English III Spring Final Exam Review 2014 - Ms. Noel's ...



English III Spring Final Exam Review 2014Close Reading and Analysis: from Huckleberry Finn (Qs 12)Read and annotate for the following: suspense, metaphor, onomatopoeia, simile, plot, internal conflict, irony, foreshadowing, paraphrasing, use of quotation marks, and character traits.Well, I went fooling along in the deep woods till I judged I warn't far from the foot of the island. I had my gun along, but I hadn't shot nothing; it was for protection; thought I would kill some game nigh home. About this time I mighty near stepped on a good-sized snake, and it went sliding off through the grass and flowers, and I after it, trying to get a shot at it. I clipped along, and all of a sudden I bounded right on to the ashes of a camp fire that was still smoking. Well, by this time I was most down to the foot of the island. A little ripply, cool breeze begun to blow, and that was as good as saying the night was about done. I give her a turn with the paddle and brung her nose to shore; then I got my gun and slipped out and into the edge of the woods. I sat down there on a log, and looked out through the leaves. I see the moon go off watch, and the darkness begin to blanket the river. But in a little while I see a pale streak over the treetops, and knowed the day was coming. So I took my gun and slipped off towards where I had run across that camp fire, stopping every minute or two to listen. But I hadn't no luck somehow; I couldn't seem to find the place. But by and by, sure enough, I catched a glimpse of fire away through the trees. I went for it, cautious and slow. By and by I was close enough to have a look, and there laid a man on the ground. It most give me the fantods. He had a blanket around his head, and his head was nearly in the fire. I set there behind a clump of bushes in about six foot of him, and kept my eyes on him steady. It was getting gray daylight now. Pretty soon he gapped and stretched himself and hove off the blanket, and it was Miss Watson's Jim!"Doan' le's talk about it, Huck. Po' niggers can't have no luck. I awluz 'spected dat rattlesnake-skin warn't done wid its work." ???"I wish I'd never seen that snake-skin, Jim -- I do wish I'd never laid eyes on it." ???"It ain't yo' fault, Huck; you didn' know. Don't you blame yo'self 'bout it." When it was daylight, here was the clear Ohio water inshore, sure enough, and outside was the old regular Muddy! So it was all up with Cairo.We talked it all over. It wouldn't do to take to the shore; we couldn't take the raft up the stream, of course. There warn't no way but to wait for dark, and start back in the canoe and take the chances. So we slept all day amongst the cottonwood thicket, so as to be fresh for the work, and when we went back to the raft about dark the canoe was gone! We could hear her pounding along, but we didn't see her good till she was close. She aimed right for us. Often they do that and try to see how close they can come without touching; sometimes the wheel bites off a sweep, and then the pilot sticks his head out and laughs, and thinks he's mighty smart. Well, here she comes, and we said she was going to try and shave us; but she didn't seem to be sheering off a bit. She was a big one, and she was coming in a hurry, too, looking like a black cloud with rows of glow-worms around it; but all of a sudden she bulged out, big and scary, with a long row of wide-open furnace doors shining like red-hot teeth, and her monstrous bows and guards hanging right over us. There was a yell at us, and a jingling of bells to stop the engines, a powwow of cussing, and whistling of steam -- and as Jim went overboard on one side and I on the other, she come smashing straight through the raft. ?I sung out for Jim about a dozen times, but I didn't get any answer; so I grabbed a plank that touched me while I was "treading water," and struck out for shore, shoving it ahead of me. But I made out to see that the drift of the current was towards the left-hand shore, which meant that I was in a crossing; so I changed off and went that way. It was one of these long, slanting, two-mile crossings; so I was a good long time in getting over. I made a safe landing, and clumb up the bank. Writing Skills - Revising and Editing (Q’s 12)Highlight each sentence error and make corrections based upon: vivid verbs, transitional words, spelling, and effective ways to revise.