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GRADE LEVEL: 11th
UNIT/THEME: Literary Analysis: Genre
STANDARDS: California English-Language Arts Content Standards
1) Writing:
a. 2.2a Demonstrate a comprehensive grasp of the significant ideas of literary
works.
b. 2.2c Write responses to literature -Demonstrate awareness of the author's use
of stylistic devices and an appreciation of the effects created.
2) Reading:
a. 3.6 Analyze the way in which authors throughout the centuries have used
archetypes drawn from myth and tradition in literature.
b. 3.7 Analyze recognized works of world literature from a variety of
authors.
3) Listening and Speaking:
a. 1.11 Assess how language and delivery affect communication and make an
impact on the audience.
4) Literary Response and Analysis:
a.3.11 Evaluate the aesthetic qualities of style, including the impact of diction and
figurative language on tone, mood, and theme, using the terminology of literary
criticism.
b.3.12 Analyze the way in which a work of literature is related to the themes and
issues of its historical period.
OBJECTIVES:
1) Instructional Objectives:
Students will illustrate their understanding of cultural context, rhetorical devices,
and figurative language used in magic realism and cultural works through reading,
listening, speaking, and writing activities.
Language – Students will demonstrate an understanding of key vocabulary associated the
rhetorical and literary devices.
a. Language:
i. Students will listen to teacher lecture.
ii. Students will participate in collaborative learning in groups of fours and
fives.
b. Content:
i. Students will be able to understand how mood and repetition were used
in poetry of the era.
ii. Students will connect the content to their own lives.
2) Behavioral Objectives:
a. Language:
i. Students will listen to the students and teacher read excerpts and short
stories aloud.
b. Content:
i. Students will respond to short essay questions and writing prompts.
SATISFACTION OF FOUR DOMAINS FOR ELL STUDENTS:
1) Listening:
Students will hear a lecture literary analysis, text, and group presentations as they relate
to the excerpt and short story.
2) Speaking:
In groups of four or five, students will discuss the data retained in their notes demarking
distinct differences between The Handsomest Drowned Man in the World and Woman
Warrior.
Students will read and/or participate in an oral final presentation.
3) Reading:
In groups of two, students will read aloud The Handsomest Drowned Man in the World
and Woman Warrior.
4) Writing:
Students will take notes with distinctions made between The Handsomest Drowned Man
in the World and Woman Warrior.
5) Technology integration: PowerPoint Presentation, websites for gifted students to
research additional background information on the authors.
6) Cross-Curricular Integration: Art, Journalism, Cultural Studies
7) Time Frame: 10 class periods, 50 minutes each
8) Key Vocabulary:
Genre Rhetorical device Characterization Archetype
Literary device Literary analysis Mood Foil
Theme Nonfiction Motivation Magic Realism
Fiction Figurative language Narrator Symbolism
Irony Creative license Point-of-view
Instructional Materials:
Computer Speakers
Construction Paper Internet
Paper Pencils
Glue Magazines
SIOP Features
Preparation Scaffolding Grouping Options
___ Adaptation of Content _X_ Modeling _X_ Whole Class
_X_ Links to Background _X_ Guided practice _X_ Small Groups
___ Links to Past Learning _X_ Independent Practice ___ Partners
__ Strategies Incorporated __ Comprehensible Input _X_ Independent
Integration of Processes Application Assessment
_X_ Reading _X_ Hands-On _X_ Individual
_X_ Writing _X_ Meaningful _X_ Group
_X_ Speaking _X_ Linked to objects _X_ Written
_X_ Listening _X_ Promotes engagement _X_ Oral
Motivation:
Students will share in understanding how other cultures experience life in through
story telling. They will be able to see how that experience was turned into a new genre in
literature based on old cultural traditions.
Students will have the opportunity to express their understanding of magic
realism in their own words.
Presentation:
The teacher will provide students with varied auditory opportunities. Students will
hear each other speak as well as the teacher.
Collaborative learning groups of four and five. The teacher will moderate during the
group assignments to ensure that all students participate in the discussions.
i) Individual writing assignment and assessment at the end of the lessons. The
teacher will provide assistance, as needed, to any student who is still
struggling with the concept prior to assigning the writing assignment.
LESSONS OUTLINED:
Lesson sequence:
Literary Analysis Vocabulary
1. Students will watch a PowerPoint presentation (Appendix A) introducing or re-
introducing vocabulary as is relates to literary analysis.
2. Students will receive a handout defining the necessary vocabulary (Appendix B).
2. The teacher will discuss the vocabulary and provide examples for each of the
vocabulary words prior to beginning the lesson. .
Activity 2:
Reading and Listening
1. Students will read aloud the first story, The Handsomest Drowned Man in the World.
(Appendix C). The teacher will also read and discuss the meaning of the vocabulary as it
relates to the assignment.
2. Individually-students will finish reading The Handsomest Drowned Man in the World
and use the QAR (Appendix D) to complete the reading.
Activity 3:
Reading and Listening
1. Students will listen to and read an excerpt from Woman Warrior: A Girlhood among
Ghosts by Maxine Hong Kingston.
2. Individually-students will use read Woman Warrior: A Girlhood among Ghosts
(Appendix E) and complete the QAR. (Appendix F).
Activity 4: Writing
1. Individually, students will write a short persuasive essay based on either story
(Appendix G)
Activity 5: Cooperative Learning Group (Group Assignment)
Students will create an advertisement, skit, or presentation promoting their favorite story
(Appendix H).
ASSESSMENT:
During week one students will have:
A vocabulary quiz (Appendix I)
During week, two students will have:
One performance assessment (Appendix J)
One unit assessment (Appendix K)
MODIFICATIONS: (if needed)
Grouping
In preparation for the cooperative learning group, the teacher will speak with five
general education students who have displayed mastery and/or interest in the subject.
This is done in an effort to maximize the benefits of the cooperative learning group. The
students will understand that they are the group leader. They are to assist with keeping
the group on task as well as try to clear-up any confusion regarding the topic. The teacher
will provide the accommodations and/or modifications in accordance with the students’
IEP. It will be stressed that the group leader’s role does not include disciplinary
procedures. The teacher will also let them know what materials are needed for
assignment, how to ask for assistance while they are in the group, and where to turn in
the completed assignment. These instructions will be reiterated to the group prior to the
start of the activity as well as the requirement that all students are expected to participate
in the completion of the assignment.
The students are arranged in five groups of four students with focus on even
distribution of the students:
Group One: Group Leader, one ADHD student, three General Ed students
Group Two: Group Leader, one gifted student, three General Ed students
Group Three: Group Leader, one LD student, three General Ed students
Group Four: Group Leader, one ADHD student, three General Ed students
Group Five: Group Leader, one gifted student, three General Ed students
The teacher will move between the groups providing assistance by answering questions
and making sure all students are participating and active within the cooperative learning
group.
Modifications:
Visually Impaired- Audio, cooperative learning group re-reading the stories,
saying and verbally defining the words by both the teacher and fellow students
Hearing Impaired- Stories printed out, cooperative learning groups, writing the
words and definitions on the board prior to beginning the lesson, not speaking
while my back was turned to the class.
ELLs- Writing the words on the board while saying them, cooperative learning
group re-reading, leaving the words on the board for the duration of the unit.
Gifted-Gifted student will use the internet to research background information on
the authors. If further inspired, they can write their own short story that utilizes
aspects of magic realism.
Parental Participation:
A weekly newsletter will go out to parents starting at the beginning of the year (Appendix
L).
