and consider this: Is it short? Is it vague? Does it tell the reader nothing about what’s going on? If so — bingo. You’re in the clear. You can’t be marked off if they can’t understand your higher parlance — and that’s exactly what we’re going for. The end of the introduction means it’s thesis time. If you really want to pull this off, end the introduction with no clear thesis. That way, they’ll assume the thesis is lurking around somewhere later in the paper like a prowling hyena in Serengeti; and before you KNOW it, they’ll forget what they were searching for. You never had one anyway. And if they’re really keen for it, they’ll probably just extrapolate something from the parts they don’t understand later in the paper. You’re Shakespeare, remember? You know best. Be choppy. Scratch that, be desultory. Jump around like a rabbit on fire — never let the reader know where you’re headed next. The transitions between your paragraphs should be sudden and unexpected; your sentences short and rapid fire. Your teachers always taught you to be smooth and transitional — screw that. Toss your reader around like a paper bag in a tempest; the only thing they should be doing is covering their heads. Confusion is the key term here. If your reader doesn’t look flummoxed and bleary-eyed by paragraph three, you aren’t trying hard enough. You’re smarter, you’re faster, and the only thing they can do is try to keep up. Paragraph four, all right, now we’re getting somewhere. This is the part of the essay where you’re taught to bring out the big points. The “meat” of the essay is how teachers sometimes refer to it. That’s all garbage. You don’t need a plethora of in-depth points or solid evidence to fill up your paper — you just need one. One point. That’s all you need. Reiteration is the key term here. I can’t stress this part enough. All you need to know is this: keep talking. Be the jammed cassette deck on repeat. Write as if you’re being paid a dollar a word, and you have only thirty seconds to type. Just keep pushing through the same old stuff with different wording. Dress it up; do its hair; color its nails; I don’t care. Repackage the old, make it look new. Novelty sells the car. Write frivolously. Scratch that, farcically. It’ll seem like you’re getting deeper and deeper into the topic with every word you say, but really you’ll JUST be wasting their time. Analysis is overrated — just keep spitting out what you already said. Regurgitation is the key term here. Vomit your words out and eat them 462

back up, then spit them out a minute later. You’re the mother eagle, and the reader is your starving chick. To add weight to this empty package, make sure the paragraph you put your half-digested words in is one of the longest. Nothing says “important” like a hefty paragraph. You would know. You’re the smartest. The thesaurus is your friend. Scratch that, your soul-mate. This whole operation is FUELED by perplexing your reader. If you’re the matador, the thesaurus is your cape — you’re both coaxing the reader to charge through your charade. An essay is just made up of words, and that’s the punch-line of this exploitation. Every word can be more sequestered; every syllable can be more ambagious. Make reading your essay more difficult than solving a Rubik’s cube in the dark. Don’t write elderly person, scratch that off. Write septuagenarian. That woman isn’t pretty; she’s pulchritudinous for someone possessing your voluminous vocabulary. And don’t worry if the definitions aren’t totally the same; it’s not as if the reader is going to know what’s going on anyway. Obfuscate is the key term here. Metaphors. It’s always good to throw a lot of these in — teachers love this stuff. Make sure they’re really random and sporadic, popping up anywhere and everywhere like ferns in the Amazon jungle. Whatever pops into your head at the time, make it a metaphor. Whether it’s animals from the Nature Channel you were watching two hours ago, or a Rubik’s cube that’s sitting on your desk, anything is fair GAME. Forget about clarity or adding depth, your metaphors are there for the same reason neon lights exist — distraction. Your essay should be a patchwork quilt of random metaphors, shrouding your essay from lucidity like the moon blocking the sun during a lunar eclipse. Just stick them everywhere. Make errors. You heard right. Capitalize some random words throughout your paper. Attach a note to the final document explaining that your computer was on the fritz, and even during printing it was behaving idiosyncratically. Proofreading couldn’t prevent it because it occurred during printing, the note will say, and how can the teacher blame you? Your computer was haywire,; totally nuts. It was jumping off the walls and banging into the ceiling like a rubber ball fired out of a Civil War cannon, spitting and blasting unnecessary semicolons and punctuation errors into your work. You weren’t responsible for what it did. And once you get that across, you can also blame the computer for for any typos or repeated words you may have left in my accident. Just type some OCCASIONAL caps-locked words now and then, and suddenly you’re exonerated from all grammatical imperfections. Diabolical is the key term here. By now you should be closing in like a school of piranha onto a drowning ox. You’ve probably written enough, so you might as well wrap things up. Conclusions are easy. All you need is a quote and your choice of any massive, tear-inducing flaw in society. Take your pick: consumerism consuming our culture, superficiality sucking out our souls, mankind’s maniacal instincts, the government’s dominance of society’s free will, et cetera, et cetera. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t even have to pertain to your topic. The beauty with conclusions is you can tie just about anything to anything. If you were writing about the mating habits of rhinos, you could probably conclude with an anecdote about world hunger. The point is that there is no point. Be as random as a herd of buffalo showing up to present the Best Picture award at the Oscars. Just pick something you can rant about for a good half-page and you’re in business. Now for the quote. This is the last thing the reader’s nonplussed eyes will see — so make it good. This is the one time in the essay you want them to understand what’s going on. After all this confusion they’ll be ravenous for something transpicuous — and this is the time to dish it out. What’s even better, they’ll love you for it. Everyone likes being enlightened. And after your quote, your reader should be more sagacious than 463

Buddha on heroin. Choose one THAT sounds inspirational and profound. Aristotle and Socrates are always solid choices. Once again, it doesn’t matter if it actually pertains to your topic. As long as it’s half decent, the reader will be grateful. Place this at the end in italics and you’re home free. Congratulations, you’re done. Don’t worry about proofreading for typos — you took care of the errors, remember? That damn computer of yours. All you have to do now is make sure you turn it in on Wednesday. Sit back and relax; and have a triumphant smile and modest remarks ready for the teacher next week when he praises your work in front of the class. What could go wrong, anyway? We’ve covered all the bases. An “A” is inevitable. Scratch that, ineluctable… which reminds me. I received a paper back this morning and I still haven’t checked the grade. Excuse me for a moment; I have to confirm my “A.” Consider this a testament to my guide to success. Confidence is the key term here. Be a victim. Scratch that, be a scapegoat. Take the paper and crumple it, throw it away or tuck it away somewhere you won’t see it. Who cares anyway? This was a stupid assignment to begin with. It was a puerile assignment with an imbecilic teacher to grade it. What the hell does he know? Confusing Introduction. Lack of Content. Bad Transitions. Excessive Grammatical Errors?! You told him the computer was going haywire. Didn’t he see the note? What an IDIOT. Obviously it was too much. He probably didn’t understand what was going on and decided to take it out on you. What a sucker. Scratch that, a simpleton. His lack of comprehension isn’t your fault — the ignoramus. He’s taking his confusion out on you, satisfying his own denial by giving you a bad grade. He’s just like everybody nowadays. No one takes responsibility for their own problems. People mess up their lives beyond all repair and still have excuses for everything. It’s the whole world’s fault before anyone will admit it’s theirs. He doesn’t like me because… It’s not my fault, she’s the one that… I’m late because this stupid… blah… blah… blah… How about a simple “sorry, it’s my fault”? It’s like the entire damn world would rather blame its problems on other things rather than fixing them. No one is willing to own up to their actions and take the consequences anymore. That’s what this is all about. I’m just the hapless victim for all those ignorant fools out there. Those vainglorious dunderheads. Those egocentric imbeciles. It’s like a wise man once said:

You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty. — Mahatma Gandhi

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Journal Writing Frahm’s essay is

SATIRE

— that is, an indirect attack on human follies or flaws, using

IRONY

to urge behavior

exactly the opposite of what is really desired. In your journal, explore when you have proposed satirical approaches to challenges that seem overwhelming or ridiculous — for example, suggesting breaking all the dishes so that they don’t have to be washed again or barring pedestrians from city streets so that they don’t interfere with cars. What kinds of situations might lead you to make suggestions like these?

Satire A form of writing that employs wit to attack folly. Unlike most comedy, the purpose of satire is not merely to entertain, but to bring about enlightenment — even reform. Usually, satire employs irony — as in Koji Frahm’s “How to Write an A Paper.” See also IRONY. Irony A manner of speaking or writing that does not directly state a discrepancy, but implies one. Verbal irony is the intentional use of words to suggest a meaning other than literal: “What a mansion!” (said of a shack); “There’s nothing like sunshine” (said on a foggy morning). (For more examples, see the essays by Jessica Mitford and Judy Brady.) If irony is delivered contemptuously with an intent to hurt, we call it sarcasm: “Oh, you’re a real friend!” (said to someone who refuses to lend the speaker the coins to operate a clothes dryer). With situational irony, the circumstances themselves are incongruous, run contrary to expectations, or twist fate: Juliet regains consciousness only to find that Romeo, believing her dead, has stabbed himself. See also SATIRE.

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Questions on Meaning 1. How seriously does Frahm take his subject? Is his main PURPOSE to amuse and entertain, to inform students of ways they can become better writers, to warn about bad teachers, or to make fun of readers? Support your answer with EVIDENCE from the essay.

Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing. In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages 19, 31–32, and 40. Evidence The details that support an argument or an explanation, including facts, examples, and expert opinions. A writer’s opinions and GENERALIZATIONS must rest upon evidence. See pages 408–09.

2. Look closely at Frahm’s conclusion (par. 12). Does his writing advice actually promise an A for those who follow it? Why, or why not? 3. Does Frahm have a THESIS? Where in the essay does he explain his reason for not stating it outright?

Thesis, thesis statement The central idea in a work of writing (thesis), to which everything else in the work refers; one or more sentences that express that central idea (thesis statement). In some way, each sentence and PARAGRAPH in an effective essay serves to support the thesis and to make it clear and explicit to readers. Good writers, while writing, often set down a thesis statement to help them define their purpose. They also often include this statement in their essay as a promise and a guide to readers. See pages 19, 35–36, 40–41, and the introductions to Chapters 3–12.

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Questions on Writing Strategy 1. How is Frahm’s essay organized? Trace his process analysis carefully to determine whether it happens CHRONOLOGICALLY or follows another order. How effective is this method of organization and presentation? 2. At several points Frahm writes, “___ is the key term here.” Find these sentences and underline them. How do they give the essay COHERENCE and UNITY?

Coherence The clear connection of the parts in effective writing so that the reader can easily follow the flow of ideas between sentences, paragraphs, and larger divisions, and can see how they relate successively to one another. In making your essay coherent, you may find certain devices useful. TRANSITIONS, for instance, can bridge ideas. Reminders of points you have stated earlier are helpful to a reader who may have forgotten them — as readers tend to do sometimes, particularly if an essay is long. However, a coherent essay is not one merely pasted together with transitions and reminders. It derives its coherence from the clear relationship between its THESIS (or central idea) and all its parts. See also pages 41–42 and 257–58. Unity The quality of good writing in which all parts relate to the THESIS. In a unified essay, all words, sentences, and PARAGRAPHS support the single central idea. Your first step in achieving unity is to state your thesis; your next step is to organize your thoughts so that they make your thesis clear. See also pages 41 and 372.

3. What is the author’s apparent attitude toward readers? What role does he suggest an awareness of AUDIENCE plays in effective writing?

Audience A writer’s readers. Having in mind a particular audience helps the writer in choosing strategies, such as which method(s) to use, what details to include, and how to shape an ARGUMENT. You can increase your awareness of your audience by asking yourself a few questions before you begin to write. Who are to be your readers? What is their age level? background? education? Where do they live? What are their beliefs and attitudes? What interests them? What, if anything, sets them apart from most people? How familiar are they with your subject? Knowing your audience can help you write so that your readers will not only understand you better but care more deeply about what you say. See also pages 20, 30, and 407.

4. Some of the words in Frahm’s essay are unnecessarily printed in all-capital letters. What other errors can you find? Why are they there? 5. OTHER METHODS As is the case with any process analysis, “How to Write an A Paper” relies on DIVISION or ANALYSIS of its subject. What does Frahm imply are the elements of good writing?

Division See ANALYZE, ANALYSIS. Analyze, analysis To separate a subject into its parts (analyze), or the act or result of doing so (analysis, also called division). Analysis is a key skill in CRITICAL THINKING, READING, AND WRITING; see pages 16, 18–22, and 24–25. It is also considered a method of development; see Chapter 8.

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Questions on Language 1. How do sentences such as “The vaguer, the better” and “Make it short, deadly, and impossible to understand” (par. 1) signal the TONE of this essay from the start? Should they be read literally, ironically, or some other way? How does the tone contribute to Frahm’s satire?

Tone The way a writer expresses his or her regard for subject, AUDIENCE, or self. Through word choice, sentence structures, and what is actually said, the writer conveys an attitude and sets a prevailing spirit. Tone in writing varies as greatly as tone of voice varies in conversation. It can be serious, distant, flippant, angry, enthusiastic, sincere, sympathetic. Whatever tone a writer chooses, usually it informs an entire essay and helps a reader decide how to respond. For examples of strong tone, see the essays by Diane Ackerman, Brian Doyle, Jessica Mitford, David Sedaris, Russell Baker, Chitra Divakaruni, Tal Fortgang, and Judy Brady. See also page 416.

2. What consistent sentence subject does Frahm use in “How to Write an A Paper”? Who is to perform the process? 3. Frahm’s essay includes many difficult words seemingly plucked from a thesaurus (par. 5), including the following: nebulous, amphibological, perspicacious, acumen, parlance (1); extrapolate (2); desultory, flummoxed (3); plethora, farcically, regurgitation (4); sequestered, ambagious, obfuscate (5); sporadic, lucidity (6); idiosyncratically (7); nonplussed, transpicuous, sagacious (9); ineluctable (10); puerile, hapless, vainglorious (12). Do readers need to know the definitions of these words to understand Frahm’s meaning? 4. In paragraph 6 Frahm encourages writers to use “a lot” of metaphors. Point to any metaphors or similes in his essay that strike you as especially imaginative. (See FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE in the Glossary if you need a definition of metaphor or simile.) What does Frahm say is the purpose of such language? Do you agree?

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Suggestions for Writing 1. FROM JOURNAL TO ESSAY Choose one of the solutions you wrote about in your journal, or propose a solution to a challenge that your journal entry has suggested. Write an essay detailing this satirical solution, paying careful attention to explaining each step of the process and to maintaining your satiric tone throughout. 2. Write a serious (not satirical) essay that teaches readers how to do something you’re good at, such as making fresh guacamole from scratch, writing letters of complaint, or unclogging a sink. You might, like Frahm, imagine a specific group of people as your readers, or you might address your instructions to a more general audience. 3. Try to recall a time when you struggled with or failed at an assignment you thought would be simple. Write a short NARRATIVE about your difficulties. What went wrong? How did the struggle affect you? Did you learn anything?

Narration, narrative The mode of writing (narration) that tells a story (narrative). See Chapter 3.

4. CRITICAL WRITING In a brief essay, pick apart Frahm’s advice and the ways he applies it to his own writing in “How to Write an A Paper.” Consider, for instance, how his first paragraph illustrates the function of his first sentence, or why he includes the quotation by Mahatma Gandhi at the end of the essay. Where else in this essay does Frahm commit the very sins of bad writing that he implicitly identifies? How effective are his choices? 5. CONNECTIONS What does Frahm gain or lose by using satire and irony to make his point? What would be the comparative strengths and weaknesses of an essay that straightforwardly and sincerely approached the challenges writers face, such as Anne Lamott’s “The Crummy First Draft” (p. 220)?

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Koji Frahm on Writing Asked to reflect on the experience of writing “How to Write an A Paper,” Koji Frahm offered the following comments.

I’m still not sure if I like this essay. But with that said, I will admit it was a ton of fun to write. This assignment was to write a parody of another essay. And so, using observation from over the years of all the garbage and terrible techniques people cram into their essays (the idea actually came while discussing Poli Sci papers with a friend), I molded the most ridiculous and multilayered piece I’ve ever attempted — this being the result. I still have qualms with it; it still doesn’t measure up to what I had in mind. But for what it’s worth, it’s made people chuckle, and that, for me, was the greatest reward of writing this piece. The Brief Bedford Reader on Writing Although his essay is a lot of fun for readers, too, Frahm admits that his advice to student writers is “ridiculous and multilayered.” For simple and straightforward guidelines on how to write an effective paper, see Chapter 2 of this book.

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FIROOZEH DUMAS Born in Abadan, Iran, in 1966, Firoozeh Dumas immigrated with her family to Whittier, California, at the age of seven, moved back to Iran two years later, then finally settled in the United States two years after that. She earned her bachelor’s degree from the University of California at Berkeley in 1988. Dumas, who has said that the worst misconception about Iranians is “that we are completely humorless,” took up writing partly to correct such assumptions. Her popular first book, Funny in Farsi: A Memoir of Growing Up Iranian in America (2003), portrays the humor in her family’s experiences as Middle Eastern immigrants to the United States. Her second book, Laughing without an Accent: Adventures of an Iranian American, at Home and Abroad (2008), continues the theme with essays about trying to sell a cross-shaped potato on eBay and taking a cruise with fifty-one family members, among other topics. Dumas has written a novel for young readers, It Ain’t So Awful, Falafel (2016) and contributes to several periodicals — including the New York Times, the Wall Street Journal, the Los Angeles Times, and Lifetime. She is also an occasional commentator on National Public Radio.

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Sweet, Sour, and Resentful In this 2009 essay from Gourmet magazine, Dumas outlines her mother’s painstaking process of preparing a traditional Persian meal for the dozens of distant relatives and friends of friends who descended on the family’s California condo every weekend. Through her mother’s weekly routine — from hunting down ingredients to chopping herbs to refusing praise — Dumas reveals much about family, culture, and humility.

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“Sweet, Sour, and Resentful” Copyright © 2009 Condé Nast. All rights reserved. Originally appeared in Gourmet. Reprinted by permission.

My mother’s main ingredient in cooking was resentment — not that I can blame her. In 1979, my family was living temporarily in Newport Beach, California. Our real home was in Abadan, a city in the southwest of Iran. Despite its desert location and ubiquitous refineries, Abadan was the quintessential small town. Everybody’s father (including my own) worked for the National Iranian Oil Company, and almost all the moms stayed home. The employees’ kids attended the same schools. No one locked their doors. Whenever I hear John Mellencamp’s “Small Town,” I think of Abadan, although I’m guessing John Mellencamp was thinking of somewhere else when he wrote that song. By the time of the Iranian revolution,1 we had adjusted to life in California. We said “Hello” and “Have a nice day” to perfect strangers, wore flip-flops, and grilled cheeseburgers next to our kebabs. We never understood why Americans put ice in tea or bought shampoo that smelled like strawberries, but other than that, America felt like home.

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1 In 1979 fundamentalist rebels led by Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini overthrew the Iranian monarchy and established the Islamic Republic of Iran, a theocratic dictatorship. — EDS.

When the revolution happened, thousands left Iran for Southern California. Since we were one of the few Iranian families already there, our phone did not stop ringing. Relatives, friends, friends of relatives, friends of friends, and people whose connection we never quite figured out called us with questions about settling into this new land. Displaying the hospitality that Iranians so cherish, my father extended a dinner invitation to everyone who called. As a result, we found ourselves feeding dozens of people every weekend. The marathon started on Monday, with my mother planning the menu while letting us know that she was already tired. Fortunately, our rice dishes were made to be shared; our dilemma, however, was space. Our condo was small. Our guests squeezed onto the sofa, sat on the floor, or overflowed onto the patio. We eventually had to explain to our American neighbors why there were so many cars parked in front of our place every weekend. My mother, her diplomatic skills in full swing, had me deliver plates of Persian food, decorated with radish roses and mint sprigs, to them. In time, we learned not to share fesenjan, pomegranate stew with ground walnuts. “Yes, now that you mention it, it does look like mud, but it’s really good,” I’d explain, convincing no one. Because my mother did not drive, my father took her to buy ingredients every Tuesday after work. In Abadan, my mother and I had started most days in the market, going from vendor to vendor looking for herbs, vegetables, and fruits. The fish came from the Karun and Arvand (Shatt al Arab) Rivers, the lavash and the sangak breads were freshly baked, and the chickens were still alive. We were locavores by necessity and foodies without knowing it. In America, I learned that the time my parents spent shopping was in direct correlation to the degree of my mother’s bad mood. An extra-long trip meant that my mother could not find everything she needed, a point she would make loud and clear when she got home: “Why don’t they let fruit ripen here?” “Why are the chickens so huge and flavorless?” “I couldn’t find fresh herbs.” “My feet hurt.” “How am I supposed to get everything done?” The first step was preparing the herbs. My mother insisted that the parsley, cilantro, and chives for qormeh sabzi, herb stew, had to be finely chopped by hand. The food processor, she explained, squished them. As she and my father sat across the table wielding huge knives, they argued incessantly. My father did his best to help her. It wasn’t enough. As soon as the mountain of herbs was chopped, my mother started frying them. At any given time, my mother was also frying onions. Every few days, while my father was watching the six o’clock news, my mother would hand him a dozen onions, a cutting board, and a knife. No words were exchanged. Much to my father’s relief, I once volunteered for this task, but apparently my slices were neither thin enough nor even. It took my father’s precision as an engineer to slice correctly. While all four burners were in use, my mother mixed the ground beef, rice, split peas, scallions, and herbs for stuffed grape leaves. I chopped the stems of the grape leaves. I had tried stuffing them once, but my rolls, deemed not tight enough, were promptly unrolled and then rerolled by my mother. In between cooking, my mother made yogurt — the thick, sour variety that we couldn’t find in America. She soaked walnuts and almonds in water to plump them up; fried eggplants for kashk-e bademjan, a popular appetizer with garlic, turmeric, mint, and whey; made torshi-e limo, a sour lemon condiment; and slivered orange peels. I had been fired from this task also, having left on far too much pith. 474

By the time our guests arrived, my mother was exhausted. But the work was not finished. Rice, the foundation of the Persian meal, the litmus test of the cook’s ability, cannot be prepared ahead of time. To wit, one day in Abadan, the phone rang when my mother was about to drain the rice. During the time it took her to answer the phone and tell her sister that she would call her back, the rice overcooked. Almost forty years later, I still remember my mother’s disappointment and her explaining to my father that her sister had time to talk because my aunt’s maid did all the cooking. My aunt did not even drain her own rice. We certainly did not have a table big enough to set, so we simply stacked dishes and utensils, buffet-style. As the guest list grew, we added paper plates and plastic utensils. It was always my job to announce that dinner was ready. As people entered the dining room, they gasped at the sight of my mother’s table. Her zereshk polow, barberry rice, made many emotional. There are no fresh barberries in America (my mother had brought dried berries from Iran in her suitcase), and the sight of that dish, with its distinct deep red hue, was a reminder of the life our guests had left behind. Our dinners took days to cook and disappeared in twenty minutes. As our guests heaped their plates and looked for a place to sit, they lavished praise on my mother, who, according to tradition, deflected it all. “It’s nothing,” she said. “I wish I could’ve done more.” When they told her how lucky she was to have me to help her, my mother politely nodded, while my father added, “Firoozeh’s good at math.” On Sundays, my mother lay on the sofa, her swollen feet elevated, fielding thank-you phone calls from our guests. She had the same conversation a dozen times; each one ended with, “Of course you can give our name to your cousins.” As I watched my mother experience the same draining routine week after week, I decided that tradition is good only if it brings joy to all involved. This includes the hostess. Sometimes, even our most cherished beliefs must evolve. Evolution, thy name is potluck.