(1) With a weight of 13,632 tons and a length of 729 feet, the Edmund Fitzgerald wasthe largest carrier on the Great Lakes when it first sailed in 1958. (2) Seventeen years later, the ship would sink in Lake Superior. (3) At 2:20 p.m. on November 9th, 1975, the Fitzgerald departed, Superior, Wisconsin, destined for Detroit. (4) The National Weather Service issued gale warnings for the area. (5) The next day, winds gusting up to 70 knots and waves cresting as high as 30 feet shook the ship. (6) Water came onto the deck. (7) At approximately 7:15 that evening, the ship vanished from radar observation, and all 29 crew members were lost. (8) That fateful day of November 10, 1975, will always be remembered. (9) It was later discovered that the ship had dropped about 530 feet to the bottom of Lake Superior.Literary Analysis (Q’s 5)Read the following passage from Rip Van Winkle by Washington IrvingRead and annotate for the following: tone, point of view, imagery, irony, and dialect. Identify advanced vocabulary using context clues. Whoever has made a voyage up the Hudson must remember the Katskill Mountains. They are a dismembered branch of the great Appalachian family, and are seen away to the west of the river swelling up to the noble height and lording it over the surrounding country. Every change of season, every change of weather, indeed every hour of the day, produces some change in the magical shapes and hues of these mountains, and they are regarded by all the good wives far and near as perfect barometers. When the weather is fair and settled they are clothed in blue and purple, and print their bold outlines in the clear evening sky; but sometimes when the rest of the landscape is cloudless, they will gather a hood of gray vapors about their summits, which, in the last rays of the setting sun, will glow and light up like a crown of glory. At the foot of these fairy mountains the voyager may have descried the light smoke curling up from a village, whose shingle roofs gleam among the trees, just where the blue tints of the upland melt away into the fresh green of the nearer landscape. It is a little village of great antiquity, having been founded by some of the Dutch colonists in the early times of the province, just about the beginning of the government of the good Peter Stuyvesent. (may he rest in peace) and there were some of the houses of the original settlers standing within a few years; built of small yellow bricks brought from Holland, having lattice windows and Gable fronts, surmounted with weathercocks. In that same village, and in one of these very houses (which to tell the precise truth was sadly timeworn and weather-beaten) there lived many years since, while the country was yet a province of Great Britain, a simple good-natured fellow of the name of Rip Van Winkle. He was a descendent of the Van Winkles who figured so gallantly in the chivalrous days of Peter Stuyvesant and accompanied him to the siege of Fort Christina. He inherited, however, but little of the martial character of his ancestors. I have observed that he was a good-natured man; he was moreover a kind neighbor, and an obedient, henpecked husband. Indeed to the latter circumstance might be owing that meekness of spirit which gained him such universal popularity; for those men are most apt to be obsequious and conciliating abroad, who are under the discipline of shrews at home. Their tempers doubtless are rendered pliant and malleable in the fiery furnace of domestic tribulation, and a curtain lecture is worth all the sermons in the world for teaching the virtues of patience and long-suffering. A termagant wife may therefore in some respects be considered a blessing- and if so, Rip Van Winkle was thrice blessed.Literary device and VocabularyDefine and be able to identify each of the following(Q’s 9):Satire, irony, point of view, stanza, assonance, imagery, speaker, rhythm, moodMonotony, platoon, tourniquet, rectitude, acquiescenceRead and annotate the following piece for theme, connotation and meaning of advanced vocabulary, setting, social context, irony, tone, inferences, internal and external conflict. An Episode of War (Q’s 13) Stephen Crane The lieutenant’s rubber blanket lay on the ground, and upon it he had poured the company’s supply of coffee. Corporals and other representatives of the grimy and hot- throated men who lined the breastwork had come for each squad’s portion. The lieutenant was frowning and serious at this task of division. His lips pursed as he drew with his sword various crevices in the heap until brown squares of coffee, astoundingly equal in size, appeared on the blanket. He was on the verge of a great triumph in mathematics and the corporals were thronging forward, each to reap a little square, when suddenly the lieutenant cried out and looked quickly at a man near him as if he suspected it was a case of personal assault. The others cried out also when they saw 10 blood upon the lieutenant’s sleeve. He had winced like a man stung, swayed dangerously, and then straightened. The sound of his hoarse breathing was plainly audible. He looked sadly, mystically, over the breastwork at the green face of a wood where now were many little puffs of white smoke. During this moment, the men about him gazed statue-like and silent, astonished and awed by this catastrophe which had happened when catastrophes were not expected—when they had leisure to observe it. As the lieutenant stared at the wood, they too swung their heads so that for another moment all hands, still silent, contemplated the distant forest as if their minds were fixed upon the mystery of a bullet’s journey.20 The officer had, of course, been compelled to take his sword at once into his lefthand. He did not hold it by the hilt. He gripped it at the middle of the blade, awkwardly. Turning his eyes from the hostile wood, he looked at the sword as he held it there, and seemed puzzled as to what to do with it, where to put it. In short