Answer & Explanation:Discussion Board Issue 1 Post some ideas you have about issues you think you have identified from the texts you have read from Unit 6 so far. Be specific and detailed and remember not to confuse the issue with the action. Look for the insight into what the story is getting to. Make sure you relate your discussion points to a Perspective of some type. Questions to answer: 1)“Araby” The tension in the story comes from the drab reality of the boy’s world contrasted with his romantic illusions of love-there is a clear disparity here between these two notions. Look for the references that describe his quest and the perspective from which he views Mangan’s sister. Which disciplinary perspective is appropriate here? Explain why the boy is unnamed. Explain the difference between how the narrator views the events now in relationship to when they occurred. How do the religious images and terminology reveal thematic aspects of the story? Give details. How does the last line of the story explain the strongest theme here in the story? Describe the boy’s Epiphany in “Araby”-look up the term if you are not familiar with it and be specific in your explanation. 2)“Hills Like White Elephants” In “Hills Like White Elephants”, describe the setting and relate the significance of this setting to the relationship between the man and girl. In “Hills Like White Elephant”, select several significant details and explain how they relate to the story and in particular reveal thematic aspects of the story. Which disciplinary perspective is appropriate here? Explain the relevance of the number two in the story-it is referenced multiple times. What is the main theme here in this story? The story is virtually all dialogue, so the theme comes out of the conversation. Note, in conversation look for what is not said as well as the actual words spoken. Make sure you look up all the definitions of a White Elephant and consider what definitions are applicable in the context of the story. 3)“Thirty Four Seasons of Winter” Write a paragraph that describes how the story made you feel. Look at the lives of Ben, Clara, and Stephanie from the beginning to the end of the story. In particular, look at Ben and Clara for parallels in their lives. What issues does this story bring to light that are issues from the real World? 4)“Kids, the Internet, and the end of Privacy: The Greatest Generation Gap Since Rock and Roll” by Emily Nussbaum (look it up in google) Here were are today in 2016 with what you see described in this article so not think about ten years in the future. What issues do you see on the horizon? Will there be more problems than now or fewer? Why? Explain? Submit your responses as one document and as an attachment Discussion Board Issue 2 Take two of the texts from this unit and then post two specific thesis statements that might be used to write an essay on an issue you see in those particular texts. Make sure you relate your discussion points to a Perspective ( if applicable) – Social Class, Race and Ethnicity, Gender Roles, Religion, Political Affiliation, Crisis Impaired, and Socio Economic or some other areas of interest are places to start. Here is your chance to test drive a thesis statement for your next essay. Make sure you give some critical and substantive feedback to your peer’s thesis statements. Your initial Post addressing should be 150 words minimum
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[text] Araby – a short story by James Joyce : Frisson
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[text] Araby – a short story by James Joyce
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submitted 1 year ago by Margok
From Dubliners (1914). Text is in the public domain.
Text source
Araby
North Richmond Street, being blind, was a quiet street
except at the hour when the Christian Brothers’
School set the boys free. An uninhabited house of two
storeys stood at the blind end, detached from its
neighbours in a square ground. The other houses of
the street, conscious of decent lives within them,
gazed at one another with brown imperturbable faces.
The former tenant of our house, a priest, had died in
the back drawing-room. Air, musty from having been
long enclosed, hung in all the rooms, and the waste
room behind the kitchen was littered with old useless
papers. Among these I found a few paper-covered
books, the pages of which were curled and damp: The
Abbot, by Walter Scott, The Devout Communicant,
and The Memoirs of Vidocq. I liked the last best
because its leaves were yellow. The wild garden
behind the house contained a central apple-tree and a
few straggling bushes, under one of which I found the
late tenant’s rusty bicycle-pump. He had been a very
charitable priest; in his will he had left all his money
to institutions and the furniture of his house to his
sister.
When the short days of winter came, dusk fell before
we had well eaten our dinners. When we met in the
street the houses had grown sombre. The space of
sky above us was the colour of ever-changing violet
and towards it the lamps of the street lifted their
feeble lanterns. The cold air stung us and we played
till our bodies glowed. Our shouts echoed in the silent
street. The career of our play brought us through the
dark muddy lanes behind the houses, where we ran
the gauntlet of the rough tribes from the cottages, to
the back doors of the dark dripping gardens where
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Page 1 of 8
[text] Araby – a short story by James Joyce : Frisson
odours arose from the ashpits, to the dark odorous
stables where a coachman smoothed and combed the
horse or shook music from the buckled harness. When
we returned to the street, light from the kitchen
windows had filled the areas. If my uncle was seen
turning the corner, we hid in the shadow until we had
seen him safely housed. Or if Mangan’s sister came
out on the doorstep to call her brother in to his tea,
we watched her from our shadow peer up and down
the street. We waited to see whether she would
remain or go in and, if she remained, we left our
shadow and walked up to Mangan’s steps resignedly.