Annotated Bibliography (Appendix M)
Appendix A
Literary VocabularyLiterary VocabularyEnglish Language ArtsEnglish Language Arts
Lesson OneLesson OneLesson OneLesson OneLesson OneLesson OneLesson OneLesson One
Words to Words to Words to Words to Words to Words to Words to Words to KnowKnowKnowKnowKnowKnowKnowKnow
�� GenreGenre
�� Rhetorical DeviceRhetorical Device
�� Literary DeviceLiterary Device
�� Literary AnalysisLiterary Analysis
�� NarratorNarrator
�� ThemeTheme
Genre (Genre (jonjon--ruhruh) )
Categories for Books Categories for Books && WritingWriting
�� NonfictionNonfiction
Based on fact or truthBased on fact or truth
–– AutobiographyAutobiography
–– BiographyBiography
–– MemoirMemoir
–– ManualManual
–– HowHow--to/Informationalto/Informational
–– NewsNews
–– Essays (expository writing)Essays (expository writing)
�� FictionFiction
Creative storiesCreative stories
–– Historical fictionHistorical fiction
–– Myth/Fable/FairytaleMyth/Fable/Fairytale
–– Fantasy/MysteryFantasy/Mystery
–– Science fiction/HorrorScience fiction/Horror
–– MysteryMystery
–– PoetryPoetry
–– HumorHumor
Rhetorical DeviceRhetorical Devicea technique that an author or speaker uses toa technique that an author or speaker uses to
evoke an emotional response in his audienceevoke an emotional response in his audience
Some examples of Some examples of RhetoricalRhetorical Devices are:Devices are:
�� AnalogyAnalogy
�� ImageryImagery
�� MetaphorMetaphor
�� SimileSimile
�� SymbolismSymbolism
�� PersonificationPersonification
Literary DeviceLiterary Devicewriting components; the means by which authorswriting components; the means by which authors
create meaning through languagecreate meaning through language
Some examples of Some examples of LiteraryLiterary Devices are:Devices are:
�� Figurative language*Figurative language*�� Foreshadowing Foreshadowing �� IronyIrony�� MotifMotif�� RepetitionRepetition�� Creative and Poetic licenseCreative and Poetic license�� Characterization Characterization
Foresh
Literary AnalysisLiterary AnalysisTo go over a story in detail and understand its To go over a story in detail and understand its components or parts.components or parts.
Seek an understanding of:Seek an understanding of:
�� the author’s main purpose for writing the the author’s main purpose for writing the storystory
�� the themes, mood, settingthe themes, mood, setting
�� know the know the character(scharacter(s) and their ) and their motivation(smotivation(s))
�� if you agree or disagree with the narrator if you agree or disagree with the narrator or elements of the storyor elements of the story
NarratorNarratorSpeaker orSpeaker or the the voicevoice of a storyof a story
The author in fiction should not be confused The author in fiction should not be confused with the narrator. The author with the narrator. The author ≠ narrator.≠ narrator.
�� PointPoint--ofof--viewview
�� CharacterCharacter
�� ArchetypeArchetype
�� FoilFoil
Let’s BeginLet’s Begin
The Handsomest Drowned The Handsomest Drowned
Man in the WorldMan in the World
by by GabríelGabríel García MárquezGarcía Márquez
handouthandout
Appendix B
Literary Vocabulary Handout
Genre- categories for books & writing
Rhetorical device-a technique that an author or speaker uses to
evoke an emotional response in his audience
Literary device-writing components; the means by which authors
create meaning through language
Literary analysis-to go over a story in detail and understand its components or parts.
Theme- broad idea in a story, or a message or lesson conveyed
Nonfiction-expository writing, essays, and books based on fact, truth, or information
Fiction-creative stories
Figurative language-any use of language where the intended meaning differs from the actual literal
meaning of the words themselves. There are many techniques which can rightly be called figurative
language, including metaphor, simile, hyperbole, personification, onomatopoeia, verbal irony, and
oxymoron.
Irony- a gap or incongruity between what a speaker or a writer says and what is generally understood.
Creative license-exaggeration or alteration of objective facts or reality, for enhancing meaning in a
fictional context.
Characterization –The author’s means of conveying to the reader a character’s personality, life
history, values, physical attributes, etc. Also refers directly to a description thereof.
Mood-the atmosphere or emotional condition created by the piece, within the setting. Mood refers to
the general sense or feeling which the reader is supposed to get from the text; it does not, as a literary
element, refer to the author’s or characters’ state of mind.
Motivation- purpose or reason for action and/or behavior
Narrator-speaker or the voice of a story
Point-of-view-the identity of the narrative voice; the person or entity through whom the reader
experiences the story. May be third-person (no narrator; abstract narrative voice, omniscient or limited)
or first-person (narrated by a character in the story or a direct observer). Point-of-view is a commonly
misused term; it does not refer to the author’s or characters’ feelings, opinions, perspectives, biases,
etc.
Archetype-a very old imaginative pattern in literature across cultures and is repeated through the ages.
Foil-a character who is meant to represent characteristics, values, ideas, etc. which are directly and
diametrically opposed to those of another character, usually the protagonist.
Magic Realism-a literary style that combines incredible events with realistic details and relates them
in a matter-of-fact tone.
Symbolism- in which a (usually recurrent) object or character represents an idea
Appendix C
The Handsomest Drowned Man The Handsomest Drowned Man The Handsomest Drowned Man The Handsomest Drowned Man iiiin n n n tttthe Worldhe Worldhe Worldhe World
By Gabriel García Márquez
Gregory Rabassa, Translator
THE FIRST CHILDREN who saw the dark and slinky bulge approaching through the
sea let themselves think it was an enemy ship. Then they saw it had no flags or masts and
they thought it was a whale. But when it washed up on the beach, they removed the
clumps of seaweed, the jellyfish tentacles, and the remains of fish and flotsam, and only
then did they see that it was a drowned man.
They had been playing with him all afternoon, burying him in the sand and digging him
up again, when someone chanced to see them and spread the alarm in the village. The
men who carried him to the nearest house noticed that he weighed more than any dead
man they had ever known, almost as much as a horse, and they said to each other that
maybe he'd been floating too long and the water had got into his bones. When they laid
him on the floor they said he'd been taller than all other men because there was barely
enough room for him in the house, but they thought that maybe the ability to keep on
growing after death was part of the nature of certain drowned men. He had the smell of
the sea about him and only his shape gave one to suppose that it was the corpse of a
human being, because the skin was covered with a crust of mud and scales.
They did not even have to clean off his face to know that the dead man was a stranger.
The village was made up of only twenty-odd wooden houses that had stone courtyards
with no flowers and which were spread about on the end of a desertlike cape. There was
so little land that mothers always went about with the fear that the wind would carry off
their children and the few dead that the years had caused among them had to be thrown
off the cliffs. But the sea was calm and bountiful and all the men fitted into seven boats.
So when they found the drowned man they simply had to look at one another to see that
they were all there.
That night they did not go out to work at sea. While the men went to find out if anyone
was missing in neighboring villages, the women stayed behind to care for the drowned
man. They took the mud off with grass swabs, they removed the underwater stones
entangled in his hair, and they scraped the crust off with tools used for scaling fish. As
they were doing that they noticed that the vegetation on him came from faraway oceans
and deep water and that his clothes were in tatters, as if he had sailed through labyrinths
of coral. They noticed too that he bore his death with pride, for he did not have the lonely
look of other drowned men who came out of the sea or that haggard, needy look of men
who drowned in rivers. But only when they finished cleaning him off did they become
aware of the kind of man he was and it left them breathless. Not only was he the tallest,
strongest, most virile, and best built man they had ever seen, but even though they were
looking at him there was no room for him in their imagination.