this weapon had of a sudden become a strange thing to him. He looked at it in a kind of stupefaction, as if hehad been miraculously endowed with a trident, a sceptre, or a spade. Finally, he tried to sheath it. To sheath a sword held by the left hand, at the middle of the blade, in a scabbard hung at the left hip, is a feat worthy of a sawdust ring. This wounded officer engaged in a desperate struggle with the sword and the wobbling scabbard, and during the time of it, he breathed like a wrestler.30 But at this instant the men, the spectators, awoke from their stone-like poses andcrowded forward sympathetically. The orderly-sergeant took the sword and tenderlyplaced it in the scabbard. At the time, he leaned nervously backward, and did not alloweven his finger to brush the body of the lieutenant. A wound gives strange dignity to himwho bears it. Well men shy from this new and terrible majesty. It is as if the woundedman’s hand is upon the curtain which hangs before the revelations of all existence, themeaning of ants, potentates, wars, cities, sunshine, snow, a feather dropped from abird’s wing, and the power of it sheds radiance upon a bloody form, and makes theother men understand sometimes that they are little. His comrades look at him with large eyesthoughtfully. Moreover, they fear vaguely that the weight of a finger upon him might40 send him headlong, precipitate the tragedy, hurl him at once into the dim grey unknown. And so the orderly-sergeant while sheathing the sword leaned nervously backward. There were others who proffered assistance. One timidly presented his shoulder and asked the lieutenant if he cared to lean upon it, but the latter waved them away mournfully. He wore the look of one who knows he is the victim of a terrible disease and understands his helplessness. He again stared over the breastwork at the forest, and then turning went slowly rearward. He held his right wrist tenderly in his left hand, as ifthe wounded arm was made of very brittle glass. And the men in silence stared at the wood, then at the departing lieutenant—then at the wood, then at the lieutenant.50 As the wounded officer passed from the line of battle, he was enabled to see many things which as a participant in the fight were unknown to him. He saw a general on a black horse gazing over the lines of blue infantry at the green woods which veiled his problems. An aide galloped furiously, dragged his horse suddenly to a halt, saluted, and presented a paper. It was, for a wonder, precisely like an historical painting. To the rear of the general and his staff, a group, composed of a bugler, two or three orderlies, and the bearer of the corps standard, all upon maniacal horses, were working like slaves to hold their ground, preserve their respectful interval, while the shells bloomed in the air about them, and caused their chargers to make furious quivering leaps.60 A battery, a tumultuous and shining mass, was swirling toward the right. The wild thud of hoofs, the cries of the riders shouting blame and praise, menace and encouragement, and, last, the roar of the wheels, the slant of the glistening guns, brought the lieutenant to an intent pause. The battery swept in curves that stirred the heart;it made halts as dramatic as the crash of a wave on the rocks, and when it fled onward, this aggregation of wheels, levers, motors, had a beautiful unity, as if it were a missile. The sound of it was a war-chorus that reached into the depths of man’s emotion. The lieutenant, still holding his arm as if it were of glass, stood watching this battery until all detail of it was lost, save the figures of the riders, which rose and fell and waved lashes over the black mass.70 Later he turned his eyes toward the battle where the shooting sometimes crackled like bush-fires, sometimes sputtered with exasperating irregularity, and sometimes reverberated like the thunder. He saw the smoke rolling upward and saw crowds of men who ran and cheered, or stood and blazed away at the inscrutable distance. He came upon some stragglers and they told him how to find the field hospital. They described its exact location. In fact these men, no longer having part in the battle, knew more of it than others. They told the performance of every corps, every division, the opinion of every general. The lieutenant, carrying his wounded arm rearward, looked upon them with wonder. At the roadside a brigade was making coffee and buzzing with talk like a girls’80 boarding-school. Several officers came out to him and inquired concerning things ofwhich he knew nothing. One, seeing his arm, began to scold. “Why, man, that’s no wayto do. You want to fix that thing.” He appropriated the lieutenant and the lieutenant’swound. He cut the sleeve and laid bare the arm, every nerve of which softly flutteredunder his touch. He bound his handkerchief over the wound, scolding away in themeantime. His tone allowed one to think that he was in the habit of being wounded everyday. The lieutenant hung his head, feeling, in this presence, that he did not know how tobe correctly wounded. The low white tents of the hospital were grouped around an old school-house.There was here a singular commotion. In