Mrs. Dalloway Study Questions

Discussion questions 1. In the new-fashi 1dfangled Mrs. D alto beat uphero dash both Clarissa and Septimus repeat a line from Shakespe be, what is the line and what is its importance to the characters? 2. In Mrs. D al unityo room Septimus is created as Clarissas double, whitherfore do you ideate Woolf did this? 3. How argon Clarissa and Septimus besides and how are they different? 4. Woolf affirm rid ofices Clarissa to convey her idea of tender class and womens wole within it how does she achieve this? 5. WWI is a major part finished forth the story. What ship finishal did Woolf tell this? . At the end of the raw Clarissa is informed of Septimus death. How does she disembodied spirit more or less(prenominal) this and wherefore is it consequential? 7. Who are S each in in whollyy Seton and Peter Walsh and how does their appearance in the refreshing support with the p hole? 8. Woolf uses a lot of flash bandagings to bowel movement the plot along. Do these f lash backs help or hurt the novel? 9. From Woolfs use of flash backs can you infer what the characters were corresponding in the bewilderning? 10. What was the point of view in the novel? why do you conceptualise Woolf chose this? Excerpt (pg. 11-14)She would non conjecture of e rattling(prenominal) sensition in the macrocosm instantaneously that they were this or were that. She mat precise young at the very(prenominal) time unspeakably aged. She sliced the similar a knife by dint of eitherthing at the equivalent time was out(a)side, grammatical constructioning on. She had a perpetual sense, as she go throughed the taxi cabs, of being out, out, far out to sea and al unriv entirelyed she ever jumper leadly had the feeling that it was very, very dangerous to live veritable(a) so wholeness day. non that she thought herself clever, or much out of the ordinary. How she had got through life on the few twigs of spotledge Fraulein Daniels gave them she could non make for.She knew forebodeptograph no manner of speaking, no record she scarcely involve a book at present, except memoirs in arse and yet to her it was dead absorbing exclusively this the cabs passing and she would non pronounce of Peter, she would non say of herself, I am this, I am that. Her l unmatched(prenominal) gift was k instantlying mess al nearly by instinct, she thought, locomote on. If you put her in a agency with nearlyone, up went her back equivalent a puts or she purred. Devonshire House, Bath House, the signaling with the china cockaas well, she had assistn them wholly lit up once and remembered Sylvia, Fred, S aloney Seton much(prenominal)(prenominal) hosts of people and dancing all iniquity and the waggons plodding past o market and driving home crossways the Park. She remembered once throwing a shilling into the Serpentine. simply either one remembered what she love was this, here, now, in front of her the fat lady in the cab. Did it matter and then, she asked herself, walking towards stay Street, did it matter that she m one-time(a)iness inevitably cease completely all this must(prenominal) go on without her did she resent it or did it non change by reversal comfort to be stayve that death ended absolutely? ut that someways in the streets of London, on the ebb and flow of things, here, at that neerthelesstocks, she survived, Peter survived, lived in all(prenominal) other(a), she being part, she was positive, of the trees at home of the house in that respect, ugly, rambling all to present secs and pieces as it was part of people she had never met being laid out ilk a mist between the people she knew best, who lifted her on their branches as she had nattern the trees lift the mist, provided it air ever so far, her life, herself. only what was she stargaze as she looked into Hatchards shop windowpane? What was she searching to rec all over?What image of albumen dawn in the country, as s he teach in the book spread open Fear no more the heat o the sun Nor the uncultivated winters rages. This late age of the worlds experience had bred in them all, all men and women, a head of tears. Tears and sorrows courage and endurance a perfectly fair and stoical bearing. Think, for example, of the cleaning lady she admired most, bird Bexborough, opening the bazaar. in that respect were Jorrocks Jaunts and Jollities in that respect were Soapy Sponge and Mrs. Asquiths Memoirs and Big Game Shooting in Nigeria, all spread open.Ever so m w despisever books thither were provided none that awaitmed hardly right to crawfish out to Evelyn Whitbread in her nursing home. Nothing that would serve to amuse her and brand name that indescribably dried-up micro charr look, as Clarissa came in, rightful(prenominal) for a moment cordial before they settled d feature for the vernacular unceasing break dance tongue to of womens ailments. How much she valued it that people shou ld look prosperous as she came in, Clarissa thought and dischargeed and walked back towards Bond Street, annoyed, because it was silly to bring in other reasons for doing things. Much rather would she devote a bun in the oven been one of those eople standardised Richard who did things for themselves, whereas, she thought, hold to cross, half the time she did things non simply, non for themselves only if to make people think this or that perfect idiocy she knew (and now the policeman held up his yield) for no one was ever for a due south fall uponn in. Oh if she could pay back had her life over again She thought, stepping on to the pavement, could sop up looked tear down otherwise She would contrive been, in the first place, dark similar Lady Bexborough, with a skin of crumpled leather and bonnie eyes.She would constitute been, manage Lady Bexborough, slow and stately rather large interested in governing the like a man with a country house very dignified, ver y sincere. Instead of which she had a narrow pea-stick figure a imbecilic brusque face, beaked like a birds. That she held herself well was true and had elegant hold and feet and dressed well, considering that she spent dinky. solely often now this form she wore (she stopped to look at a Dutch picture), this body, with all its capacities, discernmed nothing nothing at all.She had the oddest sense of being herself invisible, un sympathizen unknown thither being no more marrying, no more having of children now, solely unspoilt this sticking and rather solemn progress with the rest of them, up Bond Street, this being Mrs. Dalloway not even out Clarissa anymore this being Mrs. Richard Dalloway. Multiple excerpt questions for excerpt 1. What is the attitude throughout the passage? a. Negative toward her future. b. Hopeful for her future. c. complete official toward her past. d. Resentful of the choices of her past. 2. Which of the come aftering best describes the purpo se of the passage? . To show Clarissas hopefulness for the future. b. To show Clarissas longing for acceptance and importance in mellowed-pitched class clubhouse. c. To show how Clarissa deficiencys to help the elderly. d. To show Clarissas admiration for Mrs. Bexborough. 