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Journal Writing Many people have unique rituals, like Dumas’s parents’ practice of serving elaborate Persian meals to distant acquaintances every weekend. List some rituals that are unique to your family, to another group you belong to, or to you alone — for instance, a holiday celebration, a vacation activity, a way of decompressing after a stressful week.

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Questions on Meaning 1. Why were weekend dinners so important to the author’s parents and their guests? Consider not just the meals themselves but the larger context that prompted them. 2. In which sentence or sentences does Dumas state her THESIS most directly?

Thesis, thesis statement The central idea in a work of writing (thesis), to which everything else in the work refers; one or more sentences that express that central idea (thesis statement). In some way, each sentence and PARAGRAPH in an effective essay serves to support the thesis and to make it clear and explicit to readers. Good writers, while writing, often set down a thesis statement to help them define their purpose. They also often include this statement in their essay as a promise and a guide to readers. See pages 19, 35–36, 40–41, and the introductions to Chapters 3–12.

3. What would you say is Dumas’s PURPOSE in this essay? Is it primarily to entertain readers by describing her family’s weekly routine, or does she seem to have another purpose in mind?

Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing. In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages 19, 31–32, and 40.

4. What solution to her mother’s exhausting role as hostess does Dumas propose in paragraph 12? Do you think her mother would have agreed to it? Why, or why not?

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Questions on Writing Strategy 1. Why does Dumas begin her essay with an overview of life in Abadan and an ALLUSION to the Iranian revolution (pars. 1–3)? What purpose does this opening serve?

Allude, allusion To refer to a person, place, or thing believed to be common knowledge (allude), or the act or result of doing so (allusion). An allusion may point to a famous event, a familiar saying, a noted personality, or a well-known story or song. Usually brief, an allusion is a space-saving way to convey much meaning. For example, the statement “The game was Coach Johnson’s Waterloo” informs the reader that, like Napoleon meeting defeat in a celebrated battle, the coach led a confrontation resulting in his downfall and that of his team. If the writer is also showing Johnson’s character, the allusion might further tell us that the coach is a man of Napoleonic ambition and pride. To make an effective allusion, you have to ensure that it will be clear to your audience. Not every reader, for example, would understand an allusion to a neighbor, to a seventeenth-century Russian harpsichordist, or to a little-known stock-car driver.

2. How does Dumas seem to imagine her AUDIENCE? To what extent could she ASSUME that readers would appreciate her mother’s situation?

Audience A writer’s readers. Having in mind a particular audience helps the writer in choosing strategies, such as which method(s) to use, what details to include, and how to shape an ARGUMENT. You can increase your awareness of your audience by asking yourself a few questions before you begin to write. Who are to be your readers? What is their age level? background? education? Where do they live? What are their beliefs and attitudes? What interests them? What, if anything, sets them apart from most people? How familiar are they with your subject? Knowing your audience can help you write so that your readers will not only understand you better but care more deeply about what you say. See also pages 20, 30, and 407. Assume, assumption To take something for granted (assume), or a belief or opinion taken for granted (assumption). Whether stated or unstated, assumptions influence a writer’s choices of subject, viewpoint, EVIDENCE and even language. See also pages 17 and 410.

3. What steps does Dumas identify in the process of hosting Iranian guests every weekend? How does she ensure that her analysis has COHERENCE?

Coherence The clear connection of the parts in effective writing so that the reader can easily follow the flow of ideas between sentences, paragraphs, and larger divisions, and can see how they relate successively to one another. In making your essay coherent, you may find certain devices useful. TRANSITIONS, for instance, can bridge ideas. Reminders of points you have stated earlier are helpful to a reader who may have forgotten them — as readers tend to do sometimes, particularly if an essay is long. However, a coherent essay is not one merely pasted together with transitions and reminders. It derives its coherence from the clear relationship between its THESIS (or central idea) and all its parts. See also pages 41–42 and 257–58.

4. OTHER METHODS What role does COMPARISON AND CONTRAST play in paragraph 5?

Comparison and contrast Two methods of development usually found together. Using them, a writer examines the similarities and differences between two things to reveal their natures. See Chapter 6.

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Questions on Language 1. Explain how Dumas’s TONE contributes to the humor in her essay.

Tone The way a writer expresses his or her regard for subject, AUDIENCE, or self. Through word choice, sentence structures, and what is actually said, the writer conveys an attitude and sets a prevailing spirit. Tone in writing varies as greatly as tone of voice varies in conversation. It can be serious, distant, flippant, angry, enthusiastic, sincere, sympathetic. Whatever tone a writer chooses, usually it informs an entire essay and helps a reader decide how to respond. For examples of strong tone, see the essays by Diane Ackerman, Brian Doyle, Jessica Mitford, David Sedaris, Russell Baker, Chitra Divakaruni, Tal Fortgang, and Judy Brady. See also page 416.

2. Where in this essay does Dumas use Persian words? What is their EFFECT?

Effect The result of an event or action, usually considered together with CAUSE as a method of development. See the discussion of cause and effect in Chapter 10. In discussing writing, the term effect also refers to the impression a word, a sentence, a paragraph, or an entire work makes on the reader: how convincing it is, whether it elicits an emotional response, what associations it conjures up, and so on.

3. In paragraph 9, Dumas says that rice is “the litmus test” for Iranian cooks. What does she mean? What is a litmus test, and how does the phrase connect to the focus (and title) of her essay? 4. Be sure you know the meanings of the following words: ubiquitous, quintessential (par. 1); Persian (4); locavores, correlation (5); pith (8); lavished, deflected (11); potluck (12).

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Suggestions for Writing 1. FROM JOURNAL TO ESSAY Write an essay explaining one of the rituals you listed in your journal. Focus on the details and steps of the ritual itself as well as on the significance it holds for you and for any others who participate in it with you. 2. Research the influx of Iranian families into California during the 1970s. What prompted this migration? What quality of life did newcomers face on arrival? What tensions did their arrival create? In an essay, consider these questions and others your research may lead you to. You may prefer to focus on a different migration from the nineteenth or twentieth century — such as that of Irish to the eastern United States, Chinese to the western United States, or African Americans from the southern to the northern United States. 3. CRITICAL WRITING What impression of herself does Dumas create in this essay? What adjectives would you use to describe the writer as she reveals herself on the page? Cite specific language from the essay to support your ANALYSIS.

Analyze, analysis To separate a subject into its parts (analyze), or the act or result of doing so (analysis, also called division). Analysis is a key skill in CRITICAL THINKING, READING, AND WRITING; see pages 16, 18–22, and 24–25. It is also considered a method of development; see Chapter 8.

4. CONNECTIONS Both Firoozeh Dumas and Amy Tan, in “Fish Cheeks” (p. 74), hint at how as children they felt ashamed of their families because of certain foods. Write an essay in which you COMPARE AND CONTRAST the ways the two writers describe food and how each writer uses food to make a larger point about the need to fit in.

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Firoozeh Dumas on Writing In a 2004 interview with Khaled Hosseini (author of The Kite Runner and A Thousand Splendid Suns), Firoozeh Dumas explained how writing awakens her memory. As a girl growing up in Iran and the United States, Dumas says she “was always that quiet kid in a room full of adults” who carefully “listened and observed.” When she started writing as an adult, her collected observations “just flooded back.” Unlike those who experience writer’s block, Dumas was easily inspired: “Every time I finished a story, another popped up in its place. It was like using a vending machine: The candy falls down and is immediately replaced by another.” In order to keep up with her vending machine of ideas — and to accommodate her busy family life — Dumas writes “in spurts,” often waking at four in the morning. “Once a story is in my head, I’m possessed, and the only thing I can do is write like mad,” she told Hosseini. “This means the house gets very messy and dinner is something frozen. I do not read or go to the movies when I am writing, because I can’t concentrate on anything else. I also keep writing in my head when I’m not actually writing, which means that I become a terrible listener.” The Brief Bedford Reader on Writing Have you ever found that the act of writing triggers your memory, as it does for Dumas? Try FREEWRITING (p. 33) and see if it works for you. Many writers find that simply sitting down and writing, even for just a few minutes at a time, can yield surprising results.

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JESSICA MITFORD Born in Batsford Mansion, England, in 1917, the daughter of Lord and Lady Redesdale, Jessica Mitford devoted much of her early life to defying her aristocratic upbringing. In her autobiography Daughters and Rebels (1960), she tells how she received a genteel schooling at home, then as a young woman moved to Loyalist Spain during the violent Spanish Civil War. Later she immigrated to the United States, where for a time she worked in Miami as a bartender. She obtained US citizenship in 1944 and became one of her adopted country’s most noted reporters: Time called her “Queen of the Muckrakers.” Exposing with her typewriter what she regarded as corruption, abuse, and absurdity, Mitford wrote The American Way of Death (1963, revised as The American Way of Death Revisited in 1998), Kind and Unusual Punishment: The Prison Business (1973), and The American Way of Birth (1992). Poison Penmanship (1979) collects articles from The Atlantic Monthly, Harper’s, and other magazines. A Fine Old Conflict (1977) is the second volume of Mitford’s autobiography. Her biography of a Victorian lighthouse keeper’s daughter, Grace Had an English Heart (1989), examines how the media transform ordinary people into celebrities. Mitford died at her home in Oakland, California, in 1996.

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Behind the Formaldehyde Curtain The most famous (or infamous) thing Jessica Mitford wrote is The American Way of Death, a critique of the funeral industry. In this selection from the book, Mitford analyzes the twin processes of embalming and restoring a corpse, the practices she finds most objectionable. You may need a stable stomach to enjoy the selection, but you’ll find it a clear, painstaking process analysis, written with masterly style and outrageous wit. (For those who want to know, Mitford herself was cremated after her death.)

The drama begins to unfold with the arrival of the corpse at the mortuary. Alas, poor Yorick! How surprised he would be to see how his counterpart of today is whisked off to a funeral parlor and is in short order sprayed, sliced, pierced, pickled, trussed, trimmed, creamed, waxed, painted, rouged, and neatly dressed — transformed from a common corpse into a Beautiful Memory Picture. This process is known in the trade as embalming and restorative art, and is so universally employed in the United States and Canada that the funeral director does it routinely, without consulting corpse or kin. He regards as eccentric those few who are hardy enough to suggest that it might be dispensed with. Yet no law requires embalming, no religious doctrine commends it, nor is it dictated by considerations of health, sanitation, or even of personal daintiness. In no part of the world but in Northern America is it widely used. The purpose of embalming is to make the corpse presentable for viewing in a suitably costly container; and here too the funeral director routinely, without first consulting the family, prepares the body for public display. Is all this legal? The processes to which a dead body may be subjected are after all to some extent circumscribed by law. In most states, for instance, the signature of next of kin must be obtained before an autopsy may be performed, before the deceased may be cremated, before the body may be turned over to a medical school for research purposes; or such provision must be made in the decedent’s will. In the case of embalming, no such permission is required nor is it ever sought.1 A textbook, The Principles and Practices of Embalming, comments on this: “There is some question regarding the legality of much that is done within the preparation room.” The author points out that it would be most unusual for a responsible member of a bereaved family to instruct the mortician, in so many words, to “embalm” the body of a deceased relative. The very term embalming is so seldom used that the mortician must rely upon custom in the matter. The author concludes that unless the family specifies otherwise, the act of entrusting the body to the care of a funeral establishment carries with it an implied permission to go ahead and embalm.

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1 Partly because of Mitford’s attack, the Federal Trade Commission now requires the funeral industry to provide families with itemized price lists, including the price of embalming, to state that embalming is not required, and to obtain the family’s consent to embalming before charging for it. Shortly before her death, however, Mitford observed that the FTC had “watered down” the regulations and “routinely ignored” consumer complaints about the funeral industry. — EDS.

Embalming is indeed a most extraordinary procedure, and one must wonder at the docility of Americans who each year pay hundreds of millions of dollars for its perpetuation, blissfully ignorant of what it is all about, what is done, how it is done. Not one in ten thousand has any idea of what actually takes place. Books on the subject are extremely hard to come by. They are not to be found in most libraries or bookshops. In an era when huge television audiences watch surgical operations in the comfort of their living rooms, when, thanks to the animated cartoon, the geography of the digestive system has become familiar territory even to the nursery school set, in a land where the satisfaction of curiosity about almost all matters is a national pastime, the secrecy surrounding embalming can, surely, hardly be attributed to the inherent gruesomeness of the subject. Custom in this regard has within this century suffered a complete reversal. In the early days of American embalming, when it was performed in the home of the deceased, it was almost mandatory for some relative to stay by the embalmer’s side and witness the procedure. Today, family members who might wish to be in attendance would certainly be dissuaded by the funeral director. All others, except apprentices, are excluded by law from the preparation room. A close look at what does actually take place may explain in large measure the undertaker’s intractable reticence concerning a procedure that has become his major raison d’être. Is it possible he fears that public information about embalming might lead patrons to wonder if they really want this service? If the funeral men are loath to discuss the subject outside the trade, the reader may, understandably, be equally loath to go on reading at this point. For those who have the stomach for it, let us part the formaldehyde curtain.… The body is first laid out in the undertaker’s morgue — or rather, Mr. Jones is reposing in the preparation room — to be readied to bid the world farewell. The preparation room in any of the better funeral establishments has the tiled and sterile look of a surgery, and indeed the embalmer–restorative artist who does his chores there is beginning to adopt the term dermasurgeon (appropriately corrupted by some mortician-writers as “demi-surgeon”) to describe his calling. His equipment, consisting of scalpels, scissors, augers, forceps, clamps, needles, pumps, tubes, bowls, and basins, is crudely imitative of the surgeon’s, as is his technique, acquired in a nine- or twelve-month posthigh-school course in an embalming school. He is supplied by an advanced chemical industry with a bewildering array of fluids, sprays, pastes, oils, powders, creams, to fix or soften tissue, shrink or distend it as needed, dry it here, restore the moisture there. There are cosmetics, waxes, and paints to fill and cover features, even plaster of Paris to replace entire limbs. There are ingenious aids to prop and stabilize the cadaver: a Vari-Pose Head Rest, the Edwards Arm and Hand Positioner, the Repose Block (to support the shoulders during the embalming), and the Throop Foot Positioner, which resembles an old-fashioned stocks. Mr. John H. Eckels, president of the Eckels College of Mortuary Science, thus describes the first part of the embalming procedure: “In the hands of a skilled practitioner, this work may be done in a comparatively short time and without mutilating the body other than by slight incision — so slight that it scarcely would cause serious inconvenience if made upon a living person. It is necessary to remove the blood, and doing this

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not only helps in the disinfecting, but removes the principal cause of disfigurements due to discoloration.” Another textbook discusses the all-important time element: “The earlier this is done, the better, for every hour that elapses between death and embalming will add to the problems and complications encountered.…” Just how soon should one get going on the embalming? The author tells us, “On the basis of such scanty information made available to this profession through its rudimentary and haphazard system of technical research, we must conclude that the best results are to be obtained if the subject is embalmed before life is completely extinct — that is, before cellular death has occurred. In the average case, this would mean within an hour after somatic death.” For those who feel that there is something a little rudimentary, not to say haphazard, about this advice, a comforting thought is offered by another writer. Speaking of fears entertained in early days of premature burial, he points out, “One of the effects of embalming by chemical injection, however, has been to dispel fears of live burial.” How true; once the blood is removed, chances of live burial are indeed remote. To return to Mr. Jones, the blood is drained out through the veins and replaced by embalming fluid pumped in through the arteries. As noted in The Principles and Practices of Embalming, “every operator has a favorite injection and drainage point — a fact which becomes a handicap only if he fails or refuses to forsake his favorites when conditions demand it.” Typical favorites are the carotid artery, femoral artery, jugular vein, subclavian vein. There are various choices of embalming fluid. If Flextone is used, it will produce a “mild, flexible rigidity. The skin retains a velvety softness, the tissues are rubbery and pliable. Ideal for women and children.” It may be blended with B. and G. Products Company’s Lyf-Lyk tint, which is guaranteed to reproduce “nature’s own skin texture… the velvety appearance of living tissue.” Sun-tone comes in three separate tints: Suntan; Special Cosmetic Tint, a pink shade “especially indicated for female subjects”; and Regular Cosmetic Tint, moderately pink. About three to six gallons of a dyed and perfumed solution of formaldehyde, glycerin, borax, phenol, alcohol, and water is soon circulating through Mr. Jones, whose mouth has been sewn together with a “needle directed upward between the upper lip and gum and brought out through the left nostril,” with the corners raised slightly “for a more pleasant expression.” If he should be bucktoothed, his teeth are cleaned with Bon Ami and coated with colorless nail polish. His eyes, meanwhile, are closed with flesh-tinted eye caps and eye cement. The next step is to have at Mr. Jones with a thing called a trocar. This is a long, hollow needle attached to a tube. It is jabbed into the abdomen, poked around the entrails and chest cavity, the contents of which are pumped out and replaced with “cavity fluid.” This done, and the hole in the abdomen sewn up, Mr. Jones’s face is heavily creamed (to protect the skin from burns which may be caused by leakage of the chemicals), and he is covered with a sheet and left unmolested for a while. But not for long — there is more, much more, in store for him. He has been embalmed, but not yet restored, and the best time to start the restorative work is eight to ten hours after embalming, when the tissues have become firm and dry. The object of all this attention to the corpse, it must be remembered, is to make it presentable for viewing in an attitude of healthy repose. “Our customs require the presentation of our dead in the semblance of normality… unmarred by the ravages of illness, disease, or mutilation,” says Mr. J. Sheridan Mayer in his Restorative Art. This is rather a large order since few people die in the full bloom of health, unravaged by illness and unmarked by some disfigurement. The funeral industry is equal to the challenge: “In some cases 486

the gruesome appearance of a mutilated or disease-ridden subject may be quite discouraging. The task of restoration may seem impossible and shake the confidence of the embalmer. This is the time for intestinal fortitude and determination. Once the formative work is begun and affected tissues are cleaned or removed, all doubts of success vanish. It is surprising and gratifying to discover the results which may be obtained.” The embalmer, having allowed an appropriate interval to elapse, returns to the attack, but now he brings into play the skill and equipment of sculptor and cosmetician. Is a hand missing? Casting one in plaster of Paris is a simple matter. “For replacement purposes, only a cast of the back of the hand is necessary; this is within the ability of the average operator and is quite adequate.” If a lip or two, a nose, or an ear should be missing, the embalmer has at hand a variety of restorative waxes with which to model replacements. Pores and skin texture are simulated by stippling with a little brush, and over this cosmetics are laid on. Head off? Decapitation cases are rather routinely handled. Ragged edges are trimmed, and head joined to torso with a series of splints, wires, and sutures. It is a good idea to have a little something at the neck — a scarf or a high collar — when time for viewing comes. Swollen mouth? Cut out tissue as needed from inside the lips. If too much is removed, the surface contour can easily be restored by padding with cotton. Swollen necks and cheeks are reduced by removing tissue through vertical incisions made down each side of the neck. “When the deceased is casketed, the pillow will hide the suture incisions… as an extra precaution against leakage, the suture may be painted with liquid sealer.” The opposite condition is more likely to present itself — that of emaciation. His hypodermic syringe now loaded with massage cream, the embalmer seeks out and fills the hollowed and sunken areas by injection. In this procedure the backs of the hands and fingers and the under-chin area should not be neglected. Positioning the lips is a problem that recurrently challenges the ingenuity of the embalmer. Closed too tightly, they tend to give a stern, even disapproving expression. Ideally, embalmers feel, the lips should give the impression of being ever so slightly parted, the upper lip protruding slightly for a more youthful appearance. This takes some engineering, however, as the lips tend to drift apart. Lip drift can sometimes be remedied by pushing one or two straight pins through the inner margin of the lower lip and then inserting them between the two front upper teeth. If Mr. Jones happens to have no teeth, the pins can just as easily be anchored in his Armstrong Face Former and Denture Replacer. Another method to maintain lip closure is to dislocate the lower jaw, which is then held in its new position by a wire run through holes which have been drilled through the upper and lower jaws at the mid-line. As the French are fond of saying, il faut souffrir pour être belle.2

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2 You have to suffer to be beautiful. — EDS.

If Mr. Jones has died of jaundice, the embalming fluid will very likely turn him green. Does this deter the embalmer? Not if he has intestinal fortitude. Masking pastes and cosmetics are heavily laid on, burial garments and casket interiors are color-correlated with particular care, and Jones is displayed beneath rosecolored lights. Friends will say “How well he looks.” Death by carbon monoxide, on the other hand, can be rather a good thing from the embalmer’s viewpoint: “One advantage is the fact that this type of discoloration is an exaggerated form of a natural pink coloration.” This is nice because the healthy glow is already present and needs but little attention. The patching and filling completed, Mr. Jones is now shaved, washed, and dressed. Cream-based cosmetic, available in pink, flesh, suntan, brunette, and blond, is applied to his hands and face, his hair is shampooed and combed (and, in the case of Mrs. Jones, set), his hands manicured. For the horny-handed son of toil special care must be taken; cream should be applied to remove ingrained grime, and the nails cleaned. “If he were not in the habit of having them manicured in life, trimming and shaping is advised for better appearance — never questioned by kin.” Jones is now ready for casketing (this is the present participle of the verb “to casket”). In this operation his right shoulder should be depressed slightly “to turn the body a bit to the right and soften the appearance of lying flat on the back.” Positioning the hands is a matter of importance, and special rubber positioning blocks may be used. The hands should be cupped slightly for a more lifelike, relaxed appearance. Proper placement of the body requires a delicate sense of balance. It should lie as high as possible in the casket, yet not so high that the lid, when lowered, will hit the nose. On the other hand, we are cautioned, placing the body too low “creates the impression that the body is in a box.” Jones is next wheeled into the appointed slumber room where a few last touches may be added — his favorite pipe placed in his hand or, if he was a great reader, a book propped into position. (In the case of little Master Jones a Teddy bear may be clutched.) Here he will hold open house for a few days, visiting hours 10 a.m. to 9 p.m. All now being in readiness, the funeral director calls a staff conference to make sure that each assistant knows his precise duties. Mr. Wilber Kriege writes: “This makes your staff feel that they are a part of the team, with a definite assignment that must be properly carried out if the whole plan is to succeed. You never heard of a football coach who failed to talk to his entire team before they go on the field. They have drilled on the plays they are to execute for hours and days, and yet the successful coach knows the importance of making even the benchwarming third-string substitute feel that he is important if the game is to be won.” The winning of this game is predicated upon glass-smooth handling of the logistics. The funeral director has notified the pallbearers whose names were furnished by the family, has arranged for the presence of clergyman, organist, and soloist, has provided transportation for everybody, has organized and listed the flowers sent by friends. In Psychology of Funeral Service Mr. Edward A. Martin points out, “He may not always do as much as the family thinks he is doing, but it is his helpful guidance that they appreciate in knowing they are proceeding as they should.… The important thing is how well his services can be used to make the family believe they are giving unlimited expression to their own sentiment.” The religious service may be held in a church or in the chapel of the funeral home; the funeral director 488

vastly prefers the latter arrangement, for not only is it more convenient for him but it affords him the opportunity to show off his beautiful facilities to the gathered mourners. After the clergyman has had his say, the mourners queue up to file past the casket for a last look at the deceased. The family is never asked whether they want an open-casket ceremony; in the absence of their instruction to the contrary, this is taken for granted. Consequently well over 90% of all American funerals feature the open casket — a custom unknown in other parts of the world. Foreigners are astonished by it. An English woman living in San Francisco described her reaction in a letter to the writer: I myself have attended only one funeral here — that of an elderly fellow worker of mine. After the service I could not understand why everyone was walking towards the coffin (sorry, I mean casket), but thought I had better follow the crowd. It shook me rigid to get there and find the casket open and poor old Oscar lying there in his brown tweed suit, wearing a sun-tan makeup and just the wrong shade of lipstick. If I had not been extremely fond of the old boy, I have a horrible feeling that I might have giggled. Then and there I decided that I could never face another American funeral — even dead.

