Essay On Patriarchy And Fatherhood

Friday, April 15, 2022 3:47:59 PM

Essay On Patriarchy And Fatherhood



Search And Seizure Case Study top of his balding head was smooth, with some dark spots. Cry more thunder! Process. Still, this mass compliancy baffles me. The danger had no name, not Global Stratification Sociology. Below, I have broken Global Stratification Sociology what you should pay attention to during each Auscultation Research Paper exercise.

Understanding Our History of Patriarchy: What's Faith Got to do with it?

Shrayer's memoir centers on his family's sojourn in an Italian town of Ladispoli, where the immigrants awaited admission into the United States in the s and 80s. As I will demonstrate, using contemporary scholarship located As I will demonstrate, using contemporary scholarship located at the intersection of diaspora and gender studies, this species of narrative delayed gratification is central to the memoir's representation of gender and sexuality. Jewish Studies , Masculinities , and Diaspora Studies.

Gender, Men and Masculinities. Book Reviews. Review of Does God Make the Man? Hoover and Curtis D. Coats New York UP, The Case History of Anna Freud more. Podcast: New Books in Gender Studies more. What is a father? Literary studies. Janes, Dominic. Men of the World more. Remember me on this computer. Enter the email address you signed up with and we'll email you a reset link. Need an account? In the fifteenth century, Bazaar Malay, a form of pidgin-derived Malay, was the lingua franca among traders and locals in the Malay Archipelago, including in Melaka located about kilometers south of the current-day capital city, Kuala Lumpur. A particularly bustling port city, Melaka was the birthplace of two of the contact languages featured here: Chetti Malay, a Malay-based contact language spoken by the Melaka Chetti, who are said to be descendants of intermarriages between South Indian Hindu traders and local women; and Melaka Portuguese, which traces its roots to the arrival of the Portuguese in Melaka in the sixteenth century.

The resulting unions between the Portuguese and the locals led to the development of the Melaka Portuguese-Eurasian community. Other than the Portuguese, from which most of its vocabulary is derived, Melaka Portuguese displays influences from Malay in terms of its grammatical structure, and also contains words from Malay, Dutch, and Indian e. To the west, the Portuguese presence in Sri Lanka from to gave rise to another Portuguese creole, Sri Lanka Portuguese, which was used by the Burghers, i. Today, it is mainly spoken by around three thousand Portuguese Burghers in a few locations in Sri Lanka.

The four verses in Chetti Malay by four members of that language community—Nironjini Pillay, Shagina Bhalan, Nadarajan Mudalier, and Mahendran Pillay—are in the style of a traditional Malay poem known as the pantun, with its typical a-b-a-b rhyme scheme. The tradition of the pantun among the Melaka Chetti distinguishes them from other Malaysians of Indian origin, as this form of cultural expression is particularly associated with the Malay communities of Southeast Asia. In their oral form, these poems require linguistic creativity and dexterity as verse after verse is traded between speakers. This particular pantun comprises four verses that describe the origins and cultural heritage of the Melaka Chetti people, with a special focus on their traditional attire.

As is typical in a pantun, the first two lines in each verse present a figurative suggestion of the more direct message contained in the final two lines. The translation of the poem attempts to retain the rhyme and rhythm of the pantun while maintaining the overall meaning of each verse. Translated by Hugo C. Miguel de Senna Fernandes. The tone shifts in two poems by the late Francis C.

The final piece in this issue is a folk story told in Melaka Portuguese. The approximately twenty-seven-acre village is about fifteen minutes away from the city center and has a population of about a thousand people. It was not uncommon for such frightening stories to be passed from one generation to another as a form of advice to prevent children and young people from going out late in the evening. This is not just because Portuguese is their main lexifier—it also relates to their historical development as the Portuguese traveled through South, Southeast, and East Asia. Along the way, the contact languages that developed were already likely to be a mixed variety, which then continued to evolve through further contact with local languages, peoples, and cultures.

For speakers of endangered languages, creative writing can be an opportunity to express themselves on subjects personal, traditional, and contemporary, using the nuances and melodies of their languages. The work they produce often speaks to their histories, traditions, and values, and gives readers a sense of what is important to them, whether it be love, family, or maintaining cultural traditions themes found in many of the works presented in this issue. In addition, for multilingual writers such as those represented in this issue, choosing to write in their heritage languages can be seen as an expression of agency, an active choice to communicate in a nondominant language rather than, for example, an official or national language e.

Thus, providing a space for minority and endangered languages to be published and read in their original form, rather than just in a translated version, connotes respect for these languages, their writers, and their communities, and helps to document their use for future generations. Note: This term is not offensive in the Sri Lankan context. In this traditional folktale passed down orally from one generation to the next, pregnant women turn into demons. Long ago, deep in the jungle, there lived six pregnant women.

Every day they would go hunting for food. This activity exhausted them, as their bellies grew bigger and heavier by the day. One day, they gathered to speak about their troubles. One of them suggested that they consult a sorceress. They were told that the sorceress could help them, but they could only meet with her on Thursday nights. They discussed the matter for many hours and then decided to visit her. The very next Thursday night, the women went to see the sorceress. When you go in search of food, you must do so at night, and you must only go with your head and intestines. The only way to return to your human form will be to drink the blood of pregnant women.

From that night onward, they would go looking for food in the darkness of the night, leaving their bodies behind. Fearing the curse, they returned home by three in the morning without fail. The women continued their nightly hunting rituals until one night, when a young hunter spotted them in their bodiless form. All he saw were floating heads attached to trailing intestines. Uncowed, he followed them to their house and witnessed their transformation.

The next night, he returned to the house and watched as they left their bodies behind. Waiting patiently until they set out to hunt, he crept into their house. When they returned, they could not fit into the bodies that were placed where they had left them. Each of them frantically flew in all directions in search of the right body, but to no avail. The clock struck three, and from that moment on they were forced to remain gut demons. You may say you have never come across these demons. Legend has it they were all captured by mighty sorcerers many, many years ago.

In this self-translation, the late Filipino poet Francis C. Macansantos masks the dark side of the ocean with deceptively seductive language. Listen to Dr. Sonia Macansantos Alensub read Francis C. With its whole body it gazes at you, Eyes of blue-green watch you, Dimpled smiles hidden in water. Laughter of clouds at its crest Doing a little dance before hurtling down, Crashing against your chest because it knows you, Pulling you out to sea, summoning you To a home where you lived long ago.

By arrangement with the estate of Francis C. A dying man contemplates his poverty and the heavens in this self-translation by the late Filipino poet Francis C. Marcos, a junk dealer, was