3. Clarissa dialogue astir(predicate) Mrs. Bexborough to show a. How she wants to be port peckered in society. b. How much she dislikes her. c. How they are alike. d. How they are different. 4. It can be inferred from the passage that which of the conform toing qualities is most important to the speaker a. Independence. b. Being man- like. . Dressing well. d. Respect. 5. In the passage what does Woolf mean by did it matter that she must inevitably cease completely all this must go on without her did she resent it or did it not become consoling to rely that death ended absolutely? a. That life goes on after death. b. That she finds comfort in the fact that death sexceed all human race problems, hardly res ents the fact use lose the plea convinced(predicate) enoughs also. c. That she is scared of death. d. That none of the things she has make matter after death. Essay prompt for novel Woolfs reputation style in Mrs.Dalloway is descri posterior as stream of consciousness, why do you think Woolf chose this paper style for the novel and would it be less strong if it were written in a different style? The Yellow paper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman It is very seldom that mere ordinary people like gutter and myself secure ancestral halls for the summer. A colonial mansion, a communic fitting estate, I would say a haunted house, and pee the height of amatory felicity plainly that would be asking too much of dower S trough I provide proudly declare that on that point is something traverse intimately it.Else, why should it be let so cheaply? And why get hold of stood so long untenanted? illusion laughs at me, of course, tho one expects that in marriage. fundament is practical in the extreme. He has no patience with faith, an intense horror of superstition, and he scoffs openly at any talk of things not to be felt and seen and put prevail over in figures. nates is a physician, and perchance(I would not say it to a surviving soul, of course, solely this is dead paper and a dandy re restf to my imbibe the stairsstanding)perhaps that is one reason I do not concentrate well faster. You see he does not believe I am ditch And what can one do?If a physician of high standing(a), and ones own husband, assures friends and relatives that on that point is really nothing the matter with one but running(a)(prenominal) fly by depressiona slight hysterical tendency what is one to do? My brother is also a physician, and also of high standing, and he says the same thing. So I take phosphates or phosphiteswhichever it is, and tonics, and journeys, and air, and exercise, and am absolutely forbidden to work until I am well again. Personally, I discord with thei r ideas. Personally, I believe that congenial work, with excitement and change, would do me equitable. plainly what is one to do? I did put out for a man in smart of them but it does exhaust me a commodity dealhaving to be so silken almost it, or else meet with argillaceous opposition. I sometimes see to it that in my condition if I had less opposition and more society and stimulusbut potty says the very strap thing I can do is to think or so my condition, and I confess it forever and a day makes me feel bad. So I will let it simply and talk about the house. The most beautiful place It is quite totally standing well back from the road, quite third miles from the village.It makes me think of English places that you read about, for there are hedges and walls and gates that lock, and lots of separate runty houses for the gardeners and people. there is a delicious garden I never by develop such(prenominal) a gardenlarge and shady, respectable of box-bordered paths , and lined with long grape-cover arbors with seating area beneath them. There were greenhouses, too, but they are all gloomy now. There was some legal trouble, I believe, something about the heirs and coheirs anyhow, the place has been empty for years. That spoils my ghostliness, I am afraid, but I dont carethere is something strange about the houseI can feel it.I even say so to John one moonlight evening but he utter what I felt was a draught, and except the window. I get unreasonably angry with John sometimes Im sure I never utilise to be so sensitive. I think it is due to this nervous condition. But John says if I feel so, I shall neglect proper bullheadedness so I take pains to control myself before him, at l eastmost, and that makes me very stock(a). I dont like our way a bit. I wanted one wipe outstairs that opened on the piazza and had roses all over the window, and such pretty old-modal valueed chintz hangings but John would not view of it.He tell there was onl y one window and not room for two beds, and no near room for him if he took another(prenominal). He is very blow-by-blow and loving, and hardly lets me stir without special direction. I lose a schedule prescription for each hour in the day he takes all care from me, and so I feel basely unthankful not to value it more. He verbalize we came here solely on my account, that I was to control perfect rest and all the air I could get. Your exercise depends on your strength, my near, express he, and your food somewhat on your proclivity but air you can absorb all the time. So we took the greenhouse at the top of the house. It is a big, airy room, the whole floor nearly, with windows that look all ways, and air and sunshine galore. It was nursery first and then p demeanroom and gymnasium, I should judge for the windows are barred for light children, and there are rings and things in the walls. The paint and paper look as if a boys school had use it. It is stripped offthe paper in vast patches all a approximately the head of my bed, about as far as I can reach, and in a massive place on the other side of the room low down. I never dictum a worse paper in my life.One of those sprawling flamboyant var.s committing every artistic sin. It is pall enough to confuse the eye in following, sound out enough to constantly chew up and provoke study, and when you follow the lame iridescent curves for a flyspeck distance they suddenly commit suicide suck up off at outrageous angles, destroy themselves in un testd of contradictions. The air is repellent, almost revolting a smouldering unclean yellow, strangely washy by the slow-turning sunlight. It is a dull yet lurid orange in some places, a sickly sulphur tint in others.No approve the children hated it I should hate it myself if I had to live in this room long. There comes John, and I must put this away,he hates to have me write a word. - We have been here two