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Irregular verbs

Bend: to force (an object, especially a long or thin one) from a straight form into a curved or angular one, or from a curved or angular form into some different form


Bite: to cut, wound, or tear with the teeth:


Burst: to break, break open, or fly apart with sudden violence


Cost: to require the payment of (money or something else of value) in an exchange


Creep: to move slowly with the body close to the ground, as a reptile or an insect, or a person on hands and knees.


Cry: to utter inarticulate sounds, especially of lamentation, grief, or suffering, usually with tears.


Deal: to take action with respect to a thing or person (followed by with)


Die: to cease to live; undergo the complete and permanent cessation of all vital functions; become dead.


Dig: to break up, turn over, or remove earth, sand, etc., as with a shovel, spade, bulldozer, or claw; make an excavation.


Dream: to see or imagine in sleep or in a vision.


Feed: to give food to; supply with nourishment:



Feel:
to perceive or examine by touch.
to have a sensation of (something), other than by sight, hearing, taste, or smell


Find: to come upon by chance; meet with


Fly: to move through the air using wings.


Get: to receive or come to have possession, use, or enjoyment of.


Hear: to perceive by the ear.


Hit :to deal a blow or stroke to



Hold: to have or keep in the hand; keep fast; grasp:
She held the purse in her right hand. He held the child's hand in his.


Hurt: to have or keep in the hand; keep fast; grasp


Keep: to hold or retain in one's possession; hold as one's own.



Kneel: to go down or rest on the knees or a knee.


Lay: to put or place in a horizontal position or position of rest; set down.


Lead: to go before or with to show the way; conduct or escort.























In a city, there was a bird. The bird lived in a tree near to a cemetery, in a nest on a bent branch. He used to see people crying, praying knelt for their loved ones who died. One man was always digging to bury the dead people. It was John, the gravedigger. The bird liked him because he fed him with bits of bread, that the bird bit quickly, everyday. John was the only human that could get near to the bird. From other people, the animal flew away.
One night, the branch where the bird lived burst. The bird fell down, and part of the branch fell over him and hit him. The bird got seriously hurt. John, who lived near to the cemetery, was dreaming that he was taking vacations at a paradise island when he heard the sound and woke up. He ran to the tree and found the bird. He was in the middle of the "wreckage", so John crept to the place where the bird was. He held him and brought the bird to his house, where he laid the animal. He didn't get better, so John took him to a veterinary team who was led by a friend of him. It will be expensive for the gravedigger, but he was able to do anything for his friend.They gave some medicines to the bird and said to John to let the animal rest.
John was feeling sad, thinking that the bird was going to die. But some days after, the bird got better. John got very happy. The animal kept living with the bird, and they lived together until the end of their lives.

After (Conjunction)

CLAUSE + AFTER+ CLAUSE

AFTER + CLAUSE, + CLAUSE


I went to America after I left school.

After I left school, I went to America.


He did military services after he went to university.

After he went to university, he did military service.


After he did military service, he went to university.

Present with future meaning

I will call you after I arrive home.

Perfect tenses

In clauses with after, we often use present and past perfect tenses to show that one thing is completed before another starts. 

-I will telephone you after I have seen Jake

-After I had finished school, I went to America

After... ing

In a formal style, we often use the structure after + ing. After having + past participle is also possible, especially when talking about the past.

-After completing this form, give it to the secretary

-He wrote his first book after returning/having returned from Mongolia 

How to write like Poe (Based on "The Philosophy of Composition")

How to write like Poe
(Based on "The Philosophy of Composition")


1) Tone and narrative

Poe says that the first thing he thinks when he is going to write is which feeling he wants to cause in the reader. After that, he thinks about how his text is going to be narrated. He says that he tries to be original. For that, he chooses to have a peculiar narrative with an ordinary tone, an ordinary narrative with a peculiar tone, or even a peculiar narrative with a peculiar tone.


2) Length

Poe says that many poets use excessive details. He says that he is not against it, but sometimes those details make the poem long. And that is a problem, because people would accept to read a book like Robinson Crusoe in many sittings, but with a poem, it is different. People want to read a poem in one or two sittings, so it must be short. But, according to Poe, it doesn't mean that a short poem is a bad poem. You have to try to make your best to involve the reader in your text.



3) Themes

For Poe, beauty and melancholy are the most poetical themes. Thus, to write a good poem, you must use them. He uses "The Raven" as an example. According to Poe, the combination of those two themes is one of the responsible for the success of the poem. He says that love is the most beautiful theme and to lose a love is the most melancholic theme. So, combining these elements with a refrain, he caused a great effect on the reader.


4) Refrain

Poe says that it is important to have a refrain in the poem. According to him, after reading it many times, the reader starts to make many poetical interpretations. In "The Raven" for example, he used the refrain "Quoth the Raven, Nevermore" (the answer usually uttered by the raven in the poem). In the first stanza, it was a plausible answer. In the second, a bit less. In the third, lesser, and so on.



5) Character and local

To produce a suspense effect on the reader, Poe says that he decides to use a raven as the talking bird. He says that he thought about using a parrot, but a raven was a more morbid bird. To complete the suspense effect, he had to combine the character with a local. For that, he decided to use the lover's chamber, a rich furnished place. He wrote that "it was a tempestuous night" to combine the situation with the raven too.



6) Conclusion

After reading "The Philosophy of Composition", we can easily understand why Poe was such a good writer,  can't we? We can realize that his poems were more than a simple text. They were  "mathematical problems" as he says. It explains to us "how the magic happens", why his poems and texts were so interesting. After all, how could a poem with such a good combination of tone, narrative, length, themes, characters and local, working together as gears, be a bad poem?