The casket (which has been resting throughout the service on a Classic Beauty Ultra Metal Casket Bier) is now transferred by a hydraulically operated device called Porto-Lift to a balloon-tired, Glide Easy casket carriage which will wheel it to yet another conveyance, the Cadillac Funeral Coach. This may be lavender, cream, light green — anything but black. Interiors, of course, are color-correlated, “for the man who cannot stop short of perfection.” At graveside, the casket is lowered into the earth. This office, once the prerogative of friends of the deceased, is now performed by a patented mechanical lowering device. A “Lifetime Green” artificial grass mat is at the ready to conceal the sere earth, and overhead, to conceal the sky, is a portable Steril Chapel Tent (“resists the intense heat and humidity of summer and the terrific storms of winter… available in Silver Gray, Rose, or Evergreen”). Now is the time for the ritual scattering of earth over the coffin, as the solemn words “earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust” are pronounced by the officiating cleric. This can today be accomplished “with a mere flick of the wrist with the Gordon Leak-Proof Earth Dispenser. No grasping of a handful of dirt, no soiled fingers. Simple, dignified, beautiful, reverent! The modern way!” The Gordon Earth Dispenser (at $5) is of nickel-plated brass construction. It is not only “attractive to the eye and long wearing”; it is also “one of the ‘tools’ for building better public relations” if presented as “an appropriate noncommercial gift” to the clergyman. It is shaped something like a saltshaker. Untouched by human hand, the coffin and the earth are now united. It is in the function of directing the participants through this maze of gadgetry that the funeral director has assigned to himself his relatively new role of “grief therapist.” He has relieved the family of every detail, he has revamped the corpse to look like a living doll, he has arranged for it to nap for a few days in a slumber room, he has put on a well-oiled performance in which the concept of death has played no part whatsoever — unless it was inconsiderately mentioned by the clergyman who conducted the religious service. He has done everything in his power to make the funeral a real pleasure for everybody concerned. He and his team have given their all to score an upset victory over death.

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Journal Writing Presumably, morticians embalm and restore corpses, and survivors support the work, because the practices are thought to ease the shock of death. Now that you know what goes on behind the scenes, how do you feel about a loved one’s undergoing these procedures?

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Questions on Meaning 1. What was your emotional response to this essay? Can you analyze your feelings? 2. To what does Mitford attribute the secrecy surrounding the embalming process? 3. What, according to Mitford, is the mortician’s intent? What common obstacles to fulfilling it must be surmounted? 4. What do you understand from Mitford’s remark in paragraph 10, on dispelling fears of live burial: “How true; once the blood is removed, chances of live burial are indeed remote”? 5. Do you find any implied PURPOSE in this essay? Does Mitford seem primarily out to rake muck, or does she offer any positive suggestions to Americans?

Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing. In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages 19, 31–32, and 40.

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Questions on Writing Strategy 1. What is Mitford’s TONE? In her opening two paragraphs, exactly what shows her attitude toward her subject?

Tone The way a writer expresses his or her regard for subject, AUDIENCE, or self. Through word choice, sentence structures, and what is actually said, the writer conveys an attitude and sets a prevailing spirit. Tone in writing varies as greatly as tone of voice varies in conversation. It can be serious, distant, flippant, angry, enthusiastic, sincere, sympathetic. Whatever tone a writer chooses, usually it informs an entire essay and helps a reader decide how to respond. For examples of strong tone, see the essays by Diane Ackerman, Brian Doyle, Jessica Mitford, David Sedaris, Russell Baker, Chitra Divakaruni, Tal Fortgang, and Judy Brady. See also page 416.

2. Why do you think Mitford goes into so much grisly detail in analyzing the processes of embalming and restoration? How does the detail serve her purpose? 3. What is the EFFECT of calling the body Mr. Jones?

Effect The result of an event or action, usually considered together with CAUSE as a method of development. See the discussion of cause and effect in Chapter 10. In discussing writing, the term effect also refers to the impression a word, a sentence, a paragraph, or an entire work makes on the reader: how convincing it is, whether it elicits an emotional response, what associations it conjures up, and so on.

4. Paragraph by paragraph, what TRANSITIONS does the author employ?

Transitions Words, phrases, sentences, or even paragraphs that relate ideas. In moving from one topic to the next, a writer has to bring the reader along by showing how the ideas are developing, what bearing a new thought or detail has on an earlier discussion, or why a new topic is being introduced. A clear purpose, strong ideas, and logical development certainly aid COHERENCE, but to ensure that the reader is following along, good writers provide signals, or transitions. To bridge sentences or paragraphs and to point out relationships within them, you can use some of the following devices of transition: Repeat or restate words or phrases to produce an echo in the reader’s mind. Use PARALLEL STRUCTURES to produce a rhythm that moves the reader forward. Use pronouns to refer back to nouns in earlier passages. Use transitional words and phrases. These may indicate a relationship of time (right away, later, soon, meanwhile, in a few minutes, that night), proximity (beside, close to, distant from, nearby, facing), effect (therefore, for this reason, as a result, consequently), comparison (similarly, in the same way, likewise), or contrast (yet, but, nevertheless, however, despite). Some words and phrases of transition simply add on: besides, too, also, moreover, in addition to, second, last, in the end.

5. To whom does Mitford address her process analysis? How do you know she isn’t writing for an AUDIENCE of professional morticians?

Audience A writer’s readers. Having in mind a particular audience helps the writer in choosing strategies, such as which method(s) to use, what details to include, and how to shape an ARGUMENT. You can increase your awareness of your audience by asking yourself a few questions before you begin to write. Who are to be your readers? What is their age level? background? education? Where do they live? What are their beliefs and attitudes? What interests them? What, if anything, sets them apart

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from most people? How familiar are they with your subject? Knowing your audience can help you write so that your readers will not only understand you better but care more deeply about what you say. See also pages 20, 30, and 407.

6. Choose one of the quotations from the journals and textbooks of professionals and explain how it serves the author’s general purpose. 7. Why do you think Mitford often uses the PASSIVE VOICE to describe the actions of embalmers — for instance, “the blood is drained,” “If Flextone is used,” and “It may be blended” in paragraph 11? Are the verbs in passive voice effective or ineffective? Why?

Passive voice The form of the verb when the sentence subject is acted upon: The report [subject] was published [passive verb] anonymously. Contrast ACTIVE VOICE.

8. OTHER METHODS In paragraph 8, Mitford uses CLASSIFICATION in listing the embalmer’s equipment and supplies. What groups does she identify, and why does she bother sorting the items at all?

Classification A method of development in which a writer sorts out multiple things (contact sports, college students, kinds of music) into categories. See Chapter 9.

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Questions on Language 1. Explain the ALLUSION to Yorick in paragraph 2.

Allude, allusion To refer to a person, place, or thing believed to be common knowledge (allude), or the act or result of doing so (allusion). An allusion may point to a famous event, a familiar saying, a noted personality, or a well-known story or song. Usually brief, an allusion is a space-saving way to convey much meaning. For example, the statement “The game was Coach Johnson’s Waterloo” informs the reader that, like Napoleon meeting defeat in a celebrated battle, the coach led a confrontation resulting in his downfall and that of his team. If the writer is also showing Johnson’s character, the allusion might further tell us that the coach is a man of Napoleonic ambition and pride. To make an effective allusion, you have to ensure that it will be clear to your audience. Not every reader, for example, would understand an allusion to a neighbor, to a seventeenth-century Russian harpsichordist, or to a little-known stock-car driver.

2. What IRONY do you find in this statement in paragraph 7: “The body is first laid out in the undertaker’s morgue — or rather, Mr. Jones is reposing in the preparation room”? Pick out any other words or phrases in the essay that seem ironic. Comment especially on those you find in the essay’s last two sentences.

Irony A manner of speaking or writing that does not directly state a discrepancy, but implies one. Verbal irony is the intentional use of words to suggest a meaning other than literal: “What a mansion!” (said of a shack); “There’s nothing like sunshine” (said on a foggy morning). (For more examples, see the essays by Jessica Mitford and Judy Brady.) If irony is delivered contemptuously with an intent to hurt, we call it sarcasm: “Oh, you’re a real friend!” (said to someone who refuses to lend the speaker the coins to operate a clothes dryer). With situational irony, the circumstances themselves are incongruous, run contrary to expectations, or twist fate: Juliet regains consciousness only to find that Romeo, believing her dead, has stabbed himself. See also SATIRE.

3. Why is it useful to Mitford’s purpose that she cites the brand names of morticians’ equipment and supplies (the Edwards Arm and Hand Positioner, Lyf-Lyk tint)? List all the brand names in the essay that are memorable. 4. Define the following words or terms: counterpart (par. 2); circumscribed, decedent, bereaved (3); docility, perpetuation (4); inherent (5); intractable, reticence, raison d’être, formaldehyde (6); “derma-” (in dermasurgeon), augers, forceps, distend, stocks (8); somatic (10); carotid artery, femoral artery, jugular vein, subclavian vein, pliable (11); glycerin, borax, phenol (12); trocar, entrails (13); stippling, sutures (15); emaciation (16); jaundice (18); predicated (22); queue (23); hydraulically (24); sere, cleric (25).

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Suggestions for Writing 1. FROM JOURNAL TO ESSAY Drawing on your personal response to Mitford’s essay in your journal (p. 246), write a brief essay that ARGUES either for or against embalming and restoration. Consider the purposes served by these practices, both for the mortician and for the dead person’s relatives and friends, as well as their costs and effects. 2. ANALYZE some other process whose operations may not be familiar to everyone. (Have you ever held a job, or helped out in a family business, that has taken you behind the scenes? How is fast food prepared? How are cars serviced? How is a baby sat? How is a house constructed?) Detail it step by step, including transitions to clarify the steps.

Analyze, analysis To separate a subject into its parts (analyze), or the act or result of doing so (analysis, also called division). Analysis is a key skill in CRITICAL THINKING, READING, AND WRITING; see pages 16, 18–22, and 24–25. It is also considered a method of development; see Chapter 8.

3. CRITICAL WRITING In attacking the funeral industry, Mitford also, implicitly, attacks the people who pay for and comply with the industry’s attitudes and practices. What ASSUMPTIONS does Mitford seem to make about how we ought to deal with death and the dead? (Consider, for instance, her statements about the “docility of Americans …, blissfully ignorant” [par. 4] and the funeral director’s making “the funeral a real pleasure for everybody concerned” [27].) Write an essay in which you interpret Mitford’s assumptions and agree or disagree with them, based on your own reading and experience. If you like, defend the ritual of the funeral, or the mortician’s profession, against Mitford’s attack.

Assume, assumption To take something for granted (assume), or a belief or opinion taken for granted (assumption). Whether stated or unstated, assumptions influence a writer’s choices of subject, viewpoint, EVIDENCE and even language. See also pages 17 and 410.

4. CONNECTIONS In “Vampires Never Die” (p. 282), Guillermo del Toro and Chuck Hogan also comment on fears of death, noting that “we have no true jurisdiction over our bodies.” Taken together, what do Mitford’s and del Toro and Hogan’s essays say about the importance of the body in Western culture? Write an essay either defending or criticizing the desire for physical immortality, whether real or imagined.

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Jessica Mitford on Writing “Choice of subject is of cardinal importance,” declared Jessica Mitford in Poison Penmanship. “One does by far one’s best work when besotted by and absorbed in the matter at hand.” After The American Way of Death was published, Mitford received hundreds of letters suggesting alleged rackets that ought to be exposed, and to her surprise, an overwhelming majority of these letters complained about defective and overpriced hearing aids. But Mitford never wrote a book blasting the hearing aid industry. “Somehow, although there may well be need for such an exposé, I could not warm up to hearing aids as a subject for the kind of thorough, intensive, long-range research that would be needed to do an effective job.” She once taught a course at Yale on muckraking, with each student choosing a subject to investigate. “Those who tackled hot issues on campus, such as violations of academic freedom or failure to implement affirmative-action hiring policies, turned in some excellent work; but the lad who decided to investigate ‘waste in the Yale dining halls’ was predictably unable to make much of this trivial topic.” The hardest problem Mitford faced in writing The American Way of Death, she recalled, was doing her factual, step-by-step account of the embalming process. She felt “determined to describe it in all its revolting details, but how to make this subject palatable to the reader?” Her solution was to cast the whole process analysis in the official JARGON of the mortuary industry, drawing on lists of taboo words and their EUPHEMISMS (or acceptable synonyms), as published in the trade journal Casket & Sunnyside: “Mr., Mrs., Miss Blank, not corpse or body; preparation room, not morgue; reposing room, not laying-out room….” The story of Mr. Jones thus took shape, and Mitford’s use of jargon, she found, added macabre humor to the proceedings.

Jargon Strictly speaking, the special vocabulary of a trade or profession. The term has also come to mean inflated, vague, meaningless language of any kind. It is characterized by wordiness, ABSTRACT terms galore, pretentious DICTION, and needlessly complicated word order. Whenever you meet a sentence that obviously could express its idea in fewer words and shorter ones, chances are that it is jargon. For instance: “The motivating force compelling her to opt continually for the most laborintensive mode of operation in performing her functions was consistently observed to be the single constant and regular factor in her behavior patterns.” Translation: “She did everything the hard way.” (For more on such jargon, see William Lutz’s “The World of Doublespeak” in Chap. 9.) Euphemism The use of inoffensive language in place of language that readers or listeners may find hurtful, distasteful, frightening, or otherwise objectionable — for instance, a police officer’s announcing that someone passed on rather than died, or a politician’s calling for revenue enhancement rather than taxation. Writers sometimes use euphemism out of consideration for readers’ feelings, but just as often they use it to deceive readers or shirk responsibility. (For more on euphemism, see William Lutz’s “The World of Doublespeak” in Chap. 9.)

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The Brief Bedford Reader on Writing We aren’t sure that the topic of “waste in the Yale dining halls” is necessarily trivial, but obviously not everyone would burn to write about it. How do you find a topic worth investigating? Something that will engage you and keep you interested “for the kind of thorough, intensive, long-range research that would be needed to do an effective job”? See our tips in Chapter 2 (“Subject,” pp. 30) and the Appendix (“Conducting Research,” pp. 492–96).

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ADDITIONAL WRITING TOPICS Process Analysis 1. Write a directive process analysis (a “how-to” essay) in which, drawing on your own knowledge, you instruct someone in doing or making something. You might choose to take a serious approach or a light TONE. Either way, divide the process into steps, and be sure to detail each step thoroughly. Here are some possible subjects (any of which may be modified or narrowed): How to protect one’s privacy online How to enlist people’s confidence How to teach a person to ski How to book a ride through Uber or Lyft How to compose a photograph How to judge a dog show How to organize your own rock group How to eat an artichoke How to shear a sheep How to build (or fly) a kite How to start weight training How to aid a person who is choking How to kick a habit How to win at poker How to make an effective protest or complaint Or, if you don’t like any of those topics, what else do you know that others might care to learn from you? 2. Working in chronological order, write a careful informative (explanatory, not “how-to”) analysis of any one of the following processes. Make use of DESCRIPTION where necessary, and be sure to include TRANSITIONS. If one of these topics gives you a better idea for a paper, go with your own subject.

Description A mode of writing that conveys the evidence of the senses: sight, hearing, touch, taste, smell. See Chapter 4. Transitions Words, phrases, sentences, or even paragraphs that relate ideas. In moving from one topic to the next, a writer has to bring the reader along by showing how the ideas are developing, what bearing a new thought or detail has on an earlier discussion, or why a new topic is being introduced. A clear purpose, strong ideas, and logical development certainly aid COHERENCE, but to ensure that the reader is following along, good writers provide signals, or transitions. To bridge sentences or paragraphs and to point out relationships within them, you can use some of the following devices of transition: Repeat or restate words or phrases to produce an echo in the reader’s mind. Use PARALLEL STRUCTURES to produce a rhythm that moves the reader forward. Use pronouns to refer back to nouns in earlier passages. Use transitional words and phrases. These may indicate a relationship of time (right away, later, soon, meanwhile, in a few minutes, that night), proximity (beside, close to, distant from, nearby, facing), effect (therefore, for this reason, as a result, consequently), comparison (similarly, in the same way, likewise), or contrast (yet, but, nevertheless, however, despite). Some words and phrases of transition simply add on: besides, too, also, moreover, in addition to, second, last, in the end.

How a student is processed during orientation or registration How the student newspaper gets published

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How a particular Web site generates revenue How employers find and screen job applicants How a Bluetooth speaker or an MP3 player works How fracking extracts natural gas from shale How a professional umpire (or any other professional) does the job How an air conditioner (or other household appliance) works How birds teach their young (or some other process in the natural world: how sharks feed, how a snake swallows an egg, how tsunamis form, how the human liver works) How police control crowds How people make up their minds when shopping for cars (or clothes)

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8 DIVISION OR ANALYSIS Slicing into Parts

Division or analysis in a cartoon The cartoonist Roz Chast is well known for witty and perceptive comments on the everyday, made through words and simple, almost childlike drawings. Dividing or analyzing, this cartoon identifies the elements of a boy’s sandwich to discover what they can tell about the values and politics of the parent who made the sandwich. The title, “Deconstructing Lunch,” refers to a type of analysis that focuses on

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the multiple meanings of a subject and especially its internal contradictions. Summarize what the sandwich reveals about the boy’s parent. What contradictions do you spot in his or her values or politics? What might Chast be saying more generally about food choices?

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THE METHOD A chemist working for a soft-drink company is asked to improve on a competitor’s product, Hydra Sports Water. To do the job, the chemist first has to figure out what’s in the drink. She smells the stuff and tastes it. Then she tests a sample chemically to discover the actual ingredients: water, corn syrup, sodium citrate, potassium chloride, coloring. Methodically, the chemist has performed

DIVISION

or

ANALYSIS:

She has

separated the beverage into its components. Hydra Sports Water stands revealed, understood, and ready to be bettered.

Division See ANALYZE, ANALYSIS. Analyze, analysis To separate a subject into its parts (analyze), or the act or result of doing so (analysis, also called division). Analysis is a key skill in CRITICAL THINKING, READING, AND WRITING; see pages 16, 18–22, and 24–25. It is also considered a method of development; see Chapter 8.

Division or analysis (the terms are interchangeable) is a key skill in learning and in life. It is an instrument allowing you to slice a large and complicated subject into smaller parts that you can grasp and connect to one another. In fact, it is so fundamental that it underlies every other method of development discussed in this book — for instance, it helps you identify features for

DESCRIPTION,

CONTRAST,

(as our chemist did in the previous chapter). With

or sort out the steps for a

PROCESS ANALYSIS

spot similarities for

COMPARISON AND

analysis you can comprehend — and communicate — the structure of things. And when it works, you find in the parts an idea or conclusion about the subject that makes it clearer, truer, more comprehensive, or more vivid than it was before you started.

Description A mode of writing that conveys the evidence of the senses: sight, hearing, touch, taste, smell. See Chapter 4. Comparison and contrast Two methods of development usually found together. Using them, a writer examines the similarities and differences between two things to reveal their natures. See Chapter 6. Process analysis A method of development that most often explains step by step how something is done or how to do something. See Chapter 7.

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Kinds of Division or Analysis Although division or analysis always works the same way — separating a whole, singular subject into its elements — the method can be more or less difficult depending on how unfamiliar, complex, or abstract the subject is. Obviously, it’s going to be easier to analyze a chicken (wings, legs, thighs, …) than a speech by John F. Kennedy (this image, that allusion, …), and easier to analyze the structure of a small business than that of a multinational conglomerate. There are always multiple ways to divide or analyze a subject. One historian, for instance, might study an era by looking at its elections, protest movements, wars, and so forth — following its political components — while another might examine the daily experiences of the people who lived in that period — explaining events in their social context. In other words, the outcome of an analysis depends on the rule or principle used to conduct it. This fact accounts for some of the differences among academic disciplines: A psychologist may look at the individual person primarily as a bundle of drives and needs, whereas a sociologist may emphasize the individual’s roles in society. Even within a discipline, different factions analyze differently, using different principles of division or analysis. Some psychologists are interested mainly in perception, others mainly in behavior; some focus mainly on emotional development, others mainly on brain chemistry.

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Analysis and Critical Thinking Analysis plays a fundamental role in

CRITICAL THINKING, READING, AND WRITING,

topics discussed in

Chapters 1 and 2. In fact, analysis and criticism are deeply related: The first comes from a Greek word meaning “to undo”; the second from a Greek word meaning “to separate.”

Critical thinking, reading, and writing A group of interlocking skills that are essential for college work and beyond. Each seeks the meaning beneath the surface of a statement, poem, editorial, picture, advertisement, Web site, or other TEXT. Using ANALYSIS, INFERENCE, SYNTHESIS, and often EVALUATION, the critical thinker, reader, and writer separates a text into its elements in order to see and judge meanings, relations, and ASSUMPTIONS that might otherwise remain buried. See also pages 12, 25–261, 255, and 406– 07.

Critical thinking, reading, and writing go beneath the surface of the object, word, image, or whatever the subject is. When you work critically, you divide the subject into its elements, ASSUMPTIONS

INFER

the buried meanings and

that define its essence, and SYNTHESIZE the parts into a new whole that is now informed by your

perspective. Say a campaign brochure quotes a candidate for election to the city council as being in favor of “reasonable government expenditures on reasonable highway projects.” The candidate will support new roads, right? Wrong. As a critical reader of the brochure, you quickly sense something fishy in the use (twice) of reasonable. As an informed reader, you might know (or find out) that the candidate has consistently opposed new roads, so the chances of her finding a highway project “reasonable” are slim. At the same time, her stand has been unpopular, so of course she wants to seem “reasonable” on the issue. Read critically, then, a campaign statement that seems to offer mild support for highways is actually a slippery evasion of any such commitment.

Infer, inference To draw a conclusion (infer), or the act or result of doing so (inference). In CRITICAL THINKING, READING, AND WRITING,

inference is the means to understanding a writer’s meaning,

ASSUMPTIONS, PURPOSE,

fairness, and other attributes. See also pages 16–17, 23, and 25.

Assume, assumption To take something for granted (assume), or a belief or opinion taken for granted (assumption). Whether stated or unstated, assumptions influence a writer’s choices of subject, viewpoint, EVIDENCE

and even language. See also pages 17 and 410.

Synthesize, synthesis To link elements into a whole (synthesize), or the act or result of doing so (synthesis). In CRITICAL

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THINKING, READING, AND WRITING,

synthesis is the key step during which you use your own

perspective to reassemble a work you have ANALYZED or to connect the work with others. (See pp. 17 and 25.) Synthesis is a hallmark of ACADEMIC WRITING in which you respond to others’ work or use multiple sources to support your ideas. (See pp. 46–47 and 496–98.)

Analysis (a convenient term for the overlapping operations of analysis, inference, and synthesis) is very useful for exposing such evasiveness, but that isn’t its only function. You’ve already done quite a bit of analytical thinking as you critically read the selections in this book. The method will also help you understand a sculpture, perceive the importance of a case study in sociology, or form a response to an environmental impact report. And the method can be invaluable for straight thinking about popular culture, from TV to toys.

