World Literature

World Literature: Fundamentals
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
TOPIC I: INTRODUCTION TO LITERARY STUDIES ................................................................................... 2

TOPIC II: LITERARY CRITICAL THEORIES .............................................................................................. 13
TOPIC III: DIFFERENT LITERATURES OF THE WORLD ......................................................................... 17
GREEK LITERATURE: The Illiad by Homer.................................................................................... 19
ROMAN LITERATURE: Pyramus and Thisbe by Ovid .................................................................... 22
ROMAN LITERATURE: The Aenied by Virgil .................................................................................. 24
ENGLISH LITERATURE: Sonnet 116 by William Shakespeare ...................................................... 28
ENGLISH LITERATURE: The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer ........................................... 29
ITALIAN LITERATURE: War by Luigi Pirandello ............................................................................. 31
FRENCH LITERATURE: Candide by Voltaire ................................................................................. 33
GERMAN LITERATURE: The Lorelei by Heinrich Heine ................................................................. 35
NORTH AMERICAN LITERATURE: Rape Fantasies by Margaret Atwood ..................................... 36
PERUVIAN LITERATURE: The Lottery Ticket by Ventura Garcia – Calderon ................................. 38
MEXICAN LITERATURE: Wind and Water and Stone by Octavio Paz ........................................... 39
CHILEAN LITERATURE: The Fickle One by Pablo Neruda ............................................................ 40
AUSTRALIAN LITERATURE: Day of Wrath (A Schoolboy’s Tale) by Christina Stead..................... 42
NEW ZEALAND LITERATURE: A Dill Pickle by Katherine Mansfield .............................................. 44
CHINESE LITERATURE: To My Retired Friend, Wei by Tu Fu ....................................................... 49
JAPANESE LITERATURE: Jetliner by Naoshi Koriyama ................................................................ 50
CENTRAL ASIAN LITERATURE: 1996 by Rabindranath Tagore .................................................... 52
WEST ASIAN LITERATURE: On Pain by Khalil Gibran .................................................................. 54
SOUTHEAST ASIAN LITERATURE: Dead Stars by Paz Marquez -Benitez ................................... 55
SINGAPOREAN LITERATURE: The Taximan’s History by Catherine Lim ...................................... 57
VIETNAMESE LITERATURE: Thoughts of Hanoi by Nguyen Thi Vinh ........................................... 59
MALAYSIAN LITERATURE: Nite of de Iguana “The Star” by Cecil Rejendra .................................. 62
INDONESIAN LITERATURE: Circumcision by Pramoedya Ananta Toer ....................................... 64
THAI LITERATURE: The Traffic-wise Couple by Sila Khoamchai ................................................... 66
CAMBODIAN LITERATURE: Strobe Lights by Yeng Cheangly ...................................................... 71
CAMBODIAN LITERATURE: Starlight by Chie Kim Heang ............................................................ 71
SOUTH AFRICAN LITERATURE: The Moment Before the Guns Went Off by Nadine Gordimer ... 72
KENYAN LITERATURE: Tales of Two Gentleman by Isak Dinesen............................................... 75
NIGERIAN LITERATURE: Telephone Conversations by Wole Soyinka ......................................... 80
REFERENCES: .......................................................................................................................................... 82
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TOPIC I: INTRODUCTION TO LITERARY STUDIES

Literature plays an important role in cultivating one’s culture and enabling different norms and ideas
to exist and be passed down from one generation to another. Fundamentally, we need to understand
the modes of transport of information and how people were able to preserve the literatures of their
times that we now enjoy and reflect upon. We also need to understand the impact of said literatures
and how it influences the materials we now create.
This material would focus more on simplifying the idea of literature and making it amicable for the
general audience.
We must remember that Literature is only a component of a bigger umbrella – the English subject.
Under it, there are two major sub-divisions, namely, Linguistics and Literature. Before we can
proceed to learning the different literary pieces of different timeframes, we need to understand the
influence of Linguistics to Literature.
Supposedly, these two are separate. But, if we look at it in a deeper perspective, we will discover
that what we thought are two opposite ideas are connected in a greater sense. Take this quote from
the 2016 movie Arrival starring Amy Adams and Jeremy Renner which was inspired by the work
"Story of Your Life" by Ted Chiang:
“Language is the foundation of human civilization. It is the glue that keeps people together and the
first weapon drawn in a conflict.”
The quotation regarded Language highly because the author knows that Language plays an
important role in shaping the human civilization. Given that Science can be considered as the
cornerstone of Civilization, but without Language, no one can relay their information and scientific
knowledge.
Keyword here is: COMMUNICATE. Without proper communication, there would be no proper
interaction between individuals, thus; we are most likely still stuck in the Dark Ages.
Going back to our discussion on Literature and linking the idea of Language to the study of
Literature, Language has allowed Literature to propagate and spread throughout the world and
across different timeframes because of Language, because of our ancestor’s will to pursue
spreading their knowledge across time and people. They have used different Languages as tools to
spread out different Literatures.
And, without Literature, we would be far from where we are right now.
For this Introduction, we will be covering several questions surrounding the idea of Literature,
namely:
A. What is the Importance of Studying Literature?
B. What are the Different Genres of Literature?
C. What are the 7 Literary Standards?
D. What are the Elements of a Short Story?
E. What are the Elements of a Drama?
F. What are the Elements of Poetry?
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A. WHAT IS THE IMPORTANCE OF STUDYING LITERATURE?

• We are bombarded my many different literary materials every day. Be it a Facebook Post,
a News Article, or even your (rarely opened) Textbook.
• Now that you are enrolled in this class, what makes studying Literature so special?
- “It helps us grow both Personally and Intellectually.”
i. It allows us to grow personally by learning from the experience of other people
and intellectually since it enhances our vocabulary range, thus; making us think
critically to articulate and defend our point of view.
- “It links us with the world of which we are a part.”
i. It helps is understand the people across nations. Thus, making us recognize
and respect individual differences.
- “It sharpens our sense of Moral Judgement.”
i. It hones our sense of morality which allows us to draw the line between right
from wrong. It also allows us to understand that what is ethical may not
necessarily be good in our own personal conscience.
- “It stimulates our imagination and creativity.”
i. It fuels our imagination and ingenuity to make sense of any literary works; be it
read, performed, or viewed.
- “It shows the significance of different Literary Devices.”
i. It acquaints us to different poetic devices to unearth the message of the writers.
- “It reminds us that we are human beings.”
i. It makes us realize that we have our own limitations, insecurities, and
imperfections. Thus, enabling us to learn from our past and others to make us
better individuals.
B. WHAT ARE THE DIFFERENT GENRES OF LITERATURE?
• Throughout the ages, there have been many different types of Genres of Literature. They
have evolved in such a way that it accommodates the thought process of different authors
of a certain age.
• When studying the different genres of literature, there are 2 key words:
• Literature
o The value judgment definition of literature considers it to cover exclusively those
writings that possess high quality or distinction, forming part of the so-called
Belles-lettres ('fine writing') tradition. (Eagleton, Literary theory: an introduction,
9)
o This sort of definition is that used in the Encyclopedia Britannica Eleventh
Edition (1910–11) where it classifies literature as: “the best expression of the
best thought reduced to writing.”
o Problematic in this view is that there is no objective definition of what constitutes
"literature “.
o Anything can be literature, and anything which is universally regarded as
literature has the potential to be excluded, since value judgments can change
over time.
• Genre - is any category of literature, music, or other forms of art or entertainment,
whether written or spoken, audio or visual, based on some set of stylistic criteria.
o Genres form by conventions that change over time as new genres are invented
and the use of old ones is discontinued.
o Often, works fit into multiple genres by way of borrowing and recombining these
conventions.
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o Genre began as an absolute classification system for ancient Greek literature.

Poetry, prose, and performance each had a specific and calculated style that
related to the theme of the story.
There are 3 Genres of Literature:
A. PROSE - written or spoken language in its ordinary form, without metrical
structure.
❖ Prose has 2 kinds:
▪ Fiction – Literature in the form of prose, especially short stories,
and novels, that describes imaginary events and people.
▪ Fiction has 2 kinds:
1. Realistic Fiction - is a genre consisting of stories that could
have occurred to people or animals in a believable setting.
2. Fantastic Fiction -a type of fiction that ideologically and
aesthetically subordinates reality to imagination by
depicting a world of marvels that is contrasted to everyday
reality and to accepted views of what is credible.
▪ Non-fiction - Prose writing that is based on facts, real events, and
real people, such as biography or history.
▪ Non-fiction has 5 kinds:
1. Biographies - is a detailed description of a person's life. It
involves more than just the basic facts like education,
work, relationships, and death, but also portrays a
subject's experience of these life events.
2. Autobiographies - is a written account of the life of a person
written by that person.
3. Essays - is, generally, a piece of writing that gives the
author's own argument — but the definition is vague,
overlapping with those of an article, a pamphlet, and a
short story.
4. Articles - a piece of writing included with others in a
newspaper, magazine, or other publication.
5. Humour - situations, speech, or writings that are thought to
be humorous
B. POETRY - is a form of literature that uses aesthetic and rhythmic qualities of
language.
❖ Poetry has 3 Kinds:
▪ Lyric - Is a comparatively short, non-narrative poem in which a
single speaker presents a state of mind or an emotional state.
• Elegy - a poem of serious reflection, typically a lament for
the dead.
• Ode - a poem in which a person expresses a strong feeling
of love or respect for someone or something.
• Sonnet - a fourteen-line poem written in iambic
pentameter, which employ one of several rhyme schemes
and adhere to a tightly structured thematic organization.
• Dramatic Monologue - a poem in the form of a speech or
narrative by an imagined person, in which the speaker
inadvertently reveals aspects of their character while
describing a situation or series of events.
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▪Narrative - a form of poetry that tells a story, often making use of

the voices of a narrator and characters as well; the entire story is
usually written in metered verse.
• Epics - A long narrative poem written in elevated style, in
which heroes of great historical or legendary importance
perform valorous deeds. (e.g. Beowulf)
• Mock-epic - are typically satires or parodies that mock
common Classical stereotypes of heroes and heroic
literature. (e.g. Alexander Pope's the Rape of the Lock)
• Ballad - a poem or song narrating a story in short stanzas.
Traditional ballads are typically of unknown authorship,
having been passed on orally from one generation to the
next as part of the folk culture. (The Second Coming,
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939))
▪ Descriptive and Didactic - Both lyric and narrative poetry can
contain lengthy and detailed descriptions (descriptive poetry) or
scenes in direct speech (dramatic poetry).
• The purpose of a didactic poem is primarily to teach
something.
C. DRAMA - a piece of writing that tells a story and is performed on a stage.
❖ Drama has 5 kinds:
▪ Comedy - Comedies are lighter in tone than ordinary writers and
provide a happy conclusion. The intention of dramatists in
comedies is to make their audience laugh. Hence, they use quaint
circumstances, unusual characters, and witty remarks.
▪ Tragedy - Tragic dramas use darker themes such as disaster,
pain, and death. Protagonists often have a tragic flaw—a
characteristic that leads them to their downfall.
▪ Farce - Generally, a farce is a nonsensical genre of drama, which
often overacts or engages slapstick humor. It is basically, what
you call a “Parody”
▪ Melodrama - Melodrama is an exaggerated drama, which is
sensational and appeals directly to the senses of audience. Just
like the farce, the characters are of single dimension and simple,
or may be stereotyped.
▪ Fantasy - It is a complete fictional work where characters virtually
display supernatural skills. It is more appealing to children as
fairies, angels, superheroes, etc., are embedded in the plot. Use
of magic, pseudo-science, horror, and spooky themes through
various kinds of technical devices create a perfect world of
fantasy. The modern version of drama incorporates a great deal
of special effects.
C. WHAT ARE THE 7 LITERARY STANDARDS?

- How do you know if a work of art is excellent or not? A work of art is excellent if it
possesses the following characteristics:
1. ARTISTRY
a. It appeals to the readers’ standard of beauty. Its elements working together
to express its intended meaning.
2. INTELLECTUAL VALUE
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a. It appeals to the intellect. It inflames critical thinking and allows you to

uncover indispensable truths about life and human nature.
3. SUGGESTIVENESS
a. It appeals to the emotion. It makes us empathize and sympathize with the
people involved in an artwork.
4. SPIRITUAL VALUE
a. It appeals to our sense of morality. It subsumes the capacity to inspire
ordinary people to do extraordinary things.
5. PERMANENCE
a. An excellent artwork lasts. It can be read on several occasions where every
time you read provides new insight about the world, we live in.
6. UNIVERSALITY
a. A superb artwork is not only timeless but timely as well. It appeals to all
regardless of gender, race, or educational attainment.
7. STYLE
a. It manifests the author’s ingenuity and originality. He deviates from social
conventions but can showcase his talent beyond mediocrity.
D. WHAT ARE THE DIFFERENT ELEMENTS OF A SHORT STORY?

- What makes authors such remarkable short story writers? They are true masters at
combining the five key elements that goes into every great short story: Plot, Character,
Setting, Point of View, and Theme
i. A plot is a series of events and character actions that relate to the central
conflict.
1. The opening section is the Exposition followed by the complications
which leads to a conflict until it reaches climax. After the climax comes
the falling action and it ends with the resolution or denouement.
ii. A character is a person, or sometimes even an animal, who takes part in the
action of a story or a literary work.
1. Characters in a short story may be classified in different ways:
a. ROLE AND IMPORTANCE
i. Antagonist - a person who actively opposes or is hostile to
someone or something
ii. Protagonist - the main figure or one of the most prominent
figures in a real situation.
b. COMPLEXITY OF CHARACTERIZATION
i. Flat - is a type of character in fiction that are mostly one-
dimensional and is not layered or deep. They just usually
have 1 or 2 traits to make up their whole personality.
ii. Round - This type of character that are layered and
interesting.
c. ROLE IN ADVANCING THE PLOT
i. Dynamic – are characters that changes as the story
progresses
ii. Static – are characters that stay the same from the start to
the end of the story.
iii. A setting not only refers to the place of the story but also to the specific time,
the climactic actions and even the historical period during which the story took
place.
1. Atmosphere is also an aspect of a short story in which it describes the
mood or feeling that prevails a literary work.
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iv. There is a significant difference between a Narrator and an Author. When we

speak of a Narrator, point of view is needed.
1. There are 5 different kinds of point of views:
a. First Person
b. Second Person – The rarest form of POV
c. Third Person Objective – Describes the exterior scene without the
internal thoughts and feelings of the characters.
d. Third Person Limited – focuses more on the internal struggles of
the characters while disregarding their surroundings.
e. Omniscient – a combination of both limited and objective.
v. The theme is the central idea or belief in a short story.
1. The plot is considered as the body of the story and the theme as its soul.
E. WHAT ARE THE DIFFERENT ELEMENTS OF DRAMA?
- Drama is quite different from other literary works because it is meant to be performed
on a stage. It is also popularly known as play. It has three key elements: Dialogue,
Plot, and Character
i. A dialogue is an indispensable element of drama for without it, there is no play.
1. It makes up the bulk of drama. It acts like the expository section of a
short story’s plot.
2. This is where the characters are revealed.
3. It serves as a direction.
4. Establishes situation and conveys a tone.
5. Conveys a dramatic tension and conflict.
6. Implies the theme of the play.
ii. A story tells us what happens. A plot tells us why it happens.
1. It also contains the same components as what short stories have. The
plot is usually structured with acts and scenes. An act is the main division
in while the scene is a smaller unit.
iii. It is said that in drama, characters and plot work together.
1. In short story, characters could be expository; but in drama, this is not
possible for drama uses three methods of characterization:
a. Through name and physical appearance.
b. Through action (what the character does in the play); and
c. Through the dialogue.
F. WHAT ARE THE DIFFERENT ELEMENTS OF POETRY?
- There are several elements which makes up a good poem. Although it is not
mandatory for a poet to use all these elements, they form an important aspect of
poetry. So, what are the elements of a poem? In brief, they will be discussed using
this material:
o Allegory
▪ An allegory is a story that is used to represent a more general message about
real-life (historical) issues and/or events. It is typically an entire book, novel,
play, etc.
▪ Example: George Orwell’s dystopian book Animal Farm is an allegory for the
events preceding the Russian Revolution and the Stalinist era in early 20th
century Russia. In the story, animals on a farm practice animalism, which is
essentially communism. Many characters correspond to actual historical
figures: Old Major represents both the founder of communism Karl Marx and
the Russian communist leader Vladimir Lenin; the farmer, Mr. Jones, is the
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Russian Czar; the boar Napoleon stands for Joseph Stalin; and the pig
Snowball represents Leon Trotsky.
o Alliteration
▪ Alliteration is a series of words or phrases that all (or almost all) start with the
same sound. These sounds are typically consonants to give more stress to that
syllable. You will often come across alliteration in poetry, titles of books and
poems (Jane Austen is a fan of this device, for example—just look at Pride and
Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility), and tongue twisters.
▪ Example: "Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers." In this tongue twister,
the "p" sound is repeated at the beginning of all major words.
o Allusion
▪ Allusion is when an author makes an indirect reference to a figure, place, event,
or idea originating from outside the text. Many allusions make reference to
previous works of literature or art.
▪ Example: "Stop acting so smart—it’s not like you’re Einstein or something." This
is an allusion to the famous real-life theoretical physicist Albert Einstein.
o Anachronism
▪ An anachronism occurs when there is an (intentional) error in the chronology or
timeline of a text. This could be a character who appears in a different time than
when he lived, or a technology that appears before it was invented.
Anachronisms are often used for comedic effect.
▪ Example: A Renaissance king who says, "That’s dope, dude!" would be an
anachronism since this type of language is very modern and not actually from
the Renaissance period.
o Colloquialism
▪ Colloquialism is the use of informal language and slang. It's often used by
authors to lend a sense of realism to their characters and dialogue. Forms of
colloquialism include words, phrases, and contractions that aren't real words
(such as "gonna" and "ain’t").
▪ Example: "Hey, what’s up, man?" This piece of dialogue is an example of a
colloquialism, since it uses common everyday words and phrases, namely
"what’s up" and "man."
o Epigraph
▪ An epigraph is when an author inserts a famous quotation, poem, song, or other
short passage or text at the beginning of a larger text (e.g., a book, chapter,
etc.). An epigraph is typically written by a different writer (with credit given) and
used to introduce overarching themes or messages in the work. Some pieces
of literature, such as Herman Melville’s 1851 novel Moby-Dick, incorporate
multiple epigraphs throughout.
▪ Example: At the beginning of Ernest Hemingway’s book The Sun Also Rises is
an epigraph that consists of a quotation from poet Gertrude Stein, which reads,
"You are all a lost generation," and a passage from the Bible.
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o Euphemism
▪ A euphemism is when a more mild or indirect word or expression is used in
place of another word or phrase that is considered harsh, blunt, vulgar, or
unpleasant.
▪ Example: "I’m so sorry, but he didn’t make it." The phrase "didn’t make it" is a
more polite and less blunt way of saying that someone has died.
o Flashback
▪ A flashback is an interruption in a narrative that depicts events that have already
occurred, either before the present time or before the time at which the narration
takes place. This device is often used to give the reader more background
information and details about specific characters, events, plot points, and so
on.
▪ Example: Most of the novel Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë is a flashback
from the point of view of the housekeeper, Nelly Dean, as she engages in a
conversation with a visitor named Lockwood. In this story, Nelly narrates
Catherine Earnshaw's and Heathcliff's childhoods, the pair's budding romance,
and their tragic demise.
o Foreshadowing
▪ Foreshadowing is when an author indirectly hints at—through things such as
dialogue, description, or characters’ actions—what is to come later in the story.
This device is often used to introduce tension to a narrative.
▪ Example: Say you are reading a fictionalized account of Amelia Earhart. Before
she embarks on her (what we know to be unfortunate) plane ride, a friend says
to her, "Be safe. Wouldn’t want you getting lost—or worse." This line would be
an example of foreshadowing because it implies that something bad ("or
worse") will happen to Earhart.
o Hyperbole
▪ Hyperbole is an exaggerated statement that is not meant to be taken literally by
the reader. It is often used for comedic effect and/or emphasis.
▪ Example: "I’m so hungry I could eat a horse." The speaker will not literally eat
an entire horse (and most likely could not), but this hyperbole emphasizes how
starved the speaker feels.
o Imagery
▪ Imagery is when an author describes a scene, thing, or idea so that it appeals
to our senses (taste, smell, sight, touch, or hearing). This device is often used
to help the reader clearly visualize parts of the story by creating a strong mental
picture.
▪ Example: Here is an example of imagery taken from William Wordsworth’s
famous poem "I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud":
▪ When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden Daffodils;
Beside the Lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
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o Irony
▪ Irony is when a statement is used to express an opposite meaning than the one
literally expressed by it. There are three types of irony in literature:
• Verbal irony: When someone says something but means the opposite (like
sarcasm).
• Situational irony: When something happens that's the opposite of what was
expected or intended to happen.
• Dramatic irony: When the audience is aware of the true intentions or
outcomes, while the characters are not. As a result, certain actions and/or
events take on different meanings for the audience than they do for the
characters involved.
▪ Examples:
▪ Verbal irony: One example of this type of irony can be found in Edgar Allan
Poe’s "The Cask of Amontillado." In this short story, a man named
Montresor plans to get revenge on another man named Fortunato. As they
toast, Montresor says, "And I, Fortunato—I drink to your long life." This
statement is ironic because we the readers already know by this point that
Montresor plans to kill Fortunato.
▪ Situational irony: A girl wakes up late for school and quickly rushes to get
there. As soon as she arrives, though, she realizes that it’s Saturday and
there is no school.
▪ Dramatic irony: In William Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, Romeo
commits suicide in order to be with Juliet; however, the audience (unlike
poor Romeo) knows that Juliet is not actually dead—just asleep.
o Juxtaposition
▪ Juxtaposition is the comparing and contrasting of two or more different (usually
opposite) ideas, characters, objects, etc. This literary device is often used to
help create a clearer picture of the characteristics of one object or idea by
comparing it with those of another.
▪ Example: One of the most famous literary examples of juxtaposition is the
opening passage from Charles Dickens’ novel A Tale of Two Cities:
• "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom,
it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of
incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was
the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair …"
o Malapropism
▪ Malapropism happens when an incorrect word is used in place of a word that
has a similar sound. This misuse of the word typically results in a statement
that is both nonsensical and humorous; as a result, this device is commonly
used in comedic writing.
▪ Example: "I just can't wait to dance the flamingo!" Here, a character has
accidentally called the flamenco (a type of dance) the flamingo (an animal).
o Metaphor/Simile
▪ Metaphors are when ideas, actions, or objects are described in non-literal
terms. In short, it is when an author compares one thing to another. The two
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things being described usually share something in common but are unalike in
all other respects.
▪ A simile is a type of metaphor in which an object, idea, character, action, etc.,
is compared to another thing using the words "as" or "like."
• Both metaphors and similes are often used in writing for clarity or emphasis.
▪ Examples:
▪ "What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the
sun." In this line from Romeo and Juliet, Romeo compares Juliet to the sun.
However, because Romeo does not use the words "as" or "like," it is not a
simile—just a metaphor.
▪ "She is as vicious as a lion." Since this statement uses the word "as" to
make a comparison between "she" and "a lion," it is a simile.
o Metonymy
▪ Metonymy is exhibited when a related word or phrase is substituted for the
actual thing to which it is referring. This device is usually used for poetic or
rhetorical effect.
▪ Example: "The pen is mightier than the sword." This statement, which was
coined by Edward Bulwer-Lytton in 1839, contains two examples of metonymy:
"the pen" refers to "the written word," and "the sword" refers to "military
force/violence."
o Onomatopoeia
▪ Onomatopoeia is a word (or group of words) that represents a sound and
resembles or imitates the sound it stands for. It is often used for dramatic,
realistic, or poetic effect.
▪ Examples: Buzz, boom, chirp, creak, sizzle, zoom, etc.
o Oxymoron
▪ An oxymoron is a combination of two words that, together, express a
contradictory meaning. This device is often used for emphasis, for humor, to
create tension, or to illustrate a paradox (see next entry for more information on
paradoxes).
▪ Examples: Deafening silence, organized chaos, cruelly kind, insanely logical,
etc.
o Paradox
▪ A paradox is a statement that appears illogical or self-contradictory but, upon
investigation, might be true or plausible.
▪ Note that a paradox is different from an oxymoron: a paradox is an entire phrase
or sentence, whereas an oxymoron is a combination of just two words.
▪ Example: Here's a famous paradoxical sentence: "This statement is false." If
the statement is true, then it is not actually false (as it suggests). But if it is false,
then the statement is true! Thus, this statement is a paradox because it is both
true and false at the same time.
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o Personification
▪ Personification is when a nonhuman figure or other abstract concept or element
is given human-like qualities or characteristics. It is used to help the reader
create a clearer mental picture of the scene or object being described.
▪ Example: "The wind moaned, beckoning me to come outside." In this example,
the wind—a nonhuman element—is being described as if it is human (it
"moans" and "beckons").
o Repetition
▪ Repetition is when a word or phrase is written multiple times, usually for the
purpose of emphasis. It is often used in poetry (for purposes of rhythm as well).
▪ Example: When Lin-Manuel Miranda, who wrote the score for the hit musical
Hamilton, gave his speech at the 2016 Tony’s, he recited a poem he had written
that included the following line:
▪ And love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love cannot be killed or
swept aside.
o Soliloquy
▪ A type of monologue that is often used in dramas, a soliloquy is when a
character speaks aloud to himself (and to the audience), thereby revealing his
inner thoughts and feelings.
▪ Example: In Romeo and Juliet, Juliet’s speech on the balcony that begins with,
"O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?" is a soliloquy, as she is
speaking aloud to herself (remember that she does not realize Romeo's there
listening!).
o Symbolism
▪ Symbolism refers to the use of an object, figure, event, situation, or other idea
in a written work to represent something else—typically a broader message or
deeper meaning that differs from its literal meaning.
▪ The things used for symbolism are called "symbols," and they’ll often appear
multiple times throughout a text, sometimes changing in meaning as the plot
progresses.
▪ Example: In F. Scott Fitzgerald’s 1925 novel The Great Gatsby, the green light
that sits across from Gatsby’s mansion symbolizes Gatsby’s hopes and
dreams.
o Synecdoche
▪ A synecdoche is a literary device in which part of something is used to represent
the whole, or vice versa. It is like a metonym (see above); however, a metonym
does not have to represent the whole—just something associated with the word
used.
▪ Example: "Help me out, I need some hands!" In this case, "hands" is being used
to refer to people (the whole human, essentially).
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TOPIC II: LITERARY CRITICAL THEORIES
Gone are the days when the literature teachers and the students would find literature classes boring,
if not difficult. This chapter exposes the four basic orientations in the analytical study or investigation
of any literary piece or selection. The study of a literary genre is called literary criticism. Literary
criticism involves an investigation of a literary genre - poem, fiction (short story and novel), drama,
and the like using the four basic literary critical theories, namely: mimesis, expressivism, objectivism
or formalism, and affectivism or reader-response criticism.
THE THEORY OF MIMESIS
Basically, this approach to the study of literature can be traced back during the time of
Aristotle who once aptly asserted that "literature is a copy of reality" Conversely, when life is reality,
literature then is an imitation of life. Life's reality is undeniably the corpus of prose and poetry. With
this perspective, anyone who reads literature and traces back, if not compares, the events he
experiences in what he reads with his vicarious or actual life experiences, he is certainly or simply
doing a critical mimetic analysis of that particular literary genre he consciously or unconsciously
investigating or commenting.
For instance, in the story of Edgar Allan Poe's The Fall of the House of Usher, the crumbling
moment of the house of Usher (Roderick with twin sister Madeleine) thematically signifies moral and
psychological decadence reflective of the society's actual moral degradation. Reality showcases
corruption and other societal problems which may be a possible cause of a degrading society. This
drama in real life therefore is imitated in literature.
Another example is the very popular oral tradition (with unknown authorship) about the artistic
explanation of lunar eclipse. Grandparents use to share and tell stories why there is such a lunar
eclipse; they usually tell that the moon is taken and devoured by a fire dragon. The phenomenon of
nature, which is reality – the lunar eclipse - has a creative equivalent when the fire dragon devours
the moon. When the rural people would create noise using the drums, the gongs, and the like
pleading to the powerful creature to return the moon, likewise just in time when the lunar eclipse will
be over. This certainly is a natural occurrence.
Still another example is the focus of Cotejo's (12) study on the collective image of oppressed
woman. She found out that M. Atwood's novel, The Handmaid's Tale expresses oppressed woman's
collective image as shown and consistently visualized oppression-depicted in their oppressed
characters' character traits dictated by their social expectations: the marginalized, no freedom, being
properties of the men and the state, powerless, submissive, passive, mesh, sexually deprived and
suppressed (164). To Cotejo (14), the goal of mimetic criticism is to determine how well a work of
literature connects with the real world. Simply, the concept of mimesis includes aspects of moral
philosophical criticism, psychological and sociological. Here the ideas of oppression (reality in lite)
is bloated in the story showing how the women in Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale are oppressed in
the novel.
Invictus
William Ernest Henley
Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
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For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul.
THE THEORY OF EXPRESSIVISM
Another approach to the study of literature is expressivism or expressionism. In this