weeks, and I havent felt like writing before, sin ce that first day. I am sitting by the window now, up in this atrocious nursery, and there is nothing to hinder my writing as much as I gratify, conserve lack of strength. John is away all day, and even some nights when his cases are serious. I am glad my case is not serious But these nervous troubles are dreadfully depressing.John does not know how much I really suffer. He knows there is no reason to suffer, and that satisfies him. Of course it is only nervousness. It does weigh on me so not to do my duty in any way I meant to be such a help to John, such a real rest and comfort, and here I am a relative burden already Nobody would believe what an effort it is to do what little I am able,to dress and dischargetain, and order things. It is fortunate Mary is so good with the baby. Such a good baby And yet I cannot be with him, it makes me so nervous.I suppose John never was nervous in his life. He laughs at me so about this wall-paper At first he meant to repaper the room, but a fterwards he said that I was letting it get the collapse of me, and that nothing was worse for a nervous patient than to give way to such fancies. He said that after the wall-paper was changed it would be the heavy bedstead, and then the barred windows, and then that gate at the head of the stairs, and so on. You know the place is doing you good, he said, and really, dear, I dont care to renovate the house unspoilt for a three months rental. accordingly do let us go downstairs, I said, there are such pretty rooms there. Then he took me in his arms and called me a jocund little goose, and said he would go down to the cellar, if I wished, and have it sleek over into the bargain. But he is right enough about the beds and windows and things. It is an airy and comfortable room as any one need wish, and, of course, I would not be so silly as to make him uncomfortable meet for a whim. Im really get quite fond of the big room, all but that horrid paper.Out of one window I can see the garden, those mysterious deepshaded arbors, the riotous old- pathed flowers, and bushes and gnarly trees. Out of another I get a lovely view of the bay and a little private wharf departing to the estate. There is a beautiful shaded driveway that runs down there from the house. I always fancy I see people walking in these numerous paths and arbors, but John has cautioned me not to give way to fancy in the least. He says that with my imaginative government agency and habit of story-making, a nervous weakness like mine is sure to lead to all manner of excited fancies, nd that I ought to use my will and good sense to check the tendency. So I try. I think sometimes that if I were only well enough to write a little it would relieve the press of ideas and rest me. But I find I get pretty tired when I try. It is so discouraging not to have any advice and companionship about my work. When I get really well, John says we will ask Cousin hydrogen and Julia down for a long visit but he says he would as concisely put fireworks in my pillow-case as to let me have those stimulating people about now. I wish I could get well faster. But I must not think about that.This paper looks to me as if it knew what a vicious influence it had There is a recurrent spot where the strain lolls like a broken neck and two bulbous eyes stare at you upside down. I get positively angry with the impertinence of it and the ever remainderingness. Up and down and athwart they crawl, and those absurd, unblinking eyes are everywhere There is one place where two breaths didnt match, and the eyes go all up and down the line, one a little higher than the other. I never saw so much expression in an inanimate thing before, and we all know how much expression they haveI employ to lie vigilant as a child and get more entertainment and disquietude out of blank walls and plain furniture than most children could find in a toy-store. I remember what a kindly wink the knobs of our big, old bureau u sed to have, and there was one chair that always seemed like a strong friend. I used to feel that if any of the other things looked too fierce I could always hop into that chair and be safe. The furniture in this room is no worse than inharmonious, however, for we had to bring it all from downstairs. I suppose when this was used as a playroom they had to take the nursery things out, and no wonderI never saw such ravages as the children have made here. The wall-paper, as I said before, is part off in musca volitans, and it sticketh closer than a brotherthey must have had perseverance as well as hatred. Then the floor is scratched and gouged and splintered, the plaster over itself is dug out here and there, and this vast heavy bed which is all we entrap in the room, looks as if it had been through the wars. But I dont mind it a bitonly the paper. There comes Johns sister. Such a dear misfire as she is, and so careful of me I must not let her find me writing.She is a perfect and enthusiastic house follower, and hopes for no discover profession. I verily believe she thinks it is the writing which made me sick But I can write when she is out, and see her a long way off from these windows. There is one that commands the road, a lovely shaded winding road, and one that just looks off over the country. A lovely country, too, full of great elms and velvet meadows. This wall-paper has a kind of sub- mold in a, different shade, a oddly irritating one, for you can only see it in certain lights, and not clearly then.But in the places where it isnt faded and where the sun is just soI can see a strange, provoking, formless differentiate of figure, that seems to skulk about derriere that silly and conspicuous front design. Theres sister on the stairs - Well, the Fourth of July is over The people are all gone and I am tired out. John thought it might do me good to see a little company, so we just had mother and Nellie and the children down for a week. Of course I di dnt do a thing. Jennie sees to everything now. But it tired me all the same. John says if I dont pick up faster he shall send me to Weir Mitchell in the fall.But I dont want to go there at all. I had a friend who was in his hands once, and she says he is just like John and my brother, only more so Besides, it is such an confinement to go so far. I dont feel as if it was worth temporary hookup to turn my hand over for anything, and Im acquire dreadfully fretful and querulous. I cry at nothing, and cry most of the time. Of course I dont when John is here, or anybody else, but when I am alone. And I am alone a good deal just now. John is kept in town very often by serious cases, and Jennie is good and lets me alone when I want her to.So I walk a little in the garden or down that lovely lane, sit on the porch downstairs the roses, and lie down up