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March 29, 2024, 03:56:42 am

Author Topic: Literary Worlds Practise Questions?  (Read 3836 times)  Share 

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tarasmith

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Literary Worlds Practise Questions?
« on: July 22, 2019, 05:16:28 pm »
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Hi everyone!

I’ve been hunting for practise questions for the common module (Literary Worlds) but have not had much luck finding any. Has anyone got any that they would be willing to share?

Thanks!

AiramPevensie

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Re: Literary Worlds Practise Questions?
« Reply #1 on: October 18, 2019, 03:30:39 pm »
+1
Hi everyone!

I’ve been hunting for practise questions for the common module (Literary Worlds) but have not had much luck finding any. Has anyone got any that they would be willing to share?

Thanks!

Hi tarasmith! I'm doing Extension English this year too, so here's the question from my trial paper.

Question 1 - Creative and critical response (25 marks)

Use Text 1 to answer this question.

The final line of the extract from The Story of an Hour states: “When the doctors came they said she had died of heart disease-of the joy that kills.”   

Compose a piece of imaginative writing in which a new world is founded and lost due to an ironic event.

Your response should draw on your knowledge and understanding of the module Literary Worlds.

Evaluate the way in which your compositional choices in part (a) engage the reader in your literary world and explain how they parallel or deviate from the stylistic features found in Text 1.

Your response should draw on your knowledge and understanding of how texts construct private and imaginary worlds.


Text 1 — Short story extract

Knowing that Mrs. Mallard was afflicted with a heart trouble, great care was taken to break to her as gently as possible the news of her husband's death.
It was her sister Josephine who told her. Her husband's friend Richards was there, too. He had been in the newspaper office when intelligence of the railroad disaster was received, with Brently Mallard's name leading the list of "killed."
She wept at once, with wild abandonment. When the storm of grief had spent itself she went away to her room alone. There stood, facing the open window, a comfortable, roomy armchair. Into this she sank, pressed down by a physical exhaustion seemed to reach into her soul.
There were patches of blue sky showing through the clouds facing her window. She was young, with a fair, calm face, whose lines bespoke repression and even a certain strength. But now there was a dull stare in her eyes, whose gaze was fixed away off yonder on one of those patches of blue sky.
There was something coming to her and she was waiting for it, fearfully. What was it? She did not know; it was too subtle and elusive to name. But she felt it, creeping out of the sky.
She was beginning to recognise this thing that was approaching to possess her, and she was striving to beat it back with her will. When she abandoned herself a little whispered word escaped her lips. She said it over and over under the breath: "free, free, free!" The vacant stare and the look of terror that had followed it went from her eyes. They stayed keen and bright. Her pulses beat fast, and the coursing blood warmed and relaxed every inch of her body.
She did not stop to ask if it were or were not a monstrous joy that held her. She knew that she would weep again when she saw the kind, tender hands folded in death; the face fixed and grey and dead. But she saw beyond that bitter moment a long procession of years to come that would belong to her absolutely. And she opened and spread her arms out to them in welcome.
There would be no one to live for during those coming years; she would live for herself. There would be no powerful will bending hers in that blind persistence with which men and women believe they have a right to impose a private will upon a fellow-creature.
"Free! Body and soul free!" she kept whispering.
Josephine was kneeling before the closed door imploring, "Louise, open the door! I beg; open the door--you will make yourself ill. What are you doing, Louise?"
"Go away. I am not making myself ill." No; she was drinking in a very elixir of life through that open window.
Her fancy was running riot along those days ahead of her. Spring days, and summer days, and all sorts of days that would be her own. She breathed a quick prayer that life might be long. It was only yesterday she had thought with a shudder that life might be long.
She arose at length and opened the door. There was a feverish triumph in her eyes, and she carried herself unwittingly like a goddess of Victory. She clasped her sister's waist, and together they descended the stairs. Richards stood waiting for them at the bottom.
Someone was opening the front door with a latchkey. It was Brently Mallard. He had been far from the scene of the accident. He stood amazed at Josephine's piercing cry; at Richards' quick motion to screen him from the view of his wife.
When the doctors came they said she had died of heart disease-of the joy that kills.
KATE CHOPIN
Extract from The Story of An Hour

All the best!