She was waiting for us, her figure defined by the light
from the half-opened door. Her brother always teased
her before he obeyed, and I stood by the railings
looking at her. Her dress swung as she moved her
body, and the soft rope of her hair tossed from side to
side.
Every morning I lay on the floor in the front parlour
watching her door. The blind was pulled down to
within an inch of the sash so that I could not be seen.
When she came out on the doorstep my heart leaped.
I ran to the hall, seized my books and followed her. I
kept her brown figure always in my eye and, when we
came near the point at which our ways diverged, I
quickened my pace and passed her. This happened
morning after morning. I had never spoken to her,
except for a few casual words, and yet her name was
like a summons to all my foolish blood.
Her image accompanied me even in places the most
hostile to romance. On Saturday evenings when my
aunt went marketing I had to go to carry some of the
parcels. We walked through the flaring streets, jostled
by drunken men and bargaining women, amid the
curses of labourers, the shrill litanies of shop-boys
who stood on guard by the barrels of pigs’ cheeks, the
nasal chanting of street-singers, who sang a come-allyou about O’Donovan Rossa, or a ballad about the
troubles in our native land. These noises converged in
a single sensation of life for me: I imagined that I
bore my chalice safely through a throng of foes. Her
name sprang to my lips at moments in strange
prayers and praises which I myself did not
understand. My eyes were often full of tears (I could
not tell why) and at times a flood from my heart
seemed to pour itself out into my bosom. I thought
little of the future. I did not know whether I would
ever speak to her or not or, if I spoke to her, how I
could tell her of my confused adoration. But my body
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Page 2 of 8
[text] Araby – a short story by James Joyce : Frisson
6/10/15, 1:58 PM
was like a harp and her words and gestures were like
fingers running upon the wires.
One evening I went into the back drawing-room in
which the priest had died. It was a dark rainy evening
and there was no sound in the house. Through one of
the broken panes I heard the rain impinge upon the
earth, the fine incessant needles of water playing in
the sodden beds. Some distant lamp or lighted
window gleamed below me. I was thankful that I
could see so little. All my senses seemed to desire to
veil themselves and, feeling that I was about to slip
from them, I pressed the palms of my hands together
until they trembled, murmuring: ‘O love! O love!’
many times.
At last she spoke to me. When she addressed the first
words to me I was so confused that I did not know
what to answer. She asked me was I going to Araby. I
forgot whether I answered yes or no. It would be a
splendid bazaar; she said she would love to go.
‘And why can’t you?’ I asked.
While she spoke she turned a silver bracelet round
and round her wrist. She could not go, she said,
because there would be a retreat that week in her
convent. Her brother and two other boys were fighting
for their caps, and I was alone at the railings. She
held one of the spikes, bowing her head towards me.
The light from the lamp opposite our door caught the
white curve of her neck, lit up her hair that rested
there and, falling, lit up the hand upon the railing. It
fell over one side of her dress and caught the white
border of a petticoat, just visible as she stood at ease.
‘It’s well for you,’ she said.
‘If I go,’ I said, ‘I will bring you something.’
What innumerable follies laid waste my waking and
sleeping thoughts after that evening! I wished to
annihilate the tedious intervening days. I chafed
against the work of school. At night in my bedroom
and by day in the classroom her image came between
me and the page I strove to read. The syllables of the
word Araby were called to me through the silence in
which my soul luxuriated and cast an Eastern
enchantment over me. I asked for leave to go to the
bazaar on Saturday night. My aunt was surprised, and
hoped it was not some Freemason affair. I answered
few questions in class. I watched my master’s face
pass from amiability to sternness; he hoped I was not
beginning to idle. I could not call my wandering
thoughts together. I had hardly any patience with the
Page 3 of 8
[text] Araby – a short story by James Joyce : Frisson
6/10/15, 1:58 PM
serious work of life which, now that it stood between
me and my desire, seemed to me child’s play, ugly
monotonous child’s play.
On Saturday morning I reminded my uncle that I
wished to go to the bazaar in the evening. He was
fussing at the hallstand, looking for the hat-brush,
and answered me curtly:
‘Yes, boy, I know.’
As he was in the hall I could not go into the front
parlour and lie at the window. I felt the house in bad
humour and walked slowly towards the school. The air
was pitilessly raw and already my heart misgave me.