My version of "The Raven"

I remember it very well. It was a very sad December for me. I just lost Lenore, my wife. In a dark night, I went to sleep, crying for this loss. I was nearly sleeping when I heard someone clapping at my chamber door. I tough: It must be a late visitor. I was tired, so it took some time for me to get up and open the door. When I did it, there was no one. Only darkness, and nothing more.
Suddenly, I heard a sound. "It's something in the window, for sure". When I opened it, I saw a raven entering in my bedroom. This elegant bird perched at my Palas' bust.
I was so solitary after losting Lenore that I decided to talk with the raven. I asked him what was his name, and for my surprise, the raven answered:
-Nevermore!
Which man had the chance to talk with a talking bird, I asked myself. I started talking with him, but everything that the raven said was "Nevermore!". Sad because of the death of Lenore, I tried again to talk with the bird, to be "comforted" by him. I asked about Lenore, where she was and things like this. But all that the bird answered was "Nevermore". I was getting scared of him. I asked where did he came from, but, once more, the answer was "Nevermore". Desperate, I said:
-Go back to the shadows!

But the bird stayed perched at my Palas' bust, like a devil who is thinking. From my bed, I could see his shadow, those funeral lines, floating on the ground. I was haunted. My soul was crying. It wouldn't be lifted... Nevermore!

THE PHILOSOPHY OF COMPOSITION. 

——— 

BY EDGAR A. POE. 

——— 

CHARLES DICKENS, in a note now lying before me, alluding to an examination I once made of the mechanism of “Barnaby Rudge,” says — “By the way, are you aware that Godwin wrote his ‘Caleb Williams’ backwards? He first involved his hero in a web of difficulties, forming the second volume, and then, for the first, cast about him for some mode of accounting for what had been done.” 

I cannot think this the precise mode of procedure on the part of Godwin — and indeed what he himself acknowledges, is not altogether in accordance with Mr. Dickens’ idea — but the author of “Caleb Williams” was too good an artist not to perceive the advantage derivable from at least a somewhat similar process. Nothing is more clear than that every plot, worth the name, must be elaborated to its dénouement before any thing be attempted with the pen. It is only with the dénouement constantly in view that we can give a plot its indispensable air of consequence, or causation, by making the incidents, and especially the tone at all points, tend to the development of the intention. 

There is a radical error, I think, in the usual mode of constructing a story. Either history affords a thesis — or one is suggested by an incident of the day — or, at best, the author sets himself to work in the combination of striking events to form merely the basis of his narrative — designing, generally, to fill in with description, dialogue, or autorial comment, whatever crevices of fact, or action, may, from page to page, render themselves apparent. 

I prefer commencing with the consideration of an effect. Keeping originality always in view — for he is false to himself who ventures to dispense with so obvious and so easily attainable a source of interest — I say to myself, in the first place, “Of the innumerable effects, or impressions, of which the heart, the intellect, or (more generally) the soul is susceptible, what one shall I, on the present occasion, select?” Having chosen a novel, first, and secondly a vivid effect, I consider whether it can best be wrought by incident or tone — whether by ordinary incidents and peculiar tone, or the converse, or by peculiarity both of incident and tone — afterward looking about me (or rather within) for such combinations of event, or tone, as shall best aid me in the construction of the effect. 

I have often thought how interesting a magazine paper might be written by any author who would — that is to say, who could — detail, step by step, the processes by which any one of his compositions attained its ultimate point of completion. Why such [column 2:] a paper has never been given to the world, I am much at a loss to say — but, perhaps, the autorial vanity has had more to do with the omission than any one other cause. Most writers — poets in especial — prefer having it understood that they compose by a species of fine frenzy — an ecstatic intuition — and would positively shudder at letting the public take a peep behind the scenes, at the elaborate and vacillating crudities of thought — at the true purposes seized only at the last moment — at the innumerable glimpses of idea that arrived not at the maturity of full view — at the fully matured fancies discarded in despair as unmanageable — at the cautious selections and rejections — at the painful erasures and interpolations — in a word, at the wheels and pinions — the tackle for scene-shifting — the step-ladders and demon-traps — the cock’s feathers, the red paint and the black patches, which, in ninety-nine cases out of the hundred, constitute the properties of the literary histrio.

I am aware, on the other hand, that the case is by no means common, in which an author is at all in condition to retrace the steps by which his conclusions have been attained. In general, suggestions, having arisen pell-mell, are pursued and forgotten in a similar manner. 

For my own part, I have neither sympathy with the repugnance alluded to, nor, at any time, the least difficulty in recalling to mind the progressive steps of any of my compositions; and, since the interest of an analysis, or reconstruction, such as I have considered a desideratum, is quite independent of any real or fancied interest in the thing analyzed, it will not be regarded as a breach of decorum on my part to show the modus operandi by which some one of my own works was put together. I select “The Raven,” as most generally known. It is my design to render it manifest that no one point in its composition is referrible either to accident or intuition — that the work proceeded, step by step, to its completion with the precision and rigid consequence of a mathematical problem. 

Let us dismiss, as irrelevant to the poem per se, the circumstance — or say the necessity — which, in the first place, gave rise to the intention of composing a poem that should suit at once the popular and the critical taste. 

We commence, then, with this intention. 

The initial consideration was that of extent. If any literary work is too long to be read at one sitting, we must be content to dispense with the immensely important effect derivable from unity of impression — [page 164:] for, if two sittings be required, the affairs of the world interfere, and every thing like totality is at once destroyed. But since, ceteris paribus, no poet can afford to dispense with any thing that may advance his design, it but remains to be seen whether there is, in extent, any advantage to counterbalance the loss of unity which attends it. Here I say no, at once. What we term a long poem is, in fact, merely a succession of brief ones — that is to say, of brief poetical effects. It is needless to demonstrate that a poem is such, only inasmuch as it intensely excites, by elevating, the soul; and all intense excitements are, through a psychal necessity, brief. For this reason, at least one half of the “Paradise Lost” is essentially prose — a succession of poetical excitements interspersed, inevitably, with corresponding depressions — the whole being deprived, through the extremeness of its length, of the vastly important artistic element, totality, or unity, of effect. 