the foreground two ambulances interlocked90 wheels in the deep mud. The drivers were tossing the blame of it back and forth,gesticulating and berating, while from the ambulances, both crammed with wounded,there came an occasional groan. An interminable crowd of bandaged men were comingand going. Great numbers sat under the trees nursing heads or arms or legs. There was adispute of some kind raging on the steps of the school-house. Sitting with his backagainst a tree a man with a face as grey as a new army blanket was serenely smoking acorn-cob pipe. The lieutenant wished to rush forward and inform him that he was dying. A busy surgeon was passing near the lieutenant. “Good morning,” he said with a friendly smile. Then he caught sight of the lieutenant’s arm and his face at once changed. “Well, let’s have a look at it.” He seemed possessed suddenly of a great contempt for the100 lieutenant. This wound evidently placed the latter on a very low social plane. The doctorcried out impatiently. What mutton-head had tied it up that way anyhow. The lieutenant answered: “Oh, a man.” When the wound was disclosed the doctor fingered it disdainfully. “Humph,” he said. “You come along with me and I’ll ’tend to you.” His voice contained the same scorn as if he were saying: “You will have to go to jail.” The lieutenant had been very meek but now his face flushed, and he looked into the doctor’s eyes. “I guess I won’t have it amputated,” he said. “Nonsense, man! nonsense! nonsense!” cried the doctor. “Come along, now. I won’t amputate it. Come along. Don’t be a baby.”110 “Let go of me,” said the lieutenant, holding back wrathfully. His glance fixed upon the door of the old school-house, as sinister to him as the portals of death. And this is the story of how the lieutenant lost his arm. When he reached home his sisters, his mother, his wife, sobbed for a long time at the sight of the flat sleeve. “Oh, well,” he said, standing shamefaced amid these tears, “I don’t suppose it matters so much as all that.”Know the following information about The Great Gatsby (Q’s 9)Characters, conflict, plot, setting, and symbolism.Read and annotate the following poem for inferences about the speaker, imagery, context clues, tone, irony, and form. Reluctance (Q’s 11) Robert Frost Out through the fields and the woods And over the walls I have wended; I have climbed the hills of view And looked at the world, and descended;5 I have come by the highway home, And lo, it is ended. The leaves are all dead on the ground, Save those that the oak is keeping To ravel them one by one10 And let them go scraping and creeping Out over the crusted snow, When others are sleeping. And the dead leaves lie huddled and still, No longer blown hither and thither;15 The last lone aster is gone; The flowers of the witch hazel wither; The heart is still aching to seek, But the feet question “Whither?” Ah, when to the heart of man20 Was it ever less than a treason To go with the drift of things, To yield with a grace to reason, And bow and accept the end Of a love or a season?“Reluctance” by Robert Frost, from The Poetry of Robert Frost , edited by Edward ConneryLathem. Copyright 1939, ? 1967, 1969 by Henry Holt and Company, L.L.C. Reprinted by permission ofHenry Holt and Company, L.L.C.Review the vocabulary in your study guide for The Things They Carried. (Q’s 5)Review the correct formatting for a Works Cited Page as well as proper in-text citation. (Q’s 12)Read and annotate the following short story for inferences, primary conflict, characterization, climax, and literary devices.Death by Scrabble (Q’s 12)or Tile M for Murder by Charlie FishPart 1 It's a hot day and I hate my wife. ???? We're playing Scrabble. That's how bad it is. I'm 42 years old, it's a blistering hot Sunday afternoon and all I can think of to do with my life is to play Scrabble. ???? I should be out, doing exercise, spending money, meeting people. I don't think I've spoken to anyone except my wife since Thursday morning. On Thursday morning I spoke to the milkman. ???? My letters are crap. ???? I play, appropriately, BEGIN. With the N on the little pink star. Twenty-two points. ???? I watch my wife's smug expression as she rearranges her letters. Clack, clack, clack. I hate her. If she wasn't around, I'd be doing something interesting right now. I'd be climbing Mount Kilimanjaro. I'd be starring in the latest Hollywood blockbuster. I'd be sailing the Vendee Globe on a 60-foot clipper called the New Horizons - I don't know, but I'd be doing something. ???? She plays JINXED, with the J on a double-letter score. 30 points. She's beating me already. Maybe I should kill her. ???? If only I had a D, then I could play MURDER. That would be a sign. That would be permission. ???? I start chewing on my U. It's a bad habit, I know. All the letters are frayed. I play WARMER for 22 points, mainly so I can keep chewing on my U. As I'm picking new letters from the bag, I find myself thinking - the letters will tell me what to do. If they spell out KILL, or STAB, or her name, or anything, I'll do it right now. I'll finish her off.???? ?? My rack spells MIHZPA. Plus the U in my mouth. Ugggh. Part 2The heat of the sun is pushing at me through the window. I can hear buzzing insects outside. I hope they're not bees. My cousin Harold swallowed a bee when he was nine, his throat swelled up and he died. I hope that if they are bees, they fly into my wife's throat. ???? She plays SWEATIER, using all her letters. 