When I came home to dinner my uncle had not yet
been home. Still it was early. I sat staring at the clock
for some time and, when its ticking began to irritate
me, I left the room. I mounted the staircase and
gained the upper part of the house. The high, cold,
empty, gloomy rooms liberated me and I went from
room to room singing. From the front window I saw
my companions playing below in the street. Their
cries reached me weakened and indistinct and,
leaning my forehead against the cool glass, I looked
over at the dark house where she lived. I may have
stood there for an hour, seeing nothing but the
brown-clad figure cast by my imagination, touched
discreetly by the lamplight at the curved neck, at the
hand upon the railings and at the border below the
dress.
When I came downstairs again I found Mrs Mercer
sitting at the fire. She was an old, garrulous woman, a
pawnbroker’s widow, who collected used stamps for
some pious purpose. I had to endure the gossip of the
tea-table. The meal was prolonged beyond an hour
and still my uncle did not come. Mrs Mercer stood up
to go: she was sorry she couldn’t wait any longer, but
it was after eight o’clock and she did not like to be out
late, as the night air was bad for her. When she had
gone I began to walk up and down the room,
clenching my fists. My aunt said:
‘I’m afraid you may put off your bazaar for this night
of Our Lord.’
At nine o’clock I heard my uncle’s latchkey in the hall
door. I heard him talking to himself and heard the
hallstand rocking when it had received the weight of
his overcoat. I could interpret these signs. When he
was midway through his dinner I asked him to give
me the money to go to the bazaar. He had forgotten.
‘The people are in bed and after their first sleep now,’
Page 4 of 8
[text] Araby – a short story by James Joyce : Frisson
6/10/15, 1:58 PM
he said.
I did not smile. My aunt said to him energetically:
‘Can’t you give him the money and let him go? You’ve
kept him late enough as it is.’
My uncle said he was very sorry he had forgotten. He
said he believed in the old saying: ‘All work and no
play makes Jack a dull boy.’ He asked me where I was
going and, when I told him a second time, he asked
me did I know The Arab’s Farewell to his Steed. When
I left the kitchen he was about to recite the opening
lines of the piece to my aunt.
I held a florin tightly in my hand as I strode down
Buckingham Street towards the station. The sight of
the streets thronged with buyers and glaring with gas
recalled to me the purpose of my journey. I took my
seat in a third-class carriage of a deserted train. After
an intolerable delay the train moved out of the station
slowly. It crept onward among ruinous houses and
over the twinkling river. At Westland Row Station a
crowd of people pressed to the carriage doors; but the
porters moved them back, saying that it was a special
train for the bazaar. I remained alone in the bare
carriage. In a few minutes the train drew up beside an
improvised wooden platform. I passed out on to the
road and saw by the lighted dial of a clock that it was
ten minutes to ten. In front of me was a large building
which displayed the magical name.
I could not find any sixpenny entrance and, fearing
that the bazaar would be closed, I passed in quickly
through a turnstile, handing a shilling to a wearylooking man. I found myself in a big hall girded at half
its height by a gallery. Nearly all the stalls were closed
and the greater part of the hall was in darkness. I
recognized a silence like that which pervades a church
after a service. I walked into the centre of the bazaar
timidly. A few people were gathered about the stalls
which were still open. Before a curtain, over which the
words Café Chantant were written in coloured lamps,
two men were counting money on a salver. I listened
to the fall of the coins.
Remembering with difficulty why I had come, I went
over to one of the stalls and examined porcelain vases
and flowered tea-sets. At the door of the stall a young
lady was talking and laughing with two young
gentlemen. I remarked their English accents and
listened vaguely to their conversation.
‘O, I never said such a thing!’
‘O, but you did!’
Page 5 of 8
[text] Araby – a short story by James Joyce : Frisson
6/10/15, 1:58 PM
‘O, but I didn’t!’
‘Didn’t she say that?’
‘Yes. I heard her.’
‘O, there’s a… fib!’
Observing me, the young lady came over and asked
me did I wish to buy anything. The tone of her voice
was not encouraging; she seemed to have spoken to
me out of a sense of duty. I looked humbly at the
great jars that stood like eastern guards at either side
of the dark entrance to the stall and murmured:
‘No, thank you.’
The young lady changed the position of one of the
vases and went back to the two young men. They
began to talk of the same subject. Once or twice the
young lady glanced at me over her shoulder.
I lingered before her stall, though I knew my stay was
useless, to make my interest in her wares seem the
more real. Then I turned away slowly and walked
down the middle of the bazaar. I allowed the two
pennies to fall against the sixpence in my pocket. I
heard a voice call from one end of the gallery that the
light was out. The upper part of the hall was now
completely dark.
