PPC #1

Based on details provided in the text, which of the following is most likely the setting for the passage?

A. A lawn at a rural resort B. A park in a bustling urban environment C. A field on the outskirts of a small village D. The yard of an old family homestead E. The town square in a small country town - Explain: The memories of cousins and invited guests who visited Merry Point over the years suggest a family home. In the first paragraph, the narrator describes "look[ing] up through the branches of the sugar tree" to the windows of a room and recalling old friends and family who once occupied it.

The narrator speaks from the point of view of

A. A member of a close-knit family whose knowledge is limited by his experiences B. An outsider who provides a fresh perspective on familial relationships C. A lover of nature whose passion constrains the insights he can offer D. A disinterested bystander who faithfully reports on a family's interactions E. An external presence who provides reliable insight into characters' thoughts - Explain: The narrator has knowledge of the characters mentioned, like Maggie McLean, Jim Crenfew, and Edward Brewer, but the narrator's perspective is limited, not knowing what happened to these people over the years.

"Shamengwa," originally published in the NEW YORKER, by Louise Erdrich. Copyright © 2009 by Louise Erdrich, used by permission of The Wylie Agency LLC.

A. A retelling of the events leading to a character's downfall B. A description of an event that allows for commentary on a group of people C. A discussion of a character that provides insights into a defined community D. A collection of discrete incidents that illustrate a historic event E. A presentation of an individual who conforms to a common stereotype - Explain: The passage as a whole describes Shamengwa, his habits, his music, and his personality as an integral member of a defined community to offer some insight into that community.

The narrator in the passage speaks from the point of view of

A. An outsider who is nevertheless knowledgeable about the community's history and practices B. An all-knowing observer who understands all the characters' deepest thoughts and feelings C. A storyteller who invents an unbelievable story to entertain the community D. A central character whose trustworthiness the reader is invited to doubt E. A member of a community with insight into its people and their experiences - Explain: The narrator uses the first-person plural to convey that he or she is part of the community and understands its members and their backgrounds. The second paragraph provides a good example of the narrator's insight into the people in the definition of "owehzhee": "although . . . undefeatable."

In the fourth paragraph, Shamengwa's decision to place his awards "on a triangular scrap of shelf high in one corner of his house" suggests that he

A. Attaches little importance to external recognition B. Wishes to prevent the awards from being damaged C. Wants his neighbors to know of his accomplishments D. Does not want to be reminded about the competitions E. Does not want his grandchild to play with the awards without permission - Explain: Shamengwa puts his trophies in an inconspicuous spot in his house because he ascribes little importance to the trophies and therefore the external recognition he has won for his playing. This is most evident when he lets his grandchild play with and break them, but "Shamengwa didn't care."

Toward the end of the first paragraph, the references to what goes on "in one of the upstairs rooms" and to Jim Crenfew's "explosive laugh" suggest which of the following about the narrator?

A. He wishes to alter the past. B. The past is very vivid to him. C. He cannot tell reality from unreality. D. He is interested in what will happen upstairs. E. Jim Crenfew was once his best friend. - Explain: The narrator uses vivid description of details of the past, looking up to where a light now burns dimly in the upstairs room but thinking of a past when girls dressed for parties there and he may have heard "the rumbling, explosive laugh of Jim Crenfew."

The second half of the third paragraph ("When . . . played it") primarily serves to

A. Highlight the community's unique qualities B. Explain the impact of a character's performing style C. Acknowledge the narrator's limited ability to describe the music D. Mourn many of the reservation residents' loss of self-knowledge E. Celebrate music's ability to help listeners relive happy memories - Explain: The lines ("When . . . played it") convey how the community members react to Shamengwa's violin playing.

In context, the discussion of "owehzhee" in the second paragraph suggests that the narrator

A. Sees an attractive appearance as the best way to resist authority B. Believes that men like Shamengwa have no reason to be vain C. Dislikes and disapproves of men being preoccupied with their looks D. Understands and sympathizes with Shamengwa's attentiveness to his appearance E. shares Shamengwa's focus on keeping a youthful appearance - Explain: The narrator's perspective is conveyed by saying that "owehzhee" "show[s] that, although the government has tried in every way possible to destroy their manhood, they are undefeatable." This sentence establishes the narrator's support for Shamengwa's attention to his appearance because it is an effort to maintain his pride even in the face of oppression.

In the third paragraph ("There . . . tree"), the narrator's descriptions of light falling through branches and shadows moving across the field primarily serve to

A. Suggest that natural cycles can explain the mysteries of life B. Emphasize a difference between the regularity of nature and the unpredictability of humans C. Establish a context in which Tom Rivers' actions will make sense in retrospect D. Imply that something about Tom Rivers' personality would be out of place in nature E. Suggest that the family's property may hold a clue to Tom Rivers' disappearance - Explain:

In the first three sentences of the second paragraph ("At such . . . connection"), the narrator suggests which of the following about himself and his cousins?

A. They don't want to disrupt a particular mood. B. They have a tendency to talk about themselves. C. They do not always listen when others speak. D. They each believe their own version of the past is the only correct one. E. They cannot believe that friends from the past are still with them. - Explain: The phrases "At such a time," "We keep up the illusion," and "Seeking to make the scene more complete" suggest that the narrator and his cousins enjoy their reminiscing and want the conversation to continue.

This passage is excerpted from a short story published in 2002.