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THE PROCESS

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Subject and Purpose Keep an eye out for writing assignments requiring division or analysis — in college and work, they won’t be hard to find. They will probably include the word analyze or a word implying analysis, such as evaluate, examine, explore, interpret, discuss, or criticize. Any time you spot such a term, you know your job is to separate the subject into its elements, to infer their meanings, to explore the relations among them, and to draw a conclusion about the subject. Almost any coherent entity — object, person, place, concept — is a fit subject for analysis if the analysis will add to the subject’s meaning or significance. Little is deadlier than the rote analytical exercise that leaves the parts neatly dissected and the subject comatose on the page. As a writer, you have to animate the subject, and that means finding your interest. What about your subject seems curious? What’s appealing? or mysterious? or awful? And what will be your

PURPOSE

in writing about the subject: Do you simply want to

explain it, or do you want to argue for or against it?

Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing. In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages 19, 31–32, and 40.

Such questions can help you find the principle or framework you will use to divide the subject into parts. Say you’ve got an assignment to write about a sculpture in a nearby park. Why do you like the sculpture, or why don’t you? What elements of its creation and physical form make it art? What is the point of such public art? What does this sculpture do for this park, or what does the park do for the sculpture? Any of these questions could suggest a slant on the subject, a framework for analysis, and a purpose for writing, getting your analysis moving.

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Principle of Analysis and Thesis Finding your principle of analysis will lead you to your essay’s to make about your subject. Expressed in a

THESIS STATEMENT,

THESIS

as well — the main point you want

this idea will help keep you focused and help

your readers see your subject as a whole rather than as a bundle of parts. Here are the thesis statements in two of this chapter’s selections:

Thesis, thesis statement The central idea in a work of writing (thesis), to which everything else in the work refers; one or more sentences that express that central idea (thesis statement). In some way, each sentence and PARAGRAPH

in an effective essay serves to support the thesis and to make it clear and explicit to

readers. Good writers, while writing, often set down a thesis statement to help them define their purpose. They also often include this statement in their essay as a promise and a guide to readers. See pages 19, 35–36, 40–41, and the introductions to Chapters 3–12.

Boys — and more and more girls — who accept Jock Culture values often go on to flourish in a competitive sports environment that requires submission to authority, winning by any means necessary, and group cohesion. — Robert Lipsyte, “Jock Culture” Monsters, like angels, are invoked by our individual and collective needs. Today, much as during that gloomy summer in 1816 [when Dracula was conceived], we feel the need to seek their cold embrace. — Guillermo del Toro and Chuck Hogan, “Vampires Never Die”

Readers will have an easier time following your analysis — and will more likely appreciate it — if they have a hook on which to hang the details. Your thesis statement can be that hook if you use it to establish your framework, your principle of analysis. A well-focused thesis statement can help you as well, because it gives you a yardstick to judge how complete, consistent, and supportive your analysis is. Don’t be discouraged, though, if your thesis statement doesn’t come to you until after you’ve written a first draft and had a chance to discover your interest. Writing about your subject may be the best way for you to find its meaning and significance.

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Evidence Making a valid analysis is chiefly a matter of giving your subject thought, but for the result to seem useful and convincing to your readers, it will have to refer to the real world. The method, then, requires open eyes and a willingness to provide

EVIDENCE.

The nature of the evidence will depend entirely on what you are

analyzing — physical details for a sculpture, quotations for a speech, financial data for a business review, statistics for a psychology case study, and so forth. The idea is to supply enough evidence to justify and support your particular slant on the subject.

Evidence The details that support an argument or an explanation, including facts, examples, and expert opinions. A writer’s opinions and GENERALIZATIONS must rest upon evidence. See pages 408–09.

In developing an essay by analysis, having an outline at your elbow can be a help. You don’t want to overlook any parts or elements that should be included in your framework. You needn’t mention every feature in your final draft or give them all equal treatment, but any omissions or variations should be conscious. And you want to use your framework consistently, not switching carelessly (and confusingly) from, say, the form of the sculpture to the cost of public art. A final caution: It’s possible to get carried away with one’s own analysis, to become so enamored of the details that the subject itself becomes dim or distorted. You can avoid this danger by keeping the subject literally in front of you as you work (or at least imagining it vividly). It often helps to reassemble your subject at the end of the essay, placing it in a larger context, speculating on its influence, or affirming its significance. By the end of the essay, your subject must be a coherent whole truly represented by your analysis, not twisted, inflated, or obliterated. The reader should be intrigued by your subject, yes, but also able to recognize it on the street. FOCUS ON PARAGRAPH COHERENCE Because several elements contribute to the whole of a subject, your analysis will be easier for readers to follow if you frequently clarify what element you are discussing and how it fits with your principle of analysis. Two techniques, especially, can help you guide readers through your analysis: transitions and repetition or restatement. Use TRANSITIONS as signposts to tell readers where you, and they, are headed. Among other uses, transitions may specify the relations between your points and your principle of analysis (first, second, another feature) or may clarify the relations among the points themselves (even more important, similarly). Consider how transitions keep readers focused in the following paragraph: Many television comedies, even some that boast live audiences, rely on laugh tracks to fill too-quiet moments. To create a laugh track, an editor uses four overlapping elements of a laugh. The first is style, from titter to belly laugh. The second is intensity, the volume, ranging from mild to medium to earsplitting. The third ingredient is duration, the length of the laugh, whether quick, medium, or extended. And finally, there’s the number of laughers, from a lone giggler to a roaring throng. When creating a canned laugh, the editor draws from a bank of hundreds of prerecorded laugh files and blends the four ingredients as a maestro weaves a symphony out of brass, woodwinds, percussion, and strings.

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Transitions Words, phrases, sentences, or even paragraphs that relate ideas. In moving from one topic to the next, a writer has to bring the reader along by showing how the ideas are developing, what bearing a new thought or detail has on an earlier discussion, or why a new topic is being introduced. A clear purpose, strong ideas, and logical development certainly aid COHERENCE, but to ensure that the reader is following along, good writers provide signals, or transitions. To bridge sentences or paragraphs and to point out relationships within them, you can use some of the following devices of transition: Repeat or restate words or phrases to produce an echo in the reader’s mind. Use PARALLEL STRUCTURES to produce a rhythm that moves the reader forward. Use pronouns to refer back to nouns in earlier passages. Use transitional words and phrases. These may indicate a relationship of time (right away, later, soon, meanwhile, in a few minutes, that night), proximity (beside, close to, distant from, nearby, facing), effect (therefore, for this reason, as a result, consequently), comparison (similarly, in the same way, likewise), or contrast (yet, but, nevertheless, however, despite). Some words and phrases of transition simply add on: besides, too, also, moreover, in addition to, second, last, in the end.

Use repetition and restatement to link sentences and tie them to your principle of analysis. In the preceding paragraph, two threads run through the sentences to maintain the focus: laugh tracks, laugh track, laugh, laughers, and canned laugh; and editor, editor, and maestro.

CHECKLIST FOR REVISING A DIVISION OR ANALYSIS ESSAY Principle of analysis and thesis. What is your particular slant on your subject, the rule or principle you have used to divide your subject into its elements? Do you specify it in your thesis statement? Completeness. Have you considered all the subject’s elements required by your principle of analysis? Consistency. Have you applied your principle of analysis consistently, viewing your subject from a definite slant? Evidence. Is your division or analysis well supported with concrete details, quotations, data, or statistics, as appropriate? Significance. Why should readers care about your analysis? Have you told them something about your subject that wasn’t obvious on its surface? Truth to subject. Is your analysis faithful to the subject, not distorted, exaggerated, or deflated?

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DIVISION OR ANALYSIS IN ACADEMIC WRITING

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A Political Science Textbook In this paragraph adapted from Government by the People, an introductory political science textbook focused on American government, authors David B. Magleby, Paul C. Light, and Christine L. Nemacheck divide the US Constitution into its essential elements. The careful analysis supports their admiration for the document’s simplicity and flexibility. Despite its brevity, the Constitution firmly established the Framers’ experiment in free-government-in-the-making that each generation reinterprets and renews. That is why after more than 225 years we have not had another written Constitution — let alone two, three, or more, like other countries around the world. Part of the reason is the public’s widespread acceptance of the Constitution. Principle of analysis: “brilliant” structure of the Constitution

1. Legislative branch But the Constitution has also endured because it is a brilliant structure for limited government and one that the Framers designed to be adaptable and flexible. Article I establishes a bicameral Congress, with a House of Representatives and a Senate, and empowers it to enact legislation — for example, governing foreign and interstate commerce. 2. Executive branch

3. Judicial branch

4. Protections for citizens

5. Procedures for amendment

6. Authority

7. Ratification Article II vests the executive power in the president, and Article III vests the judicial power in the Supreme Court and other federal courts that Congress may establish. Article IV guarantees the privileges and immunities of citizens and specifies the conditions for admitting new states. Article V provides for the methods of amending the Constitution, and Article VI specifies that the Constitution and all laws made under it are the supreme law of the land. Finally, Article VII provides that the Constitution had to be ratified by nine of the original thirteen states to go into effect. 8. Bill of Rights and later amendments In 1791, the first ten amendments, the Bill of Rights, were added, and another seventeen amendments have been added since.

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A Critical Reading The study of literature — poetry, novels, short fiction, even essays — regularly involves analysis in the form of close readings. Interpretations vary, of course, depending on the reader’s chosen principle of analysis. One literary critic, for instance, might divide a poem by looking at its rhymes, meter, imagery, and so forth — following its internal components — while another might examine a short story or novel as an artifact of the author’s time and place — connecting its components to its context. In either case, such close readings draw on the text itself for evidence: summarizing, paraphrasing, and quoting the work to give readers the flavor of its content and to support the critic’s analysis. For a composition course using The Brief Bedford Reader at Seton Hall University in New Jersey, Rachel O’Connor, a dual major in biology and English, wrote an analysis of Shirley Jackson’s short story “The Lottery” (p. 90). She chose to focus on Jackson’s use of literary techniques, following MLA style to cite evidence from the story. We excerpt her close reading here to avoid spoilers. Shirley Jackson’s “The Lottery” appears simple on a first read, but close analysis reveals a tale packed with dark social commentary. Thesis statement The story takes place on a glorious summer day, in a small and seemingly docile rural town where an annual lottery is about to take place. It is unclear at first what this lottery entails, but since the term typically has positive connotations, the reader does not suspect the morbidity that lies beneath the surface or the horrors unleashed in the last few lines …. Principle of analysis: literary technique

1. Irony What makes “The Lottery” so brilliant are the subtle clues Jackson embeds in the text and the deeper moral themes to which they point. The narrative flows smoothly and is compelling enough to consume readers and distract them from noticing the tactics strategically set in place. For example, the first sentence describes the setting as “clear and sunny, with the fresh warmth of a full-summer day” (90). This line is ironic: What appears to be a pleasant community gathering on a beautiful day turns out to be something much more sinister…. 2. Foreshadowing Another early clue is the description, in the second paragraph, of boys gathering stones in their pockets. Although it is not clear what these stones might be used for, the reader is not inclined to think anything of it — until he or she becomes aware of the story’s ending. At the same time, the fact that some boys “made a great pile of stones … and guarded it against the raids of the other boys” (91) exposes the inherent distrust and hostility the townspeople have for one another despite the appearance of being a close-knit community…. 3. Characterization The gravity of the situation is further suggested through the description of the men, whose “jokes were quiet” and who “smiled rather than laughed” (91). The townspeople’s conspicuous efforts to make conversation and act normal hint to the reader that something may be awry. The children’s attitude toward the lottery is especially troubling. They seem to view it as a game although they are aware of the perverse reality, which indicates their desensitization to violence and loss of innocence…. Finally, the winner’s insistence that the lottery “isn’t fair” and “isn’t right” (97) underscores the story’s latent theme of the evil often lurking in societal norms. Reassembly of elements with a comment on significance Jackson, through irony, foreshadowing, and characterization, spins a flawless tale that both entertains and makes readers think. She subtly yet powerfully questions a society that complies with abhorrent practices simply because they are traditional…. She challenges readers to make their own moral judgments rather than fall victim to the often unjust mentality of the majority in charge, while

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simultaneously pulling off a surprise ending wild enough to catch the attention of almost anyone. List of Works Cited with publication information for the text (see pp. 499–513)

Works Cited Jackson, Shirley. “The Lottery.” The Bedford Reader, edited by X. J. Kennedy et al., 13th ed., Bedford/St. Martin’s, 2017, pp. 90–97.

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PHOTOGRAPHY

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JUDITH ORTIZ COFER A native of Puerto Rico who has lived most of her life in the United States, Judith Ortiz Cofer writes poetry, fiction, and essays about her heritage and the balancing of two cultures. Born in Hormingueros, Puerto Rico, in 1952, she earned a BA from Augusta College in 1974 and an MA from Florida Atlantic University in 1977. Cofer started out as a bilingual teacher in the schools of Palm Beach County, Florida, and taught English and creative writing at the University of Georgia. Her publications include the poetry collections Peregrina (1986) and Terms of Survival (1987); the novels The Line of the Sun (1989), The Meaning of Consuelo (2003), and If I Could Fly (2011); the essay collections Silent Dancing (1990) and Woman in Front of the Sun (2000); mixes of nonfiction, fiction, and poetry in The Latin Deli (1993) and The Year of Our Revolution (1998); and several children’s books, most recently Animal Jamboree: Latino Folktales and The Poet Upstairs (both 2012). As a native Spanish speaker who challenged herself to learn English, she is always experimenting, she says, with “the ‘infinite variety’ and power of language.”

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The Cruel Country Cofer moved to New Jersey from Puerto Rico with her parents and siblings when she was three years old; the family made frequent visits back to the island and (with the exception of Cofer’s father) always considered it home. In this excerpt from her memoir The Cruel Country (2015), Cofer draws on a theory of French philosopher Roland Barthes (1915–80) to make sense of why a photograph of her mother moves her as it does. The essay first appeared in Brevity magazine in 2012. In the selection following this one, “The Capricious Camera,” student writer Laila Ayad also uses division or analysis to tease out the meanings of a photograph, in her case an image of a little girl in World War II Poland.

“Mourning: a cruel country where I’m no longer afraid.” — Roland Barthes, Mourning Diary

I study a photograph of my mother taken on her return to the Island as a widow in her forties. What do I see? A woman in a bright red top and black pants, neither smiling nor frowning, posed in front of a painted canvas. Her back is very straight and her hands, showing signs of arthritis in the slightly swollen crooked fingers, are spread flat on her lap. Something draws the eyes to this woman’s face. The camera has caught her in between emotions. We do not know whether she is about to smile or cry. In his book on photography as memorial, Camera Lucida, Roland Barthes talks about the two planes in a photograph that interest him. The first he calls the studium, and it represents the actual occasion, meaning, or intent of the photograph. But it is the detail that defies analysis, what Barthes calls the punctum, that interests him the most. The punctum is the point of intersection between viewer and image, that detail that draws us into the picture as a shared human event. It is the thing, whether intended by the photographer or not, that touches you or triggers a quickening of the pulse, an irresistible impulse to look closer. When I was asked for photos to be displayed at the funeral home, I looked through her albums and found dozens of pictures, but I could not find one that had the right tone, the “air,” as Barthes calls it. My brother had visited our mother several months before her final illness and had found a photo that he scanned and sent to me. She had told him that she did not like it, but had not given a reason. She had kept it put away in a box. I looked at it occasionally, drawn to her haunting look of almost-revelation. It had been taken when she first returned to the Island after my father’s death. She looked younger in this photo than I remembered her, maybe because she had taken to wearing conservative, matronly clothes and her hair pulled back while she spent her years as a Navy wife-in-waiting in the United States, the time she always called her exilio.1

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1 Spanish, “exile.” — EDS.

But in this photo she has regained her true age. Her hair is shiny with only a hint of gray at the part, her tan arms are bare, and she looks slim and fit. But in spite of her rejuvenation there is a seriousness that belies the outfit, clearly donned for an evening out. The punctum of this photo for me is the little spray of white flowers adorning her hair. Doesn’t a woman have to be thinking of something celebratory or someone special to put flowers in her hair? I had never seen my mother indulge in anything quite as impractical and frivolous. In fact, she was as concerned about bugs on her body as any child who had experienced the parasite scares of her childhood on a tropical island. I looked at the photo for other signs of her transformation, but kept coming back to the two disparate qualities: the hidden grief in her expression, and the flirtatiousness of the little white flowers in her hair. On the painted canvas behind her there is an idealized seashore scene at dusk: a background of sinuous palm trees, placid ocean, and a black mountain range. Perhaps this is how our beaches looked once, before the litter, the hotels and condos, and the tourists. It may have been the image my mother carried in her mind all those years when she yearned for return. An ordinary woman, she was a muse to me. It was her ineffable air of timidity and even fear, precariously balanced by passionate desires and dreams, of living on her own terms, that I had been trying all of my years as a writer to capture. But I could not create the visual image I had in my mind’s eye. I had to show that photo taken by an anonymous photographer of a woman in the midst of a struggle, a new widow, alone in a place that had grown strange over the many years of her absence.

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Journal Writing Flip through a family photo album or scroll through a personal collection of pictures and pick an image that has a special meaning for you, or one that simply grabs your attention for some reason. DESCRIBE this photograph in your journal. What is the “actual occasion, meaning, or intent of the photograph,” its “studium,” as Roland Barthes calls it (par. 3)? Who or what is depicted? What are the people wearing? What are the expressions on their faces? Where was the photo taken? On what elements does the picture focus? What aspects can be seen in the background? What details puzzle you, and why?

Description A mode of writing that conveys the evidence of the senses: sight, hearing, touch, taste, smell. See Chapter 4.

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Questions on Meaning 1. What does Cofer suggest was the reason for her parents’ move to the US mainland? Why did her mother return to Puerto Rico? 2. What about the photograph of her mother intrigues Cofer as it does? 3. Cofer says her mother “was a muse” (par. 10) to her. What does she mean? 4. What do you think is Cofer’s PURPOSE in this essay? Does she have something specific she wants the reader to understand?

Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing. In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages 19, 31–32, and 40.

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Questions on Writing Strategy 1. Cofer opens her essay with an epigraph, a short quotation that forecasts a theme. How do you interpret the line by Roland Barthes? What theme does it forecast? 2. How does Cofer seem to imagine her AUDIENCE? How reasonable are her ASSUMPTIONS about her readers’ backgrounds and knowledge?

Audience A writer’s readers. Having in mind a particular audience helps the writer in choosing strategies, such as which method(s) to use, what details to include, and how to shape an ARGUMENT. You can increase your awareness of your audience by asking yourself a few questions before you begin to write. Who are to be your readers? What is their age level? background? education? Where do they live? What are their beliefs and attitudes? What interests them? What, if anything, sets them apart from most people? How familiar are they with your subject? Knowing your audience can help you write so that your readers will not only understand you better but care more deeply about what you say. See also pages 20, 30, and 407. Assume, assumption To take something for granted (assume), or a belief or opinion taken for granted (assumption). Whether stated or unstated, assumptions influence a writer’s choices of subject, viewpoint, EVIDENCE and even language. See also pages 17 and 410.

3. What principle of analysis does Cofer use to interpret her mother’s photograph? How does she SYNTHESIZE another writer’s ideas to find new meaning in her subject?

Synthesize, synthesis To link elements into a whole (synthesize), or the act or result of doing so (synthesis). In CRITICAL THINKING, READING, AND WRITING, synthesis is the key step during which you use your own perspective to reassemble a work you have ANALYZED or to connect the work with others. (See pp. 17 and 25.) Synthesis is a hallmark of ACADEMIC WRITING in which you respond to others’ work or use multiple sources to support your ideas. (See pp. 46–47 and 496–98.)

4. OTHER METHODS How well can you picture the photograph of Cofer’s mother, based on her DESCRIPTION of it? What dominant impression does she create?

Description A mode of writing that conveys the evidence of the senses: sight, hearing, touch, taste, smell. See Chapter 4.

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Questions on Language 1. What is the double meaning of Cofer’s title? 2. How would you describe Cofer’s overall TONE? Why is this tone appropriate for her purpose? 3. Consult a dictionary if you need help in defining the following: memorial, planes (par. 3); revelation, matronly (6); rejuvenation, belies, donned (7); disparate (8); sinuous, placid (9); ineffable, precariously (10).

Tone The way a writer expresses his or her regard for subject, AUDIENCE, or self. Through word choice, sentence structures, and what is actually said, the writer conveys an attitude and sets a prevailing spirit. Tone in writing varies as greatly as tone of voice varies in conversation. It can be serious, distant, flippant, angry, enthusiastic, sincere, sympathetic. Whatever tone a writer chooses, usually it informs an entire essay and helps a reader decide how to respond. For examples of strong tone, see the essays by Diane Ackerman, Brian Doyle, Jessica Mitford, David Sedaris, Russell Baker, Chitra Divakaruni, Tal Fortgang, and Judy Brady. See also page 416.

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Suggestions for Writing 1. FROM JOURNAL TO ESSAY In an essay, describe the photograph you wrote about in your journal, but also do more: Try to analyze the photo in the contexts of the time it was taken and the impact it has on you now. What was the occasion behind the picture? Who took it, and why? What, for you, is the “punctum” (par. 3) of the image? What meanings can you draw from it? 2. Research the current situation of Puerto Ricans in the United States: citizenship, population, incomes, living conditions, education levels, occupations, and so forth. Then write an essay in which you present your findings. 3. CRITICAL WRITING In an essay, analyze the parallels between Cofer’s emotional state after her mother’s death and her mother’s apparent emotional state when she first became widowed. What point, overall, does Cofer seem to make about the experience of grieving? 4. CONNECTIONS In “The Capricious Camera” (the next essay) Laila Ayad describes a photograph of a young girl and attempts to interpret its historical meanings. Using Cofer’s and Ayad’s essays for examples, write an essay of your own in which you discuss how writers can create meaning through description and analysis of visual images.

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Judith Ortiz Cofer on Writing Cofer told Contemporary Authors in the 1980s why she so often chooses her family as her

SUBJECT

for

writing. She was speaking of her poetry, but the same could be said of her stories and essays as well. “My family is one of the main topics of my poetry,” Cofer explained, “the ones left behind on the island of Puerto Rico, and the ones who came to the United States. In tracing their lives, I discover more about mine. The place of birth itself becomes a metaphor for the things we all must leave behind; the assimilation of a new culture is the coming into maturity by accepting the terms necessary for survival. My poetry is the study of this process of change, assimilation, and transformation.”

Subject What a piece of a writing is about. The subject of an essay starts with a general topic, but because writers narrow their FOCUS on a subject until they have a specific point to make about it, multiple works on the same topic will typically be very different from one another. See also page 30, PURPOSE,

and THESIS.

The Brief Bedford Reader on Writing What is Cofer’s apparent PURPOSE in writing about her family as often as she does? For advice on using writing to facilitate your own personal reflection, whether in a JOURNAL or in an essay for others to read, see our notes on pages 19 and 32–33.

Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing. In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages 19, 31–32, and 40. Journal A record of one’s thoughts, kept daily or at least regularly. Keeping a journal faithfully can help a writer gain confidence and develop ideas. See also page 33.

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LAILA AYAD Born in 1981, Laila Ayad grew up in Columbia, Maryland, a planned community based on ideals of racial, social, and economic diversity and balance. “Being exposed at an early age to such a diverse community and coming from a multiethnic family have given me great insight into different cultures and perspectives,” says Ayad. After graduating from New York University in 2003 with a degree in theater and English literature, Ayad embarked on a successful acting career. When not on stage or screen, she paints and draws and continues to write.

