Burnaby Online - English 10 First Assignment

Transcription

1 Burnaby Online - English 10 First Assignment Welcome to Burnaby Online. This is the First Assignment for English 10. Once you have completed this assignment, please submit it with your registration package. (Submit pages 1 3 and your written responses. Do not submit pages 4 7. Do not limit yourself to the space provided.) If you have any questions about this assignment please contact your teacher. Teacher: Ms. J. Cardinal janice.cardinal@sd41.bc.ca Checklist: Be sure that all of the following items are complete before handing this in. 1. Personal information (full name, address, contact numbers) 2. Fiction Section A (6 multiple choice responses) Section B (2 short answers) Section C (2 long answers) 3. Non-fiction Section D (4 short answers) Your Name: Phone: Cell phone: Part 1 Fiction ( /20) Section A Multiple Choice: ( /6) After reading the short story The Plight of Ellen, by Rosalie Heywood choose the best answer to the following questions. 1. Why were Ellen and her mother living with the old man and the old woman? a) to help save money for college b) because Ellen s father died c) to help the old couple with expenses d) none of the above

2 2. At what time did Ellen s mother return from work each day? a) 12:00 midnight b) 5:00pm c) 12:00 noon d) 6:00pm 3. What did the old man and the old woman do to punish Ellen? a) withhold her breakfast b) lock her in the cupboard c) make her clean the cupboard d) give her the silent treatment 4. The mood of the story is: a) sad b)reassuring c) joyful d)cynical 5. Which word best describes Ellen s mood at the beginning of the story? a) regretful b) eager c) joyful d) lonely 6. Which word best describes the story s ending? a) happy b) sad c) surprise d) indeterminate Section B Short Answers: ( /4) Respond in complete and proper sentences to the following questions. 1. How does the setting of the story impact the mood? ( /2) 2. Are Ellen s actions justified? Explain. ( /2) Section C Long Answers: ( /10) Answer the questions in paragraph form. 1. Describe the character of Ellen using examples from the story. ( /5) 2. Identify and discuss two conflicts from the story. ( /5)

3 Part 2 Non-fiction ( /16) Section D Short Answers: Respond in paragraph form to the following questions after reading Hijab My View by Sultana Yusufali. 1. What is your general impression of this article? Did you enjoy reading it? Why or why not? ( /4) 2. Did the writer's opinion here surprise you at all? What did you learn? Have you changed your opinion of Muslim women after reading this? ( /4) 3. What is the author's thesis statement? What are her arguments which back up the thesis? ( /4) 4. Sultana Yusufali states in this article, "It is a myth that women in today's society are liberated." Do you agree with her opinion or not? Explain in paragraph form. ( /4)