They could not find a bed in the village large enough to lay him on nor was there a table
solid enough to use for his wake. The tallest men's holiday pants would not fit him, nor
the fattest ones' Sunday shirts, nor the shoes of the one with the biggest feet. Fascinated
by his huge size and his beauty, the women then decided to make him some pants from a
large piece of sail and a shirt from some bridal linen so that he could continue through his
death with dignity. As they sewed, sitting in a circle and gazing at the corpse between
stitches, it seemed to them that the wind had never been so steady nor the sea so restless
as on that night and they supposed that the change had something to do with the dead
man. They thought that if that magnificent man had lived in the village, his house would
have had the widest doors, the highest ceiling, and the strongest floor, his bedstead would
have been made from a midship frame held together by iron bolts, and his wife would
have been the happiest woman. They thought that he would have had so much authority
that he could have drawn fish out of the sea simply by calling their names and that he
would have put so much work into his land that springs would have burst forth from
among the rocks so that he would have been able to plant flowers on the cliffs. They
secretly compared hom to their own men, thinking that for all their lives theirs were
incapable of doing what he could do in one night, and they ended up dismissing them
deep in their hearts as the weakest, meanest and most useless creatures on earth. They
were wandering through that maze of fantasy when the oldest woman, who as the oldest
had looked upon the drowned man with more compassion than passion, sighed:
'He has the face of someone called Esteban.'
It was true. Most of them had only to take another look at him to see that he could not
have any other name. The more stubborn among them, who were the youngest, still lived
for a few hours with the illusion that when they put his clothes on and he lay among the
flowers in patent leather shoes his name might be Lautaro. But it was a vain illusion.
There had not been enough canvas, the poorly cut and worse sewn pants were too tight,
and the hidden strength of his heart popped the buttons on his shirt. After midnight the
whistling of the wind died down and the sea fell into its Wednesday drowsiness. The
silence put an end to any last doubts: he was Esteban. The women who had dressed him,
who had combed his hair, had cut his nails and shaved him were unable to hold back a
shudder of pity when they had to resign themselves to his being dragged along the
ground. It was then that they understood how unhappy he must have been with that huge
body since it bothered him even after death. They could see him in life, condemned to
going through doors sideways, cracking his head on crossbeams, remaining on his feet
during visits, not knowing what to do with his soft, pink, sea lion hands while the lady of
the house looked for her most resistant chair and begged him, frightened to death, sit
here, Esteban, please, and he, leaning against the wall, smiling, don't bother, ma'am, I'm
fine where I am, his heels raw and his back roasted from having done the same thing so
many times whenever he paid a visit, don't bother, ma'am, I'm fine where I am, just to
avoid the embarrassment of breaking up the chair, and never knowing perhaps that the
ones who said don't go, Esteban, at least wait till the coffee's ready, were the ones who
later on would whisper the big boob finally left, how nice, the handsome fool has gone.
That was what the women were thinking beside the body a little before dawn. Later,
when they covered his face with a handkerchief so that the light would not bother him, he
looked so forever dead, so defenseless, so much like their men that the first furrows of
tears opened in their hearts. It was one of the younger ones who began the weeping. The
others, coming to, went from sighs to wails, and the more they sobbed the more they felt
like weeping, because the drowned man was becoming all the more Esteban for them,
and so they wept so much, for he was the more destitute, most peaceful, and most
obliging man on earth, poor Esteban. So when the men returned with the news that the
drowned man was not from the neighboring villages either, the women felt an opening of
jubilation in the midst of their tears.
'Praise the Lord,' they sighed, 'he's ours!'
The men thought the fuss was only womanish frivolity. Fatigued because of the difficult
nighttime inquiries, all they wanted was to get rid of the bother of the newcomer once
and for all before the sun grew strong on that arid, windless day. They improvised a litter
with the remains of foremasts and gaffs, tying it together with rigging so that it would
bear the weight of the body until they reached the cliffs. They wanted to tie the anchor
from a cargo ship to him so that he would sink easily into the deepest waves, where fish
are blind and divers die of nostalgia, and bad currents would not bring him back to shore,
as had happened with other bodies. But the more they hurried, the more the women
thought of ways to waste time. They walked about like startled hens, pecking with the sea
charms on their breasts, some interfering on one side to put a scapular of the good wind
on the drowned man, some on the other side to put a wrist compass on him , and after a
great deal of get away from there, woman, stay out of the way, look, you almost made me
fall on top of the dead man, the men began to feel mistrust in their livers and started
grumbling about why so many main-altar decorations for a stranger, because no matter
how many nails and holy-water jars he had on him, the sharks would chew him all the
same, but the women kept piling on their junk relics, running back and forth, stumbling,
while they released in sighs what they did not in tears, so that the men finally exploded
with since when has there ever been such a fuss over a drifting corpse, a drowned
nobody, a piece of cold Wednesday meat. One of the women, mortified by so much lack
of care, then removed the handkerchief from the dead man's face and the men were left
breathless too.
He was Esteban. It was not necessary to repeat it for them to recognize him. If they had
been told Sir Walter Raleigh, even they might have been impressed with his gringo
accent, the macaw on his shoulder, his cannibal-killing blunderbuss, but there could be
only one Esteban in the world and there he was, stretched out like a sperm whale,
shoeless, wearing the pants of an undersized child, and with those stony nails that had to
be cut with a knife. They only had to take the handkerchief off his face to see that he was
ashamed, that it was not his fault that he was so big or so heavy or so handsome, and if he
had known that this was going to happen, he would have looked for a more discreet place
to drown in, seriously, I even would have tied the anchor off a galleon around my nick
and staggered off a cliff like someone who doesn't like things in order not to be upsetting
people now with this Wednesday dead body, as you people say, in order not to be
bothering anyone with this filthy piece of cold meat that doesn't have anything to do with
me. There was so much truth in his manner taht even the most mistrustful men, the ones
who felt the bitterness of endless nights at sea fearing that their women would tire of
dreaming about them and begin to dream of drowned men, even they and others who
were harder still shuddered in the marrow of their bones at Esteban's sincerity.
That was how they came to hold the most splendid funeral they could ever conceive of
for an abandoned drowned man. Some women who had gone to get flowers in the
neighboring villages returned with other women who could not believe what they had
been told, and those women went back for more flowers when they saw the dead man,
and they brought more and more until there were so many flowers and so many people
that it was hard to walk about. At the final moment it pained them to return him to the
waters as an orphan and they chose a father and mother from among the best people, and
aunts and uncles and cousins, so that through him all the inhabitants of the village
became kinsmen. Some sailors who heard the weeping from a distance went off course
and people heard of one who had himself tied to the mainmast, remembering ancient
fables about sirens. While they fought for the privilege of carrying him on their shoulders
along the steep escarpment by the cliffs, men and women became aware for the first time
of the desolation of their streets, the dryness of their courtyards, the narrowness of their
dreams as they faced the splendor and beauty of their drowned man. They let him go
without an anchor so that he could come back if he wished and whenever he wished, and
they all held their breath for the fraction of centuries the body took to fall into the abyss.