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The Capricious Camera Ayad began college as an art major and produced this essay for a writing class in her sophomore year. Like Judith Ortiz Cofer in the previous selection, Ayad explores the elements of a photograph to find its meaning. The analysis takes her to Nazi Germany before and during World War II. This essay first appeared in 2001 in Mercer Street, a journal of writing by New York University students. Notice that it follows MLA style for in-text parenthetical citations and a list of works cited, as discussed on pages 499–513.

In the years between 1933 and 1945, Germany was engulfed by the rise of a powerful new regime and the eventual spoils of war. During this period, Hitler’s quest for racial purification turned Germany not only at odds with itself, but with the rest of the world. Photography as an art and as a business became a regulated and potent force in the fight for Aryan domination, Nazi influence, and anti-Semitism. Whether such images were used to promote Nazi ideology, document the Holocaust, or scare Germany’s citizens into accepting their own changing country, the effect of this photography provides enormous insight into the true stories and lives of the people most affected by Hitler’s racism. In fact, this photography has become so widespread in our understanding and teaching of the Holocaust that often other factors involved in the Nazis’ racial policy have been undervalued in our history textbooks — especially the attempt by Nazi Germany to establish the Nordic Aryans as a master race through the Lebensborn experiment, a breeding and adoption program designed to eliminate racial imperfections. It is not merely people of other persecuted races who can become victims in a racial war, but also those we would least expect — the persecuting race itself.

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Mounted Nazi troops on the lookout for likely Polish children.

To understand the importance of this often shrouded side of Nazi Germany we might look at the photograph captioned “Mounted Nazi troops on the lookout for likely Polish children.” Archived by Catrine Clay and Michael Leapman, this black-and-white photo depicts a young girl in the foreground, carrying two large baskets and treading across a rural and snow-covered countryside, while three mounted and armed Nazi soldiers follow closely behind her. In the distance, we can see farmhouses and a wooden fence, as well as four other uniformed soldiers or guards. Though the photograph accompanies the text without the name of the photographer, year, or information as to where it was found, Clay and Leapman suggest that the photo was taken in Poland between 1943 and 1945.

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Who is this young white girl surrounded by armed soldiers? Is she being protected, watched, persecuted? It would be easy enough to assume that she is Jewish, but unlike photos documenting the Holocaust, with this image the intent is uncertain. In our general ignorance of the events surrounding this photo, the picture can be deceiving, and yet it is the picture that can also be used to shed light on the story. Looking just at the photo, and ignoring the descriptive caption, there are some interesting visual and artistic effects that help a viewer better understand the circumstances surrounding the image. One of its most prominent features is the way the photographer decides to focus on only one young child in the foreground, while including seven Nazi soldiers behind her. The effect is overwhelming, and in gazing at the image, one is struck by the magnitude and force of the oppressing men in sharp contrast to the innocence and helplessness of the lone girl. By juxtaposing one child with seven men, the image comes across strongly as both cruel and terribly frightening. In addition, the child in the foreground is a young girl, which only adds to the potency of the image. The photographer makes the soldiers appear far more menacing and unjust, in that there appears to be no physical way in which a young girl could possibly defend herself against these men. What is additionally interesting about this particular aspect of the photo is that the seven men are not grouped together, or in any way concentrated right next to the child. There are three directly behind the girl, one a little farther behind and to the left, one even slightly farther behind and to the right, and two very far off in the distance, walking in the opposite direction. This placement of the soldiers not only gives the photo an excellent sense of depth, but also conveys to the viewer a sense that the entire surroundings, not just the little girl, are being controlled and surveyed. It allows the viewer to imagine and wonder in what way other children, or perhaps just the other parts of the village, are being similarly restricted. For the young girl, and the viewer, it allows no way out; all angles and directions of the photo are covered by symbols of oppression, producing an eerily suffocating effect. The child is the only person in the photo looking directly at the photographer. Whether this technique was manipulated on purpose remains to be seen, but it goes without saying that the effect is dramatic. Her gaze is wistful and innocent. In contrast, the men occupying the rest of the photo, and most prominently the three mounted ones in the foreground, are gazing either away or down. While it is uncertain what the soldiers behind the child are staring at, their downward stare causes their heads to hang in almost shameful disgrace. They do not look at the child, and yet they do not look at the photographer, who is quite obviously standing in front of them. Is this because they do not see that there is a picture being taken, or perhaps the photographer is another soldier, and this picture is simply routine in recording the progress of their work? If not a Nazi soldier, the photographer could be a Polish citizen; if this were the case, it might change our interpretation of the photo. Suddenly, the girl’s facial expression and direct gaze seem pleading, while, for fear of being caught, the photographer snaps the picture quickly, in the exact moment the soldiers are looking away. Perhaps the soldiers did not mind having their picture taken. Many Polish were considered, after all, their racial equals, and maybe they would have respected and appreciated an amateur photographer’s interest in their work. While all of these scenarios are seemingly plausible, the purpose of the photograph is still uncertain. There are also several possibilities. One is that the Nazis commissioned the photograph, as they did others at the time, to properly record the events surrounding the development of their plan. In an article entitled “The Camera as Weapon: Documentary Photography and the Holocaust,” Sybil Milton describes the ways in 532

which Nazi photographers worked: Nazi professional photographers produced in excess of one-quarter million images. Their work was officially regulated and licensed…. All photos were screened by military censors subservient to official directives of the Propaganda Ministry…. Press photographers of World War II rarely showed atrocities and seldom published prints unfavorable to their own side. (1)

However, while the evidence is compelling, Milton recognizes another possibility that significantly changes the motive for the photo: “Portable cameras, and other technical innovations like interchangeable lenses and multiple exposure film, meant that nonprofessionals owned and used cameras with ease. Many soldiers carried small Leica or Ermanox cameras in their rucksacks or pillaged optical equipment from the towns they occupied” (2). While it is possible that the photograph was taken by a soldier seeking to document the work in Poland for his own interests, this probability, against the numerous commissioned photographs and the nature of the subject matter being documented, is unlikely. The photo alone, while intriguing in its image, tells only half of the story, and without a definitive context can become akin to a “choose your own adventure” novel. In other words, the possibilities for a photographic purpose are all laid out, but the true meaning or end remains undetermined. Unlike hand-made art, which in its very purpose begs to be viewed through various interpretations, photography, and particularly photojournalism, captures a certain moment in time, featuring specific subject matter, under a genuine set of circumstances. The picture is not invented, it is real life, and in being so demands to be viewed alongside its agenda, for without this context, it may never be fully understood. When we turn to the caption describing the photograph, “Mounted Nazi troops on the lookout for likely Polish children,” the book Master Race and its accompanying story can now properly be discussed. Instead of typically dealing with the issues of a racist Nazi Germany as it relates to the Holocaust, and the other forms of racial extermination and discrimination that were subsequently involved, Clay and Leapman’s book looks at the other side of the coin. It is important in dealing with and understanding the concept of racism to realize that racists are not simply those who dislike others; they are also those who worship themselves. In Mein Kampf Hitler outlined the inspiration for his racial tyranny by saying, “The products of human culture, the achievements in art, science and technology … are almost exclusively the creative product of the Aryan” (ch. 3). He was heavily influenced by the work of racially charged popular science writers, such as H. F. K. Gunther, who in his Ethnology of the German Nation wrote: “The man of Nordic race is not only the most gifted but also the most beautiful…. The man’s face is hard and chiseled, the woman’s tender, with rose-pink skin and bright triumphant eyes” (qtd. in Clay and Leapman 17). Through the course of the book, the topic of racism in Nazi Germany focuses intently on the concept of racial purification. By following the work of the carefully selected (meaning those of impeccable Aryan ancestry) members of Himmler’s elite SS corps, Clay and Leapman introduce the history of Germany’s failed Lebensborn experiment and the homes that were created by the Third Reich to breed and raise “perfect Aryans” (ix). In a disturbing segment on Hitler’s racial utopia, Clay and Leapman describe the practice of eugenics, improving humankind by eliminating undesirable genetic traits and breeding those that were considered superior. The SS soldiers who are commonly known for forcing the Jews into concentration camps are mentioned, but this time they are discussed as the same men who were ordered to father white babies with volunteer German and Norwegian mothers. However, it is the final fact, the story of the SS soldiers who occupied surrounding countries and then stole children “who looked as if they might further improve the 533

breed,” that becomes the focus and ultimate subject matter of the photograph (ix). Looking at the photograph in this context, the soldier no longer appears to be protecting the Polish children, but hunting them. The word “likely” in the caption denotes this. Children who possessed strong Nordic or Aryan qualities were systematically taken from their native countries, adopted by German parents (who were paid by the Nazi regime), taught to forget their families and former lives, and raised to breed not only many children of their own but, above all, families that would uphold Nazi ideology. For Hitler and Heinrich Himmler, who was appointed Commissar for Consolidating German Nationhood, exterminating the racially impure was merely preparation. It was the process of breeding and stealing children that Himmler considered central and key in the ultimate goal for racial purification: Obviously in such a mixture of peoples there will always be some racially good types. Therefore I think that it is our duty to take their children with us, to remove them from their environment, if necessary by robbing or stealing them…. My aim has always been the same, to attract all the Nordic blood in the world and take it for ourselves. (qtd. in Clay and Leapman 91)

Additionally, Himmler’s objective in targeting children, rather than adults, was a planned and strategic tool. Through teachings at school, children were used to control their parents by being encouraged to report what they did and said. Himmler realized that older people would be less enthusiastic about his ideas, so he made every effort to win the minds of the next generation. What is perhaps most compelling about the Lebensborn experiment and thus most poignant when viewing the photograph is the reminder that for every child that was stolen from nations like Poland, his or her family was being equally betrayed. One Polish girl recounted the events of her kidnapping years later, describing both her and her father’s reaction to the incident: Three SS men came into the room and put us up against a wall…. They immediately picked out the fair children with blue eyes — seven altogether, including me…. My father, who tried to stop my being taken away, was threatened by the soldiers. They even said he would be taken to a concentration camp. But I have no idea what happened to him later. (qtd. in Clay and Leapman 95)

The girl who spoke above just as easily could have been the young girl being followed by soldiers in the photograph, only moments after she was taken. Such incidents force us to broaden our sense of whom the Nazis victimized. While there is no mistaking the victimization of the Jewish population and other races in Germany, amidst these better-known hate crimes the Nazis were also perpetrating a horrific exploitation of the so-called “white” race. The complexities surrounding this photograph remind us that the story of any photograph is liable to contain ambiguity. As an art, photography relies on the imagination of the viewer; not knowing provides the viewer with a realm of interesting possibilities. Context matters even with art, and playing with possible contexts gives a photograph diverse meanings. It is in these various viewpoints that we find pleasure, amusement, fear, or wonder. It is perhaps in the shift to photojournalism that determining a particular context becomes even more important. In fact, even if the original photographer saw the image as artistic, subsequent events compel us to try to see the image of the Polish girl with Nazis as journalism. In this endeavor, we must uncover as much as possible about the surrounding context. As much as we can, we need to know this girl’s particular story. Without a name, date, place, or relevant data, this girl would fall even further backward into the chapters of unrecorded history. Works Cited 534

Clay, Catrine, and Michael Leapman. Master Race: The Lebensborn Experiment in Nazi Germany. Hodder & Stoughton, 1995. Hitler, Adolf. Mein Kampf. Vol. 2, Eher Verlag, 1926. Hitler Historical Museum, 1996–2000, www.hitler.org/writings/Mein_Kampf/. Milton, Sybil. “The Camera as Weapon: Documentary Photography and the Holocaust.” Annual Scholars’ Conference, Proceedings of the National Conference of Christians and Jews, New York, March 1983. The Museum of Tolerance, Simon Wiesenthal Center, 2000, motlc.wiesenthal.com/site/pp.asp?c=gvKVLcMVIuG&b=394975. Accessed 6 Dec. 2000. “Mounted Nazi Troops on the Lookout for Likely Polish Children.” Clay and Leapman, p. 87.

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Journal Writing Ayad uncovers an aspect of Nazi history that is not well known and may seem startling. Think of a time when you learned something that surprised you about history, science, or culture — either in a class or through independent research. In your journal, write about your discovery and how it affected you.

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Questions on Meaning 1. Ayad’s essay pursues two threads: certain events in German history and certain characteristics of photography, especially photojournalism. Each thread in essence has its own THESIS, stated in paragraphs 1 and 8. What are these theses? Where in the essay does Ayad bring them together?

Thesis, thesis statement The central idea in a work of writing (thesis), to which everything else in the work refers; one or more sentences that express that central idea (thesis statement). In some way, each sentence and PARAGRAPH in an effective essay serves to support the thesis and to make it clear and explicit to readers. Good writers, while writing, often set down a thesis statement to help them define their purpose. They also often include this statement in their essay as a promise and a guide to readers. See pages 19, 35–36, 40–41, and the introductions to Chapters 3–12.

2. Ayad writes about events in history that she thinks some readers do not know about. What are these events? 3. What do you see as Ayad’s PURPOSE in this essay?

Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing. In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages 19, 31–32, and 40.

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Questions on Writing Strategy 1. Why does Ayad devote so much of her essay to discussing the photograph? What is the EFFECT of her speculations about its content and creation?

Effect The result of an event or action, usually considered together with CAUSE as a method of development. See the discussion of cause and effect in Chapter 10. In discussing writing, the term effect also refers to the impression a word, a sentence, a paragraph, or an entire work makes on the reader: how convincing it is, whether it elicits an emotional response, what associations it conjures up, and so on.

2. Ayad’s AUDIENCE was originally the teacher and students in her writing class. What does she ASSUME readers already know about Nazi Germany? What does she assume they may not know?

Audience A writer’s readers. Having in mind a particular audience helps the writer in choosing strategies, such as which method(s) to use, what details to include, and how to shape an ARGUMENT. You can increase your awareness of your audience by asking yourself a few questions before you begin to write. Who are to be your readers? What is their age level? background? education? Where do they live? What are their beliefs and attitudes? What interests them? What, if anything, sets them apart from most people? How familiar are they with your subject? Knowing your audience can help you write so that your readers will not only understand you better but care more deeply about what you say. See also pages 20, 30, and 407. Assume, assumption To take something for granted (assume), or a belief or opinion taken for granted (assumption). Whether stated or unstated, assumptions influence a writer’s choices of subject, viewpoint, EVIDENCE and even language. See also pages 17 and 410.

3. What is the effect of Ayad’s last two sentences? Why does Ayad end this way? 4. OTHER METHODS Where in the essay does Ayad draw on DESCRIPTION? Why is description crucial to her analysis?

Description A mode of writing that conveys the evidence of the senses: sight, hearing, touch, taste, smell. See Chapter 4.

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Questions on Language 1. What words and phrases does Ayad use in paragraphs 4–6 to communicate her own feelings about the photograph? What are those feelings? 2. Why does Ayad quote Adolf Hitler and H. F. K. Gunther (par. 9), Heinrich Himmler (11), and the Polish woman who was kidnapped as a child (12)? What does Ayad achieve with these quotations? 3. What is the effect of the word targeting in paragraph 11? 4. Consult a dictionary if you are unsure of the meanings of any of the following: capricious (title); Aryan, anti-Semitism, ideology, Nordic (par. 1); shrouded (2); juxtaposing (4); suffocating (5); scenarios, plausible, pillaged, definitive (8); extermination, tyranny, impeccable (9); poignant (12); ambiguity, subsequent (13).

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Suggestions for Writing 1. FROM JOURNAL TO ESSAY Using your journal writing as a starting point, draft an essay about a surprising discovery you made in a class or on your own. If it will be helpful, do some research to extend your knowledge of the subject. Involve your readers in the essay by distinguishing general knowledge — that is, what they probably know already — from the new information. 2. Locate a photograph that you find especially striking, perhaps in a library book or through an online photo collection such as Instagram or Corbis (corbisimages.com). Write an essay that describes and analyzes the image, using a thesis statement and vivid language to make your interpretation clear. 3. CRITICAL WRITING Some of Ayad’s paragraphs are long, especially 1, 8, 9, and 11. How COHERENT are these long paragraphs? Write a brief essay in which you analyze two of them in terms of their organization, the TRANSITIONS or other devices that connect sentences, and any problems with coherence that you see.

Coherence The clear connection of the parts in effective writing so that the reader can easily follow the flow of ideas between sentences, paragraphs, and larger divisions, and can see how they relate successively to one another. In making your essay coherent, you may find certain devices useful. TRANSITIONS, for instance, can bridge ideas. Reminders of points you have stated earlier are helpful to a reader who may have forgotten them — as readers tend to do sometimes, particularly if an essay is long. However, a coherent essay is not one merely pasted together with transitions and reminders. It derives its coherence from the clear relationship between its THESIS (or central idea) and all its parts. See also pages 41–42 and 257–58. Transitions Words, phrases, sentences, or even paragraphs that relate ideas. In moving from one topic to the next, a writer has to bring the reader along by showing how the ideas are developing, what bearing a new thought or detail has on an earlier discussion, or why a new topic is being introduced. A clear purpose, strong ideas, and logical development certainly aid COHERENCE, but to ensure that the reader is following along, good writers provide signals, or transitions. To bridge sentences or paragraphs and to point out relationships within them, you can use some of the following devices of transition: Repeat or restate words or phrases to produce an echo in the reader’s mind. Use PARALLEL STRUCTURES to produce a rhythm that moves the reader forward. Use pronouns to refer back to nouns in earlier passages. Use transitional words and phrases. These may indicate a relationship of time (right away, later, soon, meanwhile, in a few minutes, that night), proximity (beside, close to, distant from, nearby, facing), effect (therefore, for this reason, as a result, consequently), comparison (similarly, in the same way, likewise), or contrast (yet, but, nevertheless, however, despite). Some words and phrases of transition simply add on: besides, too, also, moreover, in addition to, second, last, in the end.

4. CONNECTIONS Examine the visual subject of Ayad’s essay using the principle of analysis Judith Ortiz Cofer employs in “The Cruel Country” (p. 262). To what extent does Ayad try to establish what Cofer (and Roland Barthes) calls the “studium,” or the “actual occasion, meaning, or intent of the photograph”? What for her seems to be the “punctum” of the image, “that detail that draws us into the picture as a shared human event”? What is it for you? Explain your answers in an essay.

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ROBERT LIPSYTE Robert Lipsyte is a sportswriter and broadcast journalist who is equally well known for his young-adult novels. Born in 1938 in the Bronx, he grew up feeling bullied and outcast in the Queens borough of New York City, earned a BA in English from Columbia University at the age of nineteen, and received an MA from the Columbia School of Journalism in 1959. As a reporter and writer for the New York Times, Lipsyte published more than five hundred columns; he is also the author of nearly thirty books, including The Masculine Mystique (1966), Free to Be Muhammad Ali (1978), An Accidental Sportswriter: A Memoir (2011), and novels such as The Contender (1967) and The Twin Powers (2015). Lipsyte was a sports commentator for National Public Radio from 1976 to 1982, an on-air essayist for CBS and NBC from 1982 to 1988, and the host of the public television show The Eleventh Hour in the late 1980s, for which he won an Emmy for on-camera achievement in 1990. He continues to write both fiction and nonfiction.

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Jock Culture As Lipsyte tells it, he came into his career by happenstance: Fresh out of college, he needed a job and the Times gave him one. That his entry-level position morphed into a career immersed in sports continues to surprise him. Long a sportswriter but never a particular fan, Lipsyte is in a unique position to examine what he sees as a damaging obsession with athleticism and competition in American life. “Jock Culture” first appeared in a special 2011 sports issue of The Nation, a newsmagazine usually focused on politics.

In the spring of that hard year, 1968, the Columbia University crew coach, Bill Stowe, explained to me that there were only two kinds of men on campus, perhaps in the world — Jocks and Pukes. He explained that Jocks, such as his rowers, were brave, manly, ambitious, focused, patriotic, and goal-driven, while Pukes were woolly, distractible, girlish, and handicapped by their lack of certainty that nothing mattered as much as winning. Pukes could be found among “the cruddy weirdo slobs” such as hippies, pot smokers, protesters, and, yes, former English majors like me. I dutifully wrote all this down, although doing so seemed kind of Puke-ish. But Stowe was such an affable ur-Jock,1 twenty-eight years old, funny and articulate, that I found his condescension merely good copy. He’d won an Olympic gold medal, but how could I take him seriously, this former Navy officer who had spent his Vietnam deployment rowing the Saigon River and running an officers’ club? Not surprisingly, he didn’t last long at Columbia after helping lead police officers through the underground tunnels to roust the Pukes who had occupied buildings during the antiwar and antiracism demonstrations.

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1 The German prefix ur- means “thorough” or “perfect.” — EDS.

As a thirty-year-old New York Times sports columnist then, I was not handicapped by as much lack of certainty about all things as I am now. It was clear to me then that Bill Stowe was a “dumb jock,” which does not mean stupid; it means ignorant, narrow, misguided by the values of Jock Culture, an important and often overlooked strand of American life. These days, I’m not so sure he wasn’t right; the world may well be divided into Jocks and Pukes. Understanding the differences and the commonalities between the two might be one of the keys to understanding, first, the myths of masculinity and power that pervade sports, and then why those myths are inescapable in everyday life. Boys — and more and more girls — who accept Jock Culture values often go on to flourish in a competitive sports environment that requires submission to authority, winning by any means necessary, and group cohesion. They tend to grow up to become our political, military, and financial leaders. The Pukes — those “others” typically shouldered aside by Jocks in high school hallways and, I imagine, a large percentage of those who are warily reading this special issue of The Nation — were often turned off or away from competitive sports (or settled for cross-country). They were also more likely to go on to question authority and seek ways of individual expression. This mental conditioning of the Jocks was possible because of the intrinsic joy of sports. Sports is good. It is the best way to pleasure your body in public. Sports is entertaining, healthful, filled with honest, sustaining sentiment for warm times and the beloved people you shared them with. At its simplest, think of playing catch at the lake with friends. Jock Culture is a distortion of sports. It can be physically and mentally unhealthy, driving people apart instead of together. It is fueled by greed and desperate competition. At its most grotesque, think killer dodgeball for prize money, the Super Bowl. (The clash between sports and the Jock Culture version is almost ideological, at least metaphorical. Obviously, I am for de-emphasizing early competition and redistributing athletic resources so that everyone, throughout their lives, has access to sports. But then, I am also for world peace.) Kids are initiated into Jock Culture when youth sports are channeled into the pressurized arenas of elite athletes on travel teams driven by ambitious parents and coaches. A once safe place to learn about bravery, cooperation, and respect becomes a cockpit of bullying, violence, and the commitment to a win-at-all-costs attitude that can kill a soul. Or a brain. It is in Pee Wee football, for example, that kids learn to “put a hat on him” — to make tackles head first rather than the older, gentler way of wrapping your arms around a ball carrier’s legs and dragging him down. Helmet-to-helmet hits start the trauma cycle early. No wonder the current concussion discussion was launched by the discovery of dementia and morbidity among former pro players. There is no escape from Jock Culture. You may be willing to describe yourself as a Puke, “cut” from the team early to find your true nature as a billionaire geek, Grammy-winning band fag, wonkish pundit, but you’ve always had to deal with Jock Culture attitudes and codes, and you have probably competed by them. In big business, medicine, the law, people will be labeled winners and losers, and treated like stars or slugs by coachlike authority figures who use shame and intimidation to achieve short-term results. Don’t think symphony orchestras, university philosophy departments, and liberal magazines don’t often use such tactics. 543

Jock Culture applies the rules of competitive sports to everything. Boys, in particular, are taught to be tough, stoical and aggressive, to play hurt, to hit hard, to take risks to win in every aspect of their lives. To dominate. After 9/11, I wondered why what seemed like a disproportionate number of athletic women and men were killed. From reading their brief New York Times memorials, it seemed as though most were former high school and college players, avid weekend recreationists, or at least passionate sports fans. When I called executives from companies that had offices in the World Trade Center, I discovered it was no coincidence; stock-trading companies in particular recruited athletes because they came to work even if they were sick, worked well in groups, rebounded quickly from a setback, pushed the envelope to reach the goal, and never quit until the job was done. They didn’t have to be star jocks, but they did have to have been trained in the codes of Jock Culture — most important, the willingness to subordinate themselves to authority. The drive to feel that sense of belonging that comes with being part of a winning team — as athlete, coach, parent, cheerleader, booster, fan — is a reflection of Jock Culture’s grip on the male psyche and on more and more women. Men have traditionally been taught to pursue their jock dreams no matter the physical, emotional, or financial cost. Those who realized those dreams have been made rich and famous; at the least, they were waved right through many of the tollbooths of ordinary life. Being treated like a celebrity at twelve, freed from normal boundaries, excused from taking out the garbage and from treating siblings, friends, girls responsibly, is no preparation for a fully realized life. No wonder there are so many abusive athletes, emotionally stunted ex-athletes, and resentful onlookers. At a critical time when masculinity is being redefined, or at least re-examined seriously, this sports system has become more economically, culturally, and emotionally important than ever. More at service to the empire. More dangerous to the common good. Games have become our main form of mass entertainment (including made-for-TV contests using sports models). Winners of those games become our examples of permissible behavior, even when that includes cheating, sexual crimes, or dog torturing. And how does that lead us to the cheating, the lying, the amorality in our lives outside the white lines? It’s not hard to connect the moral dots from the field house to the White House. The recent emergence of girls as competitors of boys has also raised the ante. Boys have traditionally been manipulated by coaches, drill sergeants, and sales managers by the fear of being labeled a girl (“sissy” and “faggot” have less to do with homophobia than misogyny). Despite the many ways males can identify themselves as “real men” in our culture — size, sexuality, power, money, fame — nothing seems as indelible as the mark made in childhood when the good bodies are separated from the bad bodies, the team from the spectators. The designated athletes are rewarded with love, attention, and perks. The leftovers struggle with their resentments and their search for identity. Of course, the final score is not always a sure thing. There are sensitive linebackers and CEOs, domineering shrinks and violinists. Who won in the contest between the Facebook Puke Mark Zuckerberg and his fiercest competitors, the Olympic rowing Jocks Tyler and Cameron Winklevoss?2

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2 Mark Zuckerberg (born 1984) is the founder and CEO of Facebook. Tyler and Cameron Winkelvoss (born 1981) are twins who accused Zuckerberg, once a fellow Harvard student, of stealing their idea and computer codes to create his social network. After a protracted legal battle, the brothers settled for a deal valued at $65 million. — EDS.