It appears evident, then, that there is a distinct limit, as regards length, to all works of literary art — the limit of a single sitting — and that, although in certain classes of prose composition, such as “Robinson Crusoe,” (demanding no unity,) this limit may be advantageously overpassed, it can never properly be overpassed in a poem. Within this limit, the extent of a poem may be made to bear mathematical relation to its merit — in other words, to the excitement or elevation — again in other words, to the degree of the true poetical effect which it is capable of inducing; for it is clear that the brevity must be in direct ratio of the intensity of the intended effect: — this, with one proviso — that a certain degree of duration is absolutely requisite for the production of any effect at all. 

Holding in view these considerations, as well as that degree of excitement which I deemed not above the popular, while not below the critical, taste, I reached at once what I conceived the proper length for my intended poem — a length of about one hundred lines. It is, in fact, a hundred and eight. 

My next thought concerned the choice of an impression, or effect, to be conveyed: and here I may as well observe that, throughout the construction, I kept steadily in view the design of rendering the work universally appreciable. I should be carried too far out of my immediate topic were I to demonstrate a point upon which I have repeatedly insisted, and which, with the poetical, stands not in the slightest need of demonstration — the point, I mean, that Beauty is the sole legitimate province of the poem. A few words, however, in elucidation of my real meaning, which some of my friends have evinced a disposition to misrepresent. That pleasure which is at once the most intense, the most elevating, and the most pure, is, I believe, found in the contemplation of the beautiful. When, indeed, men speak of Beauty, they mean, precisely, not a quality, as is supposed, but an effect — they refer, in short, just to that intense and pure elevation of soul — not of intellect, or of heart — upon which I have commented, and which is experienced in consequence of contemplating “the beautiful.” Now I designate [column 2:] Beauty as the province of the poem, merely because it is an obvious rule of Art that effects should be made to spring from direct causes — that objects should be attained through means best adapted for their attainment — no one as yet having been weak enough to deny that the peculiar elevation alluded to, is most readily attained in the poem. Now the object, Truth, or the satisfaction of the intellect, and the object Passion, or the excitement of the heart, are, although attainable, to a certain extent, in poetry, far more readily attainable in prose. Truth, in fact, demands a precision, and Passion, a homeliness (the truly passionate will comprehend me) which are absolutely antagonistic to that Beauty which, I maintain, is the excitement, or pleasurable elevation, of the soul. It by no means follows from any thing here said, that passion, or even truth, may not be introduced, and even profitably introduced, into a poem — for they may serve in elucidation, or aid the general effect, as do discords in music, by contrast — but the true artist will always contrive, first, to tone them into proper subservience to the predominant aim, and, secondly, to enveil them, as far as possible, in that Beauty which is the atmosphere and the essence of the poem. 

Regarding, then, Beauty as my province, my next question referred to the tone of its highest manifestation — and all experience has shown that this tone is one of sadness. Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears. Melancholy is thus the most legitimate of all the poetical tones. 

The length, the province, and the tone, being thus determined, I betook myself to ordinary induction, with the view of obtaining some artistic piquancy which might serve me as a key-note in the construction of the poem — some pivot upon which the whole structure might turn. In carefully thinking over all the usual artistic effects — or more properly points, in the theatrical sense — I did not fail to perceive immediately that no one had been so universally employed as that of the refrain. The universality of its employment sufficed to assure me of its intrinsic value, and spared me the necessity of submitting it to analysis. I considered it, however, with regard to its susceptibility of improvement, and soon saw it to be in a primitive condition. As commonly used, the refrain, or burden, not only is limited to lyric verse, but depends for its impression upon the force of monotone — both in sound and thought. The pleasure is deduced solely from the sense of identity — of repetition. I resolved to diversify, and so vastly heighten, the effect, by adhering, in general, to the monotone of sound, while I continually varied that of thought: that is to say, I determined to produce continuously novel effects, by the variation of the application of the refrain — the refrain itself remaining, for the most part, unvaried. 

These points being settled, I next bethought me of the nature of my refrain. Since its application was to be repeatedly varied, it was clear that the refrain itself must be brief, for there would have been an insurmountable difficulty in frequent variations of [page 165:] application in any sentence of length. In proportion to the brevity of the sentence, would, of course, be the facility of the variation. This led me at once to a single word as the best refrain.

The question now arose as to the character of the word. Having made up my mind to a refrain, the division of the poem into stanzas was, of course, a corollary: the refrain forming the close to each stanza. That such a close, to have force, must be sonorous and susceptible of protracted emphasis, admitted no doubt: and these considerations inevitably led me to the long o as the most sonorous vowel, in connection with r as the most producible consonant. 

The sound of the refrain being thus determined, it became necessary to select a word embodying this sound, and at the same time in the fullest possible keeping with that melancholy which I had predetermined as the tone of the poem. In such a search it would have been absolutely impossible to overlook the word “Nevermore.” In fact, it was the very first which presented itself. 

The next desideratum was a pretext for the continuous use of the one word “nevermore.” In observing the difficulty which I at once found in inventing a sufficiently plausible reason for its continuous repetition, I did not fail to perceive that this difficulty arose solely from the pre-assumption that the word was to be so continuously or monotonously spoken by a human being — I did not fail to perceive, in short, that the difficulty lay in the reconciliation of this monotony with the exercise of reason on the part of the creature repeating the word. Here, then, immediately arose the idea of a non -reasoning creature capable of speech; and, very naturally, a parrot, in the first instance, suggested itself, but was superseded forthwith by a Raven, as equally capable of speech, and infinitely more in keeping with the intended tone. 