4 Part 1 Fiction The Plight of Ellen by Rosalie Heywood Ellen sat on the edge of the bed listening to footsteps descending the stairs. The front door opened and closed. There, Mama Jean was gone and she would not see her again until six o clock. She looked at the clock on the dresser, despair in her wide blue eyes. That would be when the hands were straight up and down; but it took a very long time. Ellen knew because she watched the clock everyday, except Sunday of course. On Sunday, Mama Jean was with her every minute and there was no time to look at the clock. But other days, like today, Mama Jean worked and Ellen was left alone with the old man and the old woman. She clutched the front of her dress with moist fingers that lonesome feeling was coming back. If only they would move again, move to some place where the lonesome feeling would not be so bad. Here it was very bad because the old man and the old woman hated little children. Mama Jean said they didn t really hate children but that they d never had any of their own and they were so very old now they forgot what it was like to be five years old. Ellen could forgive them for being cross if only they would talk to her or smile at her sometimes. But they hardly ever noticed her at all. If she had her daddy they would have their own house and she and Mama Jean could be together every day. But he died when she was a tiny baby and all she had of him now was the picture of a smiling dark-haired young man beside the clock on the dresser. Ellen, Ellen, came the voice of the old woman from downstairs. If she didn t go right away the old man would call. She sat there, her feet swinging against the fringe of the bedspread. Anyway they wouldn t be able to call her an untidy child this morning, for Mama Jean had dressed her. Her shoes were on the right feet and all her buttons were done up. Even her hair was brushed and tied with a blue bow. Ellen! The old man s sudden bellow made her jump. She slid off the bed and walked slowly toward the door. With her hand on the knob, she looked back at the room. It was nice in here, but the things that made it nice, the pretty pink bedspread and the fancy dressed doll, and Daddy s picture, belonged to Mama Jean, and would go with them when they moved. Ellen, it was the old woman again, if you don t come at once you ll get no breakfast. Ellen opened the door, slipped past it and pulled it closed noiselessly behind her. One, two, three, she counted, slowly stepping downward, one hand on the banister. Suddenly she sat down, and using her hands to propel her, continued in this seated position, bump, bump, bump, until she reached the fourth step from the bottom. Turning to her knees, she peered through the wire netting that formed a small window between the fifth and sixth steps. It was dark beyond that window, but by shading her eyes she could see the shelves of fruit and jelly, almost as clearly as when she was inside that cupboard under the stairs, with the door that joined it to the kitchen closed and bolted. From inside, the tiny bit of light coming through the netting shone right on the jars, making the rest of the cupboard space more dark than ever. Being locked in that cupboard was the worst thing that had ever happened to her, and it had happened several times because that was the way the old man and old woman punished her. At those times she would sit on a little orange box on the floor, squeeze

5 her eyes shut and try not to be sick. She would feel the walls pressing around her so that she could hardly breathe and the musty smell would make her think of the mice that came. There was always a trap set and Ellen would shudder for fear a mouse would be caught while she was locked inside. Hearing sounds from the kitchen, Ellen jumped clear of the remaining steps and ran down the hall. The porridge was cold. She swallowed a few spoonfuls, then played with it, making little rivers of the milk. The old man and the old woman were reading the paper and talking to each other. Have we any of that blackcurrant jelly left? the old man asked. I d like some to finish off this biscuit. I believe there is one jar, replied the old woman, and Ellen raised her eyes from the dish to watch her unbolt the door and go inside the cupboard under the stairs. I was sure I knew just where to put my hand on it, the old woman called out, but it doesn t seem bring a candle, Jim. The old man got a piece of candle from a drawer, lit it, then followed his wife. Ellen watched the darkened doorway, listening to the mumbling inside, then she slid from her chair and ran to the cupboard, slammed the door shut and pushed the bolt into place. There was a muffled exclamation and Ellen stepped back, her heart pounding. Open the door, the old man demanded. Open the door this instant or I ll tan you, threatened the old woman. Ellen looked at the bolt. It was pushed over all the way and the little knob was down so that it was locked in place. The old man called again, his voice more harsh than ever, Ellen, open that door. Ellen dear, the old woman was pleading now, open the door and I ll give you a piece of sugared ginger. Ellen backed away, then ran down the hall and up the steps to the little screen window. The two inside turned toward her and their faces looked weird and ugly in the flickering candlelight. They were alternately scolding and coaxing but Ellen had stopped listening. They began to pound on the door. They pounded very hard so Ellen ran to the kitchen to see. The bolt was jiggling but it was still in place. It was a very strong door and a very strong bolt. When she was back at the window they went on pleading while Ellen stared at them. They were helpless, they couldn t touch her. She felt, very strongly, the need of some weapon by which to punish them more. She hesitated, then stuck out her tongue. After watching the effect of this, she ran up the remaining steps and into the bedroom. Downstairs the noise went on while she pulled off her shoes and socks, undid her buttons and lifted the dress over her head. A few more minutes and she was in her nightgown. Slipping under the bedcovers she pulled them over her head. The early morning sunlight coming into her room was warm, but she lay there shivering. Then she pushed the covers down just enough so that she could see the picture on the dresser and the clock right beside it. Ellen was sure they would move now, she and Mama Jean, maybe tomorrow. And perhaps if she was to pray real hard, six o clock would come soon.