“I don’t follow that stuff these days,” says Bill Stowe, now living in Lake Placid, New York, after retiring as crew coach and fundraiser for the Coast Guard Academy, a far more comfortable fit than Columbia. “And I have to tell you, I don’t remember separating the world into Jocks and Pukes, although it sounds good. I liked good brains in my boats, as long as they were willing to concentrate and pay the price.” Stowe, at seventy-one, is still a conservative Republican. But he doesn’t like to talk politics. “It’s time to give up the torch,” he says. “People are still living in ignorance, but I’m not running it up the flagpole anymore. Life’s too short to fight.” He surprises me when we talk sports. “The big-league thing, that’s a circus. I don’t understand how anyone could look up to those guys. But the real issue is with the kids. Did you read where they’re building a $60 million football stadium for a high school in Texas? Just for the Jocks. Have you got any idea how much good you could do, even just in athletics, for all the other kids with that much money?” I dutifully write all this down, which doesn’t at all seem Puke-ish now. We’re on the same page, the coach and I. There’s hope.

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Journal Writing Are you a “Jock” or a “Puke”? Do you play on any athletic teams, or are you content to stay on the sidelines? Did you ever experience or witness any of the aspects of youth sports that Lipsyte describes, whether positive or negative? How did you respond? In your journal, reflect on one such memory.

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Questions on Meaning 1. Reread the first three paragraphs of this essay. What do you make of Lipsyte’s INTRODUCTION? What event is he reporting, and why is it relevant to his subject?

Introduction The opening of a written work. Often it states the writer’s subject, narrows it, and communicates the writer’s main idea (THESIS). See page 38.

2. What does Lipsyte mean by “Jock Culture”? How is it distinct from sports in general? 3. What is Lipsyte’s THESIS? For whom is Jock Culture harmful, and why?

Thesis, thesis statement The central idea in a work of writing (thesis), to which everything else in the work refers; one or more sentences that express that central idea (thesis statement). In some way, each sentence and PARAGRAPH in an effective essay serves to support the thesis and to make it clear and explicit to readers. Good writers, while writing, often set down a thesis statement to help them define their purpose. They also often include this statement in their essay as a promise and a guide to readers. See pages 19, 35–36, 40–41, and the introductions to Chapters 3–12.

4. How would you describe the apparent PURPOSE of this essay?

Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing. In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages 19, 31–32, and 40.

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Questions on Writing Strategy 1. What, according to Lipsyte, are the “codes” (par. 8), or elements, of Jock Culture — both positive and negative? What principle of analysis does he apply to his subject? 2. To whom does Lipsyte seem to be writing? Athletes, coaches, students, business leaders, someone else? What ASSUMPTIONS does he make about his readers?

Assume, assumption To take something for granted (assume), or a belief or opinion taken for granted (assumption). Whether stated or unstated, assumptions influence a writer’s choices of subject, viewpoint, EVIDENCE and even language. See also pages 17 and 410.

3. Lipsyte brings up the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001, commenting that “a disproportionate number of athletic women and men were killed” at the World Trade Center (par. 9). Why? What does this detail contribute to his analysis? 4. Why does Lipsyte quote crew coach and former Olympian Bill Stowe in his opening and closing paragraphs? What is the EFFECT of using Stowe’s words to frame the essay?

Effect The result of an event or action, usually considered together with CAUSE as a method of development. See the discussion of cause and effect in Chapter 10. In discussing writing, the term effect also refers to the impression a word, a sentence, a paragraph, or an entire work makes on the reader: how convincing it is, whether it elicits an emotional response, what associations it conjures up, and so on.

5. OTHER METHODS How does Bill Stowe use CLASSIFICATION to categorize people? How does Lipsyte? What characteristics do “Jocks” have that “Pukes” lack?

Classification A method of development in which a writer sorts out multiple things (contact sports, college students, kinds of music) into categories. See Chapter 9.

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Questions on Language 1. What are the CONNOTATIONS of the words Jock and Puke? Why do you suppose the author chose to repeat these labels coined by Bill Stowe?

Connotation and denotation Two types of meanings most words have. Denotation is the explicit, literal, dictionary definition of a word. Connotation refers to a word’s implied meaning, resonant with associations. The denotation of blood is “the fluid that circulates in the vascular system.” The connotations of blood range from life force to gore to family bond. A doctor might use the word blood for its denotation, and a mystery writer might rely on the word’s connotations to heighten a scene. Because people have different experiences, they bring to the same word different associations. A conservative’s emotional response to the word welfare is not likely to be the same as a liberal’s. And referring to your senator as a diplomat evokes a different response, from the senator and from others, than would baby-kisser, political hack, or even politician. The effective use of words involves knowing both what they mean literally and what they are likely to suggest.

2. How would you characterize Lipsyte’s TONE? Is it appropriate, given his purpose and AUDIENCE?

Tone The way a writer expresses his or her regard for subject, AUDIENCE, or self. Through word choice, sentence structures, and what is actually said, the writer conveys an attitude and sets a prevailing spirit. Tone in writing varies as greatly as tone of voice varies in conversation. It can be serious, distant, flippant, angry, enthusiastic, sincere, sympathetic. Whatever tone a writer chooses, usually it informs an entire essay and helps a reader decide how to respond. For examples of strong tone, see the essays by Diane Ackerman, Brian Doyle, Jessica Mitford, David Sedaris, Russell Baker, Chitra Divakaruni, Tal Fortgang, and Judy Brady. See also page 416. Audience A writer’s readers. Having in mind a particular audience helps the writer in choosing strategies, such as which method(s) to use, what details to include, and how to shape an ARGUMENT. You can increase your awareness of your audience by asking yourself a few questions before you begin to write. Who are to be your readers? What is their age level? background? education? Where do they live? What are their beliefs and attitudes? What interests them? What, if anything, sets them apart from most people? How familiar are they with your subject? Knowing your audience can help you write so that your readers will not only understand you better but care more deeply about what you say. See also pages 20, 30, and 407.

3. Point to a few of the metaphors Lipsyte uses to enliven his prose. (See FIGURES OF SPEECH in the Glossary for a definition of metaphor.) What do they have in common? What is their effect?

Figures of speech Expressions that depart from the literal meanings of words for the sake of emphasis or vividness. To say “She’s a jewel” doesn’t mean that the subject of praise is literally a kind of shining stone; the statement makes sense because the CONNOTATIONS of jewel come to mind: rare, priceless, worth cherishing. Some figures of speech involve comparisons of two objects apparently unlike: A simile (from the Latin, “likeness”) states the comparison directly, usually connecting the two things using like, as, or than: “The moon is like a snowball”; “He’s as lazy as a cat full of cream”; “My feet are flatter than flyswatters.” A metaphor (from the Greek, “transfer”) declares one thing to be another: “A mighty fortress is our God”; “The sheep were bolls of cotton on the hill.” (A dead metaphor is a word or phrase that, originally a figure of speech, has come to be literal through common usage: “the hands of a clock.”) Personification is a simile or metaphor that assigns human traits to inanimate objects or abstractions: “A stoopshouldered refrigerator hummed quietly to itself”; “The solution to the math problem sat there winking at me.”

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Other figures of speech consist of deliberate misrepresentations: Hyperbole (from the Greek, “throwing beyond”) is a conscious exaggeration: “I’m so hungry I could eat a saddle”; “I’d wait for you a thousand years.” The opposite of hyperbole, understatement, creates an ironic or humorous effect: “I accepted the ride. At the moment, I didn’t feel like walking across the Mojave Desert.” A paradox (from the Greek, “conflicting with expectation”) is a seemingly self-contradictory statement that, on reflection, makes sense: “Children are the poor person’s wealth” (wealth can be monetary, or it can be spiritual). Paradox may also refer to a situation that is inexplicable or contradictory, such as the restriction of one group’s rights in order to secure the rights of another group.

4. Consult a dictionary if any of the following words are unfamiliar: affable, deployment, roust (par. 2); cohesion (4); dementia, morbidity (7); wonkish, pundit (8); stoical (9); psyche (10); amorality (12); ante, misogyny (13).

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Suggestions for Writing 1. FROM JOURNAL TO ESSAY Respond to Lipsyte’s concerns about the effects of Jock Culture. Do you agree that pressures to compete and a “win-at-all-costs attitude” (par. 7) are destructive forces in society, or do you believe that the values taught by team sports bring positive effects? Why? Start your response with the experience you recounted in your journal, adding additional examples from your observations of others. 2. The concussion crisis that Lipsyte ALLUDES to in paragraph 7 has led some to call for an end to football altogether, or at least for new regulations intended to protect players from brain damage. Research the main arguments for and against such regulations. Then write an essay in which you SUMMARIZE your findings. If your research — or your own experience — leads you to form an opinion favoring one side of the issue, present and support that as well.

Allude, allusion To refer to a person, place, or thing believed to be common knowledge (allude), or the act or result of doing so (allusion). An allusion may point to a famous event, a familiar saying, a noted personality, or a well-known story or song. Usually brief, an allusion is a space-saving way to convey much meaning. For example, the statement “The game was Coach Johnson’s Waterloo” informs the reader that, like Napoleon meeting defeat in a celebrated battle, the coach led a confrontation resulting in his downfall and that of his team. If the writer is also showing Johnson’s character, the allusion might further tell us that the coach is a man of Napoleonic ambition and pride. To make an effective allusion, you have to ensure that it will be clear to your audience. Not every reader, for example, would understand an allusion to a neighbor, to a seventeenth-century Russian harpsichordist, or to a little-known stock-car driver. Summarize, summary To condense a work (essay, movie, news story) to its essence (summarize), or the act or result of doing so (summary). Summarizing a piece of writing in one’s own words is an effective way to come to understand it. (See pp. 15–16.) Summarizing (and acknowledging) others’ writing in your own text is a good way to support your ideas. (See pp. 43, 44, and 46.) Contrast PARAPHRASE.

3. CRITICAL WRITING Based on this essay, analyze Lipsyte’s apparent attitude toward masculinity and the feminist movement. How does he characterize attempts to shift cultural assumptions about men’s and women’s competitive abilities? Does he believe that gender equity is possible or even desirable? What does he suggest have been (or will be) the effects of feminism? Support your ideas with EVIDENCE from the essay.

Evidence The details that support an argument or an explanation, including facts, examples, and expert opinions. A writer’s opinions and GENERALIZATIONS must rest upon evidence. See pages 408–09.

4. CONNECTIONS “Jock Culture” is one of several pieces in this book that touch on sports, albeit the only one that’s overtly critical. Read as many of the following that interest you: Brad Manning’s “Arm Wrestling with My Father” (p. 111), Brian Doyle’s “A Note on Mascots” (p. 160), and E. B. White’s “Once More to the Lake” (p. 471). How well does Lipsyte’s thesis hold up when compared with the feelings others have derived from watching or participating in sporting activities? How do the other writers’ experiences support or contradict his analysis of the implications of Jock Culture for individuals and society?

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GUILLERMO DEL TORO AND CHUCK HOGAN Guillermo del Toro and Chuck Hogan are coauthors of The Strain (2009), The Fall (2010), and The Night Eternal (2011) — a trilogy of vampire novels. Although they share an interest in telling a new kind of story about vampires, the authors arrived at their collaboration from very different backgrounds. Born in Guadalajara, Mexico, del Toro began his career as a cinematic makeup artist. He debuted as a director with Cronos (1993) and has directed more than a dozen other movies, including both Hellboy films (2004, 2008); Pan’s Labyrinth (2006), which won three Academy Awards; and Crimson Peak (2015). Hogan, by contrast, is a Boston-based novelist who was working as a video-store manager when he made his breakthrough with The Standoff (1995), a thriller about a tense hostage negotiation. Hogan has since written The Blood Artists (1998), Prince of Thieves (2004), The Killing Moon (2007), Devils in Exile (2010), and the screenplay for 13 Hours (2016). Prince of Thieves won the 2005 Hammett Award for literary crime writing and was the basis for the 2010 motion picture The Town.

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Vampires Never Die

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“Why Vampires Never Die” from the New York Times. © July 13, 2009, by The New York Times. All rights reserved. Used by permission and protected by the Copyright Laws of the United States. The printing, copying, redistributing, or retransmission of the Material without express written permission is prohibited. Filmmaker del Toro and novelist Hogan bonded over their fascination with how ancient myths about vampires have been adapted and readapted in popular culture. In this 2009 essay, first published in the New York Times, they trace the perpetual craving for vampire stories back to its historical, literary, and scientific roots.

Tonight, you or someone you love will likely be visited by a vampire — on cable television or the big screen, or in the bookstore. Our own novel describes a modern-day epidemic that spreads across New York City. It all started nearly two hundred years ago. It was the “Year without a Summer” of 1816, when ash from volcanic eruptions lowered temperatures around the globe, giving rise to widespread famine. A few friends gathered at the Villa Diodati on Lake Geneva and decided to engage in a small competition to see who could come up with the most terrifying tale — and the two great monsters of the modern age were born. One was created by Mary Godwin, soon to become Mary Shelley, whose Dr. Frankenstein gave life to a desolate creature. The other monster was less created than fused. John William Polidori stitched together folklore, personal resentment and erotic anxieties into “The Vampyre,” a story that is the basis for vampires as they are understood today. With “The Vampyre,” Polidori gave birth to the two main branches of vampiric fiction: the vampire as romantic hero, and the vampire as undead monster. This ambivalence may reflect Polidori’s own, as it is widely accepted that Lord Ruthven, the titular creature, was based upon Lord Byron — literary superstar of the era and another resident of the lakeside villa that fateful summer. Polidori tended to Byron day and night, both as his doctor and most devoted groupie. But Polidori resented him as well: Byron was dashing and brilliant, while the poor doctor had a rather drab talent and unremarkable physique. But this was just a new twist to a very old idea. The myth, established well before the invention of the word “vampire,” seems to cross every culture, language and era. The Indian Baital, the Ch’ing Shih in China, and the Romanian Strigoi are but a few of its names. The creature seems to be as old as Babylonia and Sumer.1 Or even older.

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1 Countries of ancient Mesopotamia (in the vicinity of modern-day Iraq), dating back to approximately 4000 BC and 2000 BC, respectively. They are generally considered the origins of Western civilization. — EDS.

The vampire may originate from a repressed memory we had as primates. Perhaps at some point we were — out of necessity — cannibalistic. As soon as we became sedentary, agricultural tribes with social boundaries, one seminal myth might have featured our ancestors as primitive beasts who slept in the cold loam of the earth and fed off the salty blood of the living. Monsters, like angels, are invoked by our individual and collective needs. Today, much as during that gloomy summer in 1816, we feel the need to seek their cold embrace. Herein lies an important clue: In contrast to timeless creatures like the dragon, the vampire does not seek to obliterate us, but instead offers a peculiar brand of blood alchemy. For as his contagion bestows its nocturnal gift, the vampire transforms our vile, mortal selves into the gold of eternal youth and instills in us something that every social construct seeks to quash: primal lust. If youth is desire married with unending possibility, then vampire lust creates within us a delicious void, one we long to fulfill. In other words, whereas other monsters emphasize what is mortal in us, the vampire emphasizes the eternal in us. Through the panacea of its blood it turns the lead of our toxic flesh into golden matter. In a society that moves as fast as ours, where every week a new “block-buster” must be enthroned at the box office, or where idols are fabricated by consensus every new television season, the promise of something everlasting, something truly eternal, holds a special allure. As a seductive figure, the vampire is as flexible and polyvalent as ever. Witness its slow mutation from the pansexual, decadent Anne Rice2 creatures to the current permutations — promising anything from chaste eternal love to wild nocturnal escapades — and there you will find the true essence of immortality: adaptability.

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2 Anne Rice (born 1941) is an American novelist best known for Interview with the Vampire (1976), The Vampire Lestat (1985), and The Queen of the Damned (1988). — EDS.

Vampires find their niche and mutate at an accelerated rate now — in the past one would see, for decades, the same variety of fiend, repeated in multiple storylines. Now, vampires simultaneously occur in all forms and tap into our every need: soap opera storylines, sexual liberation, noir detective fiction, etc. The myth seems to be twittering promiscuously to serve all avenues of life, from cereal boxes to romantic fiction. The fast pace of technology accelerates its viral dispersion in our culture. But if Polidori remains the roots in the genealogy of our creature, the most widely known vampire was birthed by Bram Stoker in 1897. Part of the reason for the great success of his “Dracula” is generally acknowledged to be its appearance at a time of great technological revolution. The narrative is full of new gadgets (telegraphs, typing machines), various forms of communication (diaries, ship logs), and cutting-edge science (blood transfusions) — a mashup of ancient myth in conflict with the world of the present. Today as well, we stand at the rich uncertain dawn of a new level of scientific innovation. The wireless technology we carry in our pockets today was the stuff of the science fiction in our youth. Our technological arrogance mirrors more and more the Wellsian3 dystopia of dissatisfaction, while allowing us to feel safe and connected at all times. We can call, see or hear almost anything and anyone no matter where we are. For most people then, the only remote place remains within. “Know thyself” we do not.

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3 H. G. Wells (1866–1946) was an influential English science fiction writer whose works include The Time Machine (1895), The Island of Doctor Moreau (1896), and War of the Worlds (1898). — EDS.

Despite our obsessive harnessing of information, we are still ultimately vulnerable to our fates and our nightmares. We enthrone the deadly virus in the very same way that “Dracula” allowed the British public to believe in monsters: through science. Science becomes the modern man’s superstition. It allows him to experience fear and awe again, and to believe in the things he cannot see. And through awe, we once again regain spiritual humility. The current vampire pandemic serves to remind us that we have no true jurisdiction over our bodies, our climate or our very souls. Monsters will always provide the possibility of mystery in our mundane “reality show” lives, hinting at a larger spiritual world; for if there are demons in our midst, there surely must be angels lurking nearby as well. In the vampire we find Eros and Thanatos4 fused together in archetypal embrace, spiraling through the ages, undying.

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4 Greek gods of love (Eros) and death (Thanatos). — EDS.

Forever.

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Journal Writing Do you enjoy vampire stories, whether in books, in movies, or on television? Of the vampire characters in popular culture (past or present), who is your favorite? Why do you think this character appeals to you? In your journal, explore what vampires mean to you. If you don’t care for vampire fiction, consider why it leaves you cold.

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Questions on Meaning 1. Why do you suppose del Toro and Hogan wrote this essay? Are they merely promoting their novels, or do they have a more serious PURPOSE as well?

Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing. In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages 19, 31–32, and 40.

2. What is the THESIS of “Vampires Never Die”? Where, if at all, is it stated succinctly?

Thesis, thesis statement The central idea in a work of writing (thesis), to which everything else in the work refers; one or more sentences that express that central idea (thesis statement). In some way, each sentence and PARAGRAPH in an effective essay serves to support the thesis and to make it clear and explicit to readers. Good writers, while writing, often set down a thesis statement to help them define their purpose. They also often include this statement in their essay as a promise and a guide to readers. See pages 19, 35–36, 40–41, and the introductions to Chapters 3–12.

3. How do del Toro and Hogan explain the appeal of vampires in contemporary culture? In what ways has that appeal changed across time and geography? In what ways has it remained consistent? 4. What is a “social construct” (par. 8)? How is the concept central to the authors’ interpretation of vampires? 5. In paragraph 15, del Toro and Hogan say, “Science becomes the modern man’s superstition.” What do they mean? How do you explain the PARADOX in that statement?

Paradox See FIGURES OF SPEECH.

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Questions on Writing Strategy 1. “Vampires Never Die” uses advanced academic vocabulary and contains several literary, historical, scientific, and psychological references. How, then, do the authors imagine their AUDIENCE? Are their ASSUMPTIONS reasonable in your case?

Audience A writer’s readers. Having in mind a particular audience helps the writer in choosing strategies, such as which method(s) to use, what details to include, and how to shape an ARGUMENT. You can increase your awareness of your audience by asking yourself a few questions before you begin to write. Who are to be your readers? What is their age level? background? education? Where do they live? What are their beliefs and attitudes? What interests them? What, if anything, sets them apart from most people? How familiar are they with your subject? Knowing your audience can help you write so that your readers will not only understand you better but care more deeply about what you say. See also pages 20, 30, and 407. Assume, assumption To take something for granted (assume), or a belief or opinion taken for granted (assumption). Whether stated or unstated, assumptions influence a writer’s choices of subject, viewpoint, EVIDENCE and even language. See also pages 17 and 410.

2. What principle of analysis do del Toro and Hogan use in examining vampire stories? What enduring elements do they perceive in the characters? 3. Why do del Toro and Hogan speculate in their introduction about the “resentment and erotic anxieties” (par. 3) felt by John William Polidori, the author of the first modern vampire story? What do his personal conflicts have to do with how we think about vampires today? 4. What is the EFFECT of the essay’s final paragraph?

