Осознанное чтение тексты и задания = Mindful Reading texts and tasks. Учебное пособие = Textbook-1

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the author gives an exaggerated description of the commercial and the reader must be aware of its irony, which is achieved with the help of hyperboles, parallel structures and repetitions. Inner represented speech of the characters sounds so plausible and natural thanks to the masterly use of informal words and syntactical structures. Moreover, with a few masterly touches the author makes us penetrate into the nature of human relationships, exposing the conflicts and problems Rosa and Andrew are experiencing. The analysis of the contents of the text in line with the language forms employed by the author for his artistic purposes makes us evaluate and appreciate the author’s literary accomplishment.

Text 3.2

Beyond the text: Matching

1)phonograph

2)epaulette

3)syllabus

4)to bring out the best

5)to take it out on somebody

6)to pop up

7)the grape-vine

8)crew-cut

9)to get bearings

10)on one foot

a)subjects that are studies in a particular course

b)a hairstyle in which the hair is cut very short

c)record player

d)to treat somebody badly just because you are angry or upset

e)to figure out one’s position

f)to appear unexpectedly

g)a decoration worn on the shoulder of a military coat

h)effortlessly, off-handedly

i)an informal way in which the information or gossip is shared

j)to cause somebody to behave in the best manner

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Sept. 25

Dear Ellen,

It’s FTG (Friday Thank God), which means I need not set the alarm for 6:30 tomorrow morning; I can wash a blouse, think a thought, write a letter.

Congratulations on the baby’s new tooth. Soon there is bound to be another tooth and another and another, and before you know it, little Suzie will start going to school, and her troubles will just begin.

Though I hope that by the time she gets into the public high school system, things will be different. At least, they keep promising that things will be different. I’m told that since the recent strike threats, negotiations with the United Federation of Teachers, and greater public interest, we are enjoying “improved conditions”. But in the two weeks that I have been here, conditions seem greatly unimproved.

You ask me what I am teaching. Hard to say. Professor Winters advised teaching “not the subject but the whole child”. The English Syllabus urges “individualization and enrichment” – which means giving individual attention to each student to bring out the best in him and enlarge his scope beyond the prescribed work. Bester says “to motivate and distribute” books – that is, to get students ready and eager to read. All this is easier said than done. In fact, all this is plain impossible.

Many of our kids – though physically mature – can’t read beyond 4th and 5th grade level. Their background consists of the simplest comics and thrillers. They’ve been exposed to some ten years of schooling, yet they don’t know what a sentence is.

The books we are required to teach frequently have nothing to do with anything except the fact that they have always been taught, or that there is an oversupply of them, or that some committee or other was asked to come up with some titles.

I’ve been trying to teach without books. There was one heady moment when I was able to excite the class by an idea: I had put on the blackboard Browning’s “A man’s reach should exceed his grasp, or what’s a heaven for?” and we got involved in a spirited discussion of aspiration vs. reality. Is it wise, I asked, to aim higher than one’s capacity? Does it not doom one to failure? No, no, some said, that’s

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ambition and progress! No, no, others cried, that’s frustration and defeat! What about hope? What about despair? – You’ve got to be practical! – You’ve got to have a dream! They said this in their own words, you understand, startled into discovery. To the young, clichés seem fleshly minted. Hitch your wagon to a star! And when the dismissal bell rang, they paid me the highest compliment: they groaned! They crowded in the doorway, chirping like agitated sparrows, pecking at the seeds I had strewn – when who should materialize but Admiral Ass*.

“What is the meaning of this noise?”

“It’s the sound of thinking, Mr. McHabe,” I said.

The cardinal sin, strange as it may seem in an institution of learning, is talking. There are others, of course – sins, I mean, and I seem to have committed a good number. Yesterday I was playing my record of Gielgud* reading Shakespeare. I had brought my own phonograph to school (no one could find the Requisition Forms for “Audio-Visual Aids” – that’s the name for the school record player) and I had succeeded, I thought, in establishing a mood. I mean, I got them to be quiet, when – enter Admiral Ass, in full regalia, epaulettes quivering with indignation. He snapped his fingers for me to stop the phonograph, waited for the turntable to stop turning, and pronounced:

“There will be a series of three bells rung three times indicating Emergency Shelter Drill. Playing records does not encourage the orderly evacuation of the class.”

