When her grandmother’s health began to deteriorate in the
fall of 1994, Mary would make the drive from Washington, DC to Winchester every
few days.
She hated highway driving, finding it ugly and monotonous. She
preferred to take meandering back roads to her grandmother’s hospital. When she
drove through the rocky town of Harpers Ferry, the beauty of the rough waters
churning at the intersection of the Shenandoah and Potomac rivers always
captivated her.
Toward the end of her journey, Mary had to get on highway
81. It was here that she discovered a surprising bit of beauty during one of
her trips. Along the median of the highway, there was a long stretch of
wildflowers. They were thin and delicate and purple, and swayed in the wind as
if whispering poems to each other.
The first time she saw the flowers, Mary was seized by an uncontrollable
urge to pull over on the highway and yank a bunch from the soil. She carried
them into her grandmother’s room when she arrived at the hospital and placed
them in a water pitcher by her bed. For a moment her grandmother seemed more
lucid than usual. She thanked Mary for the flowers, commented on their beauty
and asked where she had gotten them. Mary was overjoyed by the ability of the
flowers to wake something up inside her ailing grandmother.
Afterwards, Mary began carrying scissors in the car during
her trips to visit her grandmother. She would quickly glide onto the shoulder,
jump out of the car, and clip a bunch of flowers. Each time Mary placed the
flowers in the pitcher, her grandmother’s eyes would light up and they would
have a splendid conversation.
One morning in late October, Mary got a call that her
grandmother had taken a turn for the worse. Mary was in such a hurry to get to
her grandmother that she sped past her flower spot. She decided to turn around
head several miles back, and cut a bunch. Mary arrived at the hospital to find her
grandmother very weak and unresponsive. She placed flowers in the pitcher and
sat down. She felt a squeeze on her fingers. It was the last conversation they
had.
What do the flowers come to signify most for Mary?
Many people like to eat pizza, but
not everyone knows knows how to make it. Making the perfect pizza can be complicated,
but there are lots of ways for you to make basic version at home.
When you make pizza, you must
begin with the crust. The crust can be hard to make. If you want to make the
crust yourself, you will have to make dough using flour, water, and yeast. You
will have to knead the dough with your hands. If you do not have enough time to
do this, you can use a prepared crust that you buy from the store.
After you have chosen your crust,
you must then add the sauce. Making your own sauce from scratch can take a long
time. You have to buy tomatoes, peel them, and then cook them with spices. If
this sounds like too much work, you can also purchase jarred sauce from the
store. Many jarred sauces taste almost as good as the kind you make at home.
Now that you have your crust and
your sauce, you need to add the cheese. Cheese comes from milk, which comes
from cows. Do you have a cow in your backyard? Do you how to milk the cow? Do
you know how to turn that milk into cheese? If not, you might want to buy
cheese from the grocery store instead of making it yourself. When you have the
crust, sauce, and cheese ready, you can add other toppings. Some people like to
put meat on their pizza, while other people like to add vegetables. Some people
even like to add pineapple! The best part of making a pizza at home is that you
can customize it by adding your own favorite ingredients
As used in paragraph 1, which word
means the opposite of “complicated”?
The Baxter house is located at the
end of the street. This house sits farther back from the curb than the other
houses. It is almost difficult to see from the road without peering behind the
deformed oak tree that has obscured it for years. Even so, the Baxter house
stands out from the other houses on the street. It is tall and white. However,
this white is no longer pristinely white, but a dingy grayish cram color. Long
vines hang from the tattered roof. The Baxter house is two stories tall and has
a large yard in the back that has never been mowed. The other houses on the
street are a mere one story and have been painted a variety of colors. The
newer, single story properties all appear to have been built around the same time;
the yards mostly being of the same size, and the houses appearing to be clones
of one another. Aside from the Baxter house at the end, this street is a
perfect slice of middle America. The inhabitants of the other houses wonder who
lives in the ancient, dilapidated house at the end of the street.
Based on its use in passage, it
can be understood that ‘dilapidated’ belongs to which of the following words
groups?
At the time Jane Austen’s novels
were published – between 1811 and 1818 – English literature was not part of any
academic curriculum. In addition, fiction was under strenuous attack. Certain
religious and political groups felt novels had the power to make so-called
immoral characters so interesting that young readers would identify with them;
these groups also considered novels to be of little practical use. Even
Coleridge, certainly no literary reactionary, spoke for many when the asserted
that “novel-reading occasions the destruction of the mind’s powers.”
These attitudes towards novels help
explain why Austen received little attention from early nineteenth-century
literary cities. (In any case a novelist published anonymously, as Austen was,
would not be likely to receive much critical attention.) The literary response
that was accorded to her, however, was often as incisive as twentieth-century
criticism. In his attack in 1816 on novelistic portrayals “outside of ordinary experience,”
for example. Scott made an insightful remark about the merits of Austen’s
fiction.
Her novels, wrote Scott, “present to
the reader an accurate and exact picture of ordinary everyday people and
places, reminiscent of seventeenth-century Flemish painting.” Scott did not use
the word ‘realism’, but he undoubtedly used a standard of realistic probability
in judging novels. The critic Whately did not use the word ‘realism’, either,
but he expressed agreement with Scott’s evaluation, and went on to suggest the possibilities
for moral instruction in what we have called Austen’s ‘realistic method’ her
characters, wrote Whately, are persuasive agents for moral truth since they are
ordinary persons “so clearly evoked that we feel an interest in their fate as
if it were our own.” Moral instruction, explained Whately, is more likely to be
effective when conveyed through recongnizably human and interesting characters
than when imparted by a sermonizing narrator. Whitely especially praised Austen’s
ability to create character who “mingle goodness and villainy, weakness and
virtue, as in life they are always mingled. “Whitely concluded his remarks by
comparing Austen’s art of characterization to Dickens’, starting his preference
for Austen’s.
Yet, the response of
nineteenth-century literary critics to Austen was not always so laudatory, and
often anticipated the reservations of twentieth-century literary critics. An
example of such a response was Lewes complaint in 1859 that Austen’s range of
subject and characters was too narrow. Praising her verisimilitude, Lewes added
that, nonetheless her focus was too often only upon the unlofty and the
commonplace. (Twentieth-century Marxists, on the other hand, were to complain
about what they saw as her exclusive emphasis on a lofty upper middle class.)
In any case having being rescued by literary critics from neglect and indeed
gradually lionized by them, Austen steadily reached, by the mid-nineteenth
century, the enviable pinnacle of being considered controversial.
The passage suggest that twentieth-century
Marxists would have admired Jane Austen’s novels more if the novels, as the
Marxists understood them, had