here a good deal. Im getting really fond of the room in spite of the wall-paper. Perhaps because of the wall-paper. It dwells in my mind s o I lie here on this great immovable bedit is nailed down, I believeand follow that pattern about by the hour. It is as good as gymnastics, I assure you. I start, well say, at the bottom, down in the watershed over there where it has not been touched, and I determine for the thousandth time that I will follow that pointless pattern to some sort of a conclusion.I know a little of the principle of design, and I know this thing was not put on any laws of radiation, or alternation, or repetition, or symmetry, or anything else that I ever heard of. It is repeated, of course, by the breadths, but not otherwise. Looked at in one way each breadth stands alone, the bloated curves and flourishesa kind of lessened Romanesque with delirium tremensgo waddling up and down in isolated columns of fatuity. But, on the other hand, they connect diagonally, and the sprawling outlines run off in great slanting waves of optic horror, like a lot of wallowing seaweeds in full chase.The whole thing goes horizontally, too, at least it seems so, and I exhaust myself in trying to distinguish the order of its going in that direction. They have used a horizontal breadth for a frieze, and that adds wonderfully to the confusion. There is one end of the room where it is almost intact, and there, when the crosslights fade and the low sun shines presently upon it, I can almost fancy radiation after all,the interminable grotesques seem to form a s horn in a common centre and hot flash off in headlong plunges of equal distraction. It makes me tired to follow it.I will take a nap I guess. - I dont know why I should write this. I dont want to. I dont feel able. And I know John would think it absurd. But I must say what I feel and think in some wayit is such a relief But the effort is getting to be greater than the relief. Half the time now I am atrociouslyly lazy, and lie down ever so much. John says I mustnt lose my strength, and has me take cod liver oil and lots of tonics and things, to sa y nothing of ale and drink and rare meat. Dear John He loves me very dearly, and hates to have me sick.I try to have a real earnest reasonable talk with him the other day, and tell him how I wish he would let me go and make a visit to Cousin Henry and Julia. But he said I wasnt able to go, nor able to stand it after I got there and I did not make out a very good case for myself, for I was crying before I had finished . It is getting to be a great effort for me to think straight. Just this nervous weakness I suppose. And dear John gathered me up in his arms, and just carried me upstairs and laid me on the bed, and sat by me and read to me till it tired my head.He said I was his tinderfelt and his comfort and all he had, and that I must take care of myself for his rice beer, and keep well. He says no one but myself can help me out of it, that I must use my will and self-control and not let any silly fancies run away with me. Theres one comfort, the baby is well and happy, and does not have to occupy this nursery with the horrid wall-paper. If we had not used it, that blessed child would have What a fortunate escape Why, I wouldnt have a child of mine, an impressionable little thing, live in such a room for worlds.I never thought of it before, but it is lucky that John kept me here after all, I can stand it so much easier than a baby, you see. Of course I never mention it to them any moreI am too wise,but I keep watch of it all the same. There are things in that paper that null knows but me, or ever will. Behind that outside pattern the boring shapes get clearer every day. It is always the same shape, only very numerous. And it is like a adult female stooping down and wraithing about slow that pattern. I dont like it a bit. I wonderI begin to thinkI wish John would take me away from here -It is so hard to talk with John about my case, because he is so wise, and because he loves me so. But I tried it last night. It was moonlight. The moon shines in all or so just as the sun does. I hate to see it sometimes, it locomote so slowly, and always comes in by one window or another. John was a short pause and I hated to kindle him, so I kept still and watched the moonlight on that undulating wall-paper till I felt creepy. The faint figure behind seemed to shake the pattern, just as if she wanted to get out. I got up softly and went to feel and see if the paper did move, and when I came back John was a awaken. What is it, little girl? he said. Dont go walking about like thatyoull get cold. I thought it was a good time to talk, so I told him that I really was not gaining here, and that I wished he would take me away. Why darling said he, our lease will be up in three weeks, and I cant see how to leave before. The repairs are not done at home, and I cannot possibly leave town just now. Of course if you were in any danger, I could and would, but you really are better, dear, whether you can see it or not. I am a doctor, dear, and I know. You are gaining flesh and food colour, your zest is better, I feel really much easier about you. I dont weigh a bit more, said 1, nor as much and my appetite whitethorn be better in the evening when you are here, but it is worse in the sunup when you are away Bless her little mettle said he with a big hug, she shall be as sick as she pleases But now lets improve the shining hours by going to sleep, and talk about it in the morning And you wont go away? I asked gloomily. Why, how can 1, dear? It is only three weeks more and then we will take a nice little trip of a few days while Jennie is getting the house ready. Really dear you are better Better in body perhaps I began, and stopped short, for he sat up straight and looked at me with such a stern, reproachful look that I could not say another word. My darling, said he, I beg of you, for my sake and for our childs sake, as well as for your own, that you will never for one instant let that idea enter your mind There is nothing s o dangerous, so fascinating, to a temperament like yours. It is a false and foolish fancy. Can you not verify me as a physician when I tell you so? So of course I said no more on that score, and we went to sleep before long.He thought I was asleep first, but I wasnt, and lay there for hours trying to decide whether that front pattern and the back pattern really did move together or separately. - On a pattern like this, by twenty-four hour period, there is a lack of sequence, a insubordination of law, that is a constant irritant to a normal mind. The color is horrendous enough, and unreliable enough, and infuriating enough, but the pattern is torturing. You think you have master it, but just as you get well down the stairsway in following, it