What Has Happened to Gregor?

As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect. He was lying on his hard, as it were armor-plated, back and when he lifted his head a little he could see his domelike

brown belly divided into stiff arched segments on top of which the bed quilt could hardly keep in position and was about to slide off completely. His numerous legs, which were pitifully thin compared to the rest of his bulk, waved helplessly

before his eyes.

What has happened to me? he thought. It was no dream. His room, a regular human bedroom, only rather too small, lay quiet between the four familiar walls.

Above the table on which a collection of cloth samples was unpacked and spread out Samsa was a commercial traveler hung the picture which he had recently cut out of an illustrated magazine and put into a pretty gilt frame. It showed a

lady, with a fur cap on and a fur stole, sitting upright and holding out to the spectator a huge fur muff into which the whole of her forearm had vanished!

. . . .

He slid down again into his former position. This getting up early, he thought, makes one quite stupid. A man needs his sleep. Other commercials live like harem women. For instance, when I come back to the hotel of a morning to write up the

orders Ive got, these others are only sitting down to breakfast. Let me just try that with my chief; Id be sacked on the spot. Anyhow, that might be quite a good thing for me, who can tell? If I didnt have to hold my hand because of my parents Id

have given notice long ago, Id have gone to the chief and told him exactly what I think of him. That would knock him endways from his desk! Its a queer way of doing, too, this sitting on high at a desk and talking down to employees, especially

when they have to come quite near because the chief is hard of hearing. Well, theres still hope; once Ive saved enough money to pay back my parents debts to him that should take another five or six years Ill do it without fail. Ill cut myself

completely loose then. For the moment, though, Id better get up, since my train goes at five.

Franz Kafka, from The Metamorphosis (1912)

Why must Gregor keep his current job for several more years?

A. His parents owe his boss money.

B. Gregor is an apprentice and must complete his program.

C. Gregor wants to take over the chief 's job.

D. His parents own the company he works for.

E. He needs to earn enough money to buy a bigger house for his family.

What Did the Speaker Learn from Alfonso?

Alfonso I am not the first poet born to my family. We have painters and singers, actors and carpenters.

I inherited my trade from my zio, Alfonso. Zio maybe was the tallest man in the village, he certainly was the widest. He lost his voice to cigarettes before I was born, but still he roared with his hands, his eyes, with his brow, and his deafening

smile.

He worked the sea with my nonno fishing in silence among the grottoes so my father could learn to write and read and not speak like the guaglione, filled with curses and empty pockets.

He would watch me write with wonder, I could hear him on the couch, he looked at the lines over my shoulder, tried to teach himself to read late in the soft Adriatic darkness. Wine-stained pages gave him away.

But I learned to write from Zio He didnt need words, still he taught me the language of silence, the way the sun can describe a shadow, a gesture can paint a moment, a scent could fill an entire village with words and color and sound, a

perfect little grape tomato can be the most beautiful thing in the world, seen through the right eyes.

Marco A. Annunziata (2002)

Reprinted by permission of the author.

Which of the following statements about Alfonso is true?

A. He was a poet.

B. He could not speak.

C. He could speak many languages.

D. He was a farmer.

E. He was also a painter.

How Are Robots Different from Humans?

[Helena is talking to Domain, the general manager of Rossums Universal Robots factory.]

DOMAIN: Well, any one whos looked into anatomy will have seen at once that man is too complicated, and that a good engineer could make him more simply. So young Rossum began to overhaul anatomy and tried to see what could be left

out or simplified. In short but this isnt boring you, Miss Glory?

HELENA: No; on the contrary, its awfully interesting.

DOMAIN: So young Rossum said to himself: A man is something that, for instance, feels happy, plays the fiddle, likes going for walks, and, in fact, wants to do a whole lot of things that are really unnecessary.

HELENA: Oh!

DOMAIN: Wait a bit. That are unnecessary when hes wanted, let us say, to weave or to count. Do you play the fiddle?

HELENA: No.

DOMAIN: Thats a pity. But a working machine must not want to play the fiddle, must not feel happy, must not do a whole lot of other things. A petrol motor must not have tassels or ornaments, Miss Glory. And to manufacture artificial workers

is the same thing as to manufacture motors. The process must be of the simplest, and the product of the best from a practical point of view. What sort of worker do you think is the best from a practical point of view?