I mention McHabe because he has crystallized into The Enemy.

…

Chaos, waste, cries for help – strident, yet unheard. Or am I romanticizing? That’s what Paul says; he only shrugs his shoulders and makes up funny verses about everyone. That’s Paul Barringer – a writer who teaches English on one foot, as it were, just waiting to be published. He’s very attractive: a tan crew cut, a white smile with lots of teeth; one eyebrow higher than the other. All the girls are in love with him.

There are a few good, hard-working, patient people… who manage to teach against insuperable odds; a few brilliantly endowed

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teachers who – unknown and unsung – work their magic in the classroom; a few who truly love young people. The rest, it seems to me, have either given up, or are taking it out on the kids. “Those who can, do, those who can’t, teach.” Like most sayings, this is only half true. Those who can, teach; those who can’t – the bitter, the misguided, the failures from other fields – find in the school system an excuse or a refuge. …

And Dr. Bester, my immediate supervisor, Chairman of the English Department, I can’t figure out at all. He is a dour, desiccated little man, remote and prissy. Like most chairmen, he teaches only one class of Seniors; the most experienced teachers are frequently promoted right out of the classroom! Kids respect him; teachers dislike him – possibly because he is given to popping up unexpectedly, to observe them. “The ghost walks” is the grape-vine signal for his visits. Bea told me he started out as a great teacher, but he’s been soured by the trivia-in- triplicate* which his administrative duties impose. I hope he doesn’t come to observe me until I get my bearings.

(taken from Up the Down Staircase by Bel Kaufman // Практический курс английского языка дляV курса / В.Д. Аракин и др.)

*Admiral Ass: the nickname given to James McHabe, the administrative assistant, because he signed his innumerable circulars “James J. McHabe, Adm. Asst.”

*Gielgud, John: an outstanding English actor and producer *Trivia-in-triplicate: from trivia, a Latin noun in the plural, which

means trifles; triplicate threefold (e.g. to draw up a document in triplicate – to write a document together with three copies of it). The author of the letter wants to say that Bester is overburdened with his administrative duties.

Tasks

Google for some facts about Bel Kaufman Insert the necessary prepositions

Bel Kaufman’s Up the Down Staircase is one … the best-loved novels … our time. It has been translated … sixteen languages, made … a prize-winning motion picture, and staged … a play … high schools all … the United States; its very title has become part …

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the American idiom. Never before has a novel so compellingly laid bare the inner workings … a metropolitan high school. Up the Down Staircase is the funny and touching story … a committed, idealistic teacher whose dash … school bureaucracy is a timeless lesson … students, teachers, parents--anyone concerned … public education. Bel Kaufman lets her characters speak … themselves through memos, letters, directives … the principal, comments by students, notes … teachers, and papers … desk drawers and wastebaskets, evoking a vivid picture of teachers fighting the good fight … all that stands in the way of good teaching.

Arrange the following sentences in the logical order

a)She quickly becomes discouraged during her first year at a large inner-city school.

b)Her mind is changed by the realization that she has indeed touched the lives of her students.

c)The plot revolves around Sylvia Barrett, a young idealistic high school teacher who hopes to nurture her students’ interest in classic literature (especially Chaucer) and writing.

d)Frustrated by petty bureaucracy (the name of the novel refers to an infraction one of her students was punished for), the indifference of her students, and the incompetence of many of her colleagues, she decides to leave public school to work in a smaller private setting.

Mindful reading: The epistolary novel

The epistolary novel is a novel told in the form of letters written by one or more of the characters. A modern epistolary novel may include emails, text messages, blogs etc. Give examples of epistolary novels and comment on the advantages and disadvantages of the choice of this genre for a writer.

1.Identify the status of the text, its functional style and styleforming features.