They did not need to look at one another to realize that they were no longer all present,
that they would never be. But they also knew that everything would be different from
then on, that their houses would have wider doors, higher ceilings, and stronger floors so
that Esteban's memory could go everywhere without bumping into beams and so that no
one in the future would dare whisper the big boob finally died, too bad, the handsome
fool has finally died, because they were going to paint their house fronts gay colors to
make Esteban's memory eternal and they were going to break their backs digging for
springs among the stones and planting flowers on the cliffs so that in future years at dawn
the passengers on great liners would awaken, suffocated by the smell of gardens on the
high seas, and the captain would have to come down from the bridge in his dress uniform,
with his astrolabe, his pole star, and his row of war medals and, pointing to the
promontory of roses on the horizon, he would say in fourteen languages, look there,
where the wind is so peaceful now that it's gone to sleep beneath the beds, over there,
where the sun's so bright that the sunflowers don't know which way to turn, yes, over
there, that's Esteban's village.
Appendix D
Guided Reading Activity: QAR
First, read the questions before you read the story. Next, read the following the
short story, The Handsomest Drowned Man in the World. Then, use the text to
correctly answer the questions in complete sentences. Some of the answers are
Right There (RT), others will require you to Think and Search (TS) or make
inferences based on your analysis of the text and are In your Head (IH). In
parenthesis please write (RT), (TS), or (IH) next to your answers to indicate the
appropriate category into which each question falls.
1. Is this story told in first, second, or third person?
______________________________________________________________________________
______________________________________________________________________________
2. What is unusual about the man?
______________________________________________________________________________
______________________________________________________________________________
3. The drowned man was Sir Walter Raleigh?
______________________________________________________________________________
______________________________________________________________________________
4. Did the villagers kill the man by drowning him?
_____________________________________________________________________________
______________________________________________________________________________
5. Were the village was better off after encountering the drowned man?
______________________________________________________________________________
______________________________________________________________________________
Appendix E
Woman Warrior: Woman Warrior: Woman Warrior: Woman Warrior: Memoirs of a Girlhood Among GhostsMemoirs of a Girlhood Among GhostsMemoirs of a Girlhood Among GhostsMemoirs of a Girlhood Among Ghosts
Maxine Hong Kinston
Chapter One: No Name Woman
“You must not tell anyone," my mother said, "what I am about to tell you. In China your
father had a sister who killed herself. She jumped into the family well. We say that your
father has all brothers because it is as if she had never been born.”
"In 1924 just a few days after our village celebrated seventeen hurry-up weddings--to
make sure that every young man who went `out on the road' would responsibly come
home-your father and his brothers and your grandfather and his brothers and your aunt's
new husband sailed for America, the Gold Mountain. It was your grandfather's last trip.
Those lucky enough to get contracts waved goodbye from the decks. They fed and
guarded the stowaways and helped them off in Cuba, New York, Bali, Hawaii. `We'll
meet in California next year,' they said. All of them sent money home.
"I remember looking at your aunt one day when she and I were dressing; I had not
noticed before that she had such a protruding melon of a stomach. But I did not think,
`She's pregnant,' until she began to look like other pregnant women, her shirt pulling and
the white tops of her black pants showing. She could not have been pregnant, you see,
because her husband had been gone for years. No one said anything. We did not discuss
it. In early summer she was ready to have the child, long after the time when it could
have been possible.
"The village had also been counting. On the night the baby was to be born the villagers
raided our house. Some were crying. Like a great saw, teeth strung with lights, files of
people walked zigzag across our land, tearing the rice. Their lanterns doubled in the
disturbed black water, which drained away through the broken bunds. As the villagers
closed in, we could see that some of them, probably men and women we knew well, wore
white masks. The people with long hair hung it over their faces. Women with short hair
made it stand up on end. Some had tied white bands around their foreheads, arms, and
legs.
"At first they threw mud and rocks at the house. Then they threw eggs and began
slaughtering our stock. We could hear the animals scream their deaths--the roosters, the
pigs, a last great roar from the ox. Familiar wild heads flared in our night windows; the
villagers encircled us. Some of the faces stopped to peer at us, their eyes rushing like
searchlights. The hands flattened against the panes, framed heads, and left red prints.
"The villagers broke in the front and the back doors at the same time, even though we
had not locked the doors against them. Their knives dripped with the blood of our
animals. They smeared blood on the doors and walls. One woman swung a chicken,
whose throat she had slit, splattering blood in red arcs about her. We stood together in the
middle of our house, in the family hall with the pictures and tables of the ancestors
around us, and looked straight ahead.
"At that time the house had only two wings. When the men came back, we would
build two more to enclose our courtyard and a third one to begin a second courtyard. The
villagers pushed through both wings, even your grandparents' rooms, to find your aunt's,
which was also mine until the men returned. From this room a new wing for one of the
younger families would grow. They ripped up her clothes and shoes and broke her
combs, grinding them underfoot. They tore her work from the loom. They scattered the
cooking fire and rolled the new weaving in it. We could hear them in the kitchen
breaking our bowls and banging the pots. They overturned the great waist-high
earthenware jugs; duck eggs, pickled fruits, vegetables burst out and mixed in acrid
torrents. The old woman from the next field swept a broom through the air and loosed the
spirits-of-the-broom over our heads. `Pig.' `Ghost.' `Pig,' they sobbed and scolded while
they ruined our house.
"When they left, they took sugar and oranges to bless themselves. They cut pieces
from the dead animals. Some of them took bowls that were not broken and clothes that
were not torn. Afterward we swept up the rice and sewed it back up into sacks. But the
smells from the spilled preserves lasted. Your aunt gave birth in the pigsty that night. The
next morning when I went for the water, I found her and the baby plugging up the family
well.
"Don't let your father know that I told you. He denies her. Now that you have
started to menstruate, what happened to her could happen to you. Don't humiliate us. You
wouldn't like to be forgotten as if you had never been born. The villagers are watchful."
Whenever she had to warn us about life, my mother told stories that ran like this
one, a story to grow up on. She tested our strength to establish realities. Those in the
emigrant generations who could not reassert brute survival died young and far from
home. Those of us in the first American generations have had to figure out how the
invisible world the emigrants built around our childhoods fits in solid America.
The emigrants confused the gods by diverting their curses, misleading them with
crooked streets and false names. They must try to confuse their offspring as well, who, I
suppose, threaten them in similar ways--always trying to get things straight, always trying
to name the unspeakable. The Chinese I know hide their names; sojourners take new
names when their lives change and guard their real names with silence.
Chinese-Americans, when you try to understand what things in you are Chinese,
how do you separate what is peculiar to childhood, to poverty, insanities, one family,
your mother who marked your growing with stories, from what is Chinese? What is
Chinese tradition and what is the movies?
If I want to learn what clothes my aunt wore, whether flashy or ordinary, I would
have to begin, "Remember Father's drowned-in-the-well sister?" I cannot ask that. My
mother has told me once and for all the useful parts. She will add nothing unless powered
by Necessity, a riverbank that guides her life. She plants vegetable gardens rather than
lawns; she carries the odd-shaped tomatoes home from the fields and eats food left for the
gods.
Whenever we did frivolous things, we used up energy; we flew high kites. We
children came up off the ground over the melting cones our parents brought home from
work and the American movie on New Year's Day-- Oh, You Beautiful Doll with Betty
Grable one year, and She Wore a Yellow Ribbon with John Wayne another year. After
the one carnival ride each, we paid in guilt; our tired father counted his change on the
dark walk home.