Effect The result of an event or action, usually considered together with CAUSE as a method of development. See the discussion of cause and effect in Chapter 10. In discussing writing, the term effect also refers to the impression a word, a sentence, a paragraph, or an entire work makes on the reader: how convincing it is, whether it elicits an emotional response, what associations it conjures up, and so on.

5. OTHER METHODS Del Toro and Hogan COMPARE AND CONTRAST new technologies from the late nineteenth and early twenty-first centuries. What similarities do they find?

Comparison and contrast Two methods of development usually found together. Using them, a writer examines the similarities and differences between two things to reveal their natures. See Chapter 6.

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Questions on Language 1. Make sure you know the meanings of the following words: desolate (par. 3); ambivalence, titular, dashing (4); repressed, sedentary, seminal, loam (6); invoked (7); obliterate, primal (8); panacea (9); consensus, polyvalent, pansexual, permutations, chaste (10); noir, promiscuously, dispersion (11); mash-up (13); dystopia (14); pandemic, mundane, archetypal (16). 2. Explain the double meaning of “twittering” in paragraph 11. Why do you think del Toro and Hogan chose this particular word? 3. What do the authors mean by “a peculiar brand of blood alchemy” (par. 8)? Where else do they use this metaphor? Why is it particularly appropriate for their subject? (For a definition of metaphor, see FIGURES OF SPEECH in the Glossary.)

Figures of speech Expressions that depart from the literal meanings of words for the sake of emphasis or vividness. To say “She’s a jewel” doesn’t mean that the subject of praise is literally a kind of shining stone; the statement makes sense because the CONNOTATIONS of jewel come to mind: rare, priceless, worth cherishing. Some figures of speech involve comparisons of two objects apparently unlike: A simile (from the Latin, “likeness”) states the comparison directly, usually connecting the two things using like, as, or than: “The moon is like a snowball”; “He’s as lazy as a cat full of cream”; “My feet are flatter than flyswatters.” A metaphor (from the Greek, “transfer”) declares one thing to be another: “A mighty fortress is our God”; “The sheep were bolls of cotton on the hill.” (A dead metaphor is a word or phrase that, originally a figure of speech, has come to be literal through common usage: “the hands of a clock.”) Personification is a simile or metaphor that assigns human traits to inanimate objects or abstractions: “A stoopshouldered refrigerator hummed quietly to itself”; “The solution to the math problem sat there winking at me.” Other figures of speech consist of deliberate misrepresentations: Hyperbole (from the Greek, “throwing beyond”) is a conscious exaggeration: “I’m so hungry I could eat a saddle”; “I’d wait for you a thousand years.” The opposite of hyperbole, understatement, creates an ironic or humorous effect: “I accepted the ride. At the moment, I didn’t feel like walking across the Mojave Desert.” A paradox (from the Greek, “conflicting with expectation”) is a seemingly self-contradictory statement that, on reflection, makes sense: “Children are the poor person’s wealth” (wealth can be monetary, or it can be spiritual). Paradox may also refer to a situation that is inexplicable or contradictory, such as the restriction of one group’s rights in order to secure the rights of another group.

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Suggestions for Writing 1. FROM JOURNAL TO ESSAY Expanding on your journal entry, write an essay that analyzes one vampire character from popular culture — such as Bram Stoker’s Dracula, Edward from the Twilight series, Yvette from Anne Rice’s novels, Bill Compton from True Blood, or The Master from del Toro and Hogan’s trilogy. Break the character down into his (or her) elements, considering backstory as well as personality, and reassemble the parts into a new whole of your understanding. 2. Write an essay that analyzes several examples of another type of writing by examining their shared characteristics and hidden meanings. You may choose any narrowly defined GENRE that’s familiar to you: food blog, parenting-advice column, amateur film review, gay romance, alternative-history science fiction, and so on. Be sure to make your principle of analysis clear to your readers.

Genre The category into which a piece of writing fits. Shaped by PURPOSE, AUDIENCE, and context, genres range from broad types (such as fiction and nonfiction) to general groups (novel, essay) to narrower groups (science fiction novel, personal narrative) to specific document formats (steampunk graphic novel, post on a retail workers’ forum) — and they tend to overlap. The genres of college writing vary widely. Examples appear on pages 71 (police log), 109 (field observation), 146 (job-application letter), 178 (review), 218 (lab report), 259 (critical analysis), 297 (résumé), 338 (letter to the editor), 373 (essay exam), and 418 (proposal). Most readers are instinctively aware of individual genres and the characteristics that distinguish them, and they expect writers to follow the genre’s conventions for POINT OF VIEW, structure and organization, types of EVIDENCE language, TONE, length, appearance, and so forth. Consider, for instance, a daily newspaper: Readers expect the news articles to be objective statements of fact, with none of the reporters’ personal thoughts and little rhetorical flourish; but when they turn to the op-ed page or their favorite columnists, such opinions and clever turns of phrase are precisely what they’re looking for. Similar expectations exist for every kind of writing, and good writers make a point of knowing what they are. See also pages 10, 32, and 40 and the individual chapter introductions in Part Two.

3. Some cultural analysts have said that the resurgence of vampire stories in the last quarter century can be attributed to the AIDS epidemic that emerged in the 1980s. In your library’s database of scholarly journal articles, conduct a keyword search with “vampires and AIDS,” and read one or two of the arguments in favor of this theory. (If you prefer, you may search for other academic analyses of vampire lore.) How do you respond to the articles? Do alternate interpretations undermine del Toro and Hogan’s analysis, or do they simply complicate it? 4. CRITICAL WRITING Del Toro and Hogan explore CAUSE AND EFFECTS to explain the prevalence of vampires in popular culture. How persuasive is their analysis? Do you agree with them that vampire legends fill psychological and spiritual voids that have been created by advances in science and technology? Why, or why not?

Cause and effect A method of development in which a writer ANALYZES reasons for an action, event, or decision, or analyzes its consequences. See Chapter 10. See also EFFECT.

5. CONNECTIONS In this essay Guillermo del Toro and Chuck Hogan examine how vampires serve as SYMBOLS of human anxieties. Likewise, Brian Doyle, in “A Note on Mascots” (p. 160), observes that animals take on a symbolic function when they’re adopted as sports icons. What similarities, if any, do you see between team mascots and long-held myths such as vampires? Is either more culturally significant? Do they represent related fears and needs? Write an essay of your own that examines the deeper implications of such symbols. (You need not choose vampires or sports mascots as your subject: If you’ve noticed some other symbol that captures your interest, such as zombies or angels, feel free to analyze that instead.) Consider, as well, your own thoughts about interpretations of this sort: Is popular culture worthy of serious inquiry?

Symbol A visible object or action that suggests further meaning. The flag suggests country; the crown suggests royalty — these are conventional symbols familiar to us. Life abounds in such clear-cut symbols. Football teams use dolphins and rams for easy

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identification; married couples symbolize their union with a ring. In writing, symbols usually do not have such a one-to-one correspondence, but evoke a whole constellation of associations. In Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick, the whale suggests more than the large mammal it is. It hints at evil, obsession, and the untamable forces of nature. Such a symbol carries meanings too complex or elusive to be neatly defined. Although more common in fiction and poetry, symbols can be used to good purpose in nonfiction because they often communicate an idea in a compact and concrete way.

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Guillermo del Toro and Chuck Hogan on Writing “Vampires Never Die” was by no means Guillermo del Toro and Chuck Hogan’s first experience working together as writers. In 2006 they began collaborating on a trilogy of horror novels about vampires. The project started when Hogan’s literary agent sent him a twelve-page outline of del Toro’s story idea, originally conceived for the small screen, and told him the director was thinking about trying a novel. “I got a page and a half in before calling [my agent] back and essentially telling him that I would do anything to be involved,” Hogan gushed in a 2009 interview with blogger Sarah Weinman. In lieu of a publishing deal or any kind of contract, the authors made a pact on a handshake — “actually more of a bro-hug,” according to Hogan — and agreed to join forces. They finished the first installment of the trilogy, The Strain, after three years. Hogan admits to being apprehensive about writing with del Toro, whom he calls “a god of the genre,” especially since the storyline was the director’s. However, he says that del Toro “completely opened up his story,” giving Hogan the freedom to expand and change the

NARRATIVE

in the drafting stage. In a separate

interview with Rick Kleffel on KUSP Central Coast Public Radio, del Toro praised Hogan’s contributions to the shape of the story: “The book is full of intimate moments of terror that come from personal experience, and others that Chuck created…. Some of the best, most disturbing moments in the book come from his imagination, curiously enough.”

Narration, narrative The mode of writing (narration) that tells a story (narrative). See Chapter 3.

Both authors note that, though their drafting processes were loose, revising the book was “rigorous.” Exchanging drafts by e-mail, they commented extensively on each other’s chapters, a practice that del Toro calls “riffing.” As he explains, “I was merciless with his chapters; he was merciless with my chapters.” Revisions involved moving or cutting large portions of text. Del Toro often rearranged chapters, and Hogan sometimes scrapped entire sections. Speaking of Hogan’s editing style, del Toro jokes that some changes were made “subverticiously” (a word of his own invention): “All of a sudden I would get the manuscript and it was missing one chapter I wrote or half a chapter I wrote.” However, it was this kind of harsh revision that in the end made for the “seamless blending” of two writers’ talents. The Brief Bedford Reader on Writing As collaborators, del Toro and Hogan find distinct advantages in drafting freely, but revising rigorously. Such an approach is not at all unique to team projects, however. For advice on applying the same techniques to your own writing, see pages 34–42 (“Drafting” and “Revising”).

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ADDITIONAL WRITING TOPICS Division or Analysis

Using the method of division or analysis, write an essay on one of the following subjects (or choose your own subject). In your essay, make sure your purpose and your principle of division or analysis are clear to your readers. Explain the parts of your subject so that readers know how each relates to the others and contributes to the whole. The slang or technical terminology of a group such as stand-up comedians or online gamers An especially bad movie, television show, or book A doll, action figure, or other toy from childhood A typical sidebar ad for a product such as clothing, deodorant, beer, a luxury car, or an economy car A machine or an appliance, such as a drone, a motorcycle, a microwave oven, or a camera An organization or association, such as a social club, a sports league, or a support group The characteristic appearance of an indie folk singer or a classical violinist A day in the life of a student Your favorite poem A short story, an essay, or another work that made you think The government of your community The most popular restaurant (or other place of business) in town The Bible, Q’uran, or another religious text An urban legend: hitchhiking ghosts, flickering orbs, gas-station carjackings, haunted cemeteries, buried treasures, and so forth A painting or a statue

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9 CLASSIFICATION Sorting into Kinds

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Classification in a table How do you spend your money? Does most of it go for rent and utilities, for instance, or is the bulk of your budget earmarked for tuition, fees, and books? How do your income and expenses compare to those of your peers? In this infographic, National Public Radio’s Planet Money translates data from the Bureau of Labor Statistics to show how household budgets in the United States typically sort out. NPR’s table classifies spending patterns for three economic groups: “the Poor, the Middle Class, and the Rich.” Notice, first, how NPR defines

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each class. Then examine the data. The column on the left identifies ten types of spending; the three other columns compare the percentages of household income devoted to each category by the groups. What similarities and differences among the categories strike you? Are you surprised by any of the numbers? Why, or why not?

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THE METHOD To

CLASSIFY

is to make sense of some aspect of the world by arranging many units — trucks, chemical

elements, wasps, students — into more manageable groups. Zoologists classify animals, botanists classify plants — and their classifications help us understand a vast and complex subject: life on earth. To help us find books in a library, librarians classify books into categories: fiction, biography, history, psychology, and so forth. For the convenience of readers, newspapers run classified advertising, grouping many small ads into categories such as “Services” and “Cars for Sale.”

Classification A method of development in which a writer sorts out multiple things (contact sports, college students, kinds of music) into categories. See Chapter 9.

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Subjects and Reasons for Classification The subject of a classification essay is always a number of things, such as peaches or political systems. (In contrast,

DIVISION

or

ANALYSIS,

the topic of the preceding chapter, usually deals with a solitary subject, a

coherent whole, such as a peach or a political system.) The job of classification is to sort the things into groups or classes based on their similarities and differences. Say, for instance, you’re going to write an essay about how people write. After interviewing a lot of writers, you determine that writers’ processes differ widely, mainly in the amount of planning and rewriting they entail. (Notice that this determination involves analyzing the

PROCESS

of writing, separating it into steps. See Chapter 7.) On the basis of your findings, you create

groups for planners, one-drafters, and rewriters. Once your groups are defined, and assuming they are valid, your subjects (the writers) almost sort themselves out.

Division See ANALYZE, ANALYSIS. Analyze, analysis To separate a subject into its parts (analyze), or the act or result of doing so (analysis, also called division). Analysis is a key skill in CRITICAL THINKING, READING, AND WRITING; see pages 16, 18– 22, and 24–25. It is also considered a method of development; see Chapter 8.

Just as you can analyze a subject in many ways, you can classify a subject according to many principles. One travel guide, for instance, might group places to stay by style of accommodation: resorts, hotels, motels, bed-and-breakfasts, boarding houses, and hostels. A different guidebook might classify options according to price: grand luxury, luxury, moderate, bargain, fleabag, and flophouse. The principle used in classifying things depends on the writer’s

PURPOSE.

A guidebook classifies

accommodations by price to match visitors with hotels that fit their pocketbooks. A linguist might explain the languages of the world by classifying them according to their origins (Romance languages, Germanic languages, Asian languages, Coptic languages …), but a student battling with a college language requirement might try to entertain fellow students by classifying languages into three groups: hard to learn, harder to learn, and unlearnable.

Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing. In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages

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19, 31–32, and 40.

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Kinds of Classification Classification schemes vary in complexity, depending on the groups being sorted and the basis for sorting them. In classifying methods of classification, we find two types: binary and complex. Binary classification. The simplest classification is binary (or two-part), in which you sort things out into (1) those with a certain distinguishing feature and (2) those without it. You might classify a number of persons, let’s say, into smokers and nonsmokers, runners and nonrunners, believers and nonbelievers. Binary classification is most useful when your subject is easily divisible into positive and negative categories. Complex classification. More often, a classification will sort things into multiple categories, sometimes putting members into subcategories. Such is the case with a linguist who categorizes languages by origin. Writing about the varieties of one Germanic language, such as English, the writer could identify the subclasses of British English, North American English, Australian English, and so on. As readers, we enjoy classifications that strike us as true and familiar. This pleasure may account for the appeal of magazine and Web articles that classify things (“Seven Common Varieties of Moocher,” “The Top Ten Most Embarrassing Social Blunders”). Usefulness as well as pleasure may explain the popularity of classifications that EVALUATE things. The magazine Consumer Reports sorts products as varied as space heaters and frozen dinners into groups based on quality (excellent, very good, good, fair, and poor), and then, using analysis, discusses each product (of a frozen pot pie: “Bottom crust gummy, meat spongy when chewed, with nondescript old-poultry and stale-flour flavor”).

Evaluate, evaluation To judge the merits of something (evaluate) or the act or result of doing so (evaluation). Evaluation is often part of CRITICAL THINKING, READING, AND WRITING. In evaluating a work of writing, you base your judgment on your ANALYSIS of it and your sense of its quality or value. See also pages 17–18, 23, 26, and 492–95.

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THE PROCESS

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Purposes and Theses Classification will usually come into play when you want to impose order on a complex subject that includes many items. In one essay in this chapter, for instance, Deborah Tannen tackles the seemingly endless opportunities for men and women to miscommunicate with each other. Sometimes you may use classification humorously, as Russell Baker does in another essay in this chapter, to give a charge to familiar experiences. Whatever use you make of classification, do it for a reason: The files of composition instructors are littered with essays in which nothing was ventured and nothing was gained. Classifications can reveal truth or amuse us, but they can also reveal nothing and bore us. To sort ten North American cities according to their relative freedom from air pollution or their cost of living or the range of services offered to residents might prove highly informative and useful to someone looking for a new place to live. But to sort the cities according to a superficial feature such as the relative size of their cat and dog populations wouldn’t interest anyone, probably, except a veterinarian looking for a job. Your purpose, your

THESIS,

and your principle of classification will all overlap with your interest in your

subject. Say you’re curious about how other students write. Is your interest primarily in the materials they use (keyboard, pencil, voice recorder), in where and when they write, or in how much planning and rewriting they do? Any of these could lead to a principle for sorting the students into groups. And that principle should be revealed in your THESIS STATEMENT, letting readers know why you are classifying. Here, from the essays in this chapter, are three examples of classification thesis statements:

Thesis, thesis statement The central idea in a work of writing (thesis), to which everything else in the work refers; one or more sentences that express that central idea (thesis statement). In some way, each sentence and PARAGRAPH

in an effective essay serves to support the thesis and to make it clear and explicit to

readers. Good writers, while writing, often set down a thesis statement to help them define their purpose. They also often include this statement in their essay as a promise and a guide to readers. See pages 19, 35–36, 40–41, and the introductions to Chapters 3–12.

Many of the conversational rituals common among women are designed to take the other person’s feelings into account, while many of the conversational rituals common among men are designed to maintain the one-up position, or at least avoid appearing one-down. As a result, when men and women interact — especially at work — it’s often women who are at the disadvantage. — Deborah Tannen, “But What Do You Mean?” Inanimate objects are classified into three major categories — those that don’t work, those that break down and those that get lost. — Russell Baker, “The Plot against People” [T]hree types [of stars] stand out as the most potentially beneficial to humankind and prolonging its existence: supergiants, yellow dwarfs, and red dwarfs…. The red dwarf, however, is or at least will be the most important star because of its incredibly long life span and relative abundance in our immense universe. — Jean-Pierre De Beer, “Stars of Life”

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Categories For a workable classification, make sure that the categories you choose don’t overlap. If you were writing a survey of popular magazines for adults and you were sorting your subject into categories that included women’s magazines and sports magazines, you might soon run into trouble. Into which category would you place Women’s Sports? The trouble is that both categories take in the same item. To avoid this problem, you’d need to reorganize your classification on a different principle. You might sort out the magazines by their audiences: magazines intended for women, magazines intended for men, magazines intended for both women and men. Or you might group them according to subject matter: sports magazines, political magazines, fashion magazines, celebrity magazines, and so on. Women’s Sports would fit into either of those classification schemes, but into only one category in each scheme. When you draw up a scheme of classification, be sure that you include all essential categories. Omitting an important category can weaken the effect of your essay, no matter how well written it is. It would be a major oversight, for example, if you were to classify the residents of a dormitory according to their religious affiliations and not include a category for the nonaffiliated. Some form of outline can be helpful to keep the classes and their members straight as you develop and draft ideas. You might experiment with a diagram in which you jot down headings for the groups, with plenty of space around them, letting each heading accumulate members as you think of them. This kind of diagram offers more flexibility than a vertical list or an outline, and is a good aid for keeping categories from overlapping or disappearing. FOCUS ON PARAGRAPH DEVELOPMENT A crucial aim of classification is to make sure each group is clear: what’s counted in, what’s counted out, and why. You’ll provide examples and other details to make the groups clear as you develop the paragraph(s) devoted to each. The following paragraph barely outlines one group in a four-part classification of ex-smokers into zealots, evangelists, the elect, and the serene: The second group, evangelists, does not condemn smokers but encourages them to quit. Evangelists think quitting is easy, and they preach this message, often earning the resentment of potential converts. Contrast this bare-bones adaptation with the actual paragraphs written by Franklin E. Zimring in his essay “Confessions of a Former Smoker”: By contrast, the antismoking evangelist does not condemn smokers. Unlike the zealot, he regards smoking as an easily curable condition, as a social disease, and not a sin. The evangelist spends an enormous amount of time seeking and preaching to the unconverted. He argues that kicking the habit is not that difficult. After all, he did it; moreover, as he describes it, the benefits of quitting are beyond measure and the disadvantages are nil. The hallmark of the evangelist is his insistence that he never misses tobacco. Though he is less hostile to smokers than the zealot, he is resented more. Friends and loved ones who have been the targets of his preachments frequently greet the resumption of smoking by the evangelist as an occasion for unmitigated glee. In the second sentence of each paragraph, Zimring explicitly contrasts evangelists with zealots, the group he previously defined. And he does more as well: He provides specific examples of the evangelist’s message (first paragraph) and of others’ reactions to him (second paragraph). These details pin down the group, making it distinct from other groups and clear in itself.

CHECKLIST FOR REVISING A CLASSIFICATION

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Purpose. Have you classified for a reason? Will readers be able to see why you bothered? Principle of classification. Will readers also see what rule or principle you used for sorting individuals into groups? Is this principle apparent in your thesis sentence? Consistency. Does each representative of your subject fall into one category only, so that categories don’t overlap? Completeness. Have you mentioned all the essential categories suggested by your principle of classification? Paragraph development. Have you provided enough information, examples, and other details so that readers can easily distinguish each category from the others?

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CLASSIFICATION IN ACADEMIC WRITING An Anthropology Textbook This paragraph comes from Humankind Emerging, a textbook on human physical and cultural evolution by Bernard Campbell. The author offers a standard classification of hand grips in order to explain one of several important differences between human beings and their nearest relatives, apes and monkeys. Topic sentence names the principle of classification There are two distinct ways of holding and using tools: the power grip and the precision grip, as John Napier termed them. Human infants and children begin with the power grip and progress to the precision grip. Two categories explained side by side Think of how a child holds a spoon: first in the power grip, in its fist or between its fingers and palm, and later between the tips of the thumb and first two fingers, in the precision grip. Many primates have the power grip also. It is the way they get firm hold of a tree branch. Second category explained in greater detail But neither a monkey nor an ape has a thumb long enough or flexible enough to be completely opposable through rotation at the wrist, able to reach comfortably to the tips of all the other fingers, as is required for our delicate yet strong precision grip. It is the opposability of our thumb and the independent control of our fingers that make possible nearly all the movements necessary to handle tools, to make clothing, to write with a pencil, to play a flute.

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A Résumé Sooner or later, every college student needs a résumé: a one-page overview of skills and experiences that will appeal to a potential employer. Part of the challenge in drafting a résumé is to bring order to what seems a complex and unwieldy subject, a life. The main solution is to classify activities and interests into clearly defined groups: typically work experience, education, and special skills. The group that poses the biggest challenge is usually work experience: Some résumés list jobs with the most recent first, detailing the specifics of each one; others sort experience into skills (such as computer skills, administrative skills, and communication skills) and then list job specifics under each subcategory. The first arrangement tends to be more straightforward and potentially less confusing to readers. However, college students and recent graduates with few previous jobs often find the second arrangement preferable because it downplays experience and showcases abilities. The résumé on the following page was prepared by Kharron Reid, who was seeking a paid internship in the field of information systems for the summer between his junior and senior years of college. After experimenting with different organizational strategies, he decided to put the category of work experience first because it related directly to the internships he sought. And he chose to organize his work experience by jobs rather than skills because the companies he had worked for were similar to the companies he was applying to. For the job-application cover letter Reid wrote to go with the résumé, see page 147 of Chapter 5. Kharron Reid 137 Chester Street, Apt. E Allston, MA 02134 (617) 555-4009 [email protected] OBJECTIVE An internship that offers experience in information systems EXPERIENCE Similar to a thesis statement, an objective expresses the applicant’s purpose NBS Systems Corp., Denniston, MI, June to September 2016 As an intern, helped install seven WANs using Windows Server 2016 First major category: work experience Planned layout for WANs Installed physical platform and configured servers Pioneer Networking, Damani, MI, May to September 2015 A subcategory for each job includes summaries and specific details As an intern, worked as a LAN specialist using a Unix-based server Connected eight workstations onto a LAN by laying physical platform and configuring software Assisted network engineer in monitoring operations of LAN Second major category: special skills

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SPECIAL SKILLS Computer proficiency: Specific skills Windows 10/8

Adobe Photoshop XML

Unix

JIRA

Red Hat Enterprise Linux HTML

JavaScript Python

Internet research Third major category: education EDUCATION Boston University, School of Management, 2014 to present Specific information relevant to job objective Double major: business administration and information systems Courses: organizational behavior, computer science, advanced programming, networking and data communications Lahser High School, Bloomfield Hills, MI, 2010 to 2014

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FAILURES TO COMMUNICATE

DEBORAH TANNEN Deborah Tannen is a linguist who is best known for her popular studies of communication between men and women. Born and raised in New York City, Tannen earned a BA from Harpur College (now part of Binghamton University), MAs from Wayne State University and the University of California at Berkeley, and a PhD in linguistics from Berkeley. She is University Professor at Georgetown University, has published many scholarly articles and books, and lectures on linguistics all over the world. But her renown is more than academic: With television talk-show appearances, speeches to businesspeople and senators, and best-selling books, Tannen has become, in the words of one reviewer, “America’s conversational therapist.” The books include You Just Don’t Understand (1990), The Argument Culture (1998), I Only Say This Because I Love You (2001), and You Were Always Mom’s Favorite! (2009), the last about communication between sisters. Tannen sits on the board of the PEN/Faulkner Foundation, a nonprofit organization devoted to building audiences for literature.