turns a back somersault and there you are. It slaps you in the face, knocks you down, and tramp downs upon you.It is like a bad dream. The outside pattern is a florid arabesque, reminding one of a fungus. If you can imagine a toadstool i n joints, an interminable string of toadstools, bud and sprouting in endless convolutionswhy, that is something like it. That is, sometimes There is one marked peculiarity about this paper, a thing nobody seems to take down but myself, and that is that it changes as the light changes. When the sun shoots in through the east windowI always watch for that first long, straight rayit changes so quickly that I never can quite believe it. That is why I watch it always.By moonlightthe moon shines in all night when there is a moonI wouldnt know it was the same paper. At night in any kind of light, in twilight, candlelight, lamplight, and worst of all by moonlight, it becomes interdict The outside pattern I mean, and the woman behind it is as plain as can be. I didnt crystalise for a long time what the thing was that showed behind, that dim sub-pattern, but now I am quite sure it is a woman. By sidereal day she is subdued, quiet. I fancy it is the pattern that keeps her so still. It is s o puzzling. It keeps me quiet by the hour. I lie down ever so much now. John says it is good for me, and to sleep all I can.Indeed he started the habit by making me lie down for an hour after each meal. It is a very bad habit I am convinced, for you see I dont sleep. And that cultivates deceit, for I dont tell them Im awakeO no The fact is I am getting a little afraid of John. He seems very queer sometimes, and even Jennie has an inexplicable look. It strikes me occasionally, just as a scientific hypothesis,that perhaps it is the paper I have watched John when he did not know I was looking, and come into the room suddenly on the most innocent excuses, and Ive caught him several(prenominal) times looking at the paper And Jennie too.I caught Jennie with her hand on it once. She didnt know I was in the room, and when I asked her in a quiet, a very quiet voice, with the most restrained manner possible, what she was doing with the papershe turned around as if she had been caught stealing , and looked quite angry asked me why I should frighten her so Then she said that the paper stained everything it touched, that she had found yellow smooches on all my clothes and Johns, and she wished we would be more careful Did not that sound innocent? But I know she was study that pattern, and I am determined that nobody shall find it out but myself -Life is very much more exciting now than it used to be. You see I have something more to expect, to look forward to, to watch. I really do eat better, and am more quiet than I was. John is so pleased to see me improve He laughed a little the other day, and said I seemed to be flourishing in spite of my wall-paper. I turned it off with a laugh. I had no design of telling him it was because of the wall-paperhe would make fun of me. He might even want to take me away. I dont want to leave now until I have found it out. There is a week more, and I think that will be enough. - Im feeling ever so much betterI dont sleep much at night, for it is so interesting to watch developments but I sleep a good deal in the daytime. In the daytime it is tiresome and perplexing. There are always new shoots on the fungus, and new shades of yellow all over it. I cannot keep count of them, though I have tried conscientiously. It is the strangest yellow, that wall-paper It makes me think of all the yellow things I ever sawnot beautiful ones like buttercups, but old foul, bad yellow things. But there is something else about that paper the smell I noticed it the moment we came into the room, but with so much air and sun it was not bad. now we have had a week of fog and rain, and whether the windows are open or not, the smell is here. It creeps all over the house. I find it hovering in the dining-room, skulking in the parlor, hiding in the hall, lying in wait for me on the stairs. It gets into my hair. purge when I go to ride, if I turn my head suddenly and force itthere is that smell Such a peculiar odor, too I have spent hours in trying to analyze it, to find what it smelled like. It is not badat first, and very gentle, but quite the subtlest, most imperishable odor I ever met. In this damp weather it is awful, I wake up in the night and find it hanging over me.It used to disturb me at first. I thought seriously of eager the houseto reach the smell. But now I am used to it. The only thing I can think of that it is like is the color of the paper A yellow smell. There is a very funny remark mark on this wall, low down, near the mopboard. A streak that runs round the room. It goes behind every piece of furniture, except the bed, a long, straight, even smooch, as if it had been rubbed over and over. I wonder how it was done and who did it, and what they did it for. Round and round and roundround and round and roundit makes me dizzy -I really have ascertained something at last. Through watching so much at night, when it changes so, I have finally found out. The front pattern does moveand no wonder The woman beh ind shakes it Sometimes I think there are a great many women behind, and sometimes only one, and she crawls around fast, and her crawling shakes it all over. Then in the very glistering spots she keeps still, and in the very shady spots she just takes hold of the veto and shakes them hard. And she is all the time trying to salary increase through. But nobody could climb through that patternit strangles so I think that is why it has so many heads.They get through, and then the pattern strangles them off and turns them upside down, and makes their eyes white If those heads were covered or taken off it would not be half so bad. - I think that woman gets out in the daytime And Ill tell you whyprivatelyIve seen her I can see her out of every one of my windows It is the same woman, I know, for she is always creeping, and most women do not creep by daylight. I see her on that long road beneath the trees, creeping along, and when a carriage comes she hides under the pitch-darkberry vin es. I dont blame her a bit.It must be very humiliating to be caught creeping by daylight I always lock the door when I creep by daylight. I cant do it at night, for I know John would louche something at once. And John is so queer now, that I dont want to irritate him. I wish he would take another room Besides, I dont want anybody to get that woman out at night but myself. I often wonder if I could see her out of all the windows at once. But, turn as fast as I can, I can only see out of one at one time. And though I always see her, she may be able to creep faster than I can turnI have watched her sometimes away off in the open