HELENA: The best? Perhaps the one who is most honest and hard-working.

DOMAIN: No, the cheapest. The one whose needs are the smallest. Young Rossum invented a worker with the minimum amount of requirements. He had to simplify him. He rejected everything that did not contribute directly to the progress of

work. In this way he rejected everything that made man more expensive. In fact, he rejected man and made the Robot. My dear Miss Glory, the Robots are not people. Mechanically they are more perfect than we are, they have an enormously

developed intelligence, but they have no soul. Have you ever seen what a Robot looks like inside? HELENA: Good gracious, no!

DOMAIN: Very neat, very simple. Really a beautiful piece of work. Not much in it, but everything in flawless order. The product of an engineer is technically at a higher pitch of perfection than a product of nature.

HELENA: Man is supposed to be the product of nature.

DOMAIN: So much the worse.

Karel C apek,

from R.U.R. (1923, translated by P. Selver)

Rossum created robots because

A. humans are complicated and inefficient.

B. humans are not honest enough.

C. robots are always happy.

D. he wanted to see if he could.

E. there weren't enough people to do the work.

How Are Robots Different from Humans?

[Helena is talking to Domain, the general manager of Rossums Universal Robots factory.]

DOMAIN: Well, any one whos looked into anatomy will have seen at once that man is too complicated, and that a good engineer could make him more simply. So young Rossum began to overhaul anatomy and tried to see what could be left

out or simplified. In short but this isnt boring you, Miss Glory?

HELENA: No; on the contrary, its awfully interesting.

DOMAIN: So young Rossum said to himself: A man is something that, for instance, feels happy, plays the fiddle, likes going for walks, and, in fact, wants to do a whole lot of things that are really unnecessary.

HELENA: Oh!

DOMAIN: Wait a bit. That are unnecessary when hes wanted, let us say, to weave or to count. Do you play the fiddle?

HELENA: No.

DOMAIN: Thats a pity. But a working machine must not want to play the fiddle, must not feel happy, must not do a whole lot of other things. A petrol motor must not have tassels or ornaments, Miss Glory. And to manufacture artificial workers

is the same thing as to manufacture motors. The process must be of the simplest, and the product of the best from a practical point of view. What sort of worker do you think is the best from a practical point of view?

HELENA: The best? Perhaps the one who is most honest and hard-working.

DOMAIN: No, the cheapest. The one whose needs are the smallest. Young Rossum invented a worker with the minimum amount of requirements. He had to simplify him. He rejected everything that did not contribute directly to the progress of

work. In this way he rejected everything that made man more expensive. In fact, he rejected man and made the Robot. My dear Miss Glory, the Robots are not people. Mechanically they are more perfect than we are, they have an enormously

developed intelligence, but they have no soul. Have you ever seen what a Robot looks like inside? HELENA: Good gracious, no!

DOMAIN: Very neat, very simple. Really a beautiful piece of work. Not much in it, but everything in flawless order. The product of an engineer is technically at a higher pitch of perfection than a product of nature.

HELENA: Man is supposed to be the product of nature.

DOMAIN: So much the worse.

Karel C apek,

from R.U.R. (1923, translated by P. Selver)

