This space contains reference material beginning
next to Question 13.
To answer Questions 13-18, please read the following passage
from Chapter 11 of Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart.
Choose the best responses to the prompts next to each passage.
There is one and only one correct answer to each prompt.
Chapter 14, pages 133-135
“‘Can you tell me, Okonkwo, why it is that one of the commonest
names we give our children is Nneka, or Mother is Supreme?
We all know that a man is the head of the family and his wives
do his bidding. A child belongs to its father and his family and
not to its mother and her family. A man belongs to his
fatherland and not to his motherland. And yet we say Nneka --
Mother is Supreme. Why is that?’...
‘I do not know the answer,’ Okonkwo replied...
"‘Then listen to me,’ [Uchendu] said and cleared his throat.
‘It's true that a child belongs to its father. But when a father
beats his child, it seeks sympathy in its mother's hut. A man
belongs to his fatherland when things are good and life is
sweet. But when there is sorrow and bitterness he finds refuge
in his motherland. Your mother is there to protect you. She is
buried there. And that is why we say that mother is supreme. Is
it right that you, Okonkwo, should bring to your mother a heavy
face and refuse to be comforted? Be careful or you may displease
the dead. Your duty is to comfort your wives and children and
take them back to your fatherland after seven years. But if you
allow sorrow to weigh you down and kill you they will all die in
exile.’ He paused for a long while. ‘These are now your
kinsmen.’ He waved at his sons and daughters.
‘You think you are the greatest sufferer in the world? Do you
know that men are sometimes banished for life? Do you know that
men sometimes lose all their yams and even their children? I had
six wives once. I have none now except that young girl who knows
not her right from her left. Do you know how many children I
have buried--children I begot in my youth and strength?
Twenty-two. I did not hang myself, and I am still alive. If you
think you are the greatest sufferer in the world ask my
daughter, Akueni, how many twins she has borne and thrown away.
Have you not heard the song they sing when a woman dies?
For whom is it well, for whom is it well? There is no one for
whom it is well.
I have no more to say to you.’ "
To answer Questions 19-24, please read the
following passage from Chapter 17 of Chinua Achebe’s Things
Fall Apart. Choose the best responses to the prompts next to
each passage. There is one and only one correct answer to each
prompt.
Chapter 17, Pages 152-153
“As Okonkwo sat in his hut that night, gazing
into a log fire, he thought over the matter. A sudden fury rose
within him and he felt a strong desire to take up his machete,
go to the church and wipe out the entire vile and miscreant
gang. But on further thought he told himself that Nwoye was not
worth fighting for. Why, he cried in his heart, should he,
Okonkwo, of all people, be cursed with such a son? He saw
clearly in it the finger of his personal god or chi. For how
else could he explain his great misfortune and exile and now his
despicable son's behaviour? Now that he had time to think of it,
his son's crime stood out in its stark enormity. To abandon the
gods of one's father and go about with a lot of effeminate men
clucking like old hens was the very depth of abomination.
Suppose when he died all his male children decided to follow
Nwoye's steps and abandon their ancestors? Okonkwo felt a cold
shudder run through him at the terrible prospect, like the
prospect of annihilation. He saw himself and his fathers
crowding round their ancestral shrine waiting in vain for
worship and sacrifice and finding nothing but ashes of bygone
days, and his children the while praying to the white man's god.
If such a thing were ever to happen, he, Okonkwo, would wipe
them off the face of the earth.
Okonkwo was popularly called the "Roaring Flame."
As he looked into the log fire he recalled the name. He was a
flaming fire. How then could he have begotten a son like Nwoye,
degenerate and effeminate? Perhaps he was not his son. No! he
could not be. His wife had played him false. He would teach her!
But Nwoye resembled his grandfather, Unoka, who was Okonkwo's
father. He pushed the thought out of his mind. He, Okonkwo, was
called a flaming fire. How could he have begotten a woman for a
son? At Nwoye's age Okonkwo had already become famous throughout
Umuofia for his wrestling and his fearlessness.