orientation, the author's self can be expressed in his literary works. His/her actions, fears, motives,
actuations, self, interest, etcetera are revealed in his writings. The author's inner psyche or the
writer's presence can be gleaned from the selection under investigation. One can make use of the
author's biography to establish parallel situations that happen in the author's life with the specific
event in the story, or drama, or other literary form being reviewed and studied.
In the short story of William Faulkner, A Rose for Emily, the author mentions the fictional city,
Jefferson, Mississippi in Yoknapatawpha county. Realistically, William Faulkner grew up in
Mississippi town of Oxford. in the story, it is construed that the author's self is in the narrator.
In this approach, meaning can be in the author's self-expression of his encounters with the
world that are intellectually, socio-culturally, geo-politically, emotionally, psychologically, spiritually
interlaced in his/her writings.
Seal
William Jay Smith
See how he dives

From the rocks with a zoom!
See how he darts
Through his watery room
Past crabs and eels
And green seaweed,
Past fluffs of sandy
Minnow feed!
See how he swims
With a swerve and a twist,
A flip of the flipper,
A flick of the wrist!
Quicksilver-quick,
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Softer than spray,

Down he plunges
And sweeps away;
Before you can think,
Before you can utter
Words like "Dill pickle"
Or "Apple butter,"
Back up he swims
Past Sting Ray and Shark,
Out with a zoom,
A whoop, a bark;
Before you can say
Whatever you wish,
He plops at your side
With a mouthful of fish!
THE THEORY OF FORMALISM
Objective or formalistic literary criticism focuses on the text itself. The printed text is the main
actor, the basis in getting meaning of the selection. One must consider the element(s) of the literary
piece under study. If one analyzes the poems form and substance, the plot structure of the selected
fiction, the prevalence of a concept to weave something into a thematic accounting of such text is
the essence of formalistic study. The plot structure analysis vis-a-vis character delineation that
would suggest the story's thematic flavor is the focus of objective/formalistic investigation.
When one comes to realize that Robert Frost's Design can be objectively deduced from the
fact that the sonnet has its own design, with the octave (lines 1-8) similar to that of the Petrarchan
sonnet while the last two lines (couplet) is patterned after that of Shakespeare's. Neither Petrarchan
nor Shakespearean, not even Spenserian, Robert Frost's Design is a sonnet of peculiarity.
Substantially looking for its poetic vision, one can visualize through his imageries that the spider and
other minutest creatures of the world have their unique ways, styles and maneuvers, even how small
that creature is, he/she/it has his/her/its own design to live and survive in this diversified universe.
Monte (6) further asserts that the formalistic theory captures life in the type of structure that
literature presented. To Adams (5), theory draws and locates meaning in the form and style of
writing, in the literary devices and or in mechanisms that literature is best presented. Simply, this
means that this approach to literary criticism focuses in the form of a text over its content.
For instance, the study of Vega (41) on the characterization of E.A. Poe's Montresor (in the
Cask of Amontillado) and A.M Guerrero's Gonzalo (in Three Rats) who both exhibited pivotal
vengeful character and that of Monte's study on the surprise ending technique in the plot structure
of o. Henry's selected short stories are using formalistic analyses.
Fog
Carl Sandburg
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
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over harbor and city

on silent haunches
and then moves on.
THEORY OF AFFECTIVISM
Otherwise known as the reader-response criticism, the theory of affectivism allows the reader
to locate meaning from his/her responses or reaction(s) to the events or meaning of the selections
under study based on his/her experiences. Given the subjectivity of this criticism, any statement or
analysis given or shared by any student is to be heard, and eventually accepted as it is justifiably
presented by the student-critic based from his/her critical response(s) from the text he/she has read.
In the area of post-modern literature, in the spirit of liberality, independence and liberty, a
critic (reader) must interpret what he/she thinks would shape the meaning of the text he/she believes
it is. This orientation does not follow conventions, at times considered a non-conformist criticism.
Any sensible critical response from every student is worth listening to and noting, thus making him
or her participative and in the process transforming the once quiet and oppressive literature
classrooms into a more dynamic, educationally noisy, and functionally interactive academic
intercourse.
Fire and Ice

Robert Frost
Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To know that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
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TOPIC III: DIFFERENT LITERATURES OF THE WORLD

Overview
More than ever, the common desire for independence translates into varied modes of
existence as people are dispersed over time from their lands to give way to the new settlers. The
plight among the people becomes more and more felt in their ways of finding comfort in the havens
of survival. The Chileans and the Cubans are among those that are bereft of such privilege to make
things stable for a short period. But then, they have courageously stood before massive opponents
that cause beauty to emerge - the texts that pour out the longings of an arid soul.
Literary craftsmanship reveals these proofs of existence amidst strife. Anecdotes, legends,
folklore, novels, poems, and short stories serve as vehicles in making people aware of these realities
that are interestingly and carefully woven into the fabric of fantasy so that any reader who encounters
a Latin American piece surely finds himself feasting on an irresistible work of art. While some are
jolted away from the poetic dreaminess to which are naturally inclined, other authors like the
Mexicans begin to scrutinize and report the world about them through the Spanish "cuento" which
cannot be equated with the short story. It is, however, a broad term that embodies certain
characteristics of other forms like the novel, anecdote, and even pictures of customs. With the impact
of realism, the more that the modern trend of a short story is developed especially during the
Spanish-American war. This interest in realism is strengthened by the looming social revolutions
and the steady stream of influence from European realists. With the prevalence of their works, Latin
American writers however abstain from crude imitation of these models. Instead, they build the
inspiration for native originality. Gradually, prose became Latin America's artistic medium.
Literary transformations can be perceived as creating a domino effect. In the case of
Australia, the phenomenon is propelled by the clamor for freedom and aesthetic idealism. However,
the constant Australian negotiation with British texts, ideas, and conventions should not be cultural
enslavement but a case of inevitability in the formation of national literature. The creation of such is
indeed deemed a collective effort every individual takes part in the unique process as this involves
the specific and general traits, attitudes, and characteristics of one nation.
A concrete example of distinctive patterns of worldviews is etched on Eastern rocks so that
these can be identified from those of the West. Traveling through the Silk Road, one encounters the
giant of East Asia - China. Together with China, Japan and Korea complete the image that the world
looks upon. The immense influence of poets like Basho on the world creates rippling musings that
pierce the vulnerable and invulnerable minds and hearts.
The appreciation of nature is seen as the common subject of different genres. The profundity
of thematic concepts displays the undisputed pursuit of these nations of the value of the sublime.
Confucius, one sees the rejection of self-centeredness and conceit the principle which people up to
now seeks to establish: Central Asia, on the one hand, capitalizes on a transcendent value of life
depicted tone of the world's greatest structures -the Taj Mahal. Sitting on thousands of square
kilometers, the git for Mumtaz Mahalfromher's beloved spans across a timeline of India's most
glorious moments in history. None can be distinguished as undistinguishable n the heart of India
with a man's love for a woman that ultimately affects everyone's love of his/her country. No wonder
writers like Mahatma, Sidharta, and Tagore India's literary giants are forever compelled to enslave
themselves under the whims of their passion to write because they had lived their lives with the
same principle of going beyond it.
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The same idea of living also applies when it comes to West Asia that highlights the literature
of Arabia, Turkey, Iran (Persia), and Lebanon. The misconception has given to these people as war-
hungry is behind how they manifest the unfathomable principle of the codes of morality that
immerses them into excruciating decisiveness. The way moral structures are upheld determines the
manner of how they sought to preserve the divine laws derived from the Qu'ran (Koran).
Connected by the Islamic flow of consciousness, Arabia draws on the aspects of the language
that is developed over time so that Turkey, Iran, and Lebanon are all in convergent points in
exhibiting that unique quality of Islamic culture. Adopting some aspects of their tradition in Southeast
Asia that fuses both tones of Islamic and Western ideals. But more than the influence of Islam,
Southeast Asia is reflective of the Western breed coming from North America and Europe. The
hodgepodge of culture in the Philippine context cannot be on a par with that of any Southeast Asian
in that it has two perspectives. Singapore has come to terms of reality as well as it clings on to the
glimmer of hope provided by the Western mechanism so that their way of living mirrors that of the
Western tradition.
Vietnam, Malaysia, Indonesia, Thailand, and Cambodia share common grounds. The
principles shaped with depth and breadth are such that individuality is prioritized. Also upheld in
Africa, such principle comes from where diamonds are drawn. Home to these glittering and
shimmering stones South Africa brings alluring pieces to the World embedded with these jewels of
life, nature, and love. Undeniable as circumstances may be, traders and merchants build their
empires while the Negroes are left to their mercy. This enduring situation constitutes a massive
concern for the writers through which they can let out the pangs of oppression. Kenya on the one
hand tries to understand riches in protrusion hanging loose in any man’s soul where both beauty
and envy emanate. Nigeria and Senegal join in the determining what seems best for the country as
they freeze these. moments of struggle to analyze how people can be guided to a great awakening.
Powered by the desires of the heart, African literature elates the spirit of powerful caption
from any form of obstruction. The colossus that stands before the path to liberation is such that it
creates the needed inspiration for African writers to be there at the forefront to record every rise and
fall of the people toward the creation of the true African identity.
There is no way one can overlook literary process from different continents in his most
entertaining and intellectual journey of life as readers peruse the pages. Each masterpiece is equally
compelling as another. A must-read story yields a never-before heard response from the very reader
of it.
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GREEK LITERATURE: The Illiad by Homer

Summary:
The Iliad opens with an expression of rage and frustration. The Trojan War has been raging
for nine long years, with the Achaeans (Greeks) unable to break through the walls of Troy. King
Agamemnon, who leads the Achaeans, has been forced to give up a valued prize, a woman he
captured. This is no ordinary woman, but the daughter of a priest of Apollo; refusal to return her to
her father brought on the wrath of Apollo in the form of a plague on the Greeks. Arrogant and high-
handed, Agamemnon repairs his loss of honor by taking a prize from Achilles, a woman named
Briseis whom Achilles values greatly. Achilles (who is at the beginning of the story as arrogant and
high-handed as Agamemnon) resents the offense to his honor but is prevented by the goddess
Athena from coming to blows with Agamemnon. Instead, he turns away and refuses to fight in the
siege of Troy. To show Agamemnon who's more important, he asks the gods to allow the Trojans
to defeat his own army—the Achaeans—until he returns to the fight. To bring this about, Achilles's
mother, who is a goddess, secures the help of Zeus, the king of the gods.
The Achaean and Trojan armies march out onto the field to fight. But Paris, the Trojan prince
who started the war by stealing the wife of Menelaus (brother of Agamemnon), proposes that it be
settled by single combat between him and Menelaus. Menelaus agrees and a duel ensues. Just as
Menelaus is about to defeat Paris, the goddess Aphrodite carries him back to Troy, and the battle
recommences.
Athena helps the Achaean hero Diomedes in battle, enabling him to wound Aphrodite and
Ares (Book 5), two of the gods helping Troy. Hector, a prince of Troy and the greatest Trojan warrior,
briefly returns to the city to organize an appeal to the gods and fetch Paris back to the battlefield.
The gods end the fighting for the day with a duel between Hector and Great Ajax, the second-
strongest Achaean hero after Achilles. Ajax has the advantage but cannot kill Hector.
Both sides take a day off from fighting to bury their dead. The Achaeans take the opportunity
to build a wall around their ships. When the fighting resumes the next day, Zeus forbids the other
gods to interfere. He will control the war from now on. With Zeus's help, the Trojans push toward
the Achaean ships. Agamemnon leads a brief rally for the Achaeans, but Hector pushes them all
the way back to their new wall. Alarmed by the Trojan advance, Agamemnon offers Achilles many
prizes, including the return of Briseis, to return to the battle. However, he offers no apology, and
Achilles is not appeased.
Unable to sleep, the Achaean captains Odysseus and Diomedes make a daring night raid on
the Trojan army, killing a number of Trojan allies. In the morning Agamemnon initially pushes the
Trojans all the way back to the city. Zeus then turns the tide, causing most of the Achaean captains
to be wounded. Many Achaeans fight valiantly, but Zeus empowers the Trojan fighters to break
through the wall and threaten the Achaean ships. When Zeus takes his eye off the war for a bit, the
sea-god Poseidon inspires the Achaeans to kill and wound many Trojans, holding them off the ships.
Hera devises a plan to distract Zeus. She seduces him after bribing the god Sleep to put him
to sleep afterward. With Poseidon's help the Achaeans drive the Trojans back outside their wall.
However, Zeus soon awakens and takes control again. He directs his son Apollo to strike fear into
the Achaeans with Zeus's terrifying shield. As the Trojans reach the ships, Achilles's closest friend,
Patroclus, begs him to return and save the Achaeans. Achilles is still too angry, but he lets Patroclus
use his armor and chariot to make the Trojans think he has returned.
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In Achilles's armor and chariot, Patroclus turns the tide of the battle, pushing the Trojans all
the way back to their own city walls. However, he gets carried away and goes up against Hector,
who kills him. Hector strips Achilles's armor from Patroclus but is driven back before he can claim
the body. In a fit of pride, Hector fatefully puts on Achilles's armor. Great Ajax, Menelaus, and others
hold off Hector and his troops. However, they cannot get Patroclus's body back to their camp until
Achilles, having heard of his comrade's death, appears on the Achaean wall. The goddess Athena
makes him glorious and terrifying. He frightens the Trojans enough for the Achaeans to retrieve
Patroclus's body.
Now Achilles no longer cares about his quarrel with Agamemnon. All of his anger is focused
on killing Hector. The next morning, his goddess mother brings him new armor (including the
marvelous shield, the description of which is detailed in Book 18) made by the god of fire, and Zeus
tells the gods they may intervene in the war. Achilles rages against the Trojans, slaughtering huge
numbers. No mortal can stand against him. He sends the entire Trojan army retreating back to the
city. Ashamed that he has led the Trojan army to defeat, Hector waits for Achilles outside the gates
of Troy.
Despite his previous boasts, Hector loses his nerve and runs as Achilles approaches. After
Achilles has chased him around the city three times, Athena tricks Hector into stopping. Achilles's
divine armor protects him, but Hector is betrayed by the armor he is wearing, Achilles's old armor.
Achilles kills Hector through a weak spot in the armor he knows so well. In his anger Achilles abuses
Hector's body and drags it behind his chariot.
Over the next couple of days, Achilles and the Achaeans hold a funeral for Patroclus and
compete in games in his honor. But Hector's family and the Trojans have no such comfort. Finally,
Zeus decrees that Achilles must give Hector's body back. The god Hermes guides Priam, Hector's
father, into the Achaean camp to appeal to Achilles. Achilles is moved by Priam's words and allows
the Trojans time to bury Hector.
Iliad’s Plot Diagram
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Introduction
1. Apollo inflicts a plague on the Achaean army.
Rising Action
2. Agamemnon takes Briseis from Achilles.
3. Zeus agrees to punish the Achaeans for Achilles.
4. Mortals and gods fight and are wounded in battle.
5. Zeus forbids the other gods to interfere in the war.
6. With Zeus's help, Hector breaks through to Achaean ships.
7. Hector kills Patroclus in battle.
8. Achilles and the gods return to the fighting.
Climax
9. Achilles kills Hector in single combat.
Falling Action
10. Priam begs Achilles for Hector's body.
11. Achilles returns Hector's body to Priam.
Resolution
12. Hector is buried in Troy.
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ROMAN LITERATURE: Pyramus and Thisbe by Ovid