Adultery is extravagance. Could people who hatch their own chicks and eat the
embryos and the heads for delicacies and boil the feet in vinegar for party food, leaving
only the gravel, eating even the gizzard lining--could such people engender a prodigal
aunt? To be a woman, to have a daughter in starvation time was a waste enough. My aunt
could not have been the lone romantic who gave up everything for sex. Women in the old
China did not choose. Some man had commanded her to lie with him and be his secret
evil. I wonder whether he masked himself when he joined the raid on her family.
Perhaps she had encountered him in the fields or on the mountain where the
daughters-in-law collected fuel. Or perhaps he first noticed her in the marketplace. He
was not a stranger because the village housed no strangers. She had to have dealings with
him other than sex. Perhaps he worked an adjoining field, or he sold her the cloth for the
dress she sewed and wore. His demand must have surprised, then terrified her. She
obeyed him; she always did as she was told.
When the family found a young man in the next village to be her husband, she
had stood tractably beside the best rooster, his proxy, and promised before they met that
she would be his forever. She was lucky that he was her age and she would be the first
wife, an advantage secure now. The night she first saw him, he had sex with her. Then he
left for America. She had almost forgotten what he looked like. When she tried to
envision him, she only saw the black and white face in the group photograph the men had
had taken before leaving.
The other man was not, after all, much different from her husband. They both
gave orders: she followed. "If you tell your family, I'll beat you. I'll kill you. Be here
again next week." No one talked sex, ever. And she might have separated the rapes from
the rest of living if only she did not have to buy her oil from him or gather wood in the
same forest. I want her fear to have lasted just as long as rape lasted so that the fear could
have been contained. No drawn-out fear. But women at sex hazarded birth and hence
lifetimes. The fear did not stop but permeated everywhere. She told the man, "I think I'm
pregnant." He organized the raid against her.
On nights when my mother and father talked about their life back home,
sometimes they mentioned an "outcast table" whose business they still seemed to be
settling, their voices tight. In a commensal tradition, where food is precious, the powerful
older people made wrongdoers eat alone. Instead of letting them start separate new lives
like the Japanese, who could become samurais and geishas, the Chinese family, faces
averted but eyes glowering sideways, hung on to the offenders and fed them leftovers.
My aunt must have lived in the same house as my parents and eaten at an outcast table.
My mother spoke about the raid as if she had seen it, when she and my aunt, a daughter-
in-law to a different household, should not have been living together at all. Daughters-in-
law lived with their husbands' parents, not their own; a synonym for marriage in Chinese
is "taking a daughter-in-law." Her husband's parents could have sold her, mortgaged her,
stoned her. But they had sent her back to her own mother and father, a mysterious act
hinting at disgraces not told me. Perhaps they had thrown her out to deflect the avengers.
She was the only daughter; her four brothers went with her father, husband, and
uncles "out on the road" and for some years became western men. When the goods were
divided among the family, three of the brothers took land, and the youngest, my father,
chose an education. After my grandparents gave their daughter away to her husband's
family, they had dispensed all the adventure and all the property. They expected her alone
to keep the traditional ways, which her brothers, now among the barbarians, could fumble
without detection. The heavy, deep-rooted women were to maintain the past against the
flood, safe for returning. But the rare urge west had fixed upon our family, and so my
aunt crossed boundaries not delineated in space.
The work of preservation demands that the feelings playing about in one's guts
not be turned into action. Just watch their passing like cherry blossoms. But perhaps my
aunt, my forerunner, caught in a slow life, let dreams grow and fade and after some
months or years went toward what persisted. Fear at the enormities of the forbidden kept
her desires delicate, wire and bone. She looked at a man because she liked the way the
hair was tucked behind his ears, or she liked the question-mark line of a long torso
curving at the shoulder and straight at the hip. For warm eyes or a soft voice or a slow
walk--that's all--a few hairs, a line, a brightness, a sound, a pace, she gave up family. She
offered us up for a charm that vanished with tiredness, a pigtail that didn't toss when the
wind died. Why, the wrong lighting could erase the dearest thing about him.
It could very well have been, however, that my aunt did not take subtle enjoyment
of her friend, but, a wild woman, kept rollicking company. Imagining her free with sex
doesn't fit, though. I don't know any women like that, or men either. Unless I see her life
branching into mine, she gives me no ancestral help.
To sustain her being in love, she often worked at herself in the mirror, guessing at
the colors and shapes that would interest him, changing them frequently in order to hit on
the right combination. She wanted him to look back.
On a farm near the sea, a woman who tended her appearance reaped a reputation
for eccentricity. All the married women blunt-cut their hair in flaps about their ears or
pulled it back in tight buns. No nonsense. Neither style blew easily into heart-catching
tangles. And at their weddings they displayed themselves in their long hair for the last
time. "It brushed the backs of my knees," my mother tells me. "It was braided, and even
so, it brushed the backs of my knees."
At the mirror my aunt combed individuality into her bob. A bun could have been
contrived to escape into black streamers blowing in the wind or in quiet wisps about her
face, but only the older women in our picture album wear buns. She brushed her hair
back from her forehead, tucking the flaps behind her ears. She looped a piece of thread,
knotted into a circle between her index fingers and thumbs, and ran the double strand
across her forehead. When she closed her fingers as if she were making a pair of shadow
geese bite, the string twisted together catching the little hairs. Then she pulled the thread
away from her skin, ripping the hairs out neatly, her eyes watering from the needles of
pain. Opening her fingers, she cleaned the thread, then rolled it along her hairline and the
tops of her eyebrows. My mother did the same to me and my sisters and herself. I used to
believe that the expression "caught by the short hairs" meant a captive held with a
depilatory string. It especially hurt at the temples, but my mother said we were lucky we
didn't have to have our feet bound when we were seven. Sisters used to sit on their beds
and cry together, she said, as their mothers or their slaves removed the bandages for a few
minutes each night and let the blood gush back into their veins. I hope that the man my
aunt loved appreciated a smooth brow, that he wasn't just a tits-and-ass man.
Once my aunt found a freckle on her chin, at a spot that the almanac said
predestined her for unhappiness. She dug it out with a hot needle and washed the wound
with peroxide.
More attention to her looks than these pullings of hairs and pickings at spots
would have caused gossip among the villagers. They owned work clothes and good
clothes, and they wore good clothes for feasting the new seasons. But since a woman
combing her hair hexes beginnings, my aunt rarely found an occasion to look her best.
Women looked like great sea snails--the corded wood, babies, and laundry they carried
were the whorls on their backs. The Chinese did not admire a bent back; goddesses and
warriors stood straight. Still there must have been a marvelous freeing of beauty when a
worker laid down her burden and stretched and arched.
Such commonplace loveliness, however, was not enough for my aunt. She
dreamed of a lover for the fifteen days of New Year's, the time for families to exchange
visits, money, and food. She plied her secret comb. And sure enough she cursed the year,
the family, the village, and herself.
Even as her hair lured her imminent lover, many other men looked at her.
Uncles, cousins, nephews, brothers would have looked, too, had they been home between
journeys. Perhaps they had already been restraining their curiosity, and they left, fearful
that their glances, like a field of nesting birds, might be startled and caught. Poverty hurt,
and that was their first reason for leaving. But another, final reason for leaving the
crowded house was the never-said.