At the edge of our reservation settlement there lived an old man whose arm was twisted up winglike along his side, and who was for that reason named for a butterfly—Shamengwa. Other than his arm, he was an extremely well-made person. Anyone could see that he had been handsome, and he still cut a graceful figure, slim and of medium height. His head was covered with a startling thick mane of white hair, which he was proud of. Every few weeks, he had it carefully trimmed and styled by his daughter, Geraldine, who traveled in from the bush just to do it. Shamengwa was a man of refinement, who prepared himself carefully to meet life every day. In the Ojibwa language that is spoken on our reservation, owehzhee is the way men get themselves up—pluck stray hairs, brush each tooth, make a precise part in their hair, and, these days, press a sharp crease down the front of their blue jeans—in order to show that, although the government has tried in every way possible to destroy their manhood, they are undefeatable. Owehzhee. We still look good and we know it. The old man was never seen in disarray, and yet there was more to it. He played the fiddle. How he played the fiddle! Although his arm was so twisted and disfigured that his shirts had to be carefully altered and pinned to accommodate the gnarled shape, he had agility in that arm, even strength. Ever since he was very young, Shamengwa had, with the aid of a white silk scarf, tied his elbow into a position that allowed the elegant hand and fingers at the end of the damaged arm full play across the fiddle's strings. With his other hand, he drew the bow. When I try to explain the sound he made, I come to some trouble with words. Inside became outside when Shamengwa played music. Yet inside to outside does not half sum it up. The music was more than music—at least, more than what we are used to hearing. The sound connected instantly with something deep and joyous. Those powerful moments of true knowledge which we paper over with daily life. The music tapped our terrors, too. Things we'd lived through and wanted never to repeat. Shredded imaginings, unadmitted longings, fear, and also surprising pleasures. We can't live at that pitch. But every so often something shatters like ice, and we fall into the river of our own existence. We are aware. This realization was in his music somehow, or in the way Shamengwa played it. Thus Shamengwa wasn't wanted at every party. The wild joy his jigs and reels brought forth might just as easily send people crashing onto the rocks of their roughest memories and they'd end up stunned and addled or crying in their beer. So it is. People's emotions often turn on them. Geraldine, a dedicated, headstrong woman who six years back had borne a baby, dumped its father, and earned a degree in education, sometimes drove Shamengwa to fiddling contests, where he could perform in more of a concert setting. He even won awards, prizes of the cheap sort given at local musical contests—engraved plaques and small tin cups set on plastic pedestals. These he placed on a triangular scrap of shelf high in one corner of his house. The awards were never dusted, and sometimes, when his grandchild asked him to take them down for her to play with, they came apart. Shamengwa didn't care. He was, however, fanatical about his violin. He treated this instrument with the reverence we accord our drums, which are considered living beings and require from us food, water, shelter, and love. He fussed over it, stroked it clean with a soft cotton handkerchief, laid it carefully away in the cupboard every night in a leather case that he kept as well polished as his shoes. "Shamengwa," originally published in the NEW YORKER, by Louise Erdrich. Copyright © 2009 by Louise Erdrich, used by permission of The Wylie Agency LLC.

In this excerpt from a short story published in 1933, the narrator is reminiscing with some of his cousins.

We talk about cousins like these for a while, but we go on finally to people we knew more intimately, people whose characters have left us, even after all these years, something to wonder about. We speculate on how and when Robert Allard began taking morphine, and what induced Maggie McLean to turn Jim Crenfew down for a nincompoop1 like Edward Brewer. Somebody has seen the notice of Maggie's death in a New Orleans paper. We think of it, but we cannot take it in. We see her as she was when she first came to Merry Point to visit, a frail, high-spirited girl, who made us all indignant with her outrageous treatment of Jim Crenfew. We talk on like that until we have called to mind almost all the people who ever came here in the old days. We hold them in our minds until they seem to live again. I look up through the branches of the sugar tree to where a light burns dimly in one of the upstairs rooms. Girls might be dressing there for a party. At any moment, I may hear the rumbling, explosive laugh of Jim Crenfew. At such a time, none of us three will stop talking. We keep up the illusion, with a name here, a name there. Seeking to make the scene more complete, we cast about on the fringes of our enormous family connection. What ever became of this cousin, or how was that person connected? It is then that Tom Rivers's name will be mentioned. Infrequently, I say. One or two summers will go by, and I may not hear his name. And then it will be spoken, and I have always that start, half pleasure, half pride, and I realize that no matter whether I hear his name or not he is never out of my memory. There is a curious thing I have observed. If you sit day after day, summer after summer, in a chair under the same tree, you will notice how the light falls under and through the boughs to strike always in the same pattern. You notice how it falls that way year after year, changing only with the seasons, and you think how you might go away and suffer death or torture by fire or flood, and the light always at the same hour in that season will be creeping around the bole2 of that beech tree. It is like that with me when I think about Tom Rivers. I cannot understand how it was that he disappeared, leaving nowhere any trace of his going. I sit here in the late afternoon, and the long lances of shadow start from the garden fence and move slowly on, past the big sugar tree and past the beech tree, to halt for a moment at the little sugar tree that stands not fifty yards from my chair. When they have moved past, I see that the hunched, dark shadow that seemed to me a rooster standing with his back to the western light is really only a clump of dog fennel. I see it happen like that almost every afternoon, and with it comes always a fresh wonder at the restless, hurried movements of human beings. The light can fall like that evening after evening on some tree or flower, and yet a man that one has known intimately can vanish, as we always say of Tom Rivers, off the face of the earth. Used by permission.