6 Part 2 Non-fiction Hijab My View By Sultana Yusufali I probably do not fit into the preconceived notion of a rebel. I have no visible tattoos and minimal piercings. I do not possess a leather jacket. In fact, when most people look at me, their first thought usually is something along the lines of oppressed female. The brave individuals who have mustered the courage to ask me about the way I dress usually have questions like: Do your parents make you wear that? Or Don t you find that really unfair? A while back, a couple of girls in Montreal were kicked out of school for dressing like I do. It seems strange that a little piece of cloth would make for such controversy. Perhaps the fear is that I am harbouring an Uzi underneath it. You never can tell with those Muslim fundamentalists. Of course, the issue at hand is more than a mere piece of cloth. I am a Muslim woman who, like millions of other Muslim women across the globe, chooses to wear the hijab. There are many different ways to wear it, but in essence, what we do is cover our entire bodies except for our hands and faces. If you re the kind of person who has watched a lot of popular movies, you d probably think of harem girls and belly-dancers, women who are kept in seclusion except for the private pleasure of their male masters. In the true Islamic faith, nothing could be further from the truth. And the concept of the hijab, contrary to popular opinion, is actually one of the most fundamental aspects of female empowerment. When I cover myself, I make it virtually impossible for people to judge me according to the way I look. I cannot be categorized because of my attractiveness or lack thereof. Compare this to life in today s society: We are constantly sizing one another up on the basis of our clothing, jewellery, hair and make-up. What kind of depth can there be in a world like this? Yes, I have a body, a physical manifestation upon this Earth. But it is the vessel of an intelligent mind and a strong spirit. It is not for the beholder to leer at or to use in advertisements to sell everything from beer to cars. Because of the superficiality of the world in which we live, external appearances are so stressed that the value of the individual counts for almost nothing. It is a myth that women in today s society are liberated. What kind of freedom can there be when a woman cannot walk down the street without every aspect of her physical self being checked out? When I wear the hijab I feel safe from all of this. I can rest assured that no one is looking at me and making assumptions about my character from the length of my skirt. There is a barrier between me and those who would exploit me. I am first and foremost a human being, equal to any man, and not vulnerable because of my sexuality. One of the saddest truths of our time is the question of the beauty myth and female self-image. Reading popular teenage magazines, you can instantly find out what kind of body image is in or out. And if you have the wrong body type, well, then, you re just going to have to change it, aren t you? After all, there is no way that you can be overweight and still be beautiful. Look at any advertisement. Is a woman being used to sell the product? How old is she? How attractive is she? What is she wearing? More often than not, that woman will be no

7 older than her early 20s, taller, slimmer and more attractive than average, dressed in skimpy clothing. Why do we allow ourselves to be manipulated like this? Whether the 90s woman wishes to believe it or not, she is being forced into a mould. She is being coerced into selling herself, into compromising herself. This is why we have 13-year-old girls sticking their fingers down their throats and overweight adolescents hanging themselves. When people ask me if I feel oppressed, I can honestly say no. I made this decision out of my own free will. I like the fact that I am taking control of the way other people perceive me. I enjoy the fact that I don t give anyone anything to look at and that I have released myself from the bondage of the swinging pendulum of the fashion industry and other institutions that exploit females. My body is my own business. Nobody can tell me how I should look or whether or not I am beautiful. I know that there is more to me than that. I am also able to say no comfortably when people ask me if I feel as though my sexuality is being repressed. I have taken control of my sexuality. I am thankful I will never have to suffer the fate of trying to lose/gain weight or trying to find the exact lipstick shade that will go with my skin colour. I have made choices about what my priorities are and these are not among them. So next time you see me, don t look at me sympathetically. I am not under duress or a male-worshipping female captive from those barbarous Arabic deserts. I ve been liberated. I am a W O M A N..Yes a MUSLIM WOMAN.