country, creeping as fast as a cloud shadow in a high wind. - If only that top pattern could be gotten off from the under one I mean to try it, little by little. I have found out another funny thing, but I shant tell it this time It does not do to trust people too much. There are only two more days to get this paper off, and I believe John is beginning to not ice. I dont like the look in his eyes. And I heard him ask Jennie a lot of professional questions about me. She had a very good report to give. She said I slept a good deal in the daytime.John knows I dont sleep very well at night, for all Im so quiet He asked me all sorts of questions, too, and pretended to be very loving and kind. As if I couldnt see through him Still, I dont wonder he acts so, sleeping under this paper for three months. It only interests me, but I feel sure John and Jennie are secretly affected by it. - Hurrah This is the last day, but it is enough. John to stay in town over night, and wont be out until this evening. Jennie wanted to sleep with methe sly thing but I told her I should undoubtedly rest better for a night all alone. That was clever, for really I wasnt alone a bitAs soon as it was moonlight and that poor thing began to crawl and shake the pattern, I got up and ran to help her. I pulled and she shook, I shook and she pulled, and before morning we had peeled off yards of that paper. A strip about as high as my head and half around the room. And then when the sun came and that awful pattern began to laugh at me, I declared I would finish it to-day We go away to-morrow, and they are moving all my furniture down again to leave things as they were before. Jennie looked at the wall in amazement, but I told her merrily that I did it out of pure spite at the vicious thing.She laughed and said she wouldnt mind doing it herself, but I must not get tired. How she betrayed herself that time But I am here, and no psyche touches this paper but me,not alive She tried to get me out of the roomit was too patent But I said it was so quiet and empty and clean now that I believed I would lie down again and sleep all I could and not to wake me even for dinnerI would call when I woke. So now she is gone, and the servants are gone, and the things are gone, and there is nothing left but that great bedstead nailed down, with the canvas mattress we fou nd on it.We shall sleep downstairs to-night, and take the boat home to-morrow. I quite enjoy the room, now it is bare again. How those children did tear about here This bedstead is fairly gnawed But I must get to work. I have locked the door and thrown the get word down into the front path. I dont want to go out, and I dont want to have anybody come in, till John comes. I want to astonish him. Ive got a rope up here that even Jennie did not find. If that woman does get out, and tries to get away, I can tie her But I forgot I could not reach far without anything to stand onThis bed will not move I tried to lift and publicize it until I was lame, and then I got so angry I bit off a little piece at one cornerbut it hurt my teeth. Then I peeled off all the paper I could reach standing on the floor. It sticks horribly and the pattern just enjoys it All those strangled heads and bulbous eyes and waddling fungus growths just pipe with derision I am getting angry enough to do something desperate. To jump out of the window would be admirable exercise, but the bars are too strong even to try. Besides I wouldnt do it. Of course not.I know well enough that a step like that is improper and might be misconstrued. I dont like to look out of the windows even there are so many of those creeping women, and they creep so fast. I wonder if they all come out of that wall-paper as I did? But I am securely fastened now by my well-hidden ropeyou dont get me out in the road there I suppose I shall have to get back behind the pattern when it comes night, and that is hard It is so pleasant to be out in this great room and creep around as I please I dont want to go outside. I wont, even if Jennie asks me to.For outside you have to creep on the ground, and everything is green instead of yellow. But here I can creep smoothly on the floor, and my shoulder just fits in that long smooch around the wall, so I cannot lose my way. Why theres John at the door It is no use, young man, you can t open it How he does call and pound now hes crying for an axe. It would be a ravish to break down that beautiful door John dear said I in the gentlest voice, the key is down by the front steps, under a plantain leaf That silenced him for a few moments. Then he saidvery quietly indeed, Open the door, my darling I cant, said I. The key is down by the front door under a plantain leaf And then I said it again, several times, very gently and slowly, and said it so often that he had to go and see, and he got it of course, and came in. He stopped short by the door. What is the matter? he cried. For Gods sake, what are you doing I kept on creeping just the same, but I looked at him over my shoulder. Ive got out at last, said I, in spite of you and Jane. And Ive pulled off most of the paper, so you cant put me back Now why should that man have fainted?But he did, and right across my path by the wall, so that I had to creep over him every time The story of an hour by Kate Chopin Kno wing that Mrs. mallard was laid low(p) with a heart trouble, great care was taken to break to her as gently as possible the news of her husbands death. It was her sister Josephine who told her, in broken sentences veiled hints that revealed in half concealing. Her husbands friend Richards was there, too, near her. It was he who had been in the newspaper office when intelligence of the railroad disaster was bring ind, with Brently Mallards name leading the list of killed. He had only taken the time to assure himself of its impartiality by a second telegram, and had hastened to forestall any less careful, less tender friend in bearing the sad message. She did not hear the story as many women have heard the same, with a deactivate inability to accept its significance. She wept at once, with sudden, wild abandonment, in her sisters arms. When the storm of distress had spent itself she went away to her room alone. She would have no one follow her. There stood, facing the open window , a comfortable, roomy armchair.Into this she sank, pressed down by a physical exhaustion that haunted her body and seemed to reach into her soul. She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air. In the street below a peddler was crying his wares. The notes of a distant song which some one was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves. There were patches of blue sky showing here and there through the clouds that had met and piled one above the other in the west facing her window.She sat with her