I had now gone so far as the conception of a Raven — the bird of ill omen — monotonously repeating the one word, “Nevermore,” at the conclusion of each stanza, in a poem of melancholy tone, and in length about one hundred lines. Now, never losing sight of the object supremeness, or perfection, at all points, I asked myself — “Of all melancholy topics, what, according to the universal understanding of mankind, is the most melancholy?” Death — was the obvious reply. “And when,” I said, “is this most melancholy of topics most poetical?” From what I have already explained at some length, the answer, here also, is obvious — “When it most closely allies itself to Beauty: the death, then, of a beautiful woman is, unquestionably, the most poetical topic in the world — and equally is it beyond doubt that the lips best suited for such topic are those of a bereaved lover.” 

I had now to combine the two ideas, of a lover lamenting his deceased mistress and a Raven continuously repeating the word “Nevermore” — I had to combine these, bearing in mind my design of varying, at every turn, the application of the word repeated; but the only intelligible mode of such combination is that of imagining the Raven employing the word in [column 2:] answer to the queries of the lover. And here it was that I saw at once the opportunity afforded for the effect on which I had been depending — that is to say, the effect of the variation of application. I saw that I could make the first query propounded by the lover — the first query to which the Raven should reply “Nevermore” — that I could make this first query a commonplace one — the second less so — the third still less, and so on — until at length the lover, startled from his original nonchalance by the melancholy character of the word itself — by its frequent repetition — and by a consideration of the ominous reputation of the fowl that uttered it — is at length excited to superstition, and wildly propounds queries of a far different character — queries whose solution he has passionately at heart — propounds them half in superstition and half in that species of despair which delights in self-torture — propounds them not altogether because he believes in the prophetic or demoniac character of the bird (which, reason assures him, is merely repeating a lesson learned by rote) but because he experiences a phrenzied pleasure in so modeling his questions as to receive from the expected “Nevermore” the most delicious because the most intolerable of sorrow. Perceiving the opportunity thus afforded me — or, more strictly, thus forced upon me in the progress of the construction — I first established in mind the climax, or concluding query — that to which “Nevermore” should be in the last place an answer — that in reply to which this word “Nevermore” should involve the utmost conceivable amount of sorrow and despair. 

Here then the poem may be said to have its beginning — at the end, where all works of art should begin — for it was here, at this point of my preconsiderations, that I first put pen to paper in the composition of the stanza: 

“Prophet,” said I, “thing of evil! prophet still if bird or devil! 

By that heaven that bends above us — by that God we both adore, 

Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if within the distant Aidenn, 

It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore — 

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.” 

Quoth the raven — “Nevermore.” 

I composed this stanza, at this point, first that, by establishing the climax, I might the better vary and graduate, as regards seriousness and importance, the preceding queries of the lover — and, secondly, that I might definitely settle the rhythm, the metre, and the length and general arrangement of the stanza — as well as graduate the stanzas which were to precede, so that none of them might surpass this in rhythmical effect. Had I been able, in the subsequent composition, to construct more vigorous stanzas, I should, without scruple, have purposely enfeebled them, so as not to interfere with the climacteric effect. 

And here I may as well say a few words of the versification. My first object (as usual) was originality. The extent to which this has been neglected, in versification, is one of the most unaccountable things in the world. Admitting that there is little [page 166:] possibility of variety in mere rhythm, it is still clear that the possible varieties of metre and stanza are absolutely infinite — and yet, for centuries, no man, in verse, has ever done, or ever seemed to think of doing, an original thing. The fact is, originality (unless in minds of very unusual force) is by no means a matter, as some suppose, of impulse or intuition. In general, to be found, it must be elaborately sought, and although a positive merit of the highest class, demands in its attainment less of invention than negation. 

Of course, I pretend to no originality in either the rhythm or metre of the “Raven.” The former is trochaic — the latter is octametre acatalectic, alternating with heptameter catalectic repeated in the refrain of the fifth verse, and terminating with tetrameter catalectic. Less pedantically — the feet employed throughout (trochees) consist of a long syllable followed by a short: the first line of the stanza consists of eight of these feet — the second of seven and a half (in effect two-thirds) — the third of eight — the fourth of seven and a half — the fifth the same — the sixth three and a half. Now, each of these lines, taken individually, has been employed before, and what originality the “Raven” has, is in their combination into stanza; nothing even remotely approaching this combination has ever been attempted. The effect of this originality of combination is aided by other unusual, and some altogether novel effects, arising from an extension of the application of the principles of rhyme and alliteration. 

The next point to be considered was the mode of bringing together the lover and the Raven — and the first branch of this consideration was the locale. For this the most natural suggestion might seem to be a forest, or the fields — but it has always appeared to me that a close circumscription of space is absolutely necessary to the effect of insulated incident: — it has the force of a frame to a picture. It has an indisputable moral power in keeping concentrated the attention, and, of course, must not be confounded with mere unity of place. 

I determined, then, to place the lover in his chamber — in a chamber rendered sacred to him by memories of her who had frequented it. The room is represented as richly furnished — this in mere pursuance of the ideas I have already explained on the subject of Beauty, as the sole true poetical thesis. 

The locale being thus determined, I had now to introduce the bird — and the thought of introducing him through the window, was inevitable. The idea of making the lover suppose, in the first instance, that the flapping of the wings of the bird against the shutter, is a “tapping” at the door, originated in a wish to increase, by prolonging, the reader’s curiosity, and in a desire to admit the incidental effect arising from the lover’s throwing open the door, finding all dark, and thence adopting the half-fancy that it was the spirit of his mistress that knocked. 

I made the night tempestuous, first, to account for the Raven’s seeking admission, and secondly, for the effect of contrast with the (physical) serenity within the chamber. 