Summary:
The tale is about two Babylonian lovers, Pyramus and Thisbe. Their families have lived as
neighbors in Babylon all their lives. As Pyramus and Thisbe grow up, they fall in love.
Unfortunately, the young lovers’ families hate each other and forbid them to get married. This
forbidding by the families only makes the two falls more deeply in love.
They find a crack in the wall that separates their houses, and through it, they whisper and
profess their love for each other. Finally, Pyramus and Thisbe can no longer stand being apart
and decide to elope. They create a plan to sneak out of their houses separately that night and to
meet at the tomb of Ninus under a mulberry tree that grows inside the tomb.
Thisbe arrives at the tomb first. She is so happy; she feels so close to becoming Pyramus’s
wife. She is excited, but also afraid, and hopes nothing bad will happen to keep Pyramus and her
apart. Upon her arrival, however, Thisbe sees a lioness with a mouth bloody from a recent kill.
Thisbe fleas out of fear, leaving behind her veil.
When Pyramus arrives, he is horrified at the sight of Thisbe’s veil, assuming the lioness
has killed her. Pyramus kills himself, falling on his sword in proper Babylonian fashion. His blood
splashes on the white mulberry leaves.
Pyramus’s blood stains the white mulberry fruits, turning them dark. Thisbe returns, but to
her dismay, she finds Pyramus’s dead body under the shade of the mulberry tree. After a brief
period of mourning, she stabs herself with the same sword. In the end, the gods listen to Thisbe’s
lament, and forever change the color of the mulberry fruits into the stained color to honor the
forbidden love.
Additional Facts:
• Ovid first told the tragic story of “Pyramus and Thisbe” in Metamorphoses. The tale sounds
very much like Romeo and Juliet, leading people to wonder if this is where William
Shakespeare got his inspiration for the play. In addition to Shakespeare, many other
authors have retold Ovid’s original story.
• Ovid’s is the oldest surviving version of the story, published in 8 A.D., but he too had
adapted an existing myth. Many others after Ovid recreated the story of Pyramus and
Thisbe, in addition to Shakespeare, as mentioned above.
• The story “Pyramus and Thisbe” appeared in Giovanni Boccaccio’s On Famous
Women and in his Decameron. In the 1380s, Geoffrey Chaucer in his The Legend of Good
Women, and John Gower in his Confessio Amantis were the first authors to tell the story of
Pyramus and Thisbe in English. John Metham’s Amoryus and Cleopes, 1449, is another
early English adaptation.
• Then of course, there was the tragic story of Romeo and Juliet, which may be the most well
known recreation of Ovid’s story. The earliest version of Romeo and Juliet was published
in 1476 by Masuccio Salernitano and later was made famous by Shakespeare’s 1590
version of Romeo and Juliet. Here the star-crossed lovers could not be together because
Juliet had been engaged by her parents to another man, and additionally, the two families
held an ancient grudge that neither family was willing to let go.
• Just as in “Pyramus and Thisbe,” the two lovers (Romeo and Juliet) defied their families in
order to secretly communicate, and created a plan whereby they hoped to be together; but
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just as in “Pyramus and Thisbe,” the plan sadly does not work, and the mistaken belief in
one lover’s death leads to consecutive suicides of both lovers.
• Shakespeare once again portrays the story of “Pyramus and Thisbe” in A Midsummer
Night’s Dream when the story is acted out during a scene within the larger play. In addition,
others have re-told the story. Spanish poet Luis de Góngora wrote Fábula de Píramo y
Tisbe in 1618, while French poet Théophile de Viau wrote Les amours tragiques de Pyrame
et Thisbée in 1621.
• There are even more who have re-written this beautiful yet tragic story of forbidden love,
and as such, we see that the story of Pyramus and Thisbe has been and continues to be to
very popular throughout history.
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ROMAN LITERATURE: The Aenied by Virgil

Summary:
The Aeneid begins after the fall of Troy. The Trojan fleet carrying the surviving warriors is
being battered by a storm in the Mediterranean Sea south of Sicily. The storm has been sent by
Juno, queen of the gods. She holds a grudge against the Trojans and their leader, Aeneas, over
past injustices done to her by Trojans and because in the future, the descendants of Aeneas will
destroy her favorite city, Carthage. Just as it seems the Trojans will be destroyed; the sea god
Neptune guides their ships to shore. They discover they are near the city of Carthage, ruled by
Queen Dido, who welcomes them warmly. The Trojans have been traveling since Troy was
destroyed, trying to find a new home. Worried that Aeneas, her son, will have no place to rest, the
goddess Venus makes Dido fall passionately in love with him.
Aeneas Tells of His Feats
Aeneas tells Dido the story of their travels so far, beginning with the destruction of Troy. He
describes how the Trojans were manipulated into bringing a giant horse left by the Greeks into their
city. It was filled with Greek soldiers, who sneaked out in the night and let in the Greek army. Aeneas
fought through the streets but could not save the city. Venus sent him back home to save his family
before the fall of the city. He got his father and son safely out of Troy, but his wife disappeared as
they fled the city. When he returned to look for her, he found only her ghost, who told him to seek a
new queen in Italy.
Aeneas and the other survivors from Troy built their fleet and then sailed to neighboring
Thrace and tried to settle there. However, a terrible omen of future treachery sent them back to sea.
They stopped at Delos, an island sacred to the god Apollo, where Aeneas was given a prophecy to
settle in his ancestor's land. Thinking of the wrong ancestor, they tried to settle on Crete, but a
plague drove them back to sea. As they sailed on, encountering monsters and old friends, the
prophecy was clarified—their new home would be in Italy. Unfortunately, Aeneas's father, Anchises,
died before they reached it. Aeneas buried him in Sicily, and the Trojans set sail again, this time
getting waylaid by Juno's storm.
A Tragic Love Affair Ends as New Adventures Begin
Dido is impressed by Aeneas and his feats and succumbs to her feelings for him. Hoping it
will keep Aeneas out of Italy and prevent his fate, Juno maneuvers Dido into having sex with Aeneas.
However, it is not an official marriage, and the winged monster Rumor flies to tell people in other
towns about their union. Noticing Aeneas is getting too comfortable, Jupiter sends his messenger
Mercury to remind Aeneas of his fate and duty. Dido is terribly distraught to learn he is leaving and
foresees her death. Aeneas is regretful, but nothing can delay him or change his mind. Dido climbs
on her funeral pyre, where her dead body will burn, and fatally stabs herself with his sword as he
sails away.
Fighting unfavorable winds, the Trojan fleet stops again in Sicily, just in time to celebrate the
first anniversary of Anchises's death. Aeneas and his people make sacrifices and feast before the
games of speed and skill. Trojans and Sicilians distinguish themselves, while others are
embarrassed. Aeneas richly rewards both winners and other notable competitors. Meanwhile, Juno
incites the women in the fleet, who are tired of traveling, to burn the ships. Jupiter puts the fires out
before the ships are destroyed, but it shakes Aeneas's confidence. The ghost of his father appears,
telling him to sail to Italy and visit him in the underworld.
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Aeneas's first stop in Italy is Cumae, where the Sibyl delivers prophesies to Aeneas and
where the door to the underworld lies. The Sibyl foretells a terrible war before Aeneas can make his
home in Italy. She directs Aeneas to the golden bough he must find to enter the underworld and
then guides him into its depths. They cross the river Acheron and the marshes of the Styx, where
the ferryman Charon waits for the dead, meeting many spirits. Aeneas sees Dido and tries to
apologize, but she refuses to speak to him. He finds his father in the Elysian Fields, and Anchises
shows him many of his Roman descendants who will build the Roman Empire. They include
Romulus, Julius Caesar, and Augustus Caesar.
The Trojans finally find the Tiber River, where they are meant to settle. Aeneas sends an
envoy to make peace with the king of Latium. Following a prophecy, King Latinus offers his daughter,
Lavinia, in marriage. But before the deal can be made, Juno sends the Fury of Rage to turn both
Latinus's queen and Turnus, king of a neighboring city and one of Lavinia's suitors, against Aeneas.
Between the three of them, they rouse Italy to war with the Trojans.
More Warfare
Turnus gathers allies, and Aeneas needs to find allies of his own to fight with him. The god
of the Tiber River tells Aeneas to go up the river to Pallanteum, which often fights against Latium.
There, King Evander tells Aeneas of another potential ally, the Etruscans. They have overthrown
their cruel king and are gathered to attack Turnus, with whom the former king has taken refuge.
However, a prophecy says their leader cannot be from Italy. Evander sends horsemen and his son,
Pallas, with Aeneas to meet the Etruscans. Wanting to ensure the safety of her son in battle, Venus
asks her husband, Vulcan, the god of fire, to make Aeneas weapons and armor. He creates a great
shield that shows the future glory of Rome.
Turnus's army attacks the Trojans left behind when Aeneas went to Pallanteum, a group that
includes Aeneas's son, Ascanius. They retreat safely within their fort, so Turnus instead tries to burn
their ships. However, Jupiter turns them into sea nymphs, and they swim away. The Trojan
comrades Nisus and Euryalus make a daring attempt to get through the enemy camp surrounding
them and summon Aeneas back, but a lust for plunder betrays them to their tragic death. When
Turnus attacks the fort itself, a few of the Trojans open the gates to better fight the enemy. The
gates are closed again, but Turnus is already inside. He kills many Trojans before he is driven out.
Aeneas sails back with the Etruscan fleet, and a great battle begins. Aeneas and Turnus are
effectively invincible against anyone except each other. Pallas, commanding the cavalry from
Pallanteum, fights bravely and catches Turnus's attention. Pallas attacks first, but Turnus's attack is
deadlier, and Pallas dies with a spear in his chest. Fatefully, Turnus takes Pallas's sword belt to
wear as a trophy. Aeneas, enraged by news of Pallas's death, finally frees the Trojan fort. Fearing
Aeneas's strength, Juno whisks Turnus away from the battlefield. The cruel Etruscan king Mezentius
is still fighting, though. Aeneas wounds him with a spear throw, but his son, Lausus, protects him so
he can get away. Unfortunately, that costs the noble Lausus his life. Mezentius returns to avenge
him and is also killed by Aeneas.
Aeneas sends Pallas's body home with a great procession. When an envoy from Latium
arrives, he suggests he and Turnus fight in single combat to decide the war. In Latium, King Latinus
and Turnus learn they won't be joined by a powerful ally, and Turnus reluctantly agrees to single
combat. However, before it can be arranged, part of Aeneas's army approaches the city. While
Turnus unsuccessfully tries to trap Aeneas and the other half of his army, the warrior princess
Camilla defends the city. Camilla is as deadly as Turnus or Aeneas, but she gets distracted, allowing
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an Etruscan soldier to get a spear through her defenses. Camilla's patron goddess Diana ensures
that vengeance is taken on her killer, but the defense of Latium is broken.
Settling Things One-on-One, with the Gods' Help
Turnus agrees to single combat with Aeneas. Latinus asks him to consider another bride, but
Turnus is fatalistically determined to win Lavinia or die. On the morning of the duel, Juno convinces
Turnus's sister, Juturna, to save her brother by provoking the armies to fight again. When Aeneas
tries to stop the escalating hostilities, he is struck by an arrow, but Venus helps heal him. Juturna
disguises herself as Turnus's charioteer and keeps her brother away from Aeneas. When Aeneas
attacks the city, Turnus finally returns for the duel. Turnus is no match for Aeneas assisted by the
gods. Wounded and humbled, he asks for mercy. Aeneas is about to grant it when he sees Turnus
is wearing Pallas's sword belt. In a blaze of fury, Aeneas stabs Turnus through the heart.
The Aeneid Plot Diagram
Introduction
1. Trojan ships are driven by a storm to Carthage.
Rising Action
2. Aeneas tells Dido of their journey from Troy.
3. Aeneas leaves Dido to follow his fate; she kills herself.
4. Aeneas celebrates the anniversary of Anchises's death.
5. Aeneas and the Sibyl visit Anchises in the Underworld.
6. Trojans find their fated destination and begin to build.
7. Juno drives Queen Amata and Turnus to start a war.
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8. Turnus traps the Trojans, but Aeneas arrives with allies.

Climax
9. Turnus kills the prince Pallas, igniting Aeneas's rage.
Falling Action
10. The girl-warrior Camilla fights bravely and dies in battle.
11. After another battle, Aeneas duels Turnus in single combat.
Resolution
12. Aeneas kills Turnus in combat, becoming ruler of Latium.
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ENGLISH LITERATURE: Sonnet 116 by William Shakespeare

Sonnet 116
William Shakespeare
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand'ring bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me prov'd,

I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.
Analysis:
• One of Shakespeare's most famous sonnets, Sonnet 116, which is in the Shakespearean
format, is a discussion of the Platonic ideal of love: it is constant and unchanging, and it
transcends brief human life. The "marriage of true minds" refers to a bonding of the souls of
constant, faithful people who are neither fickle nor changeable.
A. The first quatrain seeks to define true love; in doing so, Shakespeare uses echoing diction:
"Love" and "love" in line 2, "alters" and "alteration" in line 3, and "remover" and "remove"
in line 4, as if illustrating the marriage of true minds through these pairings of words.
B. The second quatrain uses a conceit of navigation on the seas, first referring to a sailor's
"mark," which might be a geographical feature, church steeple, beacon, or some other
permanent object, which is never moved or altered by storms. Shakespeare then
mentions the North Star, or the polestar, which is used by lost ships ("wand'ring bark[s]")
to find their way.
C. The third quatrain invokes the figure of Father Time, who is associated with the scythe or
sickle with which he cuts down, or harvests, lives. Love is said not to be "Time's fool," or
court jester, a figure who would be at the beck and call of a powerful person. The Platonic
ideal is evoked again in the mention of "rosy lips and cheeks," which are the outward
manifestations of the characteristics with which someone falls in love, but they do not
constitute true love themselves. Love is unchangeable, but physical looks are transient.
The reference to Doomsday, or the end of time, evokes Sonnet 55, which promises to
preserve the memory of the beloved until the end of time.
D. The final line of the sonnet is a rhetorical ploy: by writing, in effect, "If I'm wrong, then I've
never written anything," the speaker suggests that it is logically impossible for anyone to
disbelieve him.
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ENGLISH LITERATURE: The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer

Summary:
The Canterbury Tales start with a prologue that frames, or sets the stage for, the tales that
follow. Spring has come, and with it an increase in pilgrims traveling to Canterbury to visit the shrine
of the martyred Saint Thomas Becket. A group of pilgrims assemble at the Tabard Inn just outside
of London to start their journey. The Host of the Tabard Inn, a man named Harry Bailey, joins the
company on the pilgrimage, as does a pilgrim named Chaucer. Harry Bailey suggests a tale-telling
competition to help pass the time on the long road, and the company agrees.
Apart from Chaucer and Harry Bailey (who is often called simply the "Host"), none of the
other pilgrims are named. Instead they are identified by their roles. The Knight tells the first tale. He
recounts a long story about two knights who fall in love with the same woman. The men fight for her,
and one wins her. However, he soon dies, and the other knight marries her instead.
The Miller decides to tell the next story. It is a funny, crude story about an old carpenter who
has a young wife. Two young men fall in love with her, and she conspires with one of them to meet
for sex. On the night they meet, the other young man comes to her window, and in the dark he is
tricked into kissing her bare behind. Most of the pilgrims enjoy this comical story, but the Reeve, a
carpenter, is offended, so he pays the Miller back by telling a story about a dishonest miller. In this
story two students decide to make sure this dishonest miller does not steal any of the grain as it is
being ground. In another middle-of-the-night mix-up, one of the students has sex with the miller's
daughter, and the other has sex with the miller's wife.
Next the Cook begins to tell a story of a young apprentice with a weakness for gambling, but
the story remains unfinished. Harry Bailey, noting that the day is getting on, calls on the Man of Law,
who then tells a story about Constance, daughter of the Roman emperor. She endures many
hardships, but her people are converted to Christianity, and her son becomes emperor. The Wife of
Bath then tells the company about her five husbands before beginning a story about a knight who
is sentenced to death for rape. To avoid this fate, the knight must go on a quest to find the answer
to a seemingly simple question: What do women want?
After the Wife of Bath ends her tale, the Friar tells a story about a dishonest summoner, who
makes a deal with a fiend from Hell and ends up being taken there. The Summoner is enraged by
the tale and tells two crude stories—one short and one long—about the treachery of friars.
To calm everyone down, Harry Bailey then asks the Clerk to tell a more lighthearted story.
The Clerk's story focuses on a wife of unending patience and obedience to her husband. In response
to this, the Merchant tells a story about an unfaithful young wife. Harry Bailey then calls on the
Squire, who begins a story about a beautiful young woman whose magic ring allows her to
understand the speech of animals. His story is cut short by the Franklin, who interrupts to wonder
at the beauty of the Squire's storytelling skills. Rather than allowing the Squire's story to be
completed, Harry Bailey asks the Franklin to tell his story. The Franklin tells about a faithful wife who
is nearly—but not quite—tricked into unfaithfulness.
Next the Physician tells a tale about a beautiful young woman who must choose between
death and dishonor. It is such a tragic story that Harry Bailey calls on the Pardoner for a happier
one. The Pardoner tells a story about three young men who meet Death, and this is followed by the
Shipman's tale of a merchant whose wife has an affair with a monk. Then the Prioress tells of a
young boy who sings, miraculously, after he is dead.
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Chaucer is called upon next, and after Harry Bailey interrupts his first tale because its rhymes
are terrible, Chaucer tells a story that is more of a long argument about whether revenge should be
taken to repay a violent act. The Monk then tells a long string of short stories about how powerful
people are brought low, and this is followed by a fable about a rooster and a fox told by the Nun's
Priest. The Second Nun then tells the story of Saint Cecilia, a Christian martyr.
The company of pilgrims meets two more travelers on the road, and one, a Yeoman, tells a
story about a treacherous alchemist who tricks a priest into giving him money. Next the Manciple
tells a tale about an unfaithful wife and a talking crow. After this, instead of a story, the Parson gives
a sermon about sin and forgiveness. Finally, Chaucer apologizes for his work and asks forgiveness
of anyone who is offended by his tales.
The Canterbury Tales Plot Diagram
Introduction
1. Chaucer, Bailey, and pilgrims meet at the Tabard Inn.
Rising Action
2. Riding to Canterbury, they have a story competition.
3. The Knight tells the first tale.
4. The Miller interrupts with the next tale.
Climax
5. As they ride, characters take turns telling their stories.
Falling Action
6. Near Canterbury, the Parson tells a final tale, a sermon.
Resolution
• Chaucer prays for forgiveness for his less holy writings.
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ITALIAN LITERATURE: War by Luigi Pirandello

Summary:
A husband and wife board a small train carriage at dawn in Italy, joining the five people who
have already spent the night in it. The woman is large and in deep mourning. Some of the
passengers help her in and make room for her.
The husband inquires if she is all right, but she does not answer. He explains to the others
that their only son is being sent to war in three days and they are going to see him off.
A passenger says he has two sons and three nephews at the front, prompting the husband
to stress that they are risking their only son. This sets off a passionate discussion about who is
sacrificing the most.
The husband says a man who loses one son has another left to comfort him, but the
passenger responds that such a man has an obligation to live for his other son, and thus can’t end
his misery at his own hand.
Another passenger, an old man, breaks in with a speech. He asserts that their children do
not belong to them. They have interests of their own, including a love for their country, and they
gladly fight for it. They do not want tears because if they die, they die happy. And dying young and
happy is all anyone could want as it spares them of the boredom and disillusionment of life. Why,
he does not even mourn the death of his own son.
He stops there, his lip trembling, his eyes watery.
The other passengers agree with him. The wife, inconsolable until now, finds strength in his
words. She listens closely as the old man gives the details of how his son died heroically for King
and Country, without regrets. All the other passengers congratulate the man for his stoicism and
bravery.
The wife, as if waking from a dream, says to the man, “Then… is your son really dead?”
The old man looks at her, tries to answer, but cannot. He seems to realize for the first time
that his son is gone forever. He weeps uncontrollably.
Themes:
1. Patriotism
o While the passengers have differing opinions over whose grief is greater, they all
have strong patriotic feelings. No one even suggests that their sons should not
have to fight in the war. It is alright to feel sorrow, but it would be unthinkable to
remove the cause.
o The old man explains their sorrow by saying that a parent’s love for their children
is simply greater than their love for country, as evidenced by any parent’s
willingness to take their son’s place at the front. On the other hand, a young person
loves their country more than they love their parents.
o He asserts that young people naturally put love of country above all else and are
happy to die in battle. He twice points out that he is speaking of decent boys. Likely,
they have all heard of young men who tried to shirk their duty and are disgusted
by the thought—too indecent to tender as an alternative.
o The old man also speaks of his son as a hero who died for King and Country.
Everyone listens raptly and congratulates him.
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2. Intellectualizing Emotions
o The old man avoids dealing with his grief by intellectualizing over the death of his
son. He claims that young people would not want their parents to cry over them
“because if they die, they die inflamed and happy.”
o Moreover, he says that dying young prevents their children from seeing “the ugly
sides of life” (like having to let your child go to their death?), so “Everyone should
stop crying; everyone should laugh, as I do…or at least thank God—as I do.” The
old man amends his statement that everyone should laugh. That is too much, even
for him. Instead, they should thank God that their children die satisfied and happy.
o The old man’s speech is carefully constructed and delivered with some zest. He
has obviously spent time rationalizing his son’s death, trying to convince himself of
its propriety. He has built an argument centered on duty, sacrifice, and love of King
and Country—his son was a hero.
o But all his rhetoric is just a wall put up to block his pain. His lip quivers and his eyes
water; he already knows he is lying to himself. Ironically, he is losing his composure
as the wife is finding hers. She gets swept up in his intellectual and noble argument.
She comes out of her fog and asks if his son is really dead. The shocking
tactlessness of the question destroys his fragile equilibrium, revealing his extreme
anguish.
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FRENCH LITERATURE: Candide by Voltaire