She may have been unusually beloved, the precious only daughter, spoiled and
mirror gazing because of the affection the family lavished on her. When her husband left,
they welcomed the chance to take her back from the in-laws; she could live like the little
daughter for just a while longer. There are stories that my grandfather was different from
other people, "crazy ever since the little Jap bayoneted him in the head." He used to put
his naked penis on the dinner table, laughing. And one day he brought home a baby girl,
wrapped up inside his brown western-style greatcoat. He had traded one of his sons,
probably my father, the youngest, for her. My grandmother made him trade back. When
he finally got a daughter of his own, he doted on her. They must have all loved her,
except perhaps my father, the only brother who never went back to China, having once
been traded for a girl.
Brothers and sisters, newly men and women, had to efface their sexual color and
present plain miens. Disturbing hair and eyes, a smile like no other, threatened the ideal
of five generations living under one roof. To focus blurs, people shouted face to face and
yelled from room to room. The immigrants I know have loud voices, unmodulated to
American tones even after years away from the village where they called their friendships
out across the fields. I have not been able to stop my mother's screams in public libraries
or over telephones. Walking erect (knees straight, toes pointed forward, not pigeon-toed,
which is Chinese-feminine) and speaking in an inaudible voice, I have tried to turn
myself American-feminine. Chinese communication was loud, public. Only sick people
had to whisper. But at the dinner table, where the family members came nearest one
another, no one could talk, not the outcasts nor any eaters. Every word that falls from the
mouth is a coin lost. Silently they gave and accepted food with both hands. A
preoccupied child who took his bowl with one hand got a sideways glare. A complete
moment of total attention is due everyone alike. Children and lovers have no singularity
here, but my aunt used a secret voice, a separate attentiveness.
She kept the man's name to herself throughout her labor and dying; she did not
accuse him that he be punished with her. To save her inseminator's name she gave silent
birth.
He may have been somebody in her own household, but intercourse with a man
outside the family would have been no less abhorrent. All the village were kinsmen, and
the titles shouted in loud country voices never let kinship be forgotten. Any man within
visiting distance would have been neutralized as a lover--"brother," "younger brother,"
"older brother"--one hundred and fifteen relationship titles. Parents researched birth
charts probably not so much to assure good fortune as to circumvent incest in a
population that has but one hundred surnames. Everybody has eight million relatives.
How useless then sexual mannerisms, how dangerous.
As if it came from an atavism deeper than fear, I used to add "brother" silently to
boys' names. It hexed the boys, who would or would not ask me to dance, and made them
less scary and as familiar and deserving of benevolence as girls.
But, of course, I hexed myself also--no dates. I should have stood up, both arms
waving, and shouted out across libraries, "Hey, you! Love me back." I had no idea,
though, how to make attraction selective, how to control its direction and magnitude. If I
made myself American-pretty so that the five or six Chinese boys in the class fell in love
with me, everyone else--the Caucasian, Negro, and Japanese boys--would too.
Sisterliness, dignified and honorable, made much more sense.
Attraction eludes control so stubbornly that whole societies designed to organize
relationships among people cannot keep order, not even when they bind people to one
another from childhood and raise them together. Among the very poor and the wealthy,
brothers married their adopted sisters, like doves. Our family allowed some romance,
paying adult brides' prices and providing dowries so that their sons and daughters could
marry strangers. Marriage promises to turn strangers into friendly relatives--a nation of
siblings.
In the village structure, spirits shimmered among the live creatures, balanced and
held in equilibrium by time and land. But one human being flaring up into violence could
open up a black hole, a maelstrom that pulled in the sky. The frightened villagers, who
depended on one another to maintain the real, went to my aunt to show her a personal,
physical representation of the break she had made in the "roundness." Misallying couples
snapped off the future, which was to be embodied in true offspring. The villagers
punished her for acting as if she could have a private life, secret and apart from them.
If my aunt had betrayed the family at a time of large grain yields and peace, when
many boys were born, and wings were being built on many houses, perhaps she might
have escaped such severe punishment. But the men--hungry, greedy, tired of planting in
dry soil--had been forced to leave the village in order to send food-money home. There
were ghost plagues, bandit plagues, wars with the Japanese, floods. My Chinese brother
and sister had died of an unknown sickness. Adultery, perhaps only a mistake during
good times, became a crime when the village needed food.
The round moon cakes and round doorways, the round tables of graduated sizes
that fit one roundness inside another, round windows and rice bowls--these talismans had
lost their power to warn this family of the law: a family must be whole, faithfully keeping
the descent line by having sons to feed the old and the dead, who in turn look after the
family. The villagers came to show my aunt and her lover-in-hiding a broken house. The
villagers were speeding up the circling of events because she was too shortsighted to see
that her infidelity had already harmed the village, that waves of consequences would
return unpredictably, sometimes in disguise, as now, to hurt her. This roundness had to be
made coin-sized so that she would see its circumference: punish her at the birth of her
baby. Awaken her to the inexorable. People who refused fatalism because they could
invent small resources insisted on culpability. Deny accidents and wrest fault from the
stars.
After the villagers left, their lanterns now scattering in various directions toward
home, the family broke their silence and cursed her. "Aiaa, we're going to die. Death is
coming. Death is coming. Look what you've done. You've killed us. Ghost! Dead ghost!
Ghost! You've never been born." She ran out into the fields, far enough from the house so
that she could no longer hear their voices, and pressed herself against the earth, her own
land no more. When she felt the birth coming, she thought that she had been hurt. Her
body seized together. "They've hurt me too much," she thought. "This is gall, and it will
kill me." With forehead and knees against the earth, her body convulsed and then relaxed.
She turned on her back, lay on the ground. The black well of sky and stars went out and
out and out forever; her body and her complexity seemed to disappear. She was one of
the stars, a bright dot in blackness, without home, without a companion, in eternal cold
and silence. An agoraphobia rose in her, speeding higher and higher, bigger and bigger;
she would not be able to contain it; there would no end to fear.
Flayed, unprotected against space, she felt pain return, focusing her body. This
pain chilled her--a cold, steady kind of surface pain. Inside, spasmodically, the other pain,
the pain of the child, heated her. For hours she lay on the ground, alternately body and
space. Sometimes a vision of normal comfort obliterated reality: she saw the family in the
evening gambling at the dinner table, the young people massaging their elders' backs. She
saw them congratulating one another, high joy on the mornings the rice shoots came up.
When these pictures burst, the stars drew yet further apart. Black space opened.
She got to her feet to fight better and remembered that old-fashioned women gave
birth in their pigsties to fool the jealous, pain-dealing gods, who do not snatch piglets.
Before the next spasms could stop her, she ran to the pigsty, each step a rushing out into
emptiness. She climbed over the fence and knelt in the dirt. It was good to have a fence
enclosing her, a tribal person alone.
Laboring, this woman who had carried her child as a foreign growth that
sickened her every day, expelled it at last. She reached down to touch the hot, wet,
moving mass, surely smaller than anything human, and could feel that it was human after
all--fingers, toes, nails, nose. She pulled it up on to her belly, and it lay curled there, butt
in the air, feet precisely tucked one under the other. She opened her loose shirt and
buttoned the child inside. After resting, it squirmed and thrashed and she pushed it up to
her breast. It turned its head this way and that until it found her nipple. There, it made
little snuffling noises. She clenched her teeth at its preciousness, lovely as a young calf, a
piglet, a little dog.