I made the bird alight on the bust of Pallas, also for [column 2:] the effect of contrast between the marble and the plumage — it being understood that the bust was absolutely suggested by the bird — the bust of Pallas being chosen, first, as most in keeping with the scholarship of the lover, and, secondly, for the sonorousness of the word, Pallas, itself. 

About the middle of the poem, also, I have availed myself of the force of contrast, with a view of deepening the ultimate impression. For example, an air of the fantastic — approaching as nearly to the ludicrous as was admissible — is given to the Raven’s entrance. He comes in “with many a flirt and flutter. 

Not the least obeisance made he — not a moment stopped or stayed he, 

But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door. 

In the two stanzas which follow, the design is more obviously carried out: — 

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling 

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven thou,” I said, “art sure no craven, 

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the nightly shore — 

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!” 

Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.” 

—— 

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, 

Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore; 

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being 

Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door — 

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

With such name as “Nevermore.” 

—— 

The effect of the dénouement being thus provided for, I immediately drop the fantastic for a tone of the most profound seriousness: — this tone commencing in the stanza directly following the one last quoted, with the line, 

But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only, etc. 

From this epoch the lover no longer jests — no longer sees any thing even of the fantastic in the Raven’s demeanor. He speaks of him as a “grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore,” and feels the “fiery eyes” burning into his “bosom’s core.” This revolution of thought, or fancy, on the lover’s part, is intended to induce a similar one on the part of the reader — to bring the mind into a proper frame for the dénouement — which is now brought about as rapidly and as directly as possible. 

With the dénouement proper — with the Raven’s reply, “Nevermore,” to the lover’s final demand if he shall meet his mistress in another world — the poem, in its obvious phase, that of a simple narrative, may be said to have its completion. So far, every thing is within the limits of the accountable — of the real. A raven, having learned by rote the single word “Nevermore,” and having escaped from the custody of its owner, is driven, at midnight, through the violence of a storm, to seek admission at a window from which a light still gleams — the chamber-window of a student, occupied half in poring over a volume, half in dreaming of a beloved mistress deceased.  [page 167:] The casement being thrown open at the fluttering of the bird’s wings, the bird itself perches on the most convenient seat out of the immediate reach of the student, who, amused by the incident and the oddity of the visiter’s demeanor, demands of it, in jest and without looking for a reply, its name. The raven addressed, answers with its customary word, “Nevermore” — a word which finds immediate echo in the melancholy heart of the student, who, giving utterance aloud to certain thoughts suggested by the occasion, is again startled by the fowl’s repetition of “Nevermore.” The student now guesses the state of the case, but is impelled, as I have before explained, by the human thirst for self-torture, and in part by superstition, to propound such queries to the bird as will bring him, the lover, the most of the luxury of sorrow, through the anticipated answer “Nevermore.” With the indulgence, to the utmost extreme, of this self-torture, the narration, in what I have termed its first or obvious phase, has a natural termination, and so far there has been no overstepping of the limits of the real. 

But in subjects so handled, however skilfully, or with however vivid an array of incident, there is always a certain hardness or nakedness, which repels the artistical eye. Two things are invariably required — first, some amount of complexity, or more properly, adaptation; and, secondly, some amount of suggestiveness — some under[[-]]current, however indefinite of meaning. It is this latter, in especial, which imparts to a work of art so much of that richness (to [column 2:] borrow from colloquy a forcible term) which we are too fond of confounding with the ideal.It is the excess of the suggested meaning — it is the rendering this the upper instead of the under[[-]]current of the theme — which turns into prose (and that of the very flattest kind) the so called poetry of the so called transcendentalists. 

Holding these opinions, I added the two concluding stanzas of the poem — their suggestiveness being thus made to pervade all the narrative which has preceded them. The under-current of meaning is rendered first apparent in the lines — 

“Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!” 

Quoth the Raven “Nevermore!” 

It will be observed that the words, “from out my heart,” involve the first metaphorical expression in the poem. They, with the answer, “Nevermore,” dispose the mind to seek a moral in all that has been previously narrated. The reader begins now to regard the Raven as emblematical — but it is not until the very last line of the very last stanza, that the intention of making him emblematical of Mournful and Never-ending Remembrance is permitted distinctly to be seen: 

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting, 

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; 

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming, 

And the lamplight o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; 

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor 

Shall be lifted — nevermore

The Raven - Symbols

In this poem, one of the most famous American poems ever, Poe uses several symbols to take the poem to a higher level. The most obvious symbol is, of course, the raven itself. When Poe had decided to use a refrain that repeated the word "nevermore," he found that it would be most effective if he used a non-reasoning creature to utter the word. It would make little sense to use a human, since the human could reason to answer the questions (Poe, 1850). In "The Raven" it is important that the answers to the questions are already known, to illustrate the self-torture to which the narrator exposes himself. This way of interpreting signs that do not bear a real meaning, is "one of the most profound impulses of human nature" (Quinn, 1998:441).
Poe also considered a parrot as the bird instead of the raven; however, because of the melancholy tone, and the symbolism of ravens as birds of ill-omen, he found the raven more suitable for the mood in the poem (Poe, 1850). Quoth the Parrot, "Nevermore?"
Another obvious symbol is the bust of Pallas. Why did the raven decide to perch on the goddess of wisdom? One reason could be, because it would lead the narrator to believe that the raven spoke from wisdom, and was not just repeating its only "stock and store," and to signify the scholarship of the narrator. Another reason for using "Pallas" in the poem was, according to Poe himself, simply because of the "sonorousness of the word, Pallas, itself" (Poe, 1850).
A less obvious symbol, might be the use of "midnight" in the first verse, and "December" in the second verse. Both midnight and December, symbolize an end of something, and also the anticipation of something new, a change, to happen. The midnight in December, might very well be New Year’s eve, a date most of us connect with change. This also seems to be what Viktor Rydberg believes when he is translating "The Raven" to Swedish, since he uses the phrase "årets sista natt var inne, " ("The last night of the year had arrived"). Kenneth Silverman connected the use of December with the death of Edgar’s mother (Silverman, 1992:241), who died in that month; whether this is true or not is, however, not significant to its meaning in the poem.
The chamber in which the narrator is positioned, is used to signify the loneliness of the man, and the sorrow he feels for the loss of Lenore. The room is richly furnished, and reminds the narrator of his lost love, which helps to create an effect of beauty in the poem. The tempest outside, is used to even more signify the isolation of this man, to show a sharp contrast between the calmness in the chamber and the tempestuous night.
The phrase "from out my heart," Poe claims, is used, in combination with the answer "Nevermore," to let the narrator realize that he should not try to seek a moral in what has been previously narrated (Poe, 1850).