Gazing up into the darkness I saw myself as a
creature driven and derided by vanity; and my eyes
burned with anguish and anger.
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[–] Diminishing 6 points 1 year ago
I love love Joyce, and I love love Araby, but I gotta say I’ve never
frissoned from it.
permalink
[–] Luchador10K 3 points 1 year ago
TL;DR
permalink
[–] consciousxchaos 6 points 1 year ago
TL;DR
Kid is madly in love with friends older sister who he’s spoken
to once. Wants to go to a market to buy her something nice.
He gets to the market only to realize he is poor and can’t
Page 6 of 8
[text] Araby – a short story by James Joyce : Frisson
6/10/15, 1:58 PM
afford anything. He leaves the market mad at himself for his
feelings and situation.
permalink
parent
[–] faiban 1 point 1 year ago
I don’t see that realization in the text.
permalink
parent
[–] consciousxchaos 3 points 1 year ago
“Gazing up into the darkness I saw myself as a
creature driven and derided by vanity; and my eyes
burned with anguish and anger.”
If you were talking about his feelings.
“Observing me, the young lady came over and asked
me did I wish to buy anything. The tone of her voice
was not encouraging; she seemed to have spoken to
me out of a sense of duty. I looked humbly at the great
jars that stood like eastern guards at either side of the
dark entrance to the stall and murmured: ‘No, thank
you.'”
If you were talking about the money. He felt out of
place, and was treated so, because he had only two
pennies and sixpence when everything around him was
porcelain and expensive.
permalink
parent
[–] faiban 1 point 1 year ago
Huh. Okay, thanks 🙂
permalink
parent
[–] consciousxchaos 2 points 1 year ago
No problem 🙂 I had to study this and other
stories from Dubliners during my AP class. I
was surprised when I saw it on here.
permalink
parent
[–] thejoshea72 3 points 1 year ago
lol I know right? I feel so bad but it’s just there’s so much on
the internet to read…
permalink
parent
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[text] Araby - a short story by James Joyce : Frisson
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Page 8 of 8
“Hills Like White Elephants”
By Ernest Hemingway
The hills across the valley of the Ebro were long and white. On this side there was no shade and
no trees and the station was between two lines of rails in the sun. Close against the side of the
station there was the warm shadow of the building and a curtain, made of strings of bamboo
beads, hung across the open door into the bar, to keep out flies. The American and the girl with
him sat at a table in the shade, outside the building. It was very hot and the express from
Barcelona would come in forty minutes. It stopped at this junction for two minutes and went to
Madrid.
‘What should we drink?’ the girl asked. She had taken off her hat and put it on the table.
‘It’s pretty hot,’ the man said.
‘Let’s drink beer.’
‘Dos cervezas,’ the man said into the curtain.
‘Big ones?’ a woman asked from the doorway.
‘Yes. Two big ones.’
The woman brought two glasses of beer and two felt pads. She put the felt pads and the beer
glass on the table and looked at the man and the girl. The girl was looking off at the line of hills.
They were white in the sun and the country was brown and dry.
‘They look like white elephants,’ she said.
‘I’ve never seen one,’ the man drank his beer.
‘No, you wouldn’t have.’
‘I might have,’ the man said. ‘Just because you say I wouldn’t have doesn’t prove anything.’
The girl looked at the bead curtain. ‘They’ve painted something on it,’ she said. ‘What does it
say?’
‘Anis del Toro. It’s a drink.’
‘Could we try it?’
The man called ‘Listen’ through the curtain. The woman came out from the bar.
‘Four reales.’ ‘We want two Anis del Toro.’
‘With water?’
‘Do you want it with water?’
‘I don’t know,’ the girl said. ‘Is it good with water?’
‘It’s all right.’
‘You want them with water?’ asked the woman.
‘Yes, with water.’
‘It tastes like liquorice,’ the girl said and put the glass down.
‘That’s the way with everything.’
‘Yes,’ said the girl. ‘Everything tastes of liquorice. Especially all the things you’ve waited so
long for, like absinthe.’
‘Oh, cut it out.’
‘You started it,’ the girl said. ‘I was being amused. I was having a fine time.’
‘Well, let’s try and have a fine time.’
‘All right. I was trying. I said the mountains looked like white elephants. Wasn’t that bright?’
‘That was bright.’
‘I wanted to try this new drink. That’s all we do, isn’t it – look at things and try new drinks?’
‘I guess so.’
The girl looked across at the hills.
‘They’re ...
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