She may have gone to the pigsty as a last act of responsibility: she would protect
this child as she had protected its father. It would look after her soul, leaving supplies on
her grave. But how would this tiny child without family find her grave when there would
be no marker for her anywhere, neither in the earth nor the family hall? No one would
give her a family hall name. She had taken the child with her into the wastes. At its birth
the two of them had felt the same raw pain of separation, a wound that only the family
pressing tight could close. A child with no descent line would not soften her life but only
trail after her, ghostlike, begging her to give it purpose. At dawn the villagers on their
way to the fields would stand around the fence and look.
Full of milk, the little ghost slept. When it awoke, she hardened her breasts
against the milk that crying loosens. Toward morning she picked up the baby and walked
to the well.
Carrying the baby to the well shows loving. Otherwise abandon it. Turn its face
into the mud. Mothers who love their children take them along. It was probably a girl;
there is some hope of forgiveness for boys.
"Don't tell anyone you had an aunt. Your father does not want to hear her name.
She has never been born." I have believed that sex was unspeakable and words so strong
and fathers so frail that "aunt" would do my father mysterious harm. I have thought that
my family, having settled among immigrants who had also been their neighbors in the
ancestral land, needed to clean their name, and a wrong word would incite the kinspeople
even here. But there is more to this silence: they want me to participate in her
punishment. And I have.
In the twenty years since I heard this story I have not asked for details nor said my
aunt's name; I do not know it. People who can comfort the dead can also chase after them
to hurt them further--a reverse ancestor worship. The real punishment was not the raid
swiftly inflicted by the villagers, but the family's deliberately forgetting her. Her betrayal
so maddened them, they saw to it that she would suffer forever, even after death. Always
hungry, always needing, she would have to beg food from other ghosts, snatch and steal it
from those whose living descendants give them gifts. She would have to fight the ghosts
massed at crossroads for the buns a few thoughtful citizens leave to decoy her away from
village and home so that the ancestral spirits could feast unharassed. At peace, they could
act like gods, not ghosts, their descent lines providing them with paper suits and dresses,
spirit money, paper houses, paper automobiles, chicken, meat, and rice into eternity--
essences delivered up in smoke and flames, steam and incense rising from each rice bowl.
In an attempt to make the Chinese care for people outside the family, Chairman Mao
encourages us now to give our paper replicas to the spirits of outstanding soldiers and
workers, no matter whose ancestors they may be. My aunt remains forever hungry.
Goods are not distributed evenly among the dead.
My aunt haunts me--her ghost drawn to me because now, after fifty years of
neglect, I alone devote pages of paper to her, though not origamied into houses and
clothes. I do not think she always means me well. I am telling on her, and she was a spite
suicide, drowning herself in the drinking water. The Chinese are always very frightened
of the drowned one, whose weeping ghost, wet hair hanging and skin bloated, waits
silently by the water to pull down a substitute.
Appendix F
Guided Reading Activity: QAR
First, read the questions before you read the excerpt. Next, read the following
excerpt from chapter one of Woman Warrior. Then, use the excerpt to answer the
questions that follow. Some of the answers are Right There (RT), others will
require you to Think and Search (TS) or make inferences based on your analysis
of the text and are In your Head (IH). In parenthesis please write (RT), (TS), or
(IH) next to your answers to indicate the appropriate category into which each
question falls.
Chapter One: No Name Woman "You must not tell anyone," my mother said, "what I am about to tell you. In China your
father had a sister who killed herself. She jumped into the family well. We say that your father
has all brothers because it is as if she had never been born.
"In 1924 just a few days after our village celebrated seventeen hurry-up weddings--to make
sure that every young man who went `out on the road' would responsibly come home-your father
and his brothers and your grandfather and his brothers and your aunt's new husband sailed for
America, the Gold Mountain. It was your grandfather's last trip. Those lucky enough to get
contracts waved goodbye from the decks. They fed and guarded the stowaways and helped them
off in Cuba, New York, Bali, Hawaii. `We'll meet in California next year,' they said. All of them
sent money home.
1. Is the narrator in China or in America?
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2. What does “responsibly come home” mean?
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3. Who is the no name woman?
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4. Who is speaking during the first two paragraphs?
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5. Why did the men leave the women in China?
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Name:_________________________
Date:__________________________
Appendix G
DO NOW
Writing Prompt: Write an essay stating why a quote,
scene, or character from The Handsomest Drowned
Man in the World or Woman Warrior is your
favorite. Cite examples from the text to support your
argument.
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Appendix H Group name:_________________________
Date: _______________________________
Group Assignment
The group must decide how they will present the ad by this Friday.
The assignment is due next Thursday.
Instructions: As a group, you are to choose either Woman
Warrior or The Handsomest Man to create an
advertisement for the story. You should convince the class
of why the story is a must read. All members of the group
must participate equally.
The following elements must be in your ad:
1. Title of the story
2. A character from the story
3. Two vocabulary words from week one’s handout
4. Three positive words about the story
5. Three convincing words
6. Acknowledge opponents that may not agree that the
story is a must read.
7. Your ad must be at least 4 minutes and no longer than
5 minutes
Advertisement options:
1. PowerPoint Presentation
2. Poster board Ad
3. Skit
Appendix I Name:____________________________
Date:_____________________________
Quiz
Place the following vocabulary words in the appropriate box.
Nonfiction Symbolism Biography
Simile Magic Realism Historical fiction
Irony Imagery Metaphor
Fiction Memoir Analogy
Figurative Language Genre
Please choose whether the following sentences are true or false. Circle “T” for true or “F”
for false.
The Handsomest Drowned Man in the World
1. According to the story, the children killed the man. T F
2. This story is based on factual events. T F
3. The villagers found a piece of paper with the man’s name on it. T F
4. This story is an epic novel. T F
5. The women found the man to be virile. T F
Woman Warrior
1. Woman Warrior belongs to the genre of Historical fiction. T F
2. One major theme in the story is silence. T F
3. The woman warrior is really a man. T F
4. This story is also known as a memoir. T F
5. The entire story takes place in China. T F
Appendix J Name:_________________________
Date:__________________________
Performance Assessment
Understanding literary terms. Directions: Both Gabriel
García Márquez and Maxine Hong Kingston use creative
license, symbolism, and magic realism through out their
stories. Please define each literary term listed below.
1. Creative License
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2. Symbolism
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3. Magic realism
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Part II: short answer. Both authors use archetypes in their
stories. Use complete sentences to answer the question
that follows.
Why are archetypes an important element in these stories?
Your response should be at least 5 sentences with proper
use of grammar and punctuation.
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Part III: extended response. Silence is one of the central
themes in both stories. Please write an essay relating why
silence is important in both stories. Explain why the
authors would choose silence to convey their messages. The
essay should be at least 25 sentences with proper use of
grammar and punctuation.
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Literary Analysis and Vocabulary Performance Assessment Rubric
Descriptor 1 2 3 4 Score
Understanding of Material
Apparent
misunderstanding
of material
Limited
understanding of
material
displayed by
vague, unclear
language
Developing
understanding of
material
Clear understanding of
material displayed by
clear, concrete
language and complex
ideas
Written Skills Has difficulty with
paragraph
structure and
simple sentences;
limited
vocabulary;
difficulty with
grammatical
skills
Able to write
simple
sentences;
understands
basic
grammatical
concepts,
vocabulary is
developing; has
difficulty with
paragraph
structure
Able to write
complex
sentences,
understands
intermediate
grammatical
concepts,
enhanced
vocabulary, ability
to compose
paragraphs,
difficulty with
standard essay
form
Advanced vocabulary
and grammatical skills
enhance the
composition of clear,
focused, creative
compositions
Structural Organization Essay lacks
logical
progression of
ideas
Essay includes
brief skeleton
(introduction,
body,
conclusion) but
lacks transitions
Essay includes
logical progression
of ideas aided by
clear transitions
Essay is powerfully
organized and fully
developed
Sentence Fluency (Flow) Repetitive
sentence
patterns. There
are no connecting
words between
sentences. Many
sentences run
into each other.