Halloween timeline

-2000 years ago: The Celts celebrate their New Year on November first. They believe that the day before, deads come alive. To be protected, the Celts put food in front of their houses (to feed the spirits) and dress in ghost costumes (to be mistaken for "true ghosts")

-More than 1000 years ago: the Church makes November 1st the "All Saints' Day", or the "All Hallows' Day". As the Celts, Europeans thinks that the dead come alive in "The Hallows' Eve", after abbreviated as "Halloween".

- Europeans immigrate to America and bring the Halloween tradition with them

-Today: The Halloween is considered more as a "children holiday" than a religious holiday. Americans spend around 6 billions per year to celebrate this day, making Halloween one of the "more expensives" holidays!

The Raven (short-story)

I remember it very well. It was a very sad December for me. I just lost Lenore, my wife. In a dark night, I went to sleep, crying for this lost. I was nearly sleeping when I heard someone clapping at my chamber door. I tough: It must be a late visitor. I was tired, so it took some time for me to get up and open the door. When I did it, there was no one. Only dark, and nothing more.
Suddenly, I heard a sound. "It's something with the window, for sure". When I opened it, I saw a raven enter in my bedroom. This elegant bird perched at my Palas' bust. I was so solitary after lost Lenore that I decided to talk with the raven. I asked him what was his name, and for my surprise, the raven answered:
-Nevermore!
Which man had the chance to talk with a talking bird, I asked myself. I started to talk with him, but everything that the raven said was "Nevermore!". I was starting to get scared of him. I asked:

-"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!"
            The raven answered: "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
            The raven answered: "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting—
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!
            The raven answered: "Nevermore."

The bird stayed perched at my Palas' bust, like a devil who is thinking. From my bed, I could saw his shadow, those funeral lines, floating on the ground. My soul was crying. She wouldn't be lifted... Nevermore!

Halloween (timeline)

The Raven

"The Raven" is a poem written by Edgar Allan Poe. It tells about a man who lost his love, Lenore. One night, he hears some sounds and realizes that there is a talking Raven in his bedroom. He tries to talk with the raven, but all he says is "Nevermore".
"The Raven" got very popular because of his methodically and logic. The poem is considered one of the best works of Poe. Written in Baltimore, the poem lends its name to the local football team, the "Baltimore Ravens". That is to say, the local football team was named after Poe's famous poem.

Edgar Allan Poe

Edgar Allan Poe was a famous mystery/macabre writer. Born in Boston, in 1809, Poe was one of the earliest American to write short stories.
Orphan (his father left the family in 1810 and his mother died in 1811), he was adopted by John and Frances Allan. He studied at the University of Virginia, but left because he had no money to pay his studies. When he went to Baltimore, he wrote "The Raven", a poem that made him famous
When he went to Baltimore, he wrote the poem "The Raven", which made him famous.
Poe died in 1849. We never knew the cause of his death. 
The cause of his death remains a mystery.
Some hypotheses are alcohol, brain congestion, cholera, drugs, heart disease, rabies, suicide and tuberculosis.

Homework

- Write a "short story" version of "The Raven"
- Audiobook "The Raven"

(Post the previous homework)

Homework

-Timeline and history of Halloween
- Short research on "The Raven" and Edgar Allan Poe (short presentation)

- Librivox

The Raven

Edgar Allan Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door—

Only this and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow

From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—

Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating

"'Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door—

Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door;

This it is and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you"—here I opened wide the door—

Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"—

Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping something louder than before.

"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;

Let me see, then, what thereat is and this mystery explore—

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—

'Tis the wind and nothing more.

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he,

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then the ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,

Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

With such name as "Nevermore."

But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only

That one word, as if its soul in that one word he did outpour

Nothing farther then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered—

Till I scarcely more than muttered: "Other friends have flown before—

On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."

Then the bird said "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,

Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster

Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—

Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore

Of 'Never—nevermore.'"

But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;

Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;

This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining

On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,

But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er

She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer

Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee

Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—

Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—

On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—

Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!"

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!

By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—

Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,

It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting—

"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul has spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming

And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadows on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted—nevermore!

History of Halloween

Bet You Didn’t Know: Halloween | Video

List some family-friendly activities linked to Halloween.

When did the tradition of Halloween started? And how did it change through time?

What is the meaning of “souling” and “guising”?

What do you think of the incorporation of Halloween in the Brazilian culture?

History of Halloween

Like many other holidays, Halloween has evolved and changed throughout history. Over 2,000 years ago people called the Celts lived in what is now Ireland, the UK, and parts of Northern France. November 1 was their New Year's Day. They believed that the night before the New Year (October 31) was a time when the living and the dead came together.

More than a thousand years ago the Christian church named November 1 All Saints Day (also called All Hallows.) This was a special holy day to honor the saints and other people who died for their religion. The night before All Hallows was called Hallows Eve. Later the name was changed to Halloween.

Like the Celts, the Europeans of that time also believed that the spirits of the dead would visit the earth on Halloween. They worried that evil spirits would cause problems or hurt them. So on that night people wore costumes that looked like ghosts or other evil creatures. They thought if they dressed like that, the spirits would think they were also dead and not harm them.