He sighed heavily, and as if in sympathy the
smouldering log also sighed. And immediately Okonkwo's eyes were
opened and he saw the whole matter clearly. Living fire begets
cold, impotent ash. He sighed again, deeply.”
To answer Questions 25-29, please read the following analysis
excerpt about Okonkwo in Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart.
Choose the best responses to the prompts next to each passage.
There is one and only one correct answer to each prompt.
Many critics see Things Fall Apart as a book with two
narrators, one that adheres to tradition, and another with more
modern views.
In his essay, Wright plays off Neil McEwan's idea of the two
narrative voices: the traditional/communal which dominates the
first 2/3 of the book, and the individual/modern which takes
over the last third.
He claims that Okonkwo's stubborn resistance and deep need to
wipe out his father's memory "…are out of harmony with a society
which is renowned for its talent for social compromise and which
judges a man according to his own worth, not that of his
father." (Wright, 78)
Okonkwo resists change so much that he can't even accept it in
others. Wright claims that to the rest of his people, Okonkwo's
recklessness and fanaticism is embarrassing. This is not as
evident in the first 2/3 of the book, but in the modern
narrator's voice, it becomes clearer how out of touch Okonkwo
really is.
But not everyone sees the book as narrated by two distinct
voices. It can also be seen as having a single narrator, whose
tone changes and adapts over time. This would be a reflection of
the Umofian society's gradual change and adaptation in order to
survive. "The detached yet tolerant tone of the narrator creates
this perspective, and acts as a most effective mediator between
the individual and the community, between the present and the
past." (Carroll, 33) In fact, Carroll points out that "…when the
narrator begins to delve into the single mind we anticipate with
foreboding an unpleasant turn of events." (Carroll, 34)
"Things Fall Apart." Things Fall Apart. Western Michigan
University, n.d. Web. 02 Apr. 2017.
To answer Questions 30-33, please read the following excerpt
from Scott Mikula's "The Savoy." Choose the best responses to
the prompts which appear next to each passage. There is one and
only one correct answer to each prompt.
The Savoy
by Scott C. Mikula
“Them boys got magic in their feet,” Momma said, leaning out the
window while I sat on the fire escape. “You best come inside
now, Eugene. I wish God’d saw fit to put magic in your feet, but
he didn’t, and I won’t have you frettin’ over something you
can’t change.”
I hated when Momma said that. Why’d God put me right ’cross the
street from the Savoy Ballroom, if he didn’t want me to dance?
Why’d he have me born with a messed up leg just to fill my heart
with rhythms I could never express?
I crawled in through the window, but my thoughts were still on
the boys and girls down on Lenox Avenue. They had nothing but
their own clapping for a beat, but they’d practice their dance
moves till the ballroom opened. Frankie was the wildest of them,
flipping the girl over his shoulder or catching her from a
flying leap—always trying out some daring new “air step” to
one-up the others.
Soon light from the windows of the second-floor ballroom would
blaze into the night, the music would strike up, and the dancers
would crowd inside. I heard that music near every night, but
Momma couldn’t ever spare me the thirty cents to go to the Savoy
myself.
That’s why I let Willa Mae talk me into sneaking in.
I beat out a rhythm on the kitchen table while Willa Mae worked
on her footwork. She was one of the real dancers—one of those
that practiced with Frankie down on the street—but she was my
friend, too, and she put up with my handicapped leg. Sometimes
we’d brave Momma’s consternation and push all the living room
furniture aside so we could try out some moves. But today my leg
ached, so I just watched Willa Mae step, step, triple-stepping
to the drumming of my hands.
“Don’t you want to try dancing to a real swing band?” she
called. Sweat clung to her face, but she didn’t stop moving. “If
we get there after the bands set up, we can sneak in the
delivery entrance on 141st.”