2.Consider the title of the novel. What anticipations and expectations does this title cause?

3.What is the subject matter of the text? Formulate the topic in one-two sentences.

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4.From whose point of view is the story presented? What does the author gain from this kind of narration? On the contrary, what is lost?

5.Who is the protagonist of the story? What kind of person is Sylvia Barrett and how do we get to know this? Can you identify with her?

6.What kind of person is Sylvia and how do we know it? Is it direct (explicit) or indirect (implicit) characterization of the protagonist? How does the speech characterize Sylvia? And what about speech portrayal of Admiral Ass? Are there any characters who are depicted directly?

7.Make a character sketch of Sylvia: think of her qualities starting with the first letters of her name. Some tips:

Self-starter Young Lively Vivacious Idealistic Ambitious

8.Think about the major conflict of the text. Is it the inner or the outer conflict? Who seems to embody all the vices of the school system? What impression does the character make on you and what is this effect largely due to?

9.Characterize the tone of the text. Think about the language of the fragment – how can you account for stylistically marked elements? (terms, colloquialisms, etc) What or who is the object of irony in the text?

10.What stylistic devices employed in the text do you find

especially effective?

Stop and check: What devices are used in the text? And what for?

1)“I can wash a blouse, think a thought, write a letter”. What stylistic device generates rhythm? Why is it important to repeat the indefinite article in the sentence? What does ‘a’ denote here, in your opinion? How can this case of repetition characterize Sylvia Barrett? Could you translate this sentence into Russian?

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2)“…they keep promising that things will be different”. What device emphasizes the word ‘promising’? Why is it important to lay stress on this word?

3)“…we are enjoying “improved conditions”. Why is the word combination given in inverted commas?

4)“…conditions seem greatly unimproved.” What stylistic device stresses the contradiction in this sentence?

5)Consider the sentence “I’ve been trying to teach without books.” What are the possible ways of translating it into Russian? What will your choice reflect?

6)Concentrate on the presentation of the discussion in class: “o, no, some said, that’s ambition and progress! No, no, others cried, that’s frustration and defeat! What about hope? What about despair? – You’ve got to be practical! – You’ve got to have a dream!” What devices help to make it sound expressive and emotional?

7)“They crowded in the doorway, chirping like agitated sparrows, pecking at the seeds I had strewn.” Comment on the imagery of the sentence.

8)Pick out stylistic devices related to the description of Admiral Ass. How do they portray him? And what about his nickname? How does his speech characterize him?

9)Identify epithets used in the text, what is their key function?

10)Pick out cases of expressive syntax (parallelism, nominative sentences, elliptical sentences, questions-in- the-narrative), how do they break the monotony of the letter?

11.Summarize your observations. Do the “what” (=the contents) and the “how” (=the language/ the form) of the text fit? Are they in balance or out of balance? How does their unity help communicate the message of the fragment (or, possibly, the book)? Do you find the language used to describe the experiences of a young high school teacher appropriate? What emotional response does the text evoke? Can you relate to Sylvia or not?

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Text 3.3

Beyond the text: Matching

1)loch

2)crag

3)gorge

4)to funnel

5)to petrify

6)folly

7)to unleash

8)boulder

a)a stupid action

b)to suddenly release a violent force

c)a lake (Scottish dialect)

d)to move through a narrow space

e)a high, rough mass of rock

f)a very large rock

g)to frighten somebody so that they are unable to speak or move

h)a deep, narrow valley with steep sides

Under Ice

Andy runs out across the ice. I am five years old and he is seven. Strathspeld is everywhere white; the sky is still and shining, hiding the sun in a dazzling, brilliant haze, its light somehow distanced by the intervening layer of high cloud overlooking a chill wilderness of snow. The mountain-tops are smothered, black crags violent spattered marks against that blankness; the hills and forests are blanketed too, the trees are frosted and the loch is hard and soft together, iced over then snowed upon. Here, beyond the gardens of the lodge and the woods and ornamental ponds, the loch narrows and becomes a river again, bending and funneling and quickening as it heads towards the rocks and falls and the shallow gorge beyond. Usually from here you can hear the thunder of the falls in the distance but today there is only silence.