The tradition of Halloween was carried to America by the immigrating Europeans. Some of the traditions changed a little, though. For example, on Halloween in Europe some people would carry lanterns made from turnips. In America, pumpkins were more common. So people began putting candles inside them and using them as lanterns. That is why you see Jack 'o lanterns today.

These days Halloween is not usually considered a religious holiday. It is primarily a fun day for children. Children dress up in costumes like people did a thousand years ago. But instead of worrying about evil spirits, they go from house to house. They knock on doors and say "trick or treat." The owner of each house gives candy or something special to each trick or treater.

Allegory (The Snowman)

The snowman

In a place where people love to burn things, there was a girl. This girl was against burning things. In On Christmas, she build a snowman, but people wanted to burn it. With the help of a friend, a man who people wanted to burn too, she protected the snowman. As time went by With the time, more and more people went to protect the snowman, including a little boy and an old man. Even if they were doing the right thing, people started to whipping them for that. But they didn't stop to protect it. Because, even if most of the people do something, it doesn't means that it is right.

Excellent!!!

Parable, allegory and fable

Parable: a parable is a didactic story witch contains one or more lessons. Parable's characters can be only humans.
(A parable is not obligatorily a biblical parable)

 Allegory: an allegory is an extended metaphor. It's a symbolical story used to represent something in a non-literally way.

Fable: a fable is a didactic story, witch contains one or more lessons. A fable is similar with a parable, but it contains animals, plants, or nature forces

What is Literature for?

IT SAVES YOU TIME
It looks like it’s wasting time, but literature is actually the ultimate time-saver — because it gives us access to a range of emotions and events that it would take you years, decades, millennia to try to experience directly. Literature is the greatest reality simulator — a machine that puts you through infinitely more situations than you can ever directly witness.

IT MAKES YOU NICER
Literature performs the basic magic of what things look like though someone else’s point of view; it allows us to consider the consequences of our actions on others in a way we otherwise wouldn’t; and it shows us examples of kindly, generous, sympathetic people.

Literature deeply stands opposed to the dominant value system — the one that rewards money and power. Writers are on the other side — they make us sympathetic to ideas and feelings that are of deep importance but can’t afford airtime in a commercialized, status-conscious, and cynical world.

IT’S A CURE FOR LONELINESS
We’re weirder than we like to admit. We often can’t say what’s really on our minds. But in books we find descriptions of who we genuinely are and what events, described with an honesty quite different from what ordinary conversation allows for. In the best books, it’s as if the writer knows us better than we know ourselves — they find the words to describe the fragile, weird, special experiences of our inner lives… Writers open our hearts and minds, and give us maps to our own selves, so that we can travel in them more reliably and with less of a feeling of paranoia or persecution…

IT PREPARES YOU FOR FAILURE
All of our lives, one of our greatest fears is of failure, of messing up, of becoming, as the tabloids put it, “a loser.” Every day, the media takes us into stories of failure. Interestingly, a lot of literature is also about failure — in one way or another, a great many novels, plays, poems are about people who messed up… Great books don’t judge as harshly or as one-dimensionally as the media…

Literature deserves its prestige for one reason above all others — because it’s a tool to help us live and die with a little bit more wisdom, goodness, and sanity.

Source: http://www.brainpickings.org/2014/10/09/school-of-life-literature-reading/

Part five summary

Death makes a "small" (he says small because he doesn't give much details about it) announcement about Rudy's  death. Death says that he feels bad about spoiling the book, but he hates mysteries. He confesses too that he feels bad to take Rudy away.
Death says that a game started, and in this game there is a seven sided die. He uses this die to represent the events that happened when Max lived with the Hubermanns which are: The Haircut, The Newspaper, The Weatherman, The Boxer, The New Dream, The Painters and The Showdown. The seven sided die is a very good symbol for the history. It shows us that Max and the Hubermanns' future is uncertain
We can notice that Death likes to show us his opinion on everything. As a consequence, the reader starts to think like Death, to imagine what is going to happen based on Death's point of view.
We then move to The Haircut:
The Hubermanns are discussing because Rosa can't find the scissors to cut Max's hair. It shows us that Hans and Rosa aren't a very "peaceful" couple, as they discuss for little things.
Liesel goes to the mayor's wife library frequently. Once, she is tempted to say that there is a Jew at her house, but she doesn't say this.
Liesel picks up crosswords to Max. The two are very good friends, because Liesel feels that Max suffered the same things that she suffered. The two lost their families. Hans is very bonded to Max too. He feels that, by helping Max, he is helping his old friend Erik. Liesel informs Max the weather, and once, inspired by what Liesel related, he made a drawing.
 Max feels that he is getting very weak so he starts to exercise to be entertained and to recover his strength. Sometimes he even imagines himself boxing Hitler. We can notice many aspects of the "true" war in this fight. The referee says that Hitler and Max should fight cleanly, but Hitler could fight "dirty" if he was losing. In Germany it's pretty similar. When Max knocks-out Hitler, the Fuhrer takes off his gloves and asks for the Germans who were watching the fight to, together, fight against the Jew. The Germans agree. It shows us that, even if Hitler wasn't very strong physically, when he spoke he was very powerful.
The last person that enters in the ring was a girl, who brings a newspaper to Max. It was Liesel. Again, in his fantasy, we can notice another aspect of the German reality: even if many Germans don't like him, Liesel likes him very much.
Death says that there was a German and a Jew in a basement. It seems like a joke, but it wasn't, says the narrator. It shows us that something important is about to happen.
We then move to "The Painters"
When Liesel goes to the mayor's house, Frau Herrman gives an envelope to the girl. The woman doesn't want her service anymore. Liesel feels the hate inside her, and verbally attacks Frau Hermann. After, she feels very bad for that.