Willa Mae was poor like me, and I knew she’d snuck in more than
once herself. Momma would be working till late, and we probably
wouldn’t get caught.
“It’s Benny Goodman tonight, battlin’ Chick Webb for King of
Swing.”
Benny Goodman and Chick Webb! I’d only heard Goodman’s big band
orchestra on our tinny old Victrola. His drummer was the best,
maybe. But against Chick? My mind was made up.
The delivery entrance was halfway down a side street. Willa Mae
waved for me to follow as she tried the handle on one of the
double doors. Sure enough, it was unlocked.
“Hey, you kids!” I froze. Willa Mae’s eyes went wide. Leaning
against a parked car was one of the bandmen, a portly man in a
suit and tie. “You aren’t supposed to—”
That’s all I heard before Willa Mae yanked me through the door.
“C’mon, Gene!”
I stumbled after her as we ran down a long hallway. Tantalizing
music filtered through the floor from upstairs, but my heart was
beating so fiercely I could hardly hear it.
“I thought you said no one’d be around,” I panted.
“I got us in, didn’t I?”
Willa Mae led me up a dim staircase to the main hall.
Everyone knew music at the Savoy never stopped, but I’d always
wondered how the band could play all night without a break. The
answer was two bands, on side-by-side bandstands. As Chick’s
band wound down, Benny’s musicians jumped in, eager to prove
they could swing harder and faster. I saw the bandman from
outside slip in behind the drums.
I grinned at Willa Mae. “Dance?”
Shyly at first, I took Willa Mae’s hand and put my other arm
around her back. Then the music swept us up, and we were
dancing. I’d done the steps before at home, but it’s something
else entirely when the horns are blaring their solos and the
floor is vibrating under your feet. I was in heaven, and that
band was my choir of angels!
But my angels had it in for me that night. Those bandmen played
faster and harder, like their very souls were on the line, and
my leg couldn’t keep up. It crumpled. I landed hard on my
tailbone.
“Man,” said a voice, “I never seen a butt planted on the floor
quite like that.” Frankie stood in front of me, all lanky arms
and legs. He offered me a hand, but I knew the rest of his gang
must be laughing at me.
Tears stung my eyes, but I was more furious than in pain. I
swatted Frankie’s hand away, and stalked off to find a table.
Willa Mae watched me go, but I wouldn’t meet her eye. Soon
enough I saw her dancing with Frankie, and that only made me
madder. He swung her out, and she twisted her hips with
practiced grace, earning some whoops from the crowd. Frankie,
made Willa Mae look like a queen. Why'd she ever put up with my
clumsy dancing?
I should’ve been able to dance like that. I could see Frankie’s
feet, almost a blur, and the syncopated rhythm of his steps. I
beat that rhythm out on the table in front of me, at first just
imitating it, but then varying it, improvising, playing with the
music that the band poured out.
Momma was right, God hadn’t seen fit to let me dance like that.
But that didn’t mean I couldn’t be resentful about it.
Somebody slid into the chair next to me as the bands switched
again. I looked up—it was the drummer that had yelled at us
before. Perfect. He might as well haul me out by my collar.
But he said, “You feel it, don’t you? Like you’re not moving to
the music, but the music is moving you.”
I shrugged. “I sure don’t have magic in my feet, not like they
do.”
“I can’t speak to your feet, son, but I reckon your hands have
magic to spare.” He nodded at the table, where I still beat out
my rhythm without even realizing it. “You should try these.”
He produced a pair of well-worn drumsticks. I took them, not
sure what to say. Could I really do what he did, make the music
that brought the dancers to life?
No, it wasn’t a question. I would. I’d practice every day, just
like Frankie and his friends out on the street, until I was one
of the bandmen the dancers cheered and stomped for.
I looked out on the dance floor, found Frankie and Willa Mae,
and an impish smile crossed my face as I beat my sticks to a
wild rhythm. If they thought the music made them sweat now, just
wait till I made it behind the drums on the Savoy bandstand!