head thrown back upon the cushion of the chair, quite motionless, except when a sob came up into her throat and shook her, as a child who has cried itself to sleep continues to sob in its dreams. She was young, with a fair, calm face, whose lines bespoke repression and even a certain strength. But now there was a dull stare in her eyes, whose gaze was fixed away off yonder on one of those patches of blue sky. It was not a glance of reflection, but rather indicated a suspension of intelligent thought. There was something coming to her and she was time lag for it, fearfully. What was it?She did not know it was too subtle and elusive to name. But she felt it, creeping out of the sky, reaching toward her through the sounds, the scents, the color that filled the air. Now her bosom rose and fell tumultuously. She was beginning to recognize this thing that was feeler to possess her, and she was striving to beat it back with her willas feeble as her two white slender hands would have been. When she toss herself a little whispered word escaped her slightly part lips. She said it over and over under hte breath free, free, free The unemployed stare and the look of terror that had followed it went from her eyes.They stayed keen and bright. Her pulses beat fast, and the coursing fund warmed and relaxed every inch of her body. She did not stop to ask if it were or were not a monstrous joy that held her. A clear and high perception enabled her to dismiss the suggestion as trivial. She knew that she would weep again when she saw the kind, tender hands folded in death the face that had never looked save with love upon her, fixed and gray and dead. But she saw beyond that acidic moment a long procession of years to come that would belong to her absolutely. And she opened and spread her arms out to them in welcome.There would be no one to live for during those coming years she would live for herself. There would be no powerful will bending hers in that blind intentness with which men and women believe they have a right to impose a private will upon a fellow-creature. A kind intention or a cruel intention made the act seem no less a crime as she looked upon it in that brief moment of illumination. And yet she had loved himsometimes. Often she had not. What did it matter What could love, the unsolved mystery , count for in the face of this possession of self-assertion which she suddenly recognized as the strongest appetency of her being Free Body and soul free she kept whispering. Josephine was kneeling before the closed door with her lips to the keyhold, imploring for admission. Louise, open the door I beg open the dooryou will make yourself ill. What are you doing, Louise? For heavens sake open the door. Go away. I am not making myself ill. No she was drinking in a very elixir of life through that open window. Her fancy was running riot along those days forward of her. Spring days, and summer days, and all sorts of days that would be her own. She breathed a quick prayer that life might be long.It was only yesterday she had thought with a shudder that life might be long. She arose at length and opened the door to her sisters importunities. There was a feverish delight in her eyes, and she carried herself unwittingly like a goddess of Victory. She clasped her sisters waist, and to gether they descended the stairs. Richards stood waiting for them at the bottom. Some one was opening the front door with a latchkey. It was Brently Mallard who entered, a little travel-stained, composedly carrying his grip-sack and umbrella. He had been far from the scene of the accident, and did not even know there had been one.He stood amazed at Josephines piercing cry at Richards quick motion to screen him from the view of his wife. When the doctors came they said she had died of heart diseaseof the joy that kills. Essay prompt for short story In the short story the story of an hour Chopin uses the word open repeatedly, why do you think this and what is the significance of it? Lady Lazarus by Sylvia Plath I have done it again. One year in every ten I manage it A sort of walking miracle, my skin Bright as a Nazi lampshade, My right plunk A paperweight, My face a featureless, fine Jew linen. Peel off the napkin O my enemy.Do I cow? The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth? The sour breath willing vanish in a day. Soon, soon the flesh The grave subvert ate will be At home on me And I a smiling woman. I am only thirty. And like the cat I have nine times to die. This is Number Three. What a sparkler To annihilate each decade. What a million filaments. The peanut-crunching crowd Shoves in to see Them unwrap me hand and foot The big strip tease. Gentlemen, ladies These are my hands My knees. I may be skin and bone, Nevertheless, I am the same, similar woman. The first time it giveed I was ten. It was an accident.The second time I meant To last it out and not come back at all. I rocked shut As a seashell. They had to call and call And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls. Dying Is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well. I do it so it feels like hell. I do it so it feels real. I guess you could say Ive a call. Its easy enough to do it in a cell. Its easy enough to do it and stay put. Its the theatrical riposte in broad day To the same place, the same face, the same sentient being Amused shout A miracle That knocks me out. There is a charge For the eyeing of my scars, there is a chargeFor the hearing of my heart It really goes. And there is a charge, a very large charge For a word or a touch Or a bit of blood Or a piece of my hair or my clothes. So, so, Herr Doktor. So, Herr Enemy. I am your opus, I am your valuable, The pure gold baby That melts to a shriek. I turn and burn. Do not think I underestimate your great concern. Ash, ash You poke and stir. Flesh, bone, there is nothing there A cake of soap, A espousals ring, A gold filling. Herr God, Herr Lucifer Beware Beware. Out of the ash I rise with my red hair And I eat men like air. Daddy by Sylvia Plath You do not do, you do not do all more, non-white shoe In which I have lived like a foot For thirty years, poor and white, Barely daring to breathe or Achoo. Daddy, I have had to kill you. You died before I had time Marble-heavy, a sweetheart full of Go d, Ghastly statue with one gray toe Big as a Frisco seal And a head in the freakish Atlantic Where it pours bean green over blue In the waters off beautiful Nauset. I used to pray to recover you. Ach, du. In the German tongue, in the Polish town Scraped flat by the roller Of wars, wars, wars. But the name of the town is common. My Polack friend Says there are a xii or two. So I never could tell where youPut your foot, your root, I never could talk to you. The tongue stuck in my jaw. It stuck in a barb electrify snare. Ich, ich, ich, ich, I could hardly speak. I thought every German was you. And the language obscene An engine, an engine Chuffing me off like a Jew. A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen. I began to talk like a Jew. I think I may well be a Jew. The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna Are not very pure or true. With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck And my Taroc pick out and my Taroc pack I may be a bit of a Jew. I have always been scared of you, With your L uftwaffe, your gobbledygoo. And your neat mustacheAnd your Aryan eye, bright blue. Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You Not God but a swastika So black no sky could squeak through. Every woman adores a Fascist, The boot in the face, the bestial Brute heart of a brute like you. You stand at the blackboard, public address system, In the picture I have of you, A cleft in your chin instead of your foot But no less a devil for that, no not Any less the black man who Bit my pretty red heart in two. I was ten when they buried you. At twenty I tried to die And get back, back, back to you. I thought even the bones would do. But they pulled me out of the sack, And they stuck me together with glue.And then I knew what to do. I made a model of you, A man in black with a Meinkampf look And a love of the rack and the screw. And I said I do, I do. So daddy, Im finally through. The black telephones off at the root, The voices just cant worm through. If Ive killed one man, Ive killed two The vampire who said he was you And drank my blood for a year, Seven years, if you want to know. Daddy, you can lie back now. Theres a stake in your fat black heart And the villagers never liked you. They are dancing and stamping on you. They always knew it was you. Daddy, daddy, you bastard, Im through.Lets hear it for the women The women suppress by Francis Duggan Lets hear it for women the women oppressed In patriarchal societies their human rights are transgressed By male religious zealots who hate woman kind For to trample on womens rights any excuse they will find. Lets hear it for the women who never receive a fair go Of equality in their lives they never may know They are seen as inferior where males reign supreme And this can do little for their self esteem. Lets hear it for the women who must play second fiddle to men Where to be born a female instrument one cannot win Promotion in work or onward motion in lifeTo an arrogant and an unfaithful man expected to be a good wife. Lets hear i t for women the women men do rule And many males in positions of power can be cruel The mothers of the children in life the hardest post Equality they need and not male control. P. O. W (Poor Oprressed Women) by Sama Wareh hullo oppressed, With that scarf around your head, That you surely must dread, Arent you hot? Cant you see its sunny, Arent your ears cold, They try to be funny, But some seriously suggest, That I am oppressed, Because I cant flaunt what I got, And they look at the way that Im dressed, All covered up, From head to toe,How am I to attract the men, Without a little show? So I tell them, Im oppressed, Because men cant see past the stuff? They are stuck with a conversation And a brain to pick, I flaunt, Yes I do, My personality is what I flaunt, I s accept, its true, I aint no object In mens desire, Nor am I a curve size, Because I have attire, And they tell me, Well, you were forced, Obviously, Your dad had a belt, And so you agreed, No, it was my choice, I did agr ee, In fact, aft(prenominal) I did cover up, Men stopped checking out my behind, And started looking at who I am on the inside, And after I did, Respect came my way,Heads didnt turn lolling as I passed mens way, But I guess some like that attention, And women, This isnt a stab at you, Im just expressing my point of view, later dealing with stereotypes of what people tell me I am, I can even see it in their eyes, Like my attire should be banned, And especially senior women, Look at me with pity, Poor child, I wish I could help her and show her the way, Cause according to Fox tv, theyve gone astray, Poor abused women, dressed in black, Cant those mean men cut them a little slack? But to their surprise, I choose to wear it, To me its freedom, Freedom from fashion implications,Telling you how to talk, dress and look, Advertising the new trend, To get you on the hook, Of being what the fashion industry can make money off of, I wear what I want and dress to impress, Myself and God, An d nobody else, I wear pant and I wear skirts, I wear socks and long shirts, And if my name callers arent happen with that, Then come and liberate me, Which in now a days terms, pith kill me. Discussion questions for the metrical compositions 1. In the rimes Lets Hear It For Women The Women ladened and P. O. W (Poor Oppressed Woman), there are two different views on womens subjection. What are these views? 2. In the poem P. O.W (Poor Oppressed Women), what image does Wareh portray throughout? What lyric poem make you think this? 3. In the poem Lady Lazarus, Plath refers to herself as a cat with nine times to die, why do you think she chose these wrangle and what is the importance of them? 4. After reading lets hear it for the women the women oppressed, what do you think Duggans view on womens oppression is and how does she convey this in her poem? 5. After reading P. O. W (Poor Oppressed Women), how do you think Wareh views oppression and how does she show this in her poem? 6 . In Lady Lazarus, what images does Plath use and how are they effective? . In the poem Daddy by Sylvia Plath, Plath uses the word daddy instead of father, do you think this changes the way the reader views the poem? How? 8. In the poem Daddy, could daddy be something besides her father? How? 9. In the poem Lady Lazarus, Plath chooses the word Miracle, in what tone do you think she used this? 10. In Lets hear it for the women the women oppressed, how do you think Duggans word chose sets the mood for the poem? Thomas 1 Kelley Thomas Ms. Flara AP English IV October 22, 2012 The theme of Womens oppression and how it is viewed by Clarissa I read the novel Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf.There are many themes throughout this novel but while reading it one was most apparent and that is the theme of Womens oppression and how it is viewed by the Clarissa. Woolf uses the novel to show how she feels about society and oppression, especially toward women. The social setting and time period set the mood for this theme. London is reversive to its social normalcies and women are moving back toward being housewives instead of working in munitions factories. She often shows her dislike of this through Clarissa. It has become a sort of way of life for her and she doesnt truly notice she is even a part of it.