Summary:
Candide, a naive and curious young man, lives in Westphalia, Germany, with his uncle's
noble family on a large estate. He and his two cousins, Cunégonde and the Young Baron, are tutored
by the philosopher Pangloss. Pangloss teaches his pupils about the world through the lens of
philosophical optimism, which purports that everything that happens is of divine intention and is
therefore for the best. Nonetheless in this "best of all possible worlds," Candide is thrown out of the
castle for kissing Cunégonde, whom he ardently adores.
After an unfortunate stint in the Bulgar army, Candide ends up in Holland, where he meets a
kind Anabaptist. He is also reunited with Pangloss, who is near death and living on the streets.
Through Pangloss Candide learns of the deaths of his extended family, including Cunégonde and
the Young Baron.
Pangloss and Candide accompany the Anabaptist to Lisbon, Portugal. A violent storm rises
within sight of the port; the Anabaptist is killed. Pangloss and Candide make it to shore just as an
earthquake demolishes the city. Dining with survivors, Pangloss philosophizes about why the
earthquake occurred and what it means for the future. He is arrested by an agent of the Inquisition
and hanged for heresy; Candide is publicly whipped.
An old woman helps Candide recover and then takes him to Cunégonde, who is still very
much alive, acting as a sexual servant to a Jew and the Grand Inquisitor. Candide kills both of the
men when they come for their nightly visit. Candide, Cunégonde, and the old woman flee the
country, sailing to South America, where Candide is to command Spanish troops against the Jesuit-
led revolt of indigenous peoples.
Spanish police are hot on their trail. Cunégonde remains in Buenos Aires to marry the
governor, who can provide her a much better life than Candide can. Candide and his valet,
Cacambo, escape to Paraguay, where Candide plans to join Spain's opposition. The commander of
the border post is none other than the Young Baron, who has become a Jesuit priest. He and
Candide are overjoyed to see each other until the Young Baron learns Candide wants to marry
Cunégonde. He forbids him to do so, and Candide tries to kill him.
On the run again, Candide and Cacambo end up in El Dorado, where the streets are filled
with gold and rubies and the residents are kind and generous. Candide thinks this must be the "best
of all possible worlds" Pangloss talked about. Yet Candide and Cacambo decide they'd rather leave
paradise behind, taking untold riches with them to improve their status back in Europe. The king
sends them off with 100 llamas carrying jewels and provisions.
Cacambo returns to Buenos Aires to get Cunégonde while Candide makes arrangements to
sail to Venice, where they will meet. He is swindled by numerous people, including a local judge,
and nearly everything he has is lost to a thieving ship captain. He hires another traveling companion,
Martin, and the two set sail for Europe.
After being cheated and seduced in Paris, Candide and Martin finally arrive in Venice. Months
go by without any sign of Cacambo. When he finally appears, he reports he is the slave of a deposed
king and Cunégonde is a house slave in Turkey. The trio set sail. They are reunited with Pangloss
and the Young Baron, who are serving as galley slaves below deck. Candide buys their freedom
and then does the same for Cunégonde and the old woman when they are reunited in Propontide.
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Cunégonde has become terribly ugly and mean. Candide doesn't want to marry her anymore
but goes through with it to spite the Young Baron. Candide buys a small farm in Propontide and
sends the Young Baron back to the galleys. Everyone else settles into mutual unhappiness. They
go to the local philosopher for guidance, but he tells them good and evil are none of their business.
An old farmer invites them into his home. Candide suspects the man is wealthy, but it turns
out that his happiness is the product of hard work, good company, and meaningful purpose in his
life. Candide and his friends decide to attempt a similar existence on their farm, dividing up
household and farm duties. Here they are finally all content, even Pangloss, although he still lapses
into philosophizing now and again. Candide now has no interest in such talk: he wants to focus on
his garden.
Candide Plot Diagram
Introduction
1. Candide is banished from his childhood home.
Rising Action
2. Pangloss is hanged by the Inquisition for heresy.

3. Candide appears to kill the Young Baron over Cunégonde.
4. Candide loses most of his wealth and returns to Europe.
Climax
5. Candide and an ugly Cunégonde are reunited.
Falling Action
6. Candide buys a small farm, and everyone is unhappy.
Resolution
7. Candide and company learn contentment is found in hard work.

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GERMAN LITERATURE: The Lorelei by Heinrich Heine
The Lorelei
Heinrich Heine
Translated by A.Z. Foreman
I know not if there is a reason

Why I am so sad at heart.
A legend of bygone ages
Haunts me and will not depart.
The air is cool under nightfall.

The calm Rhine courses its way.
The peak of the mountain is sparkling
With evening's final ray.
The fairest of maidens is sitting

So marvelous up there,
Her golden jewels are shining,
She's combing her golden hair.
She combs with a comb also golden,

And sings a song as well
Whose melody binds a wondrous
And overpowering spell.
In his little boat, the boatman

Is seized with a savage woe,
He'd rather look up at the mountain
Than down at the rocks below.
I think that the waves will devour

The boatman and boat as one;
And this by her song's sheer power
Fair Lorelei has done.
Additional Facts:
• As sailing legend has it, she is the reason that so many ships have sunk on the 65- kilometer
stretch of river between Koblenz and Bingen that joined the ranks of the UNESCO World
Heritage Sites in 2002. The reality? This is one of the most beautiful – and dangerous –
stretches of river to navigate
• Today, the safest route through the waters around the Lorelei – as the cliff is known – is
marked for easy sailing, but during the middle ages it was known as the most dangerous
section of the river. Here the Rhine is at its deepest (82 feet) and narrowest (371 feet).
• In 1801, German author Clemens Brentano began the legend of the woman of Lorelei with
his ballad Zu Bacharach am Rheine. In the ballad, a beautiful woman named Lore Lay
convicted of bewitching men and murdering them falls to her death from the cliff, leaving an
echo of her name behind her.
• Heinrich Heine then refined the story in his 1824 poem Die Lorelei. The poem describes a
female siren who sits atop the cliff combing her hair.
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NORTH AMERICAN LITERATURE: Rape Fantasies by Margaret Atwood
Summary:
The story begins with the narrator, Estelle, commenting on the wide number of references to
rape she’s seen in the popular culture recently, noting many magazine articles that seem to take a
light and flippant tone towards the subject. She then describes a conversation she had at her lunch
hour with four co-workers, Chrissy, Greta, Sondra, and Darlene.
Estelle says that the four women were playing a game of bridge when Chrissy, inspired by
one of the aforementioned magazine articles, suddenly interrupted to ask if any of them had ever
fantasized about rape. Estelle attempts to change the subject and get back to the game,
uncomfortable with the topic. Sondra is eager to tell her stories on the subject, as is Chrissy. Darlene,
an older divorced woman, is initially disgusted by the topic and stands up to go linger by the coffee
machine with her back to the others when the conversation persists despite her protests.
Greta admits that she has fantasized about rape: In her fantasy, a handsome young man
dressed all in black breaks into her apartment through the open balcony. Her fantasy is very
romantic, and Estelle believes it to be very influenced by movies and television shows. After he
rapes her, the man tells her about his experiences assaulting women, then exits through the balcony.
Chrissy tells her own fantasy: She is sitting in the bathtub when a man suddenly enters. She
doesn’t scream or attempt to run away because he is blocking the exit and she knows it would be
futile. She thus allows him to rape her.
Estelle interrupts at this point to complain that these fantasies are not truly rape fantasies,
because in their fantasies, they are enjoying the experience, just with a stranger. She insists that
rape is when you are forced into the act by a threat, like a knife at your throat. The others do not
seem to agree, and find her humor on the subject to be of poor taste. Chrissy demands that Estelle
confess her own rape fantasy, and Estelle eventually complies: In the first one, a man assaults her,
but she produces a plastic lemon from her purse. After he obligingly opens the lemon for her, she
squirts him in the eye. Chrissy is underwhelmed, and Darlene sarcastically remarks on Estelle’s
sense of humor.
Estelle ponders another of her fantasies: She is walking down a dark street when a short,
unattractive man covered in pimples rushes her and pins her to a wall. As he attempts to rape her,
however, his zipper won’t open and he begins to weep in frustration. Estelle feels sorry for him.
Estelle suddenly changes the subject by speaking of her disappointment in her move to
Toronto, which she assumed would be a grand adventure, and speculates that it’s easier for men to
meet new people. Estelle is clearly addressing someone outside of her memory of the conversation.
She returns to that memory, beginning a second rape fantasy in which she is sick in bed and
a man similarly ill climbs in through the window; speaking with a stuffed-nose lisp, he informs her
he’s going to â€›rabe’ her. Instead, they take medicine and watch television. Estelle then offers a
third fantasy, sensing that her lighthearted stories aren’t popular. In this fantasy, she is in her
mother’s basement when a man wielding an axe bursts in. He hears Angel’s voices in his head
telling him he has to kill her. She tells the man that she can hear the voices driving him to rape, and
he becomes confused, and leaves. She also has a fantasy in which a man grabs her, but she is an
expert in martial arts and fights him off, and a fantasy where a man starts to rape her but she informs
him that she has leukemia and only a few weeks to live, and he admits he is also terminally ill, and
they walk along speaking quietly and go for coffee and wind up living together in their final months.
Estelle is not happy to share this fantasy, and realizes that her own fantasies aren’t much
better than the ones she’d complained about. She notes that, in her fantasies, the man attempting
to rape her is always a stranger, but statistics show that rape is usually committed by someone the
woman knows.
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Estelle begins to ramble on about herself. She doesn’t drink, but likes to go to nice bars alone,
although she is aware of the risks. At this point it is clear that Estelle is in a bar telling this story to
another patron, presumably male. She says she doesn’t know why she is telling him all of this,
although she believes that the best defense against a violent attack from a stranger is to have a
conversation with the man. Estelle believes that no one could assault a woman they’d just had a
long conversation with.
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PERUVIAN LITERATURE: The Lottery Ticket by Ventura Garcia – Calderon
Summary:
In the story, Cielito is a gorgeous dancer touring in South America, attracting the men with
her rumba and other attractive dances. One evening, the theater decides to hold a lottery. They
throw some numbers in a hat and the person whose number is pulled out will be able to take Cielito
home with them. Currently, we would likely smell a rat called prostitution or sexism. In that time and
place, however, this was perfectly reasonable to auction off a beautiful woman. When they pull the
number out of the hat, 213, the number belongs to a bitter negro that has been discriminated
throughout his life.
His slave relatives were worked to death and he finds this whole notion to be ridiculous. After
standing there, caring less about what is going on, he takes his ticket and rips it to shreds, smugly,
and in a way that says, "take that!" First, the audience stands in surprise, then Cielito grows angry,
finally, he is beaten down by the angry Latin Americans before being hospitalized.
Additional Facts:
• "The Lottery Ticket" does an excellent job captivating the material appreciation that people,
primarily men in this time and place, have and how this is the way they look at Cielito, nothing
more than sexual appeal.
• At the same time, they do not treat everyone equally and that could be said about the way
they treat the negro, we happen to figuratively use his prize-winning opportunity to shove
their belligerence in their faces.
• Not only does he see the ridicule in holding an auction to auction off a female dancer, but he
also sees them in the wrong for how he and his relatives were treated for several years.
• Garcia Calderon obviously leaves the name of the theater out of his writing and clearly states
he will not name the theater, because there would be plenty of options to choose from and
plenty of theaters to point the finger out. He just does not feel like pointing the finger at one
theater, because this, their pleasures, and their approaches in life are far in the wrong.
• "The Lottery Ticket" is an easy read that will surely catch the attention of the literary enthusiast
and cultural enthusiast alike, especially if Latin American culture is a strong suit.
• Garcia Calderon captures the culture and the issues around him and sets up an opportunity
where one man treated unfairly can get vengeance for such treatment. I had to let out a
chuckle as I finished reading this piece.
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MEXICAN LITERATURE: Wind and Water and Stone by Octavio Paz
Wind and Water and Stone

Octavio Paz
Water hollows stone,

wind scatters water,
stone stops the wind.
Water, wind, stone.
Wind carves stone,

stone's a cup of water,
water escapes and is wind.
Stone, wind, water.
Wind sings in its whirling,

water murmurs going by,
unmoving stone keeps still.
Wind, water, stone.
Each is another and no other:

crossing and vanishing
through their empty names:
water, stone, wind.
Analysis:
• Each stanza describes an ability of wind water and stone and relates the three to each other
in a certain way. There is a different connection in each stanza.
• There is repetition in the last sentence of each stanza, ending with the same three words just
in a different order.
• Each stanza compares wind, water, and stone to the powers of the other to see which is the
most powerful and which ability can overcome the most.
• Overall, the poem is about how nature has effects on everything. The poem states that wind
changes the water, but stone can move water and wind can be in water.
• They all connect. These are three different elements, but they cannot go without each other.
In a sense they are all connected rather that separate.
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CHILEAN LITERATURE: The Fickle One by Pablo Neruda
The Fickle One

Pablo Neruda
My eyes went away from me

Following a dark girl
who went by.
She was made of black mother-of-pearl,

Made of dark-purple grapes,
and she lashed my blood
with her tail of fire.
After them all

I go.
A pale blonde went by

like a golden plant
swaying her gifts.
And my mouth went
like a wave
discharging on her breast
lightning bolts of blood.
After them all