******************
To answer Question 34, please read the following excerpt from
"Lunch at Woolworth's" by Gloria Harris. Choose the best
response to the prompt next to the passage. There is one and
only one correct answer to the prompt.
Lunch at
Woolworth’s
by Gloria Harris
As news of the first sit-in spread, students organized shifts so
that they could join in without missing classes.
It came as no surprise when the waitress refused to serve Joseph
McNeil, David Richmond, Ezell Blair, Jr., and Franklin McCain.
The four African American men sat down at the Woolworth’s lunch
counter in Greensboro, North Carolina, on February 1, 1960, and
requested service. In many places in the South, blacks could
shop at most stores, but they couldn’t eat at the lunch counters
in those stores. These college students from North Carolina
Agricultural and Technical College knew the law, but they had
decided to take action against the injustice. The four young men
refused to leave their seats until they had been served at the
counter, or until the store closed. Woolworth’s closed with the
students still waiting.
While this “sit-in” was not the first, it was the most
significant, as it sparked a mass student movement. More
students showed up the next day, when the “Greensboro Four,” as
these men became known, returned to Woolworth’s to try again. As
the days turned into weeks, the number of protesters swelled.
The students were peaceful but determined. They requested
service at the counter, and when they did not get it, they
remained seated quietly until fellow protesters relieved them or
the store closed. Many of the students brought homework or books
to read.
Although the protestors remained nonviolent, white onlookers did
not. When television cameras showed well-dressed, polite young
men and women being pulled off stools, spat on, kicked, burned
with cigarettes, and called ugly names, the outpouring of
support from students, both black and white, in northern and
southern colleges was overwhelming. News of the sit-in in
Greensboro spread like wildfire. In less than two weeks, college
students all over the South started their own sit-ins. Within 18
months, nearly 70,000 students had participated in similar
protests. In addition, people began to form picket lines at
sister stores in the North to protest those businesses’
segregated policies in the South.
The sit-in movement also won support from older established
civil rights organizations such as the Congress of Racial
Equality (CORE), the National Association for the Advancement of
Colored People (NAACP), and the Southern Christian Leadership
Conference (SCLC). CORE sent a representative to Greensboro to
provide training for the students,
which included role playing
based on simple rules of conduct:
Do show yourself friendly at all times.
Do sit straight and face the counter.
Don’t strike back if attacked.
Don’t laugh.
Don’t hold conversations.
CORE field workers provided training throughout the sit-in
movement, while the NAACP’s Legal Defense and Education Fund
provided lawyers and bail money as hundreds of students were
arrested for trespassing,
disturbing the peace, unlawful
assembly, and disobeying police orders to move from their seats.
Some students refused to pay fines and served jail sentences
instead.
The SCLC provided support for the sit-in movement under the
direction of Ella Baker. Baker organized the first Sit-In
Leadership Conference on April 15, 1960, at Shaw University in
Raleigh, North Carolina. She invited students from 40 southern
colleges and 19 northern campuses to come listen to Dr. Martin
Luther King, Jr., share his message of nonviolence.
Inspired by King’s words and encouraged by Baker, who supported
a grassroots movement that was organized and led by students,
the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) was born.
The group adopted a policy of achieving racial equality through
nonviolent protest. It participated in a number of sit-ins and
also would breathe new life into the Freedom Rides a year later.
As stores closed temporarily to avoid dealing with the sit-ins,
and as businesses suffered because customers stayed away, these
peaceful, student-led protests met with success. By the fall of
1960, lunch counters in almost 100 southern cities were
desegregated. Other sit-ins desegregated movie theaters,
amusement parks, and hotels. “Wade-ins” desegregated beaches;
“read-ins” desegregated libraries.
Although the sit-ins did not guarantee all rights for African
Americans, they did show a younger generation of civil rights
protesters what could be accomplished when people took a stand
and worked together.