I watch Andy run out. I shout after him but I don’t follow him. The bank on this side is low, only half a metre above the white plain of

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the snow-covered river. The grass and reeds around me are flattened under the sudden, overnight fall of snow. On the far side, where Andy is heading, the bank is tall and steep where the water has cut into the hill, removing sand and gravel and stones and leaving an overhang of earth and exposed, dangling tree roots; the dark gravel space under that ragged overhang is the only place I can see where there is no snow.

Andy is yelling as he runs, coat-tails flapping out behind him, gloved hands outspread, his head thrown back, the earflaps on his hat snapping and clapping like wings. He’s almost half-way across and suddenly I go from being terrified and annoyed to being exhilarated, intoxicated, overjoyed. We were told not to do this, told not to come here, told to sledge and throw snowballs and make snowmen all we wanted, but not even to come near the loch and the river, in case we fell through the ice; and yet Andy came here after we’d sledged for a while on the slope near the farm, walked down here through the woods despite my protests, and then when we got here to the river bank I said well, as long as we only looked, but then Andy just whooped and jumped down onto the boulder-lumped white slope of shore and sprinted out across the pure flat snow towards the far bank. At first I’m angry at him, frightened for him, but now suddenly I get this rush of joy, watching him race out there into the cold level space of the stilled river, free and warm and vivacious in that smoothed and frozen silence.

***

I think he’s done it, I think he’s across the river and safe and there’s a warm glow of vicarious accomplishment starting to well up within me, but then there’s a crackling noise and he falls; I think he’s tripped and fallen forward but he isn’t lying flat on the snow, he’s sunk up to his waist in it and there’s a pool of darkness spreading on the whiteness around him as he struggles, trying to lever himself out, and I can’t believe this is happening, can’t believe Andy isn’t going to jump free; I’m yelling in fear now, shouting his name, screaming out to him.

He struggles, turning round as he sinks deeper, chunks and edges of ice rearing into the air and making little puffs and fountains of snow as he tries to find purchase and push himself out. He’s calling out to me now but I can hardly hear him because I’m screaming so

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hard, wetting my pants as I squeeze the screams out. He’s holding his hand out to me, yelling at me, but I’m stuck there, terrified, screaming and I don’t know what to do, can’t think what to do, even while he’s yelling at me to help him, come out to him, get a branch, but I’m petrified at the thought of setting foot on that white, treacherous surface and I can’t imagine finding a branch, can’t think what to do as I look one way towards the tall trees above the hidden gorge and the other along the shore of the loch towards the boat-house but there are no branches, there’s only snow everywhere, and then Andy stops struggling and slips under the whiteness.

I stand still, quietened and numbed. I wait for him to come back up, but he doesn’t. I step back, then turn and run, the clinging wetness round my thighs going from warm to cold as I race beneath the snowshrouded trees towards the house.

I run into the arms of Andy’s parents walking with the dogs near the ornamental ponds and it seems like an age before I can tell them what’s happened because my voice won’t work and I can see the fear in their eyes and they’re asking, Where is Andrew? Where is Andrew? and eventually I can tell them and Mrs. Gould gives a strange little shuddering cry and Mr. Gould tells her to get the people in the house and phone for an ambulance and runs away down the path towards the river with the four Golden Labradors barking excitedly behind him.

I run to the house with Mrs. Gould and we get everybody – my mum and dad and the other guests – to come down to the river. My father carries me in his arms. At the riverside we can see Mr. Gould on his stomach out on the ice, pushing himself back from the hole in the river; people are shouting and running around; we head down the river towards the narrows and the gorge and my father slips and almost drops me and his breath smells of whisky and food. Then somebody calls out and they find Andy, round the bend in the river, down where the water reappears from a crust of ice and snow and swirls, lowered and reduced, round the rocks and wedged treetrunks before the lip of the falls, which sound muted and distant today, even this close.

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