I go.
But to you, without my moving,

without seeing you, distant you,
go my blood and my kisses,
my dark one and my fair one,
my tall one and my little one,
my broad one and my slender one,
my ugly one, my beauty,
made of all the gold
and of all the silver,
made of all the wheat
and of all the earth,
made of all the water
of the sea waves,
made for my arms,
made for my kisses,
made for my soul.
Analysis:
• In nearly all his works, Neruda attests to the simplicity, valor, and importance of love, whether
for country, "common things," or another human being.
• In "The Fickle One," the author creates a paradox confirming that the persona’s sincere
affection transcends the physical attraction and lust by which he initially appears imprisoned.
• Furthermore, Neruda presents an opposition by dividing the poem into parallel halves,
demanding that even the receptive reader peruse the poem more than once to discern the
genuine meaning of the experience that the text conveys.
• Neruda, with much attention to detail and manipulation of language, demonstrates the
persona’s inability to control his human, sexual nature, causing the reader to disapprove of
him.
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• By stating, "My eyes went away from me," he conjures a persona with eyes that are
disconnected from the rest of his body, as though they are a separate entity, acting against
the will of the brain, bones, and heart.
• Seemingly, he desires all the females that pass by him. He gazes longingly at each woman
while absorbing all their physical details, corroborating the notion that the only qualities that
draw him to random women are tangible attributes.
• The persona covets a "dark girl" and a "pale blonde," relaying not only an affinity for one type
of female, but an equal attraction to all women, from one end of the spectrum to the other.
Indeed, Neruda portrays the persona as a very capricious man.
• Though a variety of women captivate the persona, Neruda illuminates the spontaneous and
temporal nature of the persona’s emotions regarding the common women with the repeated
lines, "After them all / I go".
• Neruda fully divulges the sensitive side of the persona in the second half of the poem, which
culminates with a simple profession of love to the last woman, who is "made for my arms, /
made for my kisses, / made for my soul".
• Perhaps the most powerful moment in the work, it reveals the persona’s sincerity through
emphasis on the verb "made," indicating a shift from lust to love. He makes it apparent that
the emotional intimacy that the persona finds in his relationship with the third woman is absent
when dealing with other females.
• Moreover, in those three simple lines, he charts their love from a platonic relationship to an
intimate relationship, and, finally, to the realm of the spiritual. His lover, unlike the others, is
not only a symbol of sexuality; rather, she represents trust and enduring companionship.
• In lines one through eighteen, the persona is portrayed as nothing but a flirtatious womanizer
who could never sustain a mature, lasting relationship; however, in the final stanza, the
persona proves to be just the opposite.
• By admitting his faults to the reader, he also is building his credibility. Neruda affirms that the
persona is human, for he experiences lustful temptations. While the reader may disagree
with, and even dislike, the persona during the first half of the poem, his affection and truthful
expression of love during the latter half of the poem transform him into an admirable, ideal
man.
• Though many women tempt the persona every day, he remains faithful to his one true love.
His desire for her is innate. Ultimately, after a second or third reading, the reader recognizes
the persona’s actual intentions and devotion, and the reader completes the poem
commending the persona instead of despising him.
• By circumventing the idea of true love through a focus on the first two women, Neruda
accentuates the persona’s eternal faithfulness to the third female. The persona, though he
may be fickle in his thoughts and cravings, is steadfast in this fidelity. In fact, the persona’s
unflinching integrity lends irony to the title of the poem.
• His flaws are those of the common man, yet he proves the maturity of his affection by honestly
admitting his shortcomings. His true love is the paramount interest in his life, and it is through
the characterization of the persona in "The Fickle One" that Neruda demonstrates that the
struggle that is love makes life worthwhile.
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AUSTRALIAN LITERATURE: Day of Wrath (A Schoolboy’s Tale) by Christina Stead
Full Text:
Do the moutains wear black for the death of a bee in the old world? Not so in the new. Perhaps
Ardennes wept over the “unreturning brave”, but I saw death ride naked on a tropic shore and his
breath never darkened the water nor brushed the sky; nature's children drowned, curdled the water
in their blood, while she painted her cheeks, wreathed in smiles, and the hills sparked with jollity by
the pacific sea.
I lived in Avallon, a waterside village in the seaport. A woman in the district was divorced for
adultery. Her husband was a cabinet minister, a rich man, coarse, luxurious, and trynnical. Public
opinion was bitter against his wife because she had left his house and gone to live with her lover
and it was proved that because they were poor, she had slept with her two children nightly in her
lover's bed. The children had to appear in court and give this evidence. The father renounced these
children, who he declared were not of his blood, and he left all three in great poverty: this was not
condemned, for a woman who forsakes wealth for poverty is obviously poor-spirited, and beneath
commiseration: even the poor despised her.
The son was ten years old, the daughter was fourteen. I knew her, her name was Viola. She was
pretty, but thin, with long black hair, and rather smart with her tongue. Certainly she suffered in such
an honest city, where the “Decameron” was forbidden, and England's colonial history is expurgated
for the school books.
I saw her mother once, a pretty, dark, sweet woman, who ventured timidly into the ladies cabin
on the ferry and looked quickly but without expectation of greeting at the female faces decorating
the walls. When I raised my hat to her she smiled with pleasure, but with indulgence also; she knew
I pitied her, but she regarded us all very calmly from another world. The ladies were indignant that
she continued to live in our district. “She would have at least the delicacy to go where she is not
known,” said my maiden aunt. Society, great beast of tender skin, blind with elephant ears, fell
indigent, lashed its little tail and got hot round the rump. It required a sacrifice, and when Jumbo
wants something the god themselves obey.
One Wednesday afternoon, the four o'clock ferry, which carried the school children home from
tow, was struck amidships by an ocean liner and sank immediately, carrying down more than fifty
souls. Thirty children were drowned, and all those who died were from our village of Avallon. I went
down to catch the four-thirty ferry and saw the stretchers with bodies brought in already by the
rescuers. All the way home, with my book on the seat, lifebouys and splinterd wood rose up into the
bays and rivers. Eddies of soot and oil floated past. In a few minutes we reached the spot where the
ferry lay with her passengers, and I felt paralyzed with a strange and almost voluptuous cramp, and
my spirit being wound out of me like a djinn out of a pot.
We went dead slow, with our flag at halfmast, and there was a silence on the boat. I thought of
those people sitting below, almost living, with a glow on their cheeks still through the green gloom
of the deep water channel; they seemed a company that had gone apart for some conclave. I believe
my two young sisters were there, waiting for me with open eyes, and I wanted to dive in, but I could
not move. When we neared home I saw my little brother running and jumping on our lawn, so I was
reassured.
After a few days, when the last rumours and hoped had died out, and the whole village was in
mourning, in the lovely weather, only one piece of fantasy remained. Viola alone had not been found.
She must have been carried, or been lost in the deeper mud at the bottom; the ferry itself had moved
several hundred feet. It seemed to my mother and aunt that this was the “judgement of God” though
for what mortal sins the other bereaved women had been punished, no one thought to conjecture.
At the end of the week Viola was found on one end of the wreck, standing upright, uninjured, her
right foot simply entangled in a rope. The founts of pitty at this word broek the seadl and jettled in
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each breast, and everyone that night had before his eys the image of Viola standing in the green
gloon for a week, upright, looking for the rescuers, astonished that they did not come for her, perhaps
with a lively word in her lips at ther slowness, and then prisoned by her poor weak foot, decaying,
but with her arms still floating up; a watermaiden tangled in a lily-food, and not able to reach the
surface. I cried and thought how she died in that attitude to ask pity.
In fact, it turned out that wat, or at least, if the church and justice were not moved, for they should
be above the frailties of fresh and blood, the women began to lament on her mother's account, to
say she was well punished and one could even pity er. The beast was appeased, as in ancient days,
by the sacrifice of a virgin.
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NEW ZEALAND LITERATURE: A Dill Pickle by Katherine Mansfield
Full Text:
AND then, after six years, she saw him again. He was seated at one of those little bamboo tables
decorated with a Japanese vase of paper daffodils. There was a tall plate of fruit in front of him, and
very carefully, in a way she recognized immediately as his "special" way, he was peeling an orange.
He must have felt that shock of recognition in her for he looked up and met her eyes. Incredible! He
did not know her! She smiled; he frowned. She came towards him. He closed his eyes an instant
but opening them his face lit up as though he had struck a match in a dark room. He laid down the
orange and pushed back his chair, and she took her little warm hand out of her muff and gave it to
him.
"Vera!" he exclaimed. "How strange. Really, for a moment I didn't know you. Won't you sit down?
You've had lunch? Won't you have some coffee?"
She hesitated, but of course she meant to.
"Yes, I'd like some coffee." And she sat down opposite him.
"You've changed. You've changed very much," he said, staring at her with that eager, lighted look.
"You look so well. I've never seen you look so well before."
"Really?" She raised her veil and unbuttoned her high fur collar. "I don't feel very well. I can't bear
this weather, you know."
"Ah, no. You hate the cold. . . . "
"Loathe it." She shuddered. "And the worst of it is that the older one grows . . . "
He interrupted her. "Excuse me," and tapped on the table for the waitress. "Please bring some coffee
and cream." To her: "You are sure you won't eat anything? Some fruit, perhaps. The fruit here is
very good."
"No, thanks. Nothing."
"Then that's settled." And smiling just a hint too broadly he took up the orange again. "You were
saying–the older one grows–"
"The colder," she laughed. But she was thinking how well she remembered that trick of his–the trick
of interrupting her–and of how it used to exasperate her six years ago. She used to feel then as
though he, quite suddenly, in the middle of what she was saying, put his hand over her lips, turned
from her, attended to something different, and then took his hand away, and with just the same
slightly too broad smile, gave her his attention again. . . . Now we are ready. That is settled.
"The colder!" He echoed her words, laughing too. "Ah, ah. You still say the same things. And there
is another thing about you that is not changed at all–your beautiful voice–your beautiful way of
speaking." Now he was very grave; he leaned towards her, and she smelled the warm, stinging
scent of the orange peel. "You have only to say one word and I would know your voice among all
other voices. I don't know what it is–I've often wondered–that makes your voice such a–haunting
memory. . . . Do you remember that first afternoon we spent together at Kew Gardens? You were
so surprised because I did not know the names of any flowers. I am still just as ignorant for all your
telling me. But whenever it is very fine and warm, and I see some bright colours–it's awfully strange–
I hear your voice saying: 'Geranium, marigold, and verbena.' And I feel those three words are all I
recall of some forgotten, heavenly language. . . . You remember that afternoon?"
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"Oh, yes, very well." She drew a long, soft breath, as though the paper daffodils between them were
almost too sweet to bear. Yet, what had remained in her mind of that particular afternoon was an
absurd scene over the tea table. A great many people taking tea in a Chinese pagoda, and he
behaving like a maniac about the wasps–waving them away, flapping at them with his straw hat,
serious and infuriated out of all proportion to the occasion. How delighted the sniggering tea drinkers
had been. And how she had suffered.
But now, as he spoke, that memory faded. His was the truer. Yes, it had been a wonderful afternoon,
full of geranium and marigold and verbena, and–warm sunshine. Her thoughts lingered over the last
two words as though she sang them.
In the warmth, as it were, another memory unfolded. She saw herself sitting on a lawn. He lay beside
her, and suddenly, after a long silence, he rolled over and put his head in her lap.
"I wish," he said, in a low, troubled voice, "I wish that I had taken poison and were about to die–here
now!"
At that moment a little girl in a white dress, holding a long, dripping water lily, dodged from behind a
bush, stared at them, and dodged back again. But he did not see. She leaned over him.
"Ah, why do you say that? I could not say that."
But he gave a kind of soft moan, and taking her hand he held it to his cheek.
"Because I know I am going to love you too much–far too much. And I shall suffer so terribly, Vera,
because you never, never will love me."
He was certainly far better looking now than he had been then. He had lost all that dreamy
vagueness and indecision. Now he had the air of a man who has found his place in life, and fills it
with a confidence and an assurance which was, to say the least, impressive. He must have made
money, too. His clothes were admirable, and at that moment he pulled a Russian cigarette case out
of his pocket.
"Won't you smoke?"
"Yes, I will." She hovered over them. "They look very good."
"I think they are. I get them made for me by a little man in St. James's Street. I don't smoke very
much. I'm not like you–but when I do, they must be delicious, very fresh cigarettes. Smoking isn't a
habit with me; it's a luxury–like perfume. Are you still so fond of perfumes? Ah, when I was in Russia
..."
She broke in: "You've really been to Russia?"
"Oh, yes. I was there for over a year. Have you forgotten how we used to talk of going there?"
"No, I've not forgotten."
He gave a strange half laugh and leaned back in his chair. "Isn't it curious. I have really carried out
all those journeys that we planned. Yes, I have been to all those places that we talked of, and stayed
in them long enough to–as you used to say, 'air oneself' in them. In fact, I have spent the last three
years of my life travelling all the time. Spain, Corsica, Siberia, Russia, Egypt. The only country left
is China, and I mean to go there, too, when the war is over."
As he spoke, so lightly, tapping the end of his cigarette against the ash-tray, she felt the strange
beast that had slumbered so long within her bosom stir, stretch itself, yawn, prick up its ears, and
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suddenly bound to its feet, and fix its longing, hungry stare upon those far away places. But all she.
said was, smiling gently: "How I envy you."
He accepted that. "It has been," he said, "very wonderful–especially Russia. Russia was all that we
had imagined, and far, far more. I even spent some days on a river boat on the Volga. Do you
remember that boatman's song that you used to play?"
"Yes." It began to play in her mind as she spoke.
"Do you ever play it now?"
"No, I've no piano."
He was amazed at that. "But what has become of your beautiful piano?"
he made a little grimace. "Sold. Ages ago."
"But you were so fond of music," he wondered.
"I've no time for it now," said she.
He let it go at that. "That river life," he went on, "is something quite special. After a day or two you
cannot realize that you have ever known another. And it is not necessary to know the language–the
life of the boat creates a bond between you and the people that's more than sufficient. You eat with
them, pass the day with them, and in the evening there is that endless singing."
She shivered, hearing the boatman's song break out again loud and tragic, and seeing the boat
floating on the darkening river with melancholy trees on either side. . . . "Yes, I should like that," said
she, stroking her muff.
"You'd like almost everything about Russian life," he said warmly. "It's so informal, so impulsive, so
free without question. And then the peasants are so splendid. They are such human beings–yes,
that is it. Even the man who drives your carriage has–has some real part in what is happening. I
remember the evening a party of us, two friends of mine and the wife of one of them, went for a
picnic by the Black Sea. We took supper and champagne and ate and drank on the grass. And while
we were eating the coachman came up. 'Have a dill pickle,' he said. He wanted to share with us.
That seemed to me so right, so–you know what I mean?"
And she seemed at that moment to be sitting on the grass beside the mysteriously Black Sea, black
as velvet, and rippling against the banks in silent, velvet waves. She saw the carriage drawn up to
one side of the road, and the little group on the grass, their faces and hands white in the moonlight.
She saw the pale dress of the woman outspread and her folded parasol, lying on the grass like a
huge pearl crochet hook. Apart from them, with his supper in a cloth on his knees, sat the coachman.
"Have a dill pickle," said he, and although she was not certain what a dill pickle was, she saw the
greenish glass jar with a red chili like a parrot's beak glimmering through. She sucked in her cheeks;
the dill pickle was terribly sour. . . .
"Yes, I know perfectly what you mean," she said.
In the pause that followed they looked at each other. In the past when they had looked at each other
like that they had felt such a boundless understanding between them that their souls had, as it were,
put their arms round each other and dropped into the same sea, content to be drowned, like mournful
lovers. But now, the surprising thing was that it was he who held back. He who said:
"What a marvellous listener you are. When you look at me with those wild eyes I feel that I could tell
you things that I would never breathe to another human being."
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Was there just a hint of mockery in his voice or was it her fancy? She could not be sure.
"Before I met you," he said, "I had never spoken of myself to anybody. How well I remember one
night, the night that I brought you the little Christmas tree, telling you all about my childhood. And of
how I was so miserable that I ran away and lived under a cart in our yard for two days without being
discovered. And you listened, and your eyes shone, and I felt that you had even made the little
Christmas tree listen too, as in a fairy story."
But of that evening she had remembered a little pot of caviare. It had cost seven and sixpence. He
could not get over it. Think of it–a tiny jar like that costing seven and sixpence. While she ate it he
watched her, delighted and shocked.
"No, really, that is eating money. You could not get seven shillings into a little pot that size. Only
think of the profit they must make. . . . " And he had begun some immensely complicated
calculations. . . . But now good-bye to the caviare. The Christmas tree was on the table, and the
little boy lay under the cart with his head pillowed on the yard dog.
"The dog was called Bosun," she cried delightedly.
But he did not follow. "Which dog? Had you a dog? I don't remember a dog at all."
"No, no. I meant the yard dog when you were a little boy." He laughed and snapped the cigarette
case to.
"Was he? Do you know I had forgotten that. It seems such ages ago. I cannot believe that it is only
six years. After I had recognized you today–I had to take such a leap–I had to take a leap over my
whole life to get back to that time. I was such a kid then." He drummed on the table. "I've often
thought how I must have bored you. And now I understand so perfectly why you wrote to me as you
did–although at the time that letter nearly finished my life. I found it again the other day, and I couldn't
help laughing as I read it. It was so clever–such a true picture of me." He glanced up. "You're not
going?"
She had buttoned her collar again and drawn down her veil.
"Yes, I am afraid I must," she said, and managed a smile. Now she knew that he had been mocking.
"Ah, no, please," he pleaded. "Don't go just for a moment," and he caught up one of her gloves from
the table and clutched at it as if that would hold her. "I see so few people to talk to nowadays, that I
have turned into a sort of barbarian," he said. "Have I said something to hurt you?"
"Not a bit," she lied. But as she watched him draw her glove through his fingers, gently, gently, her
anger really did die down, and besides, at the moment he looked more like himself of six years ago.
. ..
"What I really wanted then," he said softly, "was to be a sort of carpet–to make myself into a sort of
carpet for you to walk on so that you need not be hurt by the sharp stones and mud that you hated
so. It was nothing more positive than that–nothing more selfish. Only I did desire, eventually, to turn
into a magic carpet and carry you away to all those lands you longed to see."
As he spoke, she lifted her head as though she drank something; the strange beast in her bosom
began to purr . . .
"I felt that you were lonelier than anybody else in the world," he went on, "and yet, perhaps, that you
were the only person in the world who was really, truly alive. Born out of your time," he murmured,
stroking the glove, "fated."
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Ah, God! What had she done! How had she dared to throw away her happiness like this. This was
the only man who had ever understood her. Was it too late? Could it be too late? She was that glove
that he held in his fingers. . ..
"And then the fact that you had no friends and never had made friends with people. How I understood
that, for neither had I. Is it just the same now?"
"Yes," she breathed. "Just the same. I am as alone as ever."
"So am I," he laughed gently, "just the same." Suddenly with a quick gesture he handed her back
the glove and scraped his chair on the floor. "But what seemed to me so mysterious then is perfectly
plain to me now. And to you, too, of course. . . . It simply was that we were such egoists, so self-
engrossed, so wrapped up in ourselves that we hadn't a corner in our hearts for anybody else. Do
you know," he cried, naive and hearty, and dreadfully like another side of that old self again, "I began
studying a Mind System when I was in Russia, and I found that we were not peculiar at all. It's quite
a well-known form of . . . "
She had gone. He sat there, thunder-struck, astounded beyond words. . . . And then he asked the
waitress for his bill.
"But the cream has not been touched," he said. "Please do not charge me for it."
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CHINESE LITERATURE: To My Retired Friend, Wei by Tu Fu
To My Retired Friend, Wei

Tu Fu (also known as Du Fu)
It is almost as hard for friends to meet

As for the morning and evening stars.
Tonight then is a rare event,
Joining, in the candlelight,
Two men who were young not long ago
But now are turning grey at the temples.
...To find that half our friends are dead

Shocks us, burns our hearts with grief.
We little guessed it would be twenty years
Before I could visit you again.
When I went away, you were still unmarried;
But now these boys and girls in a row
Are very kind to their father's old friend.
They ask me where I have been on my journey;

And then, when we have talked awhile,
They bring and show me wines and dishes,
Spring chives cut in the night-rain
And brown rice cooked freshly a special way.
...My host proclaims it a festival,

He urges me to drink ten cups --
But what ten cups could make me as drunk
As I always am with your love in my heart?
...Tomorrow the mountains will separate us;
After tomorrow-who can say?
Part Analysis:
• In the poem “To My Retired Friend, Wei” by Tu Fu, a story is told about two men as they
reunite and engage in conversation after many years apart. The perspective is from the view
of the man that visits his friend, Wei Pa. The poem encompasses four sections each with
different subject matter.
• In the first section, the speaker speaks of how he and Wei Pa rarely get the chance to renew
their friendship through gatherings or meetings. The first use of imagery and similes is
employed to describe this unfortunate situation. “It is almost as hard for friends to meet/ As
for the morning and evening stars” (Tu Fu 1-2).
o This depicts them as old men who are like stars in opposite areas of outer space,
never near each other. It continues by stars in opposite areas of outer space, never
near each other. It continues by creating a setting where the two men are finally able
to mend their relationship.
• The next section occupies one of the largest portions of the poem as it describes what the
two men do as they exchange conversation regarding former acquaintances and newfound
family. An unsettling tone is displayed when the two men speak about old friends. “But now
are turning grey at the temples/ To find that half our friends are dead,/ It shocks us, burns our
hearts with grief” (6–8).
o They have aged a large amount, but unlike their friends, they have not died. This
shocks the both of them as it leaves a sense of worry regarding their own futures.
• Another change in their lives since their last visit has been the arrival of new family members.
“Though in those days you were unmarried/ Suddenly sons and daughters troop in” (11-12).
The faces in Wei Pa’s home are unfamiliar.
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JAPANESE LITERATURE: Jetliner by Naoshi Koriyama
Jetliner
Naoshi Koriyama
Now he takes his mark

At the farthest end of the runway
Looking straight ahead, eager, intense
With his sharp eyes shining
He takes a deep, deep breath

With his powerful lungs
Expanding his massive chest
His burning heart beating like thunders
Then… after a few… tense moments… of pondering

He roars at his utmost
And slowly beings to job
Kicking the dark earth hard
And now he begins to run
Kicking the dark earth harder
Then he dashes, dashes like mad, like mad
Howling, shouting, screaming, and roaring
Then with a most violent kick

He shakes off the earth’s pull
Softly lifting himself into the air
Soaring higher and higher and higher still
Piercing the sea of clouds
Up into the chandelier of stars
Analysis:
• In the first stanza, he shows the runner’s thoughts and intense few moments before he begins
to run. The runner waits impatiently, looking at his mark a few meters away, waiting for his
moment to lunge into the air. His concentration is focused completely on the sand. Nothing
will faze him as he stares intently on the sand.
o The Jet sits waiting on the end of the runway, waiting for clearance to take off. The
pilots wait and follow through their routine last-minute pre-flight checks. The plane sits,
ready to take off and begin its flight.
o Naoshi Koriyama alternates between his descriptions of a Man waiting to run to a
Plane waiting to take off, but never fully describes the runner as a Jetliner. Each
individual line can be taken for face value or as a metaphor for a massive Jetliner. The
word runway creates the sense of flight, for describing the area a long jumper needs
to accelerate to jump into the air, and the stretch of pavement used for a Jetliner to
reach a speed fast enough to rise into the air. But in using a word that could be thought
of in both contexts, it reassures the author’s idea of comparing two very different
things.
• The second stanza shows the physical reactions before the long jumper takes off running, he
begins preparing his body for the run ahead of him, filling his lungs with air and getting his
heartbeat up.
• In the third stanza, here the runner takes off and begins his run down the short stretch of dirt,
accelerating to begin his jump. As he runs faster and faster his feet dig into the ground and
throw dirt sky high. As he comes near to the end of this run, he screams and howls with all
of his strength releasing his built-up rage and tension.
o The Jet begins to accelerate down the runway, building up speed so it can y into the
air. As it runs down the runway faster and faster, it throws up dust and dirt from the
runway into the air using its huge engine’s exhaust. As it nears the end of the runway,
the engines roar with power.
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• In the last stanza, the long jumper finally reaches the end of his runway, and pushes off into
the air, getting higher and higher into the air. Reaching heights never reached by him before.
The Jetliner finally takes off, leaving the ground, soaring higher and higher into the air, past
the clouds, and into the star filled skies above it.
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CENTRAL ASIAN LITERATURE: 1996 by Rabindranath Tagore
1996
Rabindranath Tagore
Who are you reading curiously this poem of mine

A hundred years from now?
Shall I be able to send to you
-Steeped in the love of my heart-
The faintest touch of this spring morning’s joy, 5
The scent of a flower,
A bird-song’s note,
A spark of today’s blaze of color,
A hundred years from now?
Yet, for once, open your window on the south 10

And from your balcony
Gaze at the far horizon.
Then, sinking deep in fancy
Think of the ecstasies of joy
That came floating down 15
From some far heaven of bliss
To touch the heart of the world
A hundred years ago;
Think of the young spring day
Wild, impetuous and free, 20
And of the south wind
-Fragrant with the pollen of flowers-
Rushing on restless wings to paint the earth
With the radiant hues of youth
A hundred years before your day. 25
And think, how his heart aflame,

His whole being rapt in song,
A poet was awake that day
To unfold like flowers
His myriad thoughts 30
With what wealth of love!-
One morning a hundred years ago.
A hundred years from now

Who is the new poet singing his songs to you?
Across the years I send him 35
The joyous greeting of this spring.
May my song echo for a while,
On your spring day,
In the beating of your heart,
In the murmur of bees, 40
In the rustling of leaves,-
A hundred years from today.
February, 1896
Analysis:
• In his poem, Tagore addresses people that live a hundred years from that point in time. He
uses imagery and metaphors to describe life around him, such as the birds and flowers. He
wants the people of 1996 to enjoy their lives and don't forget to look at the world around
them and remember where they came from.
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• Tagore writes in free verse, so none of the lines rhyme. He uses imagery, metaphors, and
similes in his poem, 1996.
• He uses imagery to describe various sights scents and smells outside in this perfect spring
or summer day.
• The metaphors Tagore uses emphasize his emotions during the time he spent writing the
poem. He uses his metaphors extremely effectively; you can almost picture how he felt at
the time and how the world looked to him as he wrote.
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WEST ASIAN LITERATURE: On Pain by Khalil Gibran
On Pain
Khalil Gibran
And a woman spoke, saying, Tell us of Pain.
And he said:
Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.
Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know
pain.
And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life your pain would not
seem less wondrous than your joy;
And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons
that pass over your fields.
And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief.
Much of your pain is self-chosen.

It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self.
Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy in silence and tranquility:
For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by the tender hand of the Unseen,
And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter
has moistened with His own sacred tears.
Analysis:
• “On Pain” is one of Gibran’s shortest and least resolved poems. It opens with a powerful and
clarifying description:
o “Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding / Even as the
stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know
pain.”
• Gibran’s poem offers little comfort or advice for how to vanquish the feeling. Instead, we
are urged to welcome our pain with fresh eyes as a wondrous and remarkable force:
o “And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always
accepted the seasons that pass over your fields. / And you would watch with
serenity through the winters of your grief.”
• Pain, just like other emotions, is fleeting. It comes and it goes, only coming to an end
when our earthly bodies do. But there is one clean truth:
o “Much of your pain is self-chosen.”
• And yet:
o “It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self. /
Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy in silence and tranquility.”
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SOUTHEAST ASIAN LITERATURE: Dead Stars by Paz Marquez -Benitez
Summary:
The story of the short story Dead Stars revolves around a man, Alfred Salazar, and his affairs.
Alfred Salazar believes in true love and optimism to discover ecstasy in its stir. Esperanza is the first
woman he falls in love with. The families of both are acquainted with each other and hence they
start a loving relationship. Both get engaged after three years of their relationship. Alfredo is a lawyer
who has strong desires and wants warmth and compassion; however, Esperanza is an impassionate
woman having strong will and principles. Alfredo’s love for her soon fades away when he meets
Julia. Julia, now, becomes a new object of his desire.
Julia Salas is sister in law of the Judge, who is a friend of Alfredo’s father. Julia is an optimistic
and enthusiastic person having her own dreams and desires. When Alfredo comes across her, he
is strongly attracted to her. On his visit to her with his father, he engages himself in conversation
with her and is attracted to her charm. Even he is so passionate that he does not disclose his
engagement to Esperanza.
To avoid the discovery of his fiancée, he keeps secrets from Esperanza too. His eyes are
doomed when he learns about Julia’s return to his native town. With the fear of losing her, Alfredo
decides to declare his true feeling for Julia. When the Church’s function ends, Alfredo goes to meet
her, though his fiancé is waiting for him. When he reaches there, he learns that Julia has already
known about his engagement to Esperanza. She wishes him for his marriage and leaves him.
On his return home, he gets a double blow. He finds Esperanza talking to her friend about
loyalty and faithfulness. Alfredo senses a desire to communicate. He supports the reason for craving
and choice over dishonesty. Esperanza soon confesses that she knew about his affair with Julia. In
pursuit of his lust and heart’s content, she encourages him to cancel the wedding. However, the
wedding goes ahead as scheduled and Alfred surrenders to reason.
Near Julia’s native town, Alfred, after eight years, is sent to some work duty. On his visit, he
feels nostalgic and cannot resist his lust for Julia and soon finds an excuse to meet her. Julia is still
single that forces Alfred to dream about starting a new life with her; however, he soon realizes that
everything is not the same as it were before. Moreover, Julia has also changed lost something.
Analysis:
• Dead Stars is a narrative short story by Par Marquez Benitez. The story is written in the third
person point of view using the pronouns he, she, it, they, etc.
• The short story Dead Stars, written in 1925 has a significant place in Philippine English
Literature as it gives birth to modern English writing in Philippine. At that time, English was
newly introduced, and the writers were struggling hard while using English as a medium of
expression.
• Dead Stars is the masterpiece of Paz Marque Benitez. In this short story, he did not only talk
about love. His writing is significant as it reflects the spirit of the time. It depicts the language,
norms, and the manners of the people during that time. The readers are enabled to
understand how marriage, fidelity, and courtship were viewed during the early twentieth
century. This serves as a mode to compare the past and the present, and the fading
traditional culture and the predominating modern culture.
• The short story also illustrates the rising conjunction of sociopolitical feminism. In this story,
women are represented as meek and dependent on men. Men are superior to women.
Women are faithful who easily falls in love while the male is shown as uncertain, inconsistent,
and rational. However, the story also ruined the concept of patriarchal society as it sees the
man rational and logical while woman as emotional and kind.
• Dead Stars symbolizes the unspoken present things. The affection and love between Alfredo
and Julia seemed to be existing and real, however, with the passage of time, it fades away
like a dead star. Hence, the disillusionment and memories of the past do not exist anymore.
After the eight years of reunion, the fading love was not because of the fading youth, but
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because Alfred finds her different from what he perceived in the past and all the gone years.
He is disillusioned. The illusions that he concealed all the years turns out to be nothing but
dead stars; it was dead long ago, yet it emits apparently real lights to travel the long distance.
• The devotion of Esperanza for Alfred also symbolizes love; however, she believes more in
the reformative virtue than true love, that why we can say that she is in a relationship because
of moral obligation.
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SINGAPOREAN LITERATURE: The Taximan’s History by Catherine Lim
Summary:
The story begins when the taximan had his passenger who was rushing for her meeting whom
he called “Madam”. He drove their way to somewhere they can get in a half hour due to the traffic.
He told her that he had been driving for almost twenty years and shared a thought that their city,
Singapore, was very crowded unlike before. Success for him is a matter of striving hard because he
didn’t get a chance to get an education nor have any capital for a business so he should have to go
work hard to earn and feed his family of 78 and his wife. He got a big family because there are no
such things like family planning before during his time which is now implemented today in their city
by their government.
But then he was lucky because all his children are already grown-ups. Four of his sons are
working-one businessman, two clerks, one a teacher at a Primary school, one working in a National
service and the other one is still on her second year in her secondary level. His eldest daughter who
is now on her twenty’s is still at their home helping her mother. She is not yet married because she
is a shy type kind of a person and she had a bad health condition but despite of that, she is a good
and obedient woman.
Opposite of his elder daughter is her younger sister who isn’t good enough and go against
her parents. He tells that long time ago he was being punished by his parents by a cane whenever
he disobeyed them even though he was big enough to get married. He said also that his father was
very strict but if not, he’ll might become useless like the other girls and boys which is now currently
happening in their city. When he finds out that his passenger was a teacher, he told her that those
schoolgirls who were about fifteen to sixteen year old, go to school in the morning in their uniforms
and instead of going home, they proceed to a public lavatory or hotel and change their clothes which
they have in their school bag and put make-up on their face. In addition to that, that was out of their
parent’s mind then tell them that they have a school meeting or the like but actually not.
The taximan then tells about the tricks and the dirty secrets that these girls are doing so like
earning a big amount of money from those foreigners and that’s where also he get his big extra
income. Like when last night, a young girl who was very dolled up and wearing sexy dress and told
him to take her to Orchid Mansions, he was shocked into finding out that she had her purse full of
American notes and handed him ten dollars without even asking for a change! He further added that
he usually waits outside the Elroy Hotel, Tung Court or Orchid Mansions and almost make nearly a
hundred fifty dollars just for one day, some of it came from extra services.
He then suddenly shared about and describe her daughter named Lay Choo, as a good girl
and striving hard for her studies. She always got a good compliment from her teachers on her report
card. She was his favorite daughter, asked her what she wants after she left school and she
answered him that she wanted to go to a University. None of his children could go to a university
unlike Lay Choo who is a smart and very helpful on her mother even though she is sometimes a
little lazy that her teacher advises her to do extra work at her weak subject which is math. So then
he let her go back again at her school.
One day, as he was driving, he saw a girl that looks familiar to him, she was all dolled up with
the other girls and some Europeans outside a coffee-house. He didn’t think that it was Lay Choo
because she was in her school and that girl was dressed-up with make-up on and she was bold in
her behaviour. He then suspects her daughter and then there find her out the next day, confirming
that it was really her. He suddenly outraged going to her, slapped then dragged her to his taxi and
went home. When they arrived at their house, he trashed the food and beat her so bad that his wife
and his neighbours are pulling him away.
He decided to lock his daughter at her room for three days and lied to his daughter’s teacher
that she is sick so that she will be excused. Not long after that incident, things are going on well
according to what they want for them.
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They made a rule that she cannot leave the house but only by going to school. He told also
his wife that she shall check her every now and then to whatever that she does and also her friends
– what sort of people they are.
Analysis:
• The story indeed awakens our minds about the reality of how the generation nowadays are
constantly changing, getting wilder, bolder, and liberated. I think one of the major reasons is
the fact that their parents are very busy working hard for them and those teens just do not
even think or care about it.
o In addition to that, their parents therefore lack a social interaction with their interaction
or simply ‘bonding’ with them. That is why they are not given much time and attention
that their perspective in life changes into something that we all do not like to happen.
They lack discipline and moral guidance or support that is why their behavior is
undesirable. Thus, we cannot tell who really got a problem with this, but it’s only a
matter of time and attention that we should fill in to our ‘lacks’. No one must blame with
this such things that is happening, which we cannot get rid of.
• When we talk about the mood of the story, it is kind of like a typical normal day at first then a
sudden glimpse of ‘mysterious mystery’ popped in evolving into something and revealing little
by little with the taximan’s experiences from his work. The story is somewhat like a revelation
of the secrets that the teens are doing without their parent’s knowledge about it. It is just so
pitiful both with the taximan’s part and the parents’ that they’re striving hard for them, yet they
do such things that is very disappointing on them.
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VIETNAMESE LITERATURE: Thoughts of Hanoi by Nguyen Thi Vinh
Thoughts of Hanoi
Nguyen Thi Vinh
The night is deep and chill