Based on the passage, Rossum is most likely

A. a robot.

B. a part-time inventor.

C. a retired doctor.

D. a foreman in the factory.

E. a very intelligent engineer.

What Happened When He Came to America? My parents lost friends, lost family ties and patterns of mutual assistance, lost rituals and habits and favorite foods, lost any link to an ongoing social milieu, lost a good part of the sense they had of themselves. We lost a house, several towns, various landscapes. We lost documents and pictures and heirlooms, as well as most of our breakable belongings, smashed in the nine packing cases that we took with us to America. We lost connection to a thing larger than ourselves, and as a family failed to make any significant new connection in exchange, so that we were left aground on a sandbar barely big enough for our feet. I lost friends and relatives and stories and familiar comforts and a sense of continuity between home and outside and any sense that I was normal. I lost half a language through want of use and eventually, in my late teens, even lost French as the language of my internal monologue. And I lost a whole network of routes through life that I had just barely glimpsed. Hastening on toward some idea of a future, I only half-realized these losses, and when I did realize I didnt disapprove, and sometimes I actively colluded. At some point, though, I was bound to notice that there was a gulf inside me, with a blanketed form on the other side that hadnt been uncovered in decades. My project of self-invention had been successful, so much so that I had become a sort of hydroponic vegetable, growing soil-free. But I had been formed in another world; everything in me that was essential was owed to immersion in that place, and that time, that I had so effectively renounced. [ . . . . ] Like it or not, each of us is made, less by blood or genes than by a process that is largely accidental, the impact of things seen and heard and smelled and tasted and endured in those few years before our clay hardens. Offhand remarks, things glimpsed in passing, jokes and commonplaces, shop displays and climate and flickering light and textures of walls are all consumed by us and become part of our fiber, just as much as the more obvious effects of upbringing and socialization and intimacy and learning. Every human being is an archeological site. Luc Sante, from The Factory of Facts (1998) In the first paragraph, the writer lists more than a dozen things that he and his family lost when they immigrated to America. He does this in order to

A. convince others not to immigrate.

B. show how careless his family was when packing.

C. show how much he missed his homeland.

D. show how many intangible and important things were left behind.

E. prove that you are never too old to change..

What Happened When He Came to America? My parents lost friends, lost family ties and patterns of mutual assistance, lost rituals and habits and favorite foods, lost any link to an ongoing social milieu, lost a good part of the sense they had of themselves. We lost a house, several towns, various landscapes. We lost documents and pictures and heirlooms, as well as most of our breakable belongings, smashed in the nine packing cases that we took with us to America. We lost connection to a thing larger than ourselves, and as a family failed to make any significant new connection in exchange, so that we were left aground on a sandbar barely big enough for our feet. I lost friends and relatives and stories and familiar comforts and a sense of continuity between home and outside and any sense that I was normal. I lost half a language through want of use and eventually, in my late teens, even lost French as the language of my internal monologue. And I lost a whole network of routes through life that I had just barely glimpsed. Hastening on toward some idea of a future, I only half-realized these losses, and when I did realize I didnt disapprove, and sometimes I actively colluded. At some point, though, I was bound to notice that there was a gulf inside me, with a blanketed form on the other side that hadnt been uncovered in decades. My project of self-invention had been successful, so much so that I had become a sort of hydroponic vegetable, growing soil-free. But I had been formed in another world; everything in me that was essential was owed to immersion in that place, and that time, that I had so effectively renounced. [ . . . . ] Like it or not, each of us is made, less by blood or genes than by a process that is largely accidental, the impact of things seen and heard and smelled and tasted and endured in those few years before our clay hardens. Offhand remarks, things glimpsed in passing, jokes and commonplaces, shop displays and climate and flickering light and textures of walls are all consumed by us and become part of our fiber, just as much as the more obvious effects of upbringing and socialization and intimacy and learning. Every human being is an archeological site. Luc Sante, from The Factory of Facts (1998) When the author came to America, he

A. embraced American culture.

B. rejected his roots.

C. made sure to keep his heritage alive.

D. became withdrawn.

E. became very possessive about things he owned.

Why Are the Characters Arguing?

[Sophie, the narrator, is talking with Tante Atie.

The first line is spoken by Tante Atie.]

"Do you know why I always wished I could read?" Her teary eyes gazed directly into mine. "I don't know why." I tried to answer as politely as I could. "It was always my dream to read," she said, "so I could read that old Bible under my pillow

and find the answers to everything right there between those pages. What do you think that old Bible would have us do right now, about this moment?" "I don't know," I said.

"How can you not know?" she asked. "You try to tell me there is all wisdom in reading but at a time like this you disappoint me." "You lied!" I shouted. She grabbed both my ears and twisted them until they burned. I stomped my feet and

walked away. As I rushed to bed, I began to take off my clothes so quickly that I almost tore them off my body. The smell of lemon perfume stung my nose as I pulled the sheet over my head. "I did not lie," she said, "I kept a secret, which is

different. I wanted to tell you. I needed time to reconcile myself, to accept it. It was very sudden, just a cassette from Martine saying, I want my daughter, and then as fast as you can put two fingers together to snap, she sends me a plane

ticket with a date on it. I am not even certain that she is doing this properly. Alls he tells me is that she arranged it with a woman who works on the airplane." "Was I ever going to know?" I asked. "I was going to put you to sleep, put you in a

suitcase, and send you to her. One day you would wake up there and you would feel like your whole life here with me was a dream." She tried to force out a laugh, but it didn't make it past her throat.