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But What Do You Mean? Why do men and women so often communicate badly, if at all? This question has motivated much of Tannen’s research and writing. Excerpted in Redbook magazine from Tannen’s book Talking from 9 to 5 (1994), the essay reprinted here classifies the conversational areas where men and women have the most difficulty communicating in the workplace. William Lutz’s “The World of Doublespeak,” the essay following Tannen’s, also uses classification to examine communication problems, in the form of misleading verbal substitutions that make “the bad seem good, the negative appear positive.”

Conversation is a ritual. We say things that seem obviously the thing to say, without thinking of the literal meaning of our words, any more than we expect the question “How are you?” to call forth a detailed account of aches and pains. Unfortunately, women and men often have different ideas about what’s appropriate, different ways of speaking. Many of the conversational rituals common among women are designed to take the other person’s feelings into account, while many of the conversational rituals common among men are designed to maintain the one-up position, or at least avoid appearing one-down. As a result, when men and women interact — especially at work — it’s often women who are at the disadvantage. Because women are not trying to avoid the one-down position, that is unfortunately where they may end up. Here, the biggest areas of miscommunication. 1. Apologies Women are often told they apologize too much. The reason they’re told to stop doing it is that, to many men, apologizing seems synonymous with putting oneself down. But there are many times when “I’m sorry” isn’t self-deprecating, or even an apology; it’s an automatic way of keeping both speakers on an equal footing. For example, a well-known columnist once interviewed me and gave me her phone number in case I needed to call her back. I misplaced the number and had to go through the newspaper’s main switchboard. When our conversation was winding down and we’d both made ending-type remarks, I added, “Oh, I almost forgot — I lost your direct number, can I get it again?” “Oh, I’m sorry,” she came back instantly, even though she had done nothing wrong and I was the one who’d lost the number. But I understood she wasn’t really apologizing; she was just automatically reassuring me she had no intention of denying me her number. Even when “I’m sorry” is an apology, women often assume it will be the first step in a two-step ritual: I say “I’m sorry” and take half the blame, then you take the other half. At work, it might go something like this: A: When you typed this letter, you missed this phrase I inserted. B: Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll fix it. A: Well, I wrote it so small it was easy to miss.

When both parties share blame, it’s a mutual face-saving device. But if one person, usually the woman, utters frequent apologies and the other doesn’t, she ends up looking as if she’s taking the blame for mishaps that aren’t her fault. When she’s only partially to blame, she looks entirely in the wrong. I recently sat in on a meeting at an insurance company where the sole woman, Helen, said “I’m sorry” or “I apologize” repeatedly. At one point she said, “I’m thinking out loud. I apologize.” Yet the meeting was intended to be an informal brainstorming session, and everyone was thinking out loud. The reason Helen’s apologies stood out was that she was the only person in the room making so many. 584

And the reason I was concerned was that Helen felt the annual bonus she had received was unfair. When I interviewed her colleagues, they said that Helen was one of the best and most productive workers — yet she got one of the smallest bonuses. Although the problem might have been outright sexism, I suspect her speech style, which differs from that of her male colleagues, masks her competence. Unfortunately, not apologizing can have its price too. Since so many women use ritual apologies, those who don’t may be seen as hard-edged. What’s important is to be aware of how often you say you’re sorry (and why), and to monitor your speech based on the reaction you get. 2. Criticism A woman who cowrote a report with a male colleague was hurt when she read a rough draft to him and he leapt into a critical response — “Oh, that’s too dry! You have to make it snappier!” She herself would have been more likely to say, “That’s a really good start. Of course, you’ll want to make it a little snappier when you revise.” Whether criticism is given straight or softened is often a matter of convention. In general, women use more softeners. I noticed this difference when talking to an editor about an essay I’d written. While going over changes she wanted to make, she said, “There’s one more thing. I know you may not agree with me. The reason I noticed the problem is that your other points are so lucid and elegant.” She went on hedging for several more sentences until I put her out of her misery: “Do you want to cut that part?” I asked — and of course she did. But I appreciated her tentativeness. In contrast, another editor (a man) I once called summarily rejected my idea for an article by barking, “Call me when you have something new to say.” Those who are used to ways of talking that soften the impact of criticism may find it hard to deal with the right-between-the-eyes style. It has its own logic, however, and neither style is intrinsically better. People who prefer criticism given straight are operating on an assumption that feelings aren’t involved: “Here’s the dope. I know you’re good; you can take it.” 3. Thank-Yous A woman manager I know starts meetings by thanking everyone for coming, even though it’s clearly their job to do so. Her “thank-you” is simply a ritual. A novelist received a fax from an assistant in her publisher’s office; it contained suggested catalog copy for her book. She immediately faxed him her suggested changes and said, “Thanks for running this by me,” even though her contract gave her the right to approve all copy. When she thanked the assistant, she fully expected him to reciprocate: “Thanks for giving me such a quick response.” Instead, he said, “You’re welcome.” Suddenly, rather than an equal exchange of pleasantries, she found herself positioned as the recipient of a favor. This made her feel like responding, “Thanks for nothing!” Many women use “thanks” as an automatic conversation starter and closer; there’s nothing literally to say thank you for. Like many rituals typical of women’s conversation, it depends on the goodwill of the other to restore the balance. When the other speaker doesn’t reciprocate, a woman may feel like someone on a seesaw whose partner abandoned his end. Instead of balancing in the air, she has plopped to the ground, wondering how she got there.

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4. Fighting Many men expect the discussion of ideas to be a ritual fight — explored through verbal opposition. They state their ideas in the strongest possible terms, thinking that if there are weaknesses someone will point them out, and by trying to argue against those objections, they will see how well their ideas hold up. Those who expect their own ideas to be challenged will respond to another’s ideas by trying to poke holes and find weak links — as a way of helping. The logic is that when you are challenged you will rise to the occasion: Adrenaline makes your mind sharper; you get ideas and insights you would not have thought of without the spur of battle. But many women take this approach as a personal attack. Worse, they find it impossible to do their best work in such a contentious environment. If you’re not used to ritual fighting, you begin to hear criticism of your ideas as soon as they are formed. Rather than making you think more clearly, it makes you doubt what you know. When you state your ideas, you hedge in order to fend off potential attacks. Ironically, this is more likely to invite attack because it makes you look weak. Although you may never enjoy verbal sparring, some women find it helpful to learn how to do it. An engineer who was the only woman among four men in a small company found that as soon as she learned to argue she was accepted and taken seriously. A doctor attending a hospital staff meeting made a similar discovery. She was becoming more and more angry with a male colleague who’d loudly disagreed with a point she’d made. Her better judgment told her to hold her tongue, to avoid making an enemy of this powerful senior colleague. But finally she couldn’t hold it in any longer, and she rose to her feet and delivered an impassioned attack on his position. She sat down in a panic, certain she had permanently damaged her relationship with him. To her amazement, he came up to her afterward and said, “That was a great rebuttal. I’m really impressed. Let’s go out for a beer after work and hash out our approaches to this problem.” 5. Praise A manager I’ll call Lester had been on his new job six months when he heard that the women reporting to him were deeply dissatisfied. When he talked to them about it, their feelings erupted; two said they were on the verge of quitting because he didn’t appreciate their work, and they didn’t want to wait to be fired. Lester was dumbfounded: He believed they were doing a fine job. Surely, he thought, he had said nothing to give them the impression he didn’t like their work. And indeed he hadn’t. That was the problem. He had said nothing — and the women assumed he was following the adage “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything.” He thought he was showing confidence in them by leaving them alone. Men and women have different habits in regard to giving praise. For example, Deirdre and her colleague William both gave presentations at a conference. Afterward, Deirdre told William, “That was a great talk!” He thanked her. Then she asked, “What did you think of mine?” and he gave her a lengthy and detailed critique. She found it uncomfortable to listen to his comments. But she assured herself that he meant well, and that his honesty was a signal that she, too, should be honest when he asked for a critique of his performance. As a matter of fact, she had noticed quite a few ways in which he could have improved his presentation. But she never got a chance to tell him because he never asked — and she felt put down. The worst part was that it seemed she had only herself to blame, since she had asked what he thought of her talk. 586

But had she really asked for his critique? The truth is, when she asked for his opinion, she was expecting a compliment, which she felt was more or less required following anyone’s talk. When he responded with criticism, she figured, “Oh, he’s playing ‘Let’s critique each other’?” — not a game she’d initiated, but one which she was willing to play. Had she realized he was going to criticize her and not ask her to reciprocate, she would never have asked in the first place. It would be easy to assume that Deirdre was insecure, whether she was fishing for a compliment or soliciting a critique. But she was simply talking automatically, performing one of the many conversational rituals that allow us to get through the day. William may have sincerely misunderstood Deirdre’s intention — or may have been unable to pass up a chance to one-up her when given the opportunity. 6. Complaints “Troubles talk” can be a way to establish rapport with a colleague. You complain about a problem (which shows that you are just folks) and the other person responds with a similar problem (which puts you on equal footing). But while such commiserating is common among women, men are likely to hear it as a request to solve the problem. One woman told me she would frequently initiate what she thought would be pleasant complaint-airing sessions at work. She’d talk about situations that bothered her just to talk about them, maybe to understand them better. But her male office mate would quickly tell her how she could improve the situation. This left her feeling condescended to and frustrated. She was delighted to see this very impasse in a section in my book You Just Don’t Understand, and showed it to him. “Oh,” he said, “I see the problem. How can we solve it?” Then they both laughed, because it had happened again: He short-circuited the detailed discussion she’d hoped for and cut to the chase of finding a solution. Sometimes the consequences of complaining are more serious: A man might take a woman’s lighthearted griping literally, and she can get a reputation as a chronic malcontent. Furthermore, she may be seen as not up to solving the problems that arise on the job. 7. Jokes I heard a man call in to a talk show and say, “I’ve worked for two women and neither one had a sense of humor. You know, when you work with men, there’s a lot of joking and teasing.” The show’s host and the guest (both women) took his comment at face value and assumed the women this man worked for were humorless. The guest said, “Isn’t it sad that women don’t feel comfortable enough with authority to see the humor?” The host said, “Maybe when more women are in authority roles, they’ll be more comfortable with power.” But although the women this man worked for may have taken themselves too seriously, it’s just as likely that they each had a terrific sense of humor, but maybe the humor wasn’t the type he was used to. They may have been like the woman who wrote to me: “When I’m with men, my wit or cleverness seems inappropriate (or lost!) so I don’t bother. When I’m with my women friends, however, there’s no hold on puns or cracks and my humor is fully appreciated.” The types of humor women and men tend to prefer differ. Research has shown that the most common form of humor among men is razzing, teasing, and mock-hostile attacks, while among women it’s self-

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mocking. Women often mistake men’s teasing as genuinely hostile. Men often mistake women’s mock selfdeprecation as truly putting themselves down. Women have told me they were taken more seriously when they learned to joke the way the guys did. For example, a teacher who went to a national conference with seven other teachers (mostly women) and a group of administrators (mostly men) was annoyed that the administrators always found reasons to leave boring seminars, while the teachers felt they had to stay and take notes. One evening, when the group met at a bar in the hotel, the principal asked her how one such seminar had turned out. She retorted, “As soon as you left, it got much better.” He laughed out loud at her response. The playful insult appealed to the men — but there was a trade-off. The women seemed to back off from her after this. (Perhaps they were put off by her using joking to align herself with the bosses.) There is no “right” way to talk. When problems arise, the culprit may be style differences — and all styles will at times fail with others who don’t share or understand them, just as English won’t do you much good if you try to speak to someone who knows only French. If you want to get your message across, it’s not a question of being “right”; it’s a question of using language that’s shared — or at least understood.

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Journal Writing Tannen’s

ANECDOTE

about the newspaper columnist (par. 4) illustrates that much of what we say is purely

automatic. Do you excuse yourself when you bump into inanimate objects? When someone says, “Have a good trip,” do you answer, “You, too,” even if the other person isn’t going anywhere? Do you find yourself overusing certain words or phrases such as “like” or “you know”? Pay close attention to these kinds of verbal tics in your own and others’ speech. Over the course of a few days, note as many of them as you can in your journal.

Anecdote A brief NARRATIVE, or retelling of a story or event. Anecdotes have many uses: as essay openers or closers, as examples, as sheer entertainment. See Chapter 3.

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Questions on Meaning 1. What is Tannen’s PURPOSE in writing this essay?

Purpose A writer’s reason for trying to convey a particular idea (THESIS) about a particular subject to a particular AUDIENCE of readers. Though it may emerge gradually during the writing process, in the end, purpose should govern every element of a piece of writing. In trying to define the purpose of an essay you read, ask yourself, “Why did the writer write this?” or “What was this writer trying to achieve?” Even though you cannot know the writer’s intentions with absolute certainty, an effective essay will make some purpose clear. See also pages 19, 31–32, and 40.

2. What does Tannen mean when she writes, “Conversation is a ritual” (par. 1)? 3. What does Tannen see as the fundamental difference between men’s and women’s conversational strategies? 4. Why is “You’re welcome” not always an appropriate response to “Thank you”?

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Questions on Writing Strategy 1. This essay has a large cast of characters: twenty-three to be exact. What function do these characters serve? How does Tannen introduce them to the reader? Does she describe them in sufficient detail? 2. Whom does Tannen see as her primary AUDIENCE? ANALYZE her use of the pronoun you in paragraphs 9 and 19. Whom does she seem to be addressing? Why?

Audience A writer’s readers. Having in mind a particular audience helps the writer in choosing strategies, such as which method(s) to use, what details to include, and how to shape an ARGUMENT. You can increase your awareness of your audience by asking yourself a few questions before you begin to write. Who are to be your readers? What is their age level? background? education? Where do they live? What are their beliefs and attitudes? What interests them? What, if anything, sets them apart from most people? How familiar are they with your subject? Knowing your audience can help you write so that your readers will not only understand you better but care more deeply about what you say. See also pages 20, 30, and 407. Analyze, analysis To separate a subject into its parts (analyze), or the act or result of doing so (analysis, also called division). Analysis is a key skill in CRITICAL THINKING, READING, AND WRITING; see pages 16, 18–22, and 24–25. It is also considered a method of development; see Chapter 8.

3. Analyze how Tannen develops the category of apologies in paragraphs 4–9. Where does she use EXAMPLE, DEFINITION, and COMPARISON AND CONTRAST?

Example Also called exemplification or illustration, a method of development in which the writer provides instances of a general idea. See Chapter 5. An example is a verbal illustration. Definition A statement of the literal and specific meaning or meanings of a word or a method of developing an essay. In the latter, the writer usually explains the nature of a word, a thing, a concept, or a phenomenon. Such a definition may employ NARRATION, DESCRIPTION, or any other method. See Chapter 11. Comparison and contrast Two methods of development usually found together. Using them, a writer examines the similarities and differences between two things to reveal their natures. See Chapter 6.

4. How does Tannen’s characterization of a columnist as “well-known” (par. 4) contribute to the effectiveness of her example? 5. OTHER METHODS For each of her seven areas of miscommunication, Tannen compares and contrasts male and female communication styles and strategies. SUMMARIZE the main source of misunderstanding in each area.

Summarize, summary To condense a work (essay, movie, news story) to its essence (summarize), or the act or result of doing so (summary). Summarizing a piece of writing in one’s own words is an effective way to come to understand it. (See pp. 15–16.) Summarizing (and acknowledging) others’ writing in your own text is a good way to support your ideas. (See pp. 43, 44, and 46.) Contrast PARAPHRASE.

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Questions on Language 1. What is the EFFECT of “I put her out of her misery” (par. 11)? What does this phrase usually mean?

Effect The result of an event or action, usually considered together with CAUSE as a method of development. See the discussion of cause and effect in Chapter 10. In discussing writing, the term effect also refers to the impression a word, a sentence, a paragraph, or an entire work makes on the reader: how convincing it is, whether it elicits an emotional response, what associations it conjures up, and so on.

2. What does Tannen mean by a “right-between-the-eyes style” (par. 12)? What is the FIGURE OF SPEECH involved here?

Figures of speech Expressions that depart from the literal meanings of words for the sake of emphasis or vividness. To say “She’s a jewel” doesn’t mean that the subject of praise is literally a kind of shining stone; the statement makes sense because the CONNOTATIONS of jewel come to mind: rare, priceless, worth cherishing. Some figures of speech involve comparisons of two objects apparently unlike:

3. What is the effect of Tannen’s use of figurative verbs, such as “barking” (par. 11) and “erupted” (20)? Find at least one other example of the use of a verb in a nonliteral sense. 4. Look up any of the following words whose meanings you are unsure of: synonymous, self-deprecating (par. 4); lucid, tentativeness (11); intrinsically (12); reciprocate (14); adrenaline, spur (17); contentious, hedge (18); sparring, rebuttal (19); adage (20); soliciting (23); commiserating (24); initiate, condescended, impasse (25); chronic, malcontent (26); razzing (28); retorted (29).

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Suggestions for Writing 1. FROM JOURNAL TO ESSAY Write an essay classifying the examples from your journal entry (p. 305) into categories of your own devising. You might sort out the examples by context (“phone blunders,” “faulty farewells”), by purpose (“nervous tics,” “space fillers”), or by some other principle of classification. Given your subject matter, you might want to adopt a humorous TONE.

Tone The way a writer expresses his or her regard for subject, AUDIENCE, or self. Through word choice, sentence structures, and what is actually said, the writer conveys an attitude and sets a prevailing spirit. Tone in writing varies as greatly as tone of voice varies in conversation. It can be serious, distant, flippant, angry, enthusiastic, sincere, sympathetic. Whatever tone a writer chooses, usually it informs an entire essay and helps a reader decide how to respond. For examples of strong tone, see the essays by Diane Ackerman, Brian Doyle, Jessica Mitford, David Sedaris, Russell Baker, Chitra Divakaruni, Tal Fortgang, and Judy Brady. See also page 416.

2. How true do you find Tannen’s assessment of miscommunication between the sexes? Consider the conflicts you have experienced yourself or observed — between your parents, among fellow students or coworkers, in fictional portrayals in books and movies. You could also go beyond your personal experiences and observations by researching the opinions of other experts (linguists, psychologists, sociologists, and so on). Write an essay confirming or questioning Tannen’s GENERALIZATIONS, backing up your (and perhaps others’) views with your own examples.

Generalization A statement about a class based on an examination of some of its members: “Lions are fierce.” The more members examined and the more representative they are of the class, the sturdier the generalization. The statement “Solar energy saves home owners money” would be challenged by home owners who have yet to recover their installation costs. “Solar energy can save home owners money in the long run” would be a sounder generalization. Insufficient or nonrepresentative EVIDENCE often leads to a hasty generalization, such as “All freshmen hate their roommates” or “Men never express their feelings.” Words such as all, every, only, never, and always have to be used with care: “Some men don’t express their feelings” is more credible. Making a trustworthy generalization involves the use of INDUCTIVE REASONING (discussed on pp. 410–411).

3. CRITICAL WRITING Tannen insists that “neither [communication] style is intrinsically better” (par. 12), that “[t]here is no ‘right’ way to talk” (30). What do you make of this refusal to take sides in the battle of the sexes? Is Tannen always successful? Is absolute neutrality possible, or even desirable, when it comes to such divisive issues? 4. CONNECTIONS Tannen offers some of her own experiences as examples of communication blunders, and she often uses the firstperson I or we in explaining her categories. In contrast, the author of the next essay, William Lutz, takes a more distant approach in classifying types of misleading language called doublespeak. Which of these approaches, personal or more distant, do you find more effective, and why? When, in your view, is it appropriate to inject yourself into your writing, and when is it not?

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Deborah Tannen on Writing Though “But What Do You Mean?” is written for a general audience, Deborah Tannen is a linguistics scholar who does considerable academic writing. One debate among scholarly writers is whether it is appropriate to incorporate personal experiences and biases into their papers, especially given the goal of objectivity in conducting and reporting research. The October 1996 PMLA (Publications of the Modern Language Association) printed a discussion of the academic uses of the personal, with contributions from more than two dozen scholars. Tannen’s comments, excerpted here, focused on the first-person I.

When I write academic prose, I use the first person, and I instruct my students to do the same. The principle that researchers should acknowledge their participation in their work is an outgrowth of a humanistic approach to linguistic analysis…. Understanding discourse is not a passive act of decoding but a creative act of imagining a scene (composed of people engaged in culturally recognizable activities) within which the ideas being talked about have meaning. The listener’s active participation in sense making both results from and creates interpersonal involvement. For researchers to deny their involvement in their interpreting of discourse would be a logical and ethical violation of this framework…. [O]bjectivity in the analysis of interactions is impossible anyway. Whether they took part in the interaction or not, researchers identify with one or another speaker, are put off or charmed by the styles of participants. This one reminds you of a cousin you adore; that one sounds like a neighbor you despise. Researchers are human beings, not atomic particles or chemical elements…. Another danger of claiming objectivity rather than acknowledging and correcting for subjectivity is that scholars who don’t reveal their participation in interactions they analyze risk the appearance of hiding it. “Following is an exchange that occurred between a professor and a student,” I have read in articles in my field. The speakers are identified as “A” and “B.” The reader is not told that the professor, A (of course the professor is A and the student B), is the author. Yet that knowledge is crucial to contextualizing the author’s interpretation. Furthermore, the impersonal designations A and B are another means of constructing a false objectivity. They obscure the fact that human interaction is being analyzed, and they interfere with the reader’s understanding. The letters replace what in the author’s mind are names and voices and personas that are the basis for understanding the discourse. Readers, given only initials, are left to scramble for understanding by imagining people in place of letters. Avoiding self-reference by using the third person also results in the depersonalization of knowledge. Knowledge and understanding do not occur in abstract isolation. They always and only occur among people…. Denying that scholarship is a personal endeavor entails a failure to understand and correct for the inevitable bias that human beings bring to all their enterprises. The Brief Bedford Reader on Writing In arguing for the use of the first-person I in scholarly prose, Tannen is speaking primarily about its use in her own field, linguistics. From your experience with ACADEMIC WRITING, is her argument applicable to other disciplines, such as history, biology, psychology, or government? What have your teachers in other courses advised you about writing in the first person? For our guidelines on choosing an appropriate P