Rudy's youth

Death says that Rudy and Tommy Muller have the same three problems:
-Tommy's ears
-Franz Deutscher, the Hitler's Youth leader
-Rudy's inability to stay out of things

Rudy tells Liesel his problems, and asks to Liesel for a kiss, to comfort him, but as always, she refuses.


The losers


The apple thief gang has now a new leader. In the place of Arthur Berg, a fair and generous leader, there is Viktor Chemmel, a kind of young Hitler. He has no respect for Rudy, who tries to makes the apple thief gang a fair and friendly gang, and disrespectful, completely different from Arthur. Now Rudy has another enemy, and things starts to get worse for him.


Sketches

To get entertained, Max tries to write an autobiography, but his exile makes the book a couple of different ideas. When Max tries to sketch, he closes the book and goes to bed. Some time after, Liesel goes to the basement and reads some pages of the book.


The whistler and the shoes

Rudy is very sad with his new leaders, and to comfort him, Liesel decides to steal food from the mayor's house (we can notice that Liesel got attached to Rosa, because she wants to revenge her mother) with him. When she faces the opportunity, she realizes that her true focus was to steal the book "The Whistler" and not food. When she leaves the house, she realizes that she forgot her shoes there. Rudy enters there and gets it, in a courageous act. From Rudy, Liesel receives the title of "The Book Thief".

Three Acts of Stupidity by Rudy Steiner

Death says that Rudy did three acts of stupidity:
-Stole the biggest potato from Mamer's the local grocer
-Talking to Franz Deutscher on Munich Street
-Miss all the Hitler Youth meetings
Rudy behaviour is getting dangerous. He refuses to go to the Hitler Youth, even if his parents are begging him to. His older brother proposes that he can go to his division, with older boys. Rudy accepts, and for the first time,  his stupid behaviour brings him benefits.

The Floating Book

Rudy and Liesel are talking, when Viktor Schmeikl appears. He takes the book that Liesel has in her hands and asks for money to give it back for her. Liesel doesn't accept, and Viktor flings the book in a river. Rudy, in another courageous act, swims in the cold water and picks the book. He expects to get a kiss from Liesel, but once again, she doesn't kiss him. For the last time in Rudy's life.

Part Five: The Whistler – Guidelines for a well-structured summary

“The Floating Book” (Part I)

1. What announcement does Death make about Rudy Steiner?  Why would Death characterizes the announcement as “small?”

2. What does Death foreshadow regarding Rudy’s death? How does Death feel about Rudy’s death?

“The Gamblers (A Seven"Sided Die)”

1. Why do you think the symbol of a seven-sided die is selected by the author? 

2. List the seven sides of the die.

3. Death explains his own interests to the reader.  How does that explanation support the idea that the point of view matters to the theme and overall power of a novel?

4. Max asks Rosa to cut his hair, but she is unable to find the scissors.  As the scene plays out, what does it reveal about life in the Hubermann household?

5. What is Liesel tempted to tell the mayor’s wife?  Why?

6. What bonded Erik and Hans?  What bonds LIesel and Max?  Explain.

7. What inspires Max to draw the picture of himself and Liesel walking the tightrope to the sun?

8. Why does Max exercise?

9. As Max becomes stronger, he imagines he is boxing Hitler. How do the rules the referee states mimic the reality of life in Germany?

10. What does Hitler shout to the audience watching the imaginary fight?  What does he ask them in his rhetorical tongue? How does the  audience  respond? What does this symbolize?

11. Who is the last individual to enter the ring? What does this symbolize?

12. How does Death relate Max’s dream to the well-recognized joke, “There’s a Jew  and a German Standing in a basement, right?” Do you find the reference powerful? Explain.

13. Why is the seven"sided die an appropriate symbol for this story?

14. What does the mayor’s wife give to Liesel? How does Liesel respond?

15.What form does Liesel’s subconscious take when she is verbally attacking the mayor’s wife?

16. How does Liesel feel after her verbal assault of Frau Hermann? Explain.

“Rudy’s Youth”

1. What three problems characterize Rudy’s young life? Explain.

2.The story flashes forward two years, what does Liesel long to do?  What does Liesel come tounderstand about her, and Rudy’s experiences with the Hitler Youth?

“The Losers”

1. Briefly identify Viktor Chemmel on the character grid.

2. Compare Viktor Chemmel and Arthur Berg as leaders. What parallels  might  you draw between their leadership styles and leaders from this historical period?

3. On what terms do Viktor and Rudy separate?

“Sketches”

1.Max spends his time writing a book for Liesel.  He intends the book to be an autobiography, but that is not what emerges.  What inspires Max’s writing? How does the book change?

2. What happens when Liesel sneaks a peek of Max’s sketches?

“The Whistler and the Shoes”

1. Why does Rudy tell Liesel, “I need a win, Liesel.  Honestly.”?

2.Liesel decides that stealing something, more specifically, stealing something back, would be the best way to improve Rudy’s spirits?  From whom does Liesel choose to steal? What Does she realize when the opportunity to steal presents itself?

3.Hearing  someone walking on the floor above her, Liesel finds the book, goes  out  the window, and she and Rudy run away. What does Liesel realize has been left behind? What does Rudy do?

4.What indication does the reader have that Liesel has become as attached to Rosa as she has to Hans?

5. What “official title” does Liesel receive in October of 1941? By whom?

“Three Acts of Stupidity by Rudy Steiner”

1. List the three acts of stupidity that Death provides.

2.Why is Rudy’s behavior so dangerous?

Why  does  Rudy  behave  so  dangerously? What  is the result of Rudy’s behavior?

“The Floating Book (Part II)”

1. When and how does Rudy finally get his victory?

2. Why does Rudy remain in the freezing water longer than necessary?

3. Does Rudy finally get his kiss?