as in early autumn. Pitchblack,
it thickens after each lightning flash.
I dream of Hanoi:
Co-ngu Road ten years of separation
the way back sliced by a frontier of hatred
I want to bury the past
to burn the future
to still I yean
still I fear
those endless nights
waiting for dawn.
Brother,
how is Hang Dao now?
How is Ngoc Son temple?
Do the trains still run
each day from Hanoi
to the neighboring towns?
To Bac-ninh, Cam-giang, Yen-bai,
the small villages, islands
of brown thatch in a lush green sea?
The girls
bright eyes
ruddy cheeks
four-piece dresses
raven-bill scarves'
sowing harvesting
spinning weaving
all year round,
the boys
plowing
transplanting
in the fields
in their shops
running across
the meadow at evening
to fly kites
and sing alternating songs.'
Stainless blue sky,
jubilant voices of children
stumbling through the alphabet,
village graybeards strolling to the temple,
grandmothers basking in twilight sun,
chewing betel leaves'
while the children run-
Brother,
how is all that now?
Or is it obsolete?
Are you like me,
reliving the past,
imagining the future?
Do you count me as a friend
or am I the enemy in your eyes?
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Brother, I am afraid
that one day I'll be with the March-North Army'
meeting you on your way to the South.
I might be the one to shoot you then
or you me
but please
not with hatred.
For don't you remember how it was,
you and I in school together,
plotting our lives together?
Those roots go deep!
Brother, we are men,
conscious of more
than material needs.
How can this happen to us
my friend
my foe?
Analysis:
• This poem was written around the Vietnam War. The country was torn apart from the civil
war. The narrator is dreaming about the capital, Hanoi. He asking his "brother" how are the
roads, the train, and the people in the north part of Vietnam doing. The speaker pulls us back
to the present, with his thoughts of the future. Will the brothers meet up on the battle field,
will they be forced to try and kill each other? Where will the hatred take them in the future? If
they do meet on the battle field what will they do?
• Thoughts of Hanoi is a poem about reminiscing the past and foreseeing the future. In the first
three lines, “The night is deep and chill as in early autumn. Pitchblack, it thickens after each
lightning flash.” the speaker is giving us a clear imagery of the atmosphere surrounding a
war; dark and cold.
• “Co-ngu Road ten years of separation the way back sliced by a frontier of hatred.” In this line,
“frontier of hatred” is referring to the border between the North and South Vietnam where
countrymen fight amongst themselves.
• “I want to bury the past to burn the future still I yearn still I fear those endless nights waiting
for dawn.” In this line, the speaker is saying that he/she wants to erase the past so that the
future he/she fears will not come but still somehow yearns for it.
• “Brother, how is Hang Dao now? How is Ngoc Son temple? Do the trains still run to the
neighboring towns? To Bac-ninh, Cam-giang, Yen-bai, the small villages, islands of brown
thatch in a lush green sea?” In these lines we can see how the speaker is very familiar with
the North and it’s neighboring small towns. It also tells us that in a time before the war, he/she
was from the North.
• “The girls bright eyes Ruddy cheeks four-piece dresses Raven-bill scarves sowing harvesting
spinning weaving all year round, the boys plowing transplanting in the fields in their shops
running across the meadow at evening to fly kites and sing alternating songs. Stainless blue
sky, jubilant voices of children stumbling through the alphabet, village graybeards strolling to
the temple, grandmothers basking in the twilight sun, chewing betel leaves while the children
run—“ In these lines the speaker is reminiscing the past, a time in his/her village before the
war where the children only worried about playing and learning and the adults only went to
pray and relax.
• “Brother, how is all that now? Or is it obsolete? Are you like me, reliving the past, imagining
the future?” In these lines the speaker is asking the person he calls a “brother” if all that has
changed now and if he’s also like him/her, wanting to live again in a peaceful village like the
past and fearing the future.
• “Do you count me as a friend or am I the enemy in your eyes? Brother, I am afraid that one
day I’ll be with the March-North Army meeting you on your way to the South.” These lines tell
us that the speaker is now among the people who fight for the South and his brother for the
North.
• “I might be the one to shoot you then or you me but please not with hatred.” These lines give
us a strong imagery of the gravity of a Civil war; the possibility of brothers, friends and family
fighting against each other against their own free-will.
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• “For don’t you remember how it was, you and I in school together, plotting our lives together?
Those roots go deep! Brother, we are men, conscious of more than material needs. How can
this happen to us my friend my foe?” In the final lines, the speaker is asking “brother” that
when the time comes that they will be facing each other in the battle field, although they will
be forced to shoot each other, he should not forget everything they’ve been through since
they were friends after all before the war.
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MALAYSIAN LITERATURE: Nite of de Iguana “The Star” by Cecil Rejendra
Full Text:
Kuala Lumpur: The "heroin-filled condoms" doctors removed from the stomach of a man who
claimed to have swallowed iguana eggs have been certified as iguana eggs. City anti-narcotics chief
said the chemist's report confirmed the three objects removed from S. Adinarayanan's stomach were
iguana eggs.
Doctors who had operated on him after he had complained of stomach pains found three oval-
shaped objects which they thought were condoms stuffed with heroin and called the police.
-- 'The Star'
So one nite
my wife she tole me,
"Ayah, really lah
nowadays you tak guna."
I say, "Wat you mean,
wat you mean, wassamatter?"
She say, "You know lah
dat ting, dat ting ...
no mo fun, too fas lah."
So nex day after work
I go to see dis bomoh
explain my deligate probrem.
He tell me, "Dat kondishun
quite common, no probrem ...
urut also can, but urut
ohnee temporaree solushun.
I have sumtin better
much much better, but will
cos you plenny, plenny dollar."
I say, "Come on, pachee
doan play de fool wit me.
Tell me how much lah?
I no cheepskate wan.
Money no probrem when it
coming to looking after
der wife an der thungachee."
Dis bomoh den tell me
“Bess cure in town is egg
of iguana se-biji, se-biji
swallowed whole wit honey."
"I gip him pipty dolla
and makan tiga telor iguana.
I go home ready for ackshun
but all I get is plenny
stummach-ake and constipayshun
Adoi, pain terror, brudder;
so much so nex day I
mus go to Hospital Besar.
After X-ray, doktor he say
he must rightaway operayshun.
So dey put me to sleep
my han hancuff to de bed
and everywhere de mata-mata.
“What's going on, man?”
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I ask de fierce sarjan.

Deffler say, "Adinarayan,
You a bad, bad man
To try an smuggle de
dadah in your stummach
bungkus in der condom."
I say, "You crazy or vat?
Dat no dadah, man
dat is egg of iguana!"
An den you know vat
he say, dees crazee sarjan?
Deffler say "Vereee funnee,.
Deh Adina, you tink
you can teech your
granmudder to suck eggs, ah?"
So 5-day awreddy I in bed
with hancuff an de sarjan
wile dey send de iguana egg
to testing in Camistry Deparmen.
And den dey fine out
(dees stoopid mara-mata)
wat I dun tell dem all along
dat in my poor stummach
is no topi perancis dadah
but reelly de egg of iguana.
Eye-yo, kadavallay, so much trubble
lah brudder, an all becoz i took
three leetle egg of de iguana
to help, you know lah, tahan lama.
Analysis:
• This guffaw-inducing poem mercilessly flays both Manglish (Malaysian version of mangled
English) and humanity’s pre- occupation with aphrodisiacs.
• It is by Penang’s inimitable poet Cecil Rajendra, 74, and it was inspired by a piece of news
in The Star on Jan 8, 1992, by journalist Devid Rajah (now chief news editor).
• Back then, labourer S. Adinarayanan was handcuffed to his hospital bed for five days
because surgeons who removed three oval objects from his stomach thought they were
condoms filled with heroin.
• “Dynamic” was how a reviewer of Britain’s Times Literary Supplement judged Rajendra’s
work.
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INDONESIAN LITERATURE: Circumcision by Pramoedya Ananta Toer
Summary:
The narrative does follow the fundamental outline of plot. The first six paragraphs map out
the exposition: the characters, setting, and conflict (“. . . brave enough to be circumcised?” par. 6).
The tension rises from dreams of the 44 houri and fishing rivers of milk to the adoration of his parents
and community and the anticipation of the pain, until the ritual ceremony begins the conflict. The
conflict is anticlimactic as the narrator does go through the ancient rite as planned but bear in mind
sensing the description of the procedure is dicey for half the reading population. Finally, the tension
resolves, although the pain is still present, and the narrator—disillusioned—changes substantially
his desire to be a true Muslim.
Though the 9-year-old narrator is the protagonist, the antagonist, like in “The Conjurer Made
Off with the Dish,” is the boy’s environment, particularly Islam in this case. He thought that after the
ritual he would feel like a true Muslim, but he feels nothing—notwithstanding his steadfast piety in
performing all his prayers—and journeying to Mecca is out of the question. It cost him great pain
and discomfort to feel nothing like the spiritual awakening he was expecting, and now it is never
going to cost money either.
His father, who “always terrified [him]” (par. 7) issues a manly challenge when offering his
son the prospect of becoming a true Muslim. Besides that, we do not get a whole lot of specific
information other than the implicit understanding that no good son could refuse. Older foster sons
may skip out on the practice, a true son and Muslim does not. They have a traditional relationship
of the traditional father and the obedient son, who at first share religious aspirations. But the
relationship with his father must change eventually when the boy dejectedly realizes that his father,
not having the funds to send either himself for his children to Mecca, is essentially not a true Muslim.
The narrator is living this tale in the moment, maintaining an innocently reverential tone
throughout the recounting of the complications. He relishes the attention and honor of circumcision
and the event itself is rendered stoically with utter acceptance. Nevertheless, the tone changes
sharply and cynically at the very end. The long view and the moral dilemma of the situation aren’t
developed in the meat of the narrative but they are eventually shared at the cynical, empty end:
“And after I had healed, the thought of becoming a true Muslim never again entered my mind”
(par.78). On some level the boy understands the need to endure pain for his beliefs but cannot find
comfort knowing money and, indirectly, his father bar his religious peace and dreams.
While, in the main, this plot is advanced out of the boy’s religious faith and devotion, it abruptly
ends in cruel disenchantment. Knowing what his decision means, the tension builds evenly. Then
the reader’s apprehension for the protagonist is increased as the sacramental moment is illustrated.
Afterward and swiftly he is left to wonder, as is the reader, which pain is worse, the physical or the
abstract. What will his life hinge on now?
The issue of wealth is hinted at early in the story, when the narrator mentions the pious old
man who had made his pilgrimage to Mecca. Also, the narrator’s excitement at receiving new clothes
(“I also began to think of the new kain and new pair of sandals I would likely receive,” 96) suggests
he is not used to owning much property. However, wealth and poverty does not become a conflict
until late in the story, after the boys are circumcised. The narrator does not feel like a true Muslim
even after the ceremony, he does not feel any different.
Although his mother suggests the answer might be a pilgrimage, the narrator realizes
immediately that such a trip would require wealth. From this, he immediately concludes, “all hopes
of becoming a true Muslim vanished. I knew that my parents weren’t well off and that we could never
afford to make the pilgrimage” (par. 75).Although he presses the issue and asks why his father has
never made the pilgrimage, and he experiences a yearning to become rich, that desire does not
solidify into any life change, and thus the narrator’s epiphany about wealth is one of resignation
rather than action.
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His disillusionment at ever realizing true faith is crushing to his entire sense of stability. Is he
doomed to hell or everlasting angst? Is he now still no different than his “older, uncircumcised
friends” (par. 33)? These types of questions plague his faith and pain him deeply, even more than
the ceremony ever could.
Background:
• "Circumcision" details a boy's fear and excitement at the prospect of the operation that will
turn him into a fully-fledged Muslim male and guarantee his entry into heaven. Ironically,
circumcision leads to the boy's loss of faith, when he subsequently learns that his family will
never be prosperous enough to send him to Mecca. "Although I suddenly wanted to be rich,
I also knew that this would never be the case. And after I healed, the thought of becoming a
true Muslim never again entered my mind."
o Pramoedya Ananta Toer is Indonesia's leading post-colonial writer and one of the most
important novelists in the world, although he is not well known in America. He is also
a political hero in Indonesia, where he was imprisoned for two years by the Dutch
colonial government after the nationalist uprising that followed World War II, and later
for 14 years by the Suharto regime, which objected to his leftist essays and social
criticism.
o In the West he is best known as a novelist for such books as The Fugitive, The Buru
Quartet and The Girl from the Coast. In his native land -- he lives near Jakarta today -
- Pramoedya is more admired for his short fiction. William Samuels, translator of
several of the author's novels, has compiled the eight stories in All That Is Gone from
two of Pramoedya's early collections.
o Written with a plainness of style that conceals an underlying elegance and power,
these stories are based upon Pramoedya's own childhood and early adulthood as the
son of a schoolmaster in provincial East Java during the dying days of Dutch colonial
rule and the bloody turmoil that rent the region during the Japanese occupation and
the civil wars that followed. In fact, the title story, which opens the collection, is so
homely and direct that it at first seems like a casual reminiscence, a sketch rather than
a fiction, with its commonplace depiction of life in an educated, upper-middle class
family in a small town.
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THAI LITERATURE: The Traffic-wise Couple by Sila Khoamchai
Full Text:
My wife is very thoughtful. As soon as I tell her I have an important appointment at three in
the afternoon – to take my boss to meet a major customer of ours at a riverside hotel in the Khlong
San area – she says we must leave the house at nine in the morning. She, too, has a business
engagement at Saphan Khwai before noon, and she thinks that by leaving then, we’ll both be right
on time.
Her thoughtfulness doesn’t stop there. On the back seat of our car, she keeps a basket full
of fast-food items, an icebox to chill drinks, some snacks and sweets, including tamarind seeds and
star gooseberries, a saltshaker together with a plastic trash bag, a spittoon, and even some spare
clothes hung on the pegs above the windows. It looks like we’re going on a picnic.
As the theory goes, we belong to the middle class: our residence is in Sai Mai, the subdistrict
connecting Lam Lookka and Bang Khen districts. To reach the heart of the city, the best way is to
drive past countless housing projects up to Km 25 on Phaholyothin Road, turn in the direction of
Rangsit, then take Vibhavadi Road up to the Seven Generations Bridge and from there head for
Bangkok. If we were part of the destitute lower classes, we’d be staying in some slum right in the
heart of town, like those upper-class people who build condominiums to enjoy the sunset lighting up
the ripples on the river. But what’s that compared to the constant dazzle of dreams? The goal of the
cohorts of the upwardly mobile is plain to see, but the problem is how to achieve it.
We work ourselves silly and are always making plans for our own projects, hoping to become
entrepreneurs so much we keep changing plans almost daily. All we can do for the time being is
have our own house and our own car, even though this rather cripples our budget. I won’t deny that
one reason for having a car is to uphold our social status, but more to the point, our bodies have
begun to protest they can’t stand being left dangling three to four hours at the time in a crowded bus
inching forward in the sweltering heat.
Though a car stuck in the same traffic will take about as long to cover the same distance, it
is infinitely better to be sitting in airconditioned splendor, listening to our favorite songs. How odd
indeed: just as I am turning 38, I reach home at eleven at night and stagger to bed totally exhausted,
as if all the ligaments in my body have got slack and reached retirement age. When I was in
secondary school, I used to be on the school’s soccer team. The teacher had me play halfback, or
midfield as it is called these days, and could I run then, tireless as a dynamo!
Maybe I have been working too much, but I once heard a feature broadcast on the radio
during a break in a variety program which said that atmospheric pollution due to three or four kinds
of toxic gases deteriorated all of our bodily functions and that stress in our daily life impaired our
efficiency. A car is a necessity these days because we must spend just about as long on the road
as we do at home or in the office. And since my wife has enhanced ours with lots of amenities, it
has become a kind of combined mobile house and office. Keeping this in mind, I have stopped
worrying about driving conditions. There’s nothing strange about Bangkok having millions of cars,
and to see them stalled in the streets as if they are about to spend the night there has become
normal too; and maybe because I’m beginning to enjoy our car life, as a couple we have become
even closer than before. Sometimes, we have lunch together on the expressway like any other
happy couple, with plenty of opportunities to laugh and get more intimate. For instance, when we
are stuck in solid traffic for hours, we play a game together.
‘Close your eyes,’ she orders.
‘What for?’ I wonder.
‘Oh, come on, darling, do as I say,’ she insists as she takes the spittoon from the back of the
car, places it between her feet on the floor, pulls up her skirt and lowers herself to squat under the
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steering wheel. I do as she orders, putting my hand over my eyes but keeping fingers apart to admire
the fair skin I am not unfamiliar with. In moments like these, a strange emotion grabs me and I get
all excited.
‘Hey! That’s unfair, stop cheating!’
Her business over, she looks askance at me and slaps me on the shoulder a couple of times
to cover her embarrassment. We got married rather late in life, as advised by the Ministry of Public
Health, strictly complying as well with the ad exhorting people to wait until they are ready before
they have children. By the time country bumpkins like us striving to make a decent living in town are
just about ready, I have turned 38 and she 35.
By now, however, my body is no longer willing, what with coming back home at eleven every
night and scrambling into bed some time after midnight. Even if I am in the mood, the gonads are
probably flat out, and as the fancy takes me only once in a blue moon anyway, there isn’t much
hope. One day, I woke up feeling unusually jolly, perhaps because I had slept soundly, which hadn’t
happened to me in a long time. I went out to enjoy the golden rays of dawn, breathe some fresh air
and do stretch-out exercises to a samba beat, then took a shower, washed my hair, drank milk and
ate two soft-boiled eggs.
It seemed I was back in midfield shape. Even though the traffic had come to a standstill on
Vibhavadi–Rangsit Road just past Kasetsart Intersection, and Miss Peun, my favourite DJ, was
reporting on the radio with her usual cheerful voice that a power pole rammed down by a ten-wheel
truck had blocked the road in front of the Thai Building and was being removed, I still felt great. In
the car struck across the left lane behind us, a student couple were going at each other like
boisterous puppies.
The guy playfully ruffled the girl’s long flowing hair; she turned to pinch his forearm; he put
his arm around her shoulders and held her tight; she poked his ribs gently with her elbow, and then<
I felt excited like a standby player called into the field. I turned around and surveyed my wife’s face.
She looked prettier than usual. My eyes lingered on her full bosom and her round, smooth thighs.
She wore a miniskirt and, to ease the movements of her feet while she drove, she had to pull it up
a little closer to the danger zone.
‘You’ve got beautiful legs,’ I quavered, my heart beating unusually fast.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ she said, but her tone was hardly as earnest as her words.
She looked up from inspecting her nails. Her neck was slender, smooth and milky white. I
swallowed uneasily and looked away, trying to bring the painful turmoil inside me under control, but
familiar images kept firing my imagination. My animal instincts were strongly aroused and since
superior animals like to search and experiment with new and weird sensations, I was quickly going
crazy with frustration. My hands felt clammy. When I looked around, I noticed that many cars had
tinted windows just like ours, which also has plastic shades to further shield us from the outside
glare. The air conditioner was on full blast and the radio was playing a piano concerto evoking a
running brook, at once peaceful and wild.
I stretched out a shaky hand to roll down the shade of the windscreen. We were now adrift in
the pleasant privacy of our own world. I’m aware we have been destroying our natural environment
for so long it is now harming our inner self in turn, even as we choke on the gagging fetters of urban
life, work pressure, pollution and the sardine-can traffic. Family activities which used to be happily
in tune with their own momentum and rhythm are turning increasingly incoherent due to our rush
through the obstacle course of life. Perhaps because it had been a long time since our bodies last
met, as well as out of her longing for a child to treasure as all mothers do, or for some other reason,
her ‘Don’t do that…you’ll crumple my clothes’ objection and initial resistance soon gave way to the
inauguration of our connubial nest on the road.
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Our life is full of bliss now that the two of us engage in other common activities Such as
crossword puzzles, scrabble and all those games young couples are wont to play. We seem to have
reverted back to the time when we fell in love, although almost every radio station is reporting that
traffic conditions all over Bangkok are getting worse-the whole of Sukhumvit is packed solid, ditto
for Phaholyothin, chaos reigns from Lardphrao to the Victory Monument, both Ramkhamhaeng and
Phya Thai roads are paralysed and nothing moves on Rama IV.
But I feel like I am sitting on my favourite sofa in our living room. 'm thinking of replacing our
car with a bigger one which will accommodate a kitchen corner, a toilet, a game area and even a
bed. It seems luck is on my side. Lately, whenever cars are grounded, drivers and passengers have
taken to coming out and relaxing by the roadside, and so have l; and this has given me the
opportunity to meet quite a few people. We greet one another, commiserate about stocks and
exchange views about the political, economic, and commercial situation, not to mention important
sporting events. We've become like our neighbours.
Mr. Wichai is marketing director in a leading firm manufacturing sanitary napkins and toilet
paper, Mr. Prat owns a fish-canning factory, Mr. Pharnu produces ironing starch and I'm in
advertising. To be more popular, I spice our chats with data from our research people about the
latest consumer trends and social values. We've unexpectedly picked up several clients on the road.
A good worker like me is often called to work closely with his boss. Our customer today is
launching a new beverage, canned bootleg, and he wants us to present him with a complete
marketing strategy- from giving the product an attractive name that will be easy to pronounce and
remember to laying plans for tapping the middle-income bracket, to devising an advertising
campaign (including hard-sell promotion) that will create a product image able to motivate target
customers. All this will command a budget of ten million baht per year.
It means| have to help my boss explain our planning in detail make a presentation, as we say
and be persuasive enough to convince our customer and win him over.
The car flow in Bangkok's arteries is solid toffee as usual. My appointment is at three o'clock
and it's nowa quarter past eleven, so there's still plenty of time. I sit thinking about the things I have
to do urgently and dream of owning a new, bigger, more comfortable car- which isn't as far-fetched
as it sounds. Our car moves across the bridge at Kasetsart Intersection and comes to a standstill
not far from the place we once used for our outdoor conjugal performance. Long rafts of cars stretch
out in front of us. After more than ten minutes on the spot I reckon this is going to be a long wait. I
recline fully against the seat, face up, eyes closed, and try to think of my work but instead my heart
begins to quiver...
It looks as though a spell of thrilling intimacy is still haunting the area. Deep in my heart I feel
that what happened here was wrong. We had to be discreet and performed in a rush, wriggling
awkwardly in cramped space, full of apprehension. It was challenging and exciting, like the times
when, as a kid, I used to clamber up the mangosteen trees at the temple to steal fruit.
Her pretty clothes were all rumpled, not just because of my assaults but also because of her
eager response, which had warmed up the inside of the car as if the air conditioner had gone short
of refrigerant. She had seized my hands to prevent them from roving as I wished, pushed them
away, then clutched my shoulders, digging her nails in deep to hurt me, and we had held each other
tightly, breathing hard...
I extend my hand to lower the windscreen shade again.
"Don't" she cries out before turning to face me. "I don't know what's the matter with me today:
I feel sort of dizzy."
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I sigh, avert my eyes, and try to get rid of my wild fantasies. I take the food basket on the
back seat and grab a sandwich to stifle my longing while she, looking rather unwell, takes a mouthful
of tamarind seeds and chews on them with relish.
As soon as I am full, I begin to feel bored. I open the door, get out and start walking to pass
the time of day. I smile dryly at those who have also come out of their Cars to stretch their arms,
straighten their backs to relieve the pains of prolonged sitting, and stroll to and from along the road.
The atmosphere is like early morning in a housing estate, where people get up early to exercise as
is the fashion these days. I have the feeling we're all neighbours from the same block.
Some distance to my right, in the middle of the road, a middle-aged man with a spade is
digging into the ground on the traffic island. Intrigued by his behaviour, I walk up to him.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
I’m planting banana trees" he answers without taking his eyes off his work. It's only when he
finishes taking the soil out of the hole that he turns and smiles at me.
"Banana leaves are long and wide, you see, so they are a great help in absorbing pollution,"
he explains with the fluency of a dedicated environmentalist. "I plant one or two shoots every day,
you know. Would you like to try? l've still got some in my car. We'll be here for a while yet. The radio
says there have been two pile-ups involving seven or eight cars, one at the Lardphrao flyover and
the other in front of Morchit."
“I guess it's a good idea: before long, we'll have a banana plantation around here" l opine as
I grab the spade.
It's not just a question of fighting boredom. I was raised on an orchard upcountry and was
used to this kind of work, but that was a long time ago and I'm out of practice. The important thing
is, it allows me to exercise and get some funny feelings out of my system-something like a transfer
of emotions from one kind of banana to another. Besides, planting reminds me of my distant past.
"When the banana leaves start to grow, it'll be like driving through an orchard. They should
help clean up the air" he says when we are finished planting. Friendship occurs easily; we feel close
to each other and forget we are on a city thoroughfare. As we exchange calling cards, he invites me
to have a cup of coffee by his car but decline because I've been away from my own car for too long.
"I can't stand it any longer- please drive for me," my wife moans hoarsely as soon as I open
the door. She is very pale, and beads of sweat are running down her forehead. She holds the plastic
bag ready in case she vomits.
"What's wrong?" I ask, worried by her looks.
"I'm dizzy and feel like throwing up all the time."
"That bad, eh? Can you hang on for a while? I’ll take you to see a doctor"
“Don't worry, I'll be okay," she says, forcing herself to look me in the eye. Holding my gaze,
she adds: "My period is almost two months late. I think I'm pregnant."
I shudder and sit stock still for a long while, then burst out shouting to congratulate myself.
The sound of retching and the smell of vomit don't bother me at all. I'm beside myself with delight. I
feel like getting out of the car to holler: "Hurray! My wife is pregnant! She's become pregnant on the
road"
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I am the one driving when the car starts moving again. I think of the little one who is going to
make our family life wonderfully complete. I think of the new car which will be spacious enough for
father, mother, and child as well as all the accessories family life requires.
It is indeed an absolute priority for a happy life along the streets of the City of Angels.
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CAMBODIAN LITERATURE: Strobe Lights by Yeng Cheangly
"Strobe Lights"
Yeng Cheangly (Second Place Award for Poetry, 2013)
Awesome! This nightclub in the city