Edwidge Danticat, from Breath, Eyes,Memory (1998)

How will Tante Atie feel when the narrator is gone?

A. happy

B. relieved

C. angry

D. sad

E. afraid

What Is the Author Asking for?

The President in Washington sends word that he wishes to buy our land. But how can you buy or sell the sky? The land? The idea is strange to us. If we do not own the freshness of the air and the sparkle of the water, how can you buy them?

Every part of this earth is sacred to my people. Every shining pine needle, every sandy shore, every mist in dark woods, every meadow, every humming insect. All are holy in the memory and experience of my people.

We know the sap which courses through the trees as we know the blood that courses through our veins. We are part of the earth and it is part of us. The perfumed flowers are our sisters. The bear, the deer, the great eagle, these are our

brothers. The rocky crests, the juices in the meadow, the body heat of the pony, and man, all belong to the same family.

The shining water that moves in the streams and rivers is not just water, but the blood of our ancestors. If we sell you our land, you must remember that it is sacred. Each ghostly reflection in the clear water of the lakes tells of events and

memories in the life of my people. The waters murmur is the voice of my fathers father.

The rivers are our brothers. They quench our thirst. They carry out canoes and feed our children. So you must give to the rivers the kindness you would give any brother. If we sell you our land, remember that the air is precious to us, that the

air shares its spirit with all the life it supports. The wind that gave our grandfather his first breath also receives his last sigh. The wind also gives our children the spirit of life. So, if we sell you our land, you must keep it apart and sacred, as a

place where man can go to taste the wind that is sweetened by the meadow flowers.

Will you teach your children what we have taught our children? That the earth is our mother? What befalls the earth, befalls all sons of the earth. This we know:

The earth does not belong to man, man belongs to the earth. All things are connected like the blood which unites us all.

-

Chief Seattle, from "This We Know" (1854) The intended audience of this essay is most likely

A.

President George Washington only.

B.

Native Americans only.

C.

all new Americans.

D.

all Americans, Native and new.

E.

Chief Seattle himself.

How Does the Speaker Feel about War?

War Is Kind Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind. Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky And the affrighted steed ran on alone, Do not weep. War is kind.

Hoarse, booming drums of the regiment Little souls who thirst for fight, These men were born to drill and die The unexplained glory flies above them Great is the battle-god, great, and his kingdom

A field where a thousand corpses lie. Do not weep, babe, for war is kind. Because your father tumbled in the yellow trenches, Raged at his breast, gulped and died, Do not weep. War is kind. Swift, blazing flag of the regiment Eagle with crest

of red and gold, These men were born to drill and die Point for them the virtue of slaughter Make plain to them the excellence of killing And a field where a thousand corpses lie.

Mother whose heart hung humble as a button On the bright splendid shroud of your son, Do not weep. War is kind.

Stephen Crane, 1899

Which of the following best conveys the theme of the poem?

A. War is unkind, but necessary.

B. There is no virtue in war.

C. We should not weep for soldiers, because they died in glory.

D. Everyone must sacrifice in a war.

E. There are many ways to die in a war.

How Does the Speaker Feel about War?

War Is Kind Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind. Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky And the affrighted steed ran on alone, Do not weep. War is kind.

Hoarse, booming drums of the regiment Little souls who thirst for fight, These men were born to drill and die The unexplained glory flies above them Great is the battle-god, great, and his kingdom

A field where a thousand corpses lie. Do not weep, babe, for war is kind. Because your father tumbled in the yellow trenches, Raged at his breast, gulped and died, Do not weep. War is kind. Swift, blazing flag of the regiment Eagle with crest

of red and gold, These men were born to drill and die Point for them the virtue of slaughter Make plain to them the excellence of killing And a field where a thousand corpses lie.

Mother whose heart hung humble as a button On the bright splendid shroud of your son, Do not weep. War is kind.

Stephen Crane, 1899

The speaker addresses three people in the poem: a maiden (line 2), a babe (a child, line 16), and a mother (line 28).What feeling in these listeners is the speaker addressing?

A. their grief

B. their pride

C. their anger

D. their joy

E. their fear