24 points plus a 50 point bonus. If it wasn't too hot to move I would strangle her right now. ???? I am getting sweatier. It needs to rain, to clear the air. As soon as that thought crosses my mind, I find a good word. HUMID on a double-word score, using the D of JINXED. The U makes a little splash of saliva when I put it down. Another 22 points. I hope she has lousy letters.She tells me she has lousy letters. For some reason, I hate her more. ???? She plays FAN, with the F on a double-letter, and gets up to fill the kettle and turn on the air conditioning. It's the hottest day for ten years and my wife is turning on the kettle. This is why I hate my wife. I play ZAPS, with the Z doubled, and she gets a static shock off the air conditioning unit. I find this remarkably satisfying. She sits back down with a heavy sigh and starts fiddling with her letters again. Clack clack. Clack clack. I feel a terrible rage build up inside me. Some inner poison slowly spreading through my limbs, and when it gets to my fingertips I am going to jump out of my chair, spilling the Scrabble tiles over the floor, and I am going to start hitting her again and again and again. The rage gets to my fingertips and passes. My heart is beating. I'm sweating. I think my face actually twitches. Then I sigh, deeply, and sit back into my chair. The kettle starts whistling. As the whistle builds it makes me feel hotter. ???? She plays READY on a double-word for 18 points, then goes to pour herself a cup of tea. No I do not want one. ???? I steal a blank tile from the letter bag when she's not looking, and throw back a V from my rack. She gives me a suspicious look. She sits back down with her cup of tea, making a cup-ring on the table, as I play an 8-letter word: CHEATING, using the A of READY. 64 points, including the 50-point bonus, which means I'm beating her now. ???? She asks me if I cheated. ???? I really, really hate her. ???? She plays IGNORE on the triple-word for 21 points. The score is 153 to her, 155 to me. ???? The steam rising from her cup of tea makes me feel hotter. I try to make murderous words with the letters on my rack, but the best I can do is SLEEP. My wife sleeps all the time. She slept through an argument our next-door neighbors had that resulted in a broken door, a smashed TV and a Teletubby Lala doll with all the stuffing coming out. And then she berated me for being moody the next day from lack of sleepIf only there was some way for me to get rid of her. ???? I spot a chance to use all my letters. EXPLODES, using the X of JINXED. 72 points. That'll show her. As I put the last letter down, there is a deafening bang and the air conditioning unit fails. My heart is racing, but not from the shock of the bang. I don't believe it - but it can't be a coincidence. The letters made it happen. I played the word EXPLODES, and it happened - the air conditioning unit exploded. And before, I played the word CHEATING when I cheated. And ZAP when my wife got the electric shock. The words are coming true. The letters are choosing their future. The whole game is - JINXED. Part 3My wife plays SIGN, with the N on a triple-letter, for 10 points.I have to test this. ???? I have to play something and see if it happens. Something unlikely, to prove that the letters are making it happen. My rack is ABQYFWE. That doesn't leave me with a lot of options. I start frantically chewing on the B. ???? I play FLY, using the L of EXPLODES. I sit back in my chair and close my eyes, waiting for the sensation of rising up from my chair. Waiting to fly. ???? Stupid. I open my eyes, and there's a fly. An insect, buzzing around above the Scrabble board, surfing the thermals from the tepid cup of tea. That proves nothing. The fly could have been there anyway. I need to play something unambiguous. Something that cannot be misinterpreted. Something absolute and final. Something terminal. Something murderous. ???? My wife plays CAUTION, using a blank tile for the N. 18 points. ???? My rack is AQWEUK, plus the B in my mouth. I am awed by the power of the letters, and frustrated that I cannot wield it. Maybe I should cheat again, and pick out the letters I need to spell SLASH or SLAY. Then it hits me. The perfect word. A powerful, dangerous, terrible word. ???? I play QUAKE for 19 points.I wonder if the strength of the quake will be proportionate to how many points it scored. I can feel the trembling energy of potential in my veins. I am commanding fate. I am manipulating destiny. ???? My wife plays DEATH for 34 points, just as the room starts to shake. I gasp with surprise and vindication - and the B that I was chewing on gets lodged in my throat. I try to cough. My face goes red, then blue. My throat swells. I draw blood clawing at my neck. The earthquake builds to a climax. ???? I fall to the floor. My wife just sits there, watching. ................
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