Its strobe lights brightly flashing
Light swirling everywhere
Shimmering in every color...
Colorful light fills the inside,
Outside, pitch black darkness.
Hungry lives walking, exploring
Without the same clarifying light.
CAMBODIAN LITERATURE: Starlight by Chie Kim Heang
"Starlight"
Chieh Kim Heang
Steung Mean Chey, my wonderland...The pile of garbage is my property; the property that never
drains dry.
My name is Chey. I do not know why I ended up living here or even when I arrived. Nor do I know
my age. My background is also a mystery. Everyday I compete with others to pick up things that
were thrown away on the stinking garbage pile.
Many people run after the garbage truck. Garbage is our money; I and others run after the money.
Some people say that I have done this job even in my previous life. How could they know about
my previous life? I don't even know about my own background now. I don't even know my
parents.
One day, there is an accident. A monk falls into a fetid water channel with a dead dog in it. The
people don't dare to help the monk; they just stand and watch as I save him from the smelly water.
The awful odor is easy for me. Still it doesn't mean I don't like the fragrance of flowers. I know that
rotting things attract flies; flowers attract butterflies. There is no butterfly on the garbage heap. It
has only flies, blue and grey headed flies.
Gold is still gold even when it has fallen into the mud. The monk has fallen into smelly water; no
one dares to approach him since he is not gold. The value of a person is based on the situation. I
help him to his home in the pagoda.....
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SOUTH AFRICAN LITERATURE: The Moment Before the Guns Went Off by Nadine
Gordimer
Full Text:
Marais Van der Vyver shot one of his farm labourers, dead.
An accident. There are accidents with guns every day of the week: children playing a fatal
game with a father's revolver in the cities where guns are domestic objects, and hunting mishaps
like this one, in the country. But these won't be reported all over the world. Van der Vyver knows his
will be. He knows that the story of the Afrikaner farmer - a regional Party leader and Commandant
of the local security commando - he, shooting a black man who worked for him will fit exactly their
version of South Africa. It's made for them. They'll be able to use it in their boycott and divestment
campaigns. It'll be another piece of evidence in their truth about the country. The papers at home
will quote the story as it has appeared in the overseas press, and in the back-and-forth he and the
black man will become those crudely-drawn figures on anti-apartheid banners, units in statistics of
white brutality against the blacks quoted at United Nations - he, whom they will gleefully call 'a
leading member' of the ruling Party.
People in the farming community understand how he must feel. Bad enough to have killed a
man, without helping the Party's, the government's, the country's enemies, as well.
They see the truth of that. They know, reading the Sunday papers, that when Van der Vyver
is quoted saying he is 'terribly shocked', he will 'look after the wife and children', none of those
Americans and English, and none of those people at home who want to destroy the white man's
power will believe him. And how they will sneer when he even says of the farm boy (according to
one paper, if you can trust any of those reporters), 'He was my friend. I always took him hunting with
me: Those city and overseas people don't know it's true: farmers usually have one particular black
boy they like to take along with them in the lands: you could call it a kind of friend, yes, friends are
not only your own white people, like yourself, you take into your house, pray with in church and work
with on the Party committee. But how can those others know that? They don't want to know it. They
think all blacks are like the big-mouth agitators in town. And Van der Vyver's face, in the
photographs, strangely opened by distress - everyone in the district remembers Marais Van der
Vyver as a little boy who would go away and hide himself if he caught you smiling at him. And
everyone knows him now as a man who hides any change of expression round his mouth behind a
thick, soft moustache, and in his eyes, by always looking at some object in hand, while concentrating
on what he is saying, or while listening to you. It just goes to show what shock can do. When you
look at the newspaper photographs you feel like apologising; as if you had started in on some room
where you should not be.
There will be an inquiry. There had better be - to stop the assumption of yet another case of
brutality against farm workers, although there's nothing in doubt - an accident, and all the facts fully
admitted by Van der Vyver. He made a statement when he arrived at the police station with the dead
man in his bakkie.
Captain Beetge knows him well, of course; he gave him brandy. He was shaking, this big,
calm, clever son of Willem Van der Vyver, who inherited the old man's best farm. The black was
stone dead. Nothing to be done for him. Beetge will not tell anyone that after the brandy, Van der
Vyver wept. He sobbed, snot running onto his hands, like a dirty kid. The Captain was ashamed for
him, and walked out to give him a chance to recover himself.
Marais Van der Vyver had left his house at three in the afternoon to cull a buck from the family
of Kudu he protects in the bush areas of his farm. He is interested in wild life and sees it as the
farmer's sacred duty to raise game as well as cattle. As usual, he called at his shed workshop to
pick up Lucas, a twenty-year-old farmhand who had shown mechanical aptitude and whom Van der
Vyver himself had taught to maintain tractors and other farm machinery. He hooted. And Lucas
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followed the familiar routine, jumping onto the back of the truck. He liked to travel standing up there,
spotting game before his employer did. He would lean forward, braced against the cab below him.
Van der Vyver had a rifle and .300 ammunition beside him in the cab. The rifle was one of
his father's, because his own was at the gunsmith's in town.
Since his father died (Beetge's sergeant wrote 'passed on') no-one had used the rifle and so
when he took it from a cupboard he was sure it was not loaded. His father had never allowed a
loaded gun in the house. He himself had been taught since childhood never to ride with a loaded
weapon in a vehicle. But this gun was loaded. On a dirt track, Lucas thumped his fist on the cab roof
three times to signal: look left. Having seen the whiteripple-marked flank of a Kudu, and its fine
horns raking through disguising bush, Van der Vyver drove rather fast over a pot- hole. The jolt fired
the rifle. Upright, it was pointing straight through the cab roof at the head of Lucas...
That is the statement of what happened. Although a man of such standing in the district, Van
der Vyver had to go through the ritual of swearing that it was the truth. It has gone on record, and
will be there in the archive of the local police station as long as Van der Vyver lives, and beyond
that, through the lives of his children, Magnus, Helena and Karel - unless things in the country get
worse, the example of black mobs in the towns spreads to the rural areas and the place is burned
down as many urban police stations have been. Because nothing the government can do will
appease the agitators and the whites who encourage them. Nothing satisfies them, in the cities:
blacks can sit and drink in white hotels now, the Immorality Act has gone, blacks can sleep with
whites... It's not even a crime any more.
Van der Vyver has a high barbed security fence round his farmhouse and garden which his
wife, Alida, thinks spoils completely the effect of her artificial stream with its tree-ferns beneath the
Jacarandas. There is an aerial soaring like a flag- pole in the back yard. All his vehicles, including
the truck in which the black man died, have aerials that swing like whips when the driver hits a pot-
hole. They are part of the security system the farmers in the district maintain, each farm in touch
with every other by radio, twenty-four hours out of twenty-four. It has already happened that
infiltrators from over the border have mined remote farm roads, killing white farmers and their
families out on their own property for a Sunday picnic. The pot-hole could have set off a landmine,
and Van der Vyver might have died with his farm boy. When neighbours use the communications
system to call up and say they are sorry about 'that business' with one of Van der Vyver's boys,
there goes unsaid: it could have been worse.
It is obvious from the quality and fittings of the coffin that the farmer has provided money for
the funeral. And an elaborate funeral means a great deal to blacks; look how they will deprive
themselves of the little they have, in their life-time, keeping up payments to a burial society so they
won't go in boxwood to an unmarked grave. The young wife is pregnant (of course) and another
little one, wearing red shoes several sizes too large, leans under her jutting belly. He is too young
to understand what has happened, what he is witnessing that day. But neither whines nor plays
about. He is solemn without knowing why. Blacks expose small children to everything. They don't
protect them from the sight of fear and pain the way whites do theirs.
It is the young wife who rolls her head and cries like a child, sobbing on the breast of this
relative and that. All present work for Van der Vyver or are the families of those who work. And in
the weeding and harvest seasons, the women and children work for him, too, carried - wrapped in
their blankets, on a truck, singing - at sunrise to the fields. The dead man's mother is a woman who
can't be more than in her late thirties (they start bearing children at puberty) but she is heavily mature
in a black dress between her own parents, who were already working for old Van der Vyver when
Marais, like their daughter, was a child. The parents hold her as if she were a prisoner or a crazy
woman to be restrained. But she says nothing, does nothing. She does not look up, she does not
look at Van der Vyver, whose gun went off in the truck. She stares at the grave. Nothing will make
her look up, there need be no fear that she will look up, at him. His wife, Alida, is beside him. To
show the proper respect, as for any white funeral, she is wearing the navy-blue-and-cream hat she
wears to church this summer. She is always supportive, although he doesn't seem to notice it. This
coldness and reserve - his mother says he didn't mix well as a child - she accepts for herself but
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regrets that it has prevented him from being nominated, as he should be, to stand as the Party's
parliamentary candidate for the district. He does not let her clothing, or that of anyone else gathered
closely, make contact with him. He, too, stares at the grave. The dead man's mother and he stare
at the grave in communication like that between the black man outside and the white man inside the
cab before the gun went off.
The moment before the gun went off was a moment of high excitement shared through the
roof of the cab, as the bullet was to pass, between the young black man outside and the white farmer
inside the vehicle. There were such moments, without explanation, between them, although often
around the farm the farmer would pass the young man without returning a greeting, as if he did not
recognize him. When the bullet went off, what Van der Vyver saw was the Kudu stumble in fright at
the report and gallop away. Then he heard the thud behind him, and past the window saw the young
man fall out of the vehicle. He was sure he had leapt up and toppled - in fright, like the buck. The
farmer was almost laughing with relief, ready to tease, as he opened his door, it did not seem
possible that a bullet passing through the roof could have done harm.
The young man did not laugh with him at his own fright. The farmer carried him in his arms,
to the truck. He was sure, sure he could not be dead. But the young black man's blood was all over
the farmer's clothes, soaking against his flesh as he drove.
How will they ever know, when they file newspaper clippings, evidence, proof, when they look
at the photographs and see his face! Guilty! They are right! How will they know, when the police
stations burn with all the evidence of what has happened now, and what the law made a crime in
the past. How could they know that they do not know - anything. The young black callously shot
through the negligence of the white man was not the farmer's boy; he was his son.
Additional Information:
• The narrative point of view used in this short story is an interesting one. One of the things
that Van der Vyver is most worried about is how the papers, both local and abroad, will cover
this story and make him appear. The narrator, third person omniscient, does not sound like
a reporter, but refers to them throughout. Unlike a reporter, however, the narrator succeeds
in getting at the truth of what has happened here and why. The narrator seems to favor Van
der Vyver’s point of view: his casual racism is revealed as simultaneously contemptible and
the inevitable product of his upbringing.
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KENYAN LITERATURE: Tales of Two Gentleman by Isak Dinesen
Full Text:
Two old gentlemen, both widowers, played piquet in a small salon next to a ballroom. When
they had finished their game, they had their chairs turned round, so that through the open doors
they could watch the dancers. They sat on contentedly, sipping their wine, their delicate noses
turned up a little and taking in, with the melancholic superiority of age, the fragrance of youth before
them. They first talked of ancient scandals in high society—for they had known each other as boys
and young men—and of the sad fate of common friends, then of political and dynastic matters, and
at last of the complexity of the universe in general. When they got there, there was a pause.
“My grandfather,” the one old gentleman said at the end of it, “who was a very happy man
and particularly happy in his married life, had built up a philosophy of his own, which in the course
of my life from time to time has been brought back to me.”
“I remember your grandfather quite well, my good Matteo,” said the other, “a highly corpulent,
but still graceful figure, with a smooth, rosy face. He did not speak much.”
“He did not speak much, my good Taddeo,” Matteo agreed, “for he did, in accordance with
his philosophy, admit the futility of argumentation. It is from my brilliant grandmother, his wife, that I
have inherited my taste for a discussion. Yet one evening, while I was still quite a young boy, he
benignly condescended to develop his theory to me. It happened, I remember, at a ball like this, and
I myself was all the time longing to get away from the lecture. But my grandfather, his mind once
opened upon the matter, did not dismiss his youthful listener till he had set forth to him his entire
train of ideas. He said:
“We suffer much. We go through many dark hours of doubt, dread and despair, because we
cannot reconcile our idea of divinity with the state of things in the universe round us. I myself as a
young man brooded a good deal over the problem. Later on I arrived at the conviction that we should,
more easily and more thoroughly than we now do or ever have done, understand the nature and the
laws of the Cosmos if we would from the beginning recognize its originator and upholder as being
of the female sex.”
“We speak about Providence and announce: The Lord is my shepherd, He will provide. But
in our hearts we know that we should demand from our own shepherds—"
“—for my grandfather,” the narrator here interrupted himself, “drew most of his wealth from
his vast sheep farms in the province of Marche.”
“—a providential care of our sheep very different from the one to which we are ourselves
submitted, and which appears mainly to provide us with blood and tears.
“But say instead, of Providence: “She is my shepherdess”— and you will at once realize in
what way you may expect to be provided for.
“For to a shepherdess tears are convenient and precious, like rain—as in the old song il pleut,
il pleut, bergère—like pearls, or like falling stars running over the firmament—all phenomena in
themselves divine, and symbolic of the highest and the deepest spheres of human knowledge. And
as to the shedding of blood, this to our shepherdess—as to any lady—is a high privilege and is
inseparably united with the sublimest moments of existence, with promotion and beatification. What
little girl will not joyously shed her blood in order to become a virgin, what bride not hers in order to
become a wife, what young wife not hers to become a mother?
“Man, troubled and perplexed about the relation between divinity and humanity, is ever
striving to find a foothold in the matter by drawing on his own normal experience. He will view it in
Page | 75
the light of relations between tutor and pupil, or of commander and soldier, and he will lose breath—
and heart—in search and investigation. The ladies, whose nature is nearer to the nature of the deity,
take no such trouble; they see the relation between the Cosmos and the Creator quite plainly as a
love affair. And in a love affair search and investigation is an absurdity, and unseemly. There are,
thus, no genuine female atheists. If a lady tells you that she is an atheist, she is either, still, an
adorable person, and it is coquetry, or she is a depraved creature, and it is a lie. Woman even
wonders at man’s perseverance in questioning, for they are aware that he will never get any other
kind of answer than the kind which King Alexander the Great got from the Sibylla of Babylon. You
may have forgotten the tale, I shall recount it to you.
“ ‘King Alexander, on his triumphant return from the Indies, in Babylon heard of a young
Sibylla who was able to foretell the future, and had her brought before him. When the black-eyed
woman demanded a price to part with her knowledge, he let a soldier bring up a box filled with
precious stones which had been collected over half the world. The Sibylla rummaged in the box and
picked out two emeralds and a pearl; then she gave in to the King’s wish and promised to tell him
what till now she had told nobody.
“ ‘Very slowly and conscientiously, all the time holding up one finger and begging him—since
she must never speak any word of hers over again —to give his utmost attention to her words, she
explained to him with what rare woods to build up the sacred pile, with what incantations to kindle
it, and what parts of a cat and a crocodile to place upon it. After that she was silent for a long time.
“Now, King Alexander,” she at last said, “I am coming to the core of my secret. But I shall not speak
one more word unless you give me the big ruby which, before your soldier brought up the box, you
told him to lay aside.” Alexander was loath to part with the ruby, for he had meant to give it to his
mistress Thaïs at home, but by this time he felt that he could not live without having been told the
final part of the spell, so had it brought and handed over to her.
“ ‘ “Listen then, Alexander,” the woman said, laying her finger on the King’s lips. “At the
moment when you gaze into the smoke, you must not think of the left eye of a camel. To think of its
right eye is dangerous enough. But to think of the left is perdition.” ’
“So much for my grandfather’s philosophy,” said Matteo.
Taddeo smiled a little at the account of his friend.
“It was,” Matteo went on after a while, “this time brought back to me by the sight of the young
ladies before us, moving with such perfect freedom in such severely regulated figures. Almost all of
them, you will know, have been brought up in convents, and have been taken out from there to be
married a few years, a year—or perhaps a week—ago.
“How, now, is the Cosmos made to look to a girl in a convent school? From my cousin, who
is Mother Superior of the most ancient of such schools, I have some knowledge of the matter. You
will not, my friend, find a mirror in the whole building, and a girl may spend ten years in it and come
out not knowing whether she be plain or pretty. The little cells are whitewashed, the nuns are
dressed in black and white, and the young pupils are put in gray smocks, as if there were in the
whole world but the two colors, and the cheerless mixture of them. The old gardener in charge of
the convent garden has a small bell tied round his leg, so that by the tinkling of it the maidens may
be warned of the approach of a man and may absent themselves like fawns before the huntsman.
Any little sisterly kisses or caresses between school friends—light and innocent butterflies of Eros—
by the alarmed nuns are chased off the grounds with fly-flaps, as if they were wasps.
“From this stronghold of unworldliness our blossoming virginal ascetic is fetched out into the
world and is married. What is now, from the very first day, the object of her existence? To make
herself desirable to all men and the incarnation of desire to one. The mirror is given her as her chief
instructress and confidante; the knowledge of fashion, of silks, laces and fans, becomes her chief
study; the care of her fair body, from the brushing and curling of the hair to the polishing of the
Page | 76
toenails, the occupation of her day; and the embrace and caresses of an ardent young husband is
the prize for her teachability.
“My friend—a boy brought up for his task in life in an equally incongruous manner would
protest and argue, and storm against his tutor— as, alas, all men do protest, argue and storm against
the Almighty! But a young girl agrees with her mother, with her mother’s mother and with the
common, divine Mother of the Universe, that the only method of turning out a dazzling and adorable
woman of the world is a convent education.
“I might,” he said after a pause, “tell you a story which goes to prove in what good
understanding a young girl is with the Paradox.”
“A nobleman married a girl fresh from the convent, with whom he was deeply in love, and on
the evening of their wedding drove with her to his villa. In the coach he said to her: ‘My beloved, I
am this evening going to make some alterations in my household, and to hand over to you a
proportion of my property. But I must tell you beforehand that there is in my house one object which
I am keeping to myself, and to the ownership of which you must never make any claim. I beg you:
ask me no questions and make no investigation in the matter.’
“In the frescoed room within which he sat down to sup with his wife he called before him the
master of his stables and said to him: ‘Listen to my order and mark it well. From this hour my stables,
and everything in them, are the property of the Princess my wife. None of my horses or coaches,
none of my saddlery or harness, down to the coachman’s whips, in the future belongs to me myself.’
“He next called up his steward and said to him: ‘Mark my words well. From this hour all objects
of value in my house, all gold and silver, all pictures and statues are the property of the Princess my
wife, and I myself shall have nothing to say over them.’
“In the same way he had the housekeeper of the villa called and told her: ‘From today all linen
and silk bedding, all lace and satin curtains within my house belong to the Princess my wife, and I
myself renounce all rights of property in them. Be not forgetful of my bidding, but behave according
to it.’
“In the end he called in the old woman who had been maid to his mother and grandmother,
and informed her: ‘My faithful Gelsomina, hear me. All jewelry, which has before belonged to my
mother, my grandmother, or to any former mistress of the house, from tonight belongs solely to the
Princess my wife—who will wear it with the same grace as my mama and grandmama—to do with
what she likes.’
“He here kissed his wife’s hand and offered her his arm. ‘You will now, dear heart,’ he said,
‘come with me, in order that I may show you the one precious object which, alone of all my
belongings, I am keeping to myself.’ “With these words he led her upstairs to her bedroom and set
her, all puzzled, in the middle of the floor. He lifted the bridal veil from her head and removed her
pearls and diamonds. He undid her heavy bridal gown with its long train and made her step out of
it, and one by one he took off her petticoats, stays and shift, until she stood before him, blushing
and confused, as lovely as Eve in Paradise in her first hour with Adam. Very gently he turned her
round to the tall mirror on the wall.
“ ‘There,’ he said, ‘is the one thing of my estate solely reserved for me myself.’
“My friend,” Matteo said, “a soldier receiving from his commander-in-chief corresponding
instructions would shake his head at them and protest that surely this was no strategy to adopt, and
that if he could, he would desert. But a young woman, faced with the instructions, nods her head.”
“But,” Taddeo asked, “did the nobleman of your tale, good Matteo, succeed in making his
wife happy?”
Page | 77
“It is always, good Taddeo,” Matteo answered, “difficult for a husband to know whether he is
making his wife happy or not. But as to the husband and wife of my tale, the lady, on the twentieth
anniversary of their wedding, took her husband’s hand, gazed archly into his eyes and asked him
whether he still remembered this first evening of their married life. ‘My God,’ she said, ‘how terrified
was I not then for half an hour, how did I not tremble. Why!’ she exclaimed, throwing herself into his
arms, ‘if you had not included in your directions that last clause of yours, I should have felt disdained
and betrayed! My God, I should have been lost!’ ”
The contradance before the two old gentlemen changed into a waltz, and the whole ballroom
waved and swayed like a garden under a summer breeze. The seductive Viennese tune then again
died away.
“I should like to tell you,” Taddeo said, “another tale. It may go to support your grandfather’s
theology, or it may not.”
“A nobleman of an ambitious nature, and with a brilliant career behind him, when he was no
longer quite young decided to marry and looked round for a wife. On a visit to the town of Bergamo
he made the acquaintance of a family of an ancient, great name but of modest means. There were
at the time seven daughters in the tall gloomy palazzo, and at the end of the pretty row an only son,
who was still a child. The seven young sisters were fully aware that their individual existence might
with reason be disputed or denied, since they had come into the world as failures in the attempt at
acquiring an heir to the name, and were—so to say— blanks drawn by their ancient house in its
lottery on life and death. But their family arrogance was fierce enough to make them bear their sad
lot highhandedly, as a privilege out of reach to the common people.
“It so happened that the youngest sister, the one whose arrival, he felt, to the poor Prince
and Princess would have been the hardest blow of all, caught our nobleman’s eye, so that he
returned to the house, and again returned.
“The girl, who was then but seventeen years old, was far from being the prettiest of the group.
But the visitor was a connoisseur of feminine loveliness and spied in her youthful face and form the
promise of coming, unusual beauty. Yet much more than by this, he was attracted by a particular
trait in her. He guessed behind her demure and disciplined bearing the fruit of an excellent
education, an ambition kindred to his own, but more powerful because less blasé, a longing—and
an energy to satisfy the longing—a long way out of the ordinary. It would be, he reflected, a pleasant,
an entertaining experience to encourage this youthful ambition, still but faintly conscious of itself, to
fledge the cygnet and watch it soaring. At the same time, he thought, a young wife of high birth and
brought up in Spartan simplicity, with a nostalgia for glory, would be an asset in his future career.
He applied for the girl’s hand, and her father and mother, surprised and delighted at having their
daughter make such a splendid match, handed her over to him.
“Our nobleman had every reason to congratulate himself on his decision. The flight feathers
of his young bird grew with surprising quickness; soon in his brilliant circle one would not find a lady
of greater beauty and finer grace, of more exquisite and dignified comportment, or of more
punctilious tact. She wore the heavy ornaments that he gave her with as much ease as a rosebush
its roses, and had he, he thought, been able to set a crown on her head, the world would have felt
her to be born with it. And she was still soaring, inspired by, as well as enraptured with, her
successes. He himself, within the first two years of their married life, acquired two supreme
decorations at his native and at a foreign court.
“But when he and his wife had been married for three years he observed a change in her.
She became pensive, as if stirred by some new mighty emotion, obscure to him. At times she did
not hear what he spoke to her. It also seemed to him that she would now prefer to show herself in
the world on such occasions where he was not with her, and to excuse herself from others where
she would have to appear by his side. ‘I have spoilt her,’ he reflected. ‘Is it indeed possible that,
against the very order of things, her ambition and her vanity now make her aspire to outshine her
Page | 78
lord, to whom she owes all?’ His feelings were naturally badly hurt at the idea of so much ingratitude,
and at last, on an evening when they were alone together, he resolved to take her to account.
“ ‘Surely, my dear,’ he said to her, ‘you will realize that I am not going to play the part of that
husband in the fairy tale who, owing to his connection with higher powers, raised his wife to the rank
of queen and empress, only to hear her, in the end, demanding to have the sun rise at her word.
Recall to yourself the place from which I took you, and remember that the response of higher powers
to the too indulgent husband forwarding his wife’s claim was this: “return, and find her back in her
hovel.” ’
“His wife for a long time did not answer him; in the end she rose from her chair as if about to
leave the room. She was tall and willowy; her ample skirts at each of her movements made a little
chirping sound.
“ ‘My husband,’ she said in her low, sonorous voice. ‘Surely you will realize that to an
ambitious woman it comes hard, in entering a ballroom, to know that she is entering it on the arm of
a cuckold.’
“As, very quietly and without another word, she had gone out of the door, the nobleman sat
on, wondering, as till now he had never done, at the complexity of the Universe.”
Page | 79
NIGERIAN LITERATURE: Telephone Conversations by Wole Soyinka
Telephone Conversation
Wole Soyinka
The price seemed reasonable, location