Sentence
patterns are
generally
repetitive, with
occasional
variance. There
are usually
connecting words
between
sentences, where
appropriate.
Some sentences
should be
merged; others
should be made
into two or more
sentences.
Sentence patterns
are generally
varied, but
sometimes
variations seem
forced and
inappropriate.
There are
connecting words
between
sentences, where
appropriate. Each
sentence contains
a complete
thought; there are
no run-on
sentences.
Varied and interesting
sentence patterns.
There are connecting
words between
sentences, where
appropriate. Sentences
are complete thoughts,
with no run-ons.
Support Few to no solid
supporting ideas
or evidence for
the essay
content
Some supporting
ideas and/or
evidence for the
essay content
Support lacks
specificity and is
loosely developed
Specific, developed
details and superior
support and evidence in
the essay content
Appendix K Name:_______________________
Date:________________________
Magic Realism Unit Test
Part I Multiple Choice. Please write the appropriate answer in the blank space next to the
question.
1. ____Metaphor
a.. categories for books & writing
b. expository writing, essays, and books based on fact, truth, or information
c. directly compares seemingly unrelated subjects
d. broad idea in a story, or a message or lesson conveyed
2. ____Simile
a. uses the words “like” or “as,” but not always to compare one thing or idea is
described as being similar to another
b. two people who are smiling
c. things that are the same
d. creative stories
3. ____Imagery
a. a forest with
b. using words to substitute for and create sensory stimulation
c. signs
d. too many words
4. ____Symbolism
a. letters that you cannot understand
b. words that do not mean anything
c. a recurrent object or character represents an idea
d. an emotional conflict
5. ____Character
a. an absurdity of mocking opposition
b. the people who inhabit and take part in a story
c. the author of a story
d. Someone who is really funny
6. ____Biography
a. histories of a person’s life written by someone else
b. a story written about biology
c. a story written for a movie
d. a biography that is written by a person about his/her own life.
7. ____Autobiography
a. stories of a person’s life or parts of his or her life, written by another person.
b. a biography that is written by a person about his/her own life.
c. a creative article in the newspaper
d. a musical comedy
8. ____Irony
a. a relationship where one thing or idea substitutes for another
b. a gap or incongruity between what a speaker or a writer says and what is
generally understood.
c. a woman who irons
d. another version of the story
9. ____Characterization
a. a cartoon character
b. an idea about the story
c. the theme of a story
d. a character’s personality, life history, values, physical attributes
10.____ Motivation
a. the author’s or a characters purpose or reason for action and/or behavior
b. just do it
c. the end of a story
d. the beginning of a story
Part II Matching. Directions: please match the character to their descriptions. In the
blank space in column A, place the correct letter from column B.
A B
1. ___ Kingston A. Kingston’s mother
2. ___ The Old Couple B. Author and narrator
3. ___ Moon Orchid’s husband C. A Chinese laundry man
4. ___ Moon Orchid D. A Chinese poetess
5. ___ No-Name Woman E. A female warrior
6. ___ Fa Mu Lan F. Moon Orchid’s husband
7. ___ The Silent Girl G. The unnamed aunt
8. ___ Brave Orchid H. Martial Arts teachers
9. ___ Shaman I. Brave Orchid’s sister
10. ___ Kingston’s father J. Kingston’s classmate
Part III. Short Answer. Please use complete sentences to answer the following questions.
What do the villagers in The Handsomest Drowned Man in the World do with the
body of the drowned man?
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How does the drowned man change the people and their village?
_____________________________________________________________________
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_____________________________________________________________________
Part IV. Essay. Describe the setting of The Handsomest Drowned Man in the World.
Does the story take place in 2008, 30 years ago, or centuries ago? Why do you
believe that the story takes place during this time? Where do the villagers live? Please
provide evidence from the story to explain your answers. Your essay must contain the
necessary structural components.
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_____________________________________________________________________
_____________________________________________________________________
_____________________________________________________________________
_____________________________________________________________________
_____________________________________________________________________
Appendix L
Grade English Language Arts
2008-2009
Teacher: Ms. West
Classroom: Room B253
Classroom #: 510.555.1212
Available hours: 9:30 a.m.-11:00 a.m. or by appointment
E-mail: [email protected] (best way to reach me)
Webpage:www.mswests.yolasite.com
Greetings:
My name is Ms. West. I am your child’s eleventh-grade English Language Arts
teacher. I am pleased to begin another year. I have provided you with my contact
information above. I want you to know that you have many ways to contact me should you
have a question or concern about your child’s English Language Arts experience. I truly wish
that you would take a moment to review my website. The website is cock-full of information
and it is available at your fingertips.
Newsletters: I will send home weekly newsletters. The newsletter will have class
happenings, exciting classroom news, up coming projects, and parent volunteer opportunities.
This information will also be updated on my website and sent out as a blast email.
Back-to-school night and Parent-Teacher Conferences: Information regarding parent-
teacher conferences will be sent out two weeks prior to parent-teacher conference week.
Classroom Rules:
� My student’s physical and emotional safety is of the utmost concern. Students will not be allowed to bully, physically, or emotionally cause intentional harm to another
student. I want to do my best to make sure every child feels safe. Therefore, I
have a Zero tolerance for this type of behavior.
� Students are not allowed to use cell phones for phone calls or to send text-
messages at any point during class time. Please help me insure that all students have an opportunity to learn by asking your child to refrain from using their cell phone in
class. You will be asked to retrieve your child’s phone upon the second time they
choose not to follow this rule.
Next week your child, his /her fellow classmates, and I will put together our complete list
of our final classroom rules; your, as well as your child’s signature is required. Should you have any concerns or suggestions, please feel free to call or email me. I really look forward
to meeting you really soon.
Cordially,
Ms. West
Appendix M
Annotated Bibliography
Alameda Office of Education(2008). Special. Retrieved October 27, 2008, from
http://ww3.acoe.org/apps/page.asp?Q=512
County/state departments
The Alameda County Office of Education’s Special Education Department offers Designated Instruction
and Services (DIS). These services include Language and Speech Development and Remediation,
Occupational Therapy, Career preparation/vocational, Psychological counseling and guidance,
Health/Nursing service, and Vision service.
Schools can make sure that they have a rapport or partnerships with these departments. They can assist
parents with utilizing the services. Teachers can use professional development opportunities in which they
seek out more information regarding the extent and cost of these services. ACOE has a plethora of services
that include Gifted and Talented (GATE) district coordinators network, and an EL forum for schools to
obtain current strategies. Parents can utilize their various educational and health services to assist their
child in gaining educational benefits in the public school system.
Alameda County Library website (2008).
http://www.aclibrary.org/services/adaServices/default.asp?topic=ADAServices&cat=ADAServices
Community resources
The Alameda County public Library offers resources for people with special
needs. They have computer monitors that magnify up to 2x, remote access screen
readers, large text print, document holders, large keyboard labels, books on tape,
and closed caption videos. If parents are unable to provide their children with
these materials at home, the library may be able to be of some assistance.