Indifferent. The landlady swore she lived
Off premises. Nothing remained
But self-confession. "Madam," I warned,
"I hate a wasted journey--I am African."
Silence. Silenced transmission of
Pressurized good-breeding. Voice, when it came,
Lipstick coated, long gold-rolled
Cigarette-holder pipped. Caught I was foully.
"HOW DARK?" . . . I had not misheard . . . "ARE YOU LIGHT
OR VERY DARK?" Button B, Button A.* Stench
Of rancid breath of public hide-and-speak.
Red booth. Red pillar box. Red double-tiered
Omnibus squelching tar. It was real! Shamed
By ill-mannered silence, surrender
Pushed dumbfounded to beg simplification.
Considerate she was, varying the emphasis--
"ARE YOU DARK? OR VERY LIGHT?" Revelation came.
"You mean--like plain or milk chocolate?"
Her assent was clinical, crushing in its light
Impersonality. Rapidly, wave-length adjusted,
I chose. "West African sepia"--and as afterthought,
"Down in my passport." Silence for spectroscopic
Flight of fancy, till truthfulness clanged her accent
Hard on the mouthpiece. "WHAT'S THAT?" conceding
"DON'T KNOW WHAT THAT IS." "Like brunette."
"THAT'S DARK, ISN'T IT?" "Not altogether.
Facially, I am brunette, but, madam, you should see
The rest of me. Palm of my hand, soles of my feet
Are a peroxide blond. Friction, caused--
Foolishly, madam--by sitting down, has turned
My bottom raven black--One moment, madam!"--sensing
Her receiver rearing on the thunderclap
About my ears--"Madam," I pleaded, "wouldn't you rather
See for yourself?"
* Buttons to be pressed by caller who has inserted a coin into an old type of British public pay
phone.
Analysis:
• "Telephone Conversation" is a 1963 poem by the Nigerian writer Wole Soyinka that satires
racism. The poem describes a phone call between a landlady and the speaker, who is black,
about renting an apartment. The landlady is pleasant until she learns that the speaker is
"African," at which point she demands to know how "light" or "dark" the speaker's skin is. In
response, the speaker cleverly mocks the landlady’s ignorance and prejudice, demonstrating
that characterizing people by their skin color diminishes their humanity.
Page | 80
• At first the landlady seems ready to move forward with renting to the speaker, even “swearing”
that “she lived / Off premises.” She can’t detect the speaker’s race through the phone, a fact
that emphasizes a) that the speaker’s identity is comprised of more than his or her race and
b) that skin color is irrelevant to the speaker’s suitability as a tenant.
• But when the speaker then makes a “self-confession” about being “African,” the conversation
abruptly shifts to a discussion of skin tone. Note that the speaker is being ironic in the use of
“confession” here, a word typically associated with the revelation of something criminal, to
undermine the racist notion that being “African” is a bad thing. Clearly, the speaker
understands how black people’s housing prospects are unfairly limited by a racist society.
• Indeed, in response to this “confession” the landlady asks whether the speaker’s skin is “light”
or dark”—a question so absurd that the speaker briefly wonders if he or she has “misheard.”
The landlady is playing into the ignorant idea that black people with lighter skin (and, as such,
whose skin is closer in appearance to that of white people) are superior to those with darker
skin. The key thing that matters to her, then, is how black the speaker looks. Instead of asking
what the speaker does professionally, what the speaker's habits are—that is, instead of
treating the speaker like an actual human being and potential tenant—the landlady reduces
the speaker to a single attribute: skin color. Racism, the poem thus makes clear, is inherently
reductive and dehumanizing.
• As such, the speaker refuses to answer the landlady’s question directly, instead offering a
series of clever replies that reveal the landlady’s question to be not just offensive but also
utterly illogical. For instance, the speaker describes him or herself as “West African sepia” (a
kind of reddish-brown hue seen in old monochromatic photos) in the speaker's passport, a
joke that goes right over the slow-witted landlady’s head; essentially this is like saying, “Well,
in a black and white photograph my skin is gray.”
• The speaker also notes that the human body isn’t just one color: the speaker's face is
“brunette,” but the speaker's palms and foot soles are “peroxide blonde.” The speaker is being
deliberately tongue-in-cheek in the comparisons here, but the point is that race and identity
are far too complex to be reduced to a simple, binary choice between “dark” or “light,”
between “Button B” or “Button A.”
• The speaker does not just criticize the landlady’s blatant racism, then, but also critiques the
way she thinks about race itself. In doing so, the speaker refuses to let the complexity of
human identity be reduced by the ignorant choice that the landlady offers. For all the
speaker’s ingenuity, however, the poem does not end on a triumphant note. As the poem
closes, the landlady is about to hang up on the speaker—suggesting that, as a white person,
she still holds the power in society to effectively silence the black speaker.
Page | 81
REFERENCES:
Book References:
Pilapil, Edwin A., et al. World Literature: New Texts, New Voices, New Perspectives.
First ed., ser. 2015, Mutya Publishing House, Inc., 2015.
Gilbert, Richard, Diana Loxley, Kirsty Seymour-Ure, Marek Walisiewicz, and

Christopher Westhorp, eds. The Literature Book. First American ed. Vol. 1.
New York: Dorling Kindersley Limited, 2016. Ser. 2016. Web. 28 June 2020.
Online References:
Course Hero. "The Iliad Study Guide." Course Hero. 17 Aug. 2016. Web. 27 July
2020. <https://www.coursehero.com/lit/The-Iliad/>.
Shmoop Editorial Team. “Pyramus and Thisbe Summary.” Shmoop, Shmoop

University, 11 Nov. 2008, www.shmoop.com/study-guides/mythology/pyramus-
thisbe/summary.
Course Hero. "The Aeneid Study Guide." Course Hero. 10 Aug. 2016. Web. 27 July
2020. <https://www.coursehero.com/lit/The-Aeneid/>.
Mabillard, Amanda. “Sonnet 116 - William Shakespeare.” Shakespeare Sonnet 116 -

Let Me Not to the Marriage of True Minds, 1999, www.shakespeare-
online.com/sonnets/116.html.
SparkNotes, SparkNotes. “The Canterbury Tales - Geoffrey Chaucer.” SparkNotes,

SparkNotes, 2020, www.sparknotes.com/lit/canterbury/summary/.
PirandelloWeb. “War. A Novel by Luigi Pirandello, 1918.” PirandelloWeb, 10 Feb.

2020, www.pirandelloweb.com/war/.
Course Hero. "Candide Study Guide." Course Hero. 23 Sep. 2016. Web. 27 July 2020.
<https://www.coursehero.com/lit/Candide/>.
Deutschland.de. “The Siren Song of the Lorelei.” Deutschland.de, 18 May 2018,

www.deutschland.de/en/the-siren-song-of-the-lorelei.
eNotes. “Rape Fantasies Summary by Margaret Atwood.” Enotes.com, Enotes.com,

2020, www.enotes.com/topics/rape-fantasies.
Caporale, Josh. Short Story Review: "The Lottery Ticket" by Ventura Garcia Calderon,
13 May 2013, 8:20 PM, caponomics.blogspot.com/2013/05/short-story-review-
lottery-ticket-by.html.
Paz, Octavio. “Wind, Water, Stone by Octavio Paz.” Poetry Foundation, Poetry
Foundation, 1979, www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/58334/wind-water-stone.
KeyToPoetry. “The Fickle One by Pablo Neruda: Poem Analysis.” Poem Analysis of
The Fickle One by Pablo Neruda for Close Reading, 2017,
keytopoetry.com/pablo-neruda/analyses/the-fickle-one/.
Page | 82
CourseHero. “DAY OF WRATH - DAY OF WRATH The Schoolboys Tale Christina

Stead Setting In a Place Avallon a Watershed Village in a Seaport It Was a
Sound and Jolly: Course Hero.”| Course Hero Document Landing, 2020,
www.coursehero.com/file/7340989/DAY-OF-WRATH/.
"A Dill Pickle by Mansfield: Summary & Analysis." Study.com, 22 December 2017,
study.com/academy/lesson/a-dill-pickle-by-mansfield-summary-analysis.html
PrimeStudyGuides. “The Moment Before the Gun Went Off - Nadine Gordimer.”
PrimeStudyGuides.com: Study Guides for Literature and Speeches, 2020,
primestudyguides.com/the-moment-before-the-gun-went-off/theme-and-
message.
Blixen, Karen. Title: Tales of Two Old Gentlemen, 1957, www.isfdb.org/cgi-

bin/title.cgi?873950.
"Telephone Conversation By Wole Soyinka" eNotes Editorial, 26 Mar. 2020,
https://www.enotes.com/homework-help/what-is-the-theme-of-the-poem-
telephone-151641. Accessed 27 July 2020.
Page | 83

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World Literature: Fundamentals

TOPIC I: INTRODUCTION TO LITERARY STUDIES ................................................................................... 2

TOPIC I: INTRODUCTION TO LITERARY STUDIES

A. WHAT IS THE IMPORTANCE OF STUDYING LITERATURE?

o Genre began as an absolute classification system for ancient Greek literature.

▪Narrative - a form of poetry that tells a story, often making use of

C. WHAT ARE THE 7 LITERARY STANDARDS?

a. It appeals to the intellect. It inflames critical thinking and allows you to

D. WHAT ARE THE DIFFERENT ELEMENTS OF A SHORT STORY?

iv. There is a significant difference between a Narrator and an Author. When we

TOPIC II: LITERARY CRITICAL THEORIES

THE THEORY OF MIMESIS

Out of the night that covers me,

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

It matters not how strait the gate,

THE THEORY OF EXPRESSIVISM

Another approach to the study of literature is expressivism or expressionism. In this

See how he dives

Softer than spray,

THE THEORY OF FORMALISM

over harbor and city

Fire and Ice

Some say the world will end in fire,

TOPIC III: DIFFERENT LITERATURES OF THE WORLD

GREEK LITERATURE: The Illiad by Homer

ROMAN LITERATURE: Pyramus and Thisbe by Ovid

ROMAN LITERATURE: The Aenied by Virgil

8. Turnus traps the Trojans, but Aeneas arrives with allies.

ENGLISH LITERATURE: Sonnet 116 by William Shakespeare

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

If this be error and upon me prov'd,

ENGLISH LITERATURE: The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer

The Canterbury Tales Plot Diagram

ITALIAN LITERATURE: War by Luigi Pirandello

FRENCH LITERATURE: Candide by Voltaire

Candide Plot Diagram

1. Candide is banished from his childhood home.

2. Pangloss is hanged by the Inquisition for heresy.

5. Candide and an ugly Cunégonde are reunited.

6. Candide buys a small farm, and everyone is unhappy.

7. Candide and company learn contentment is found in hard work.

GERMAN LITERATURE: The Lorelei by Heinrich Heine

I know not if there is a reason

The air is cool under nightfall.

The fairest of maidens is sitting

She combs with a comb also golden,

In his little boat, the boatman

I think that the waves will devour

NORTH AMERICAN LITERATURE: Rape Fantasies by Margaret Atwood

PERUVIAN LITERATURE: The Lottery Ticket by Ventura Garcia – Calderon

MEXICAN LITERATURE: Wind and Water and Stone by Octavio Paz

Wind and Water and Stone

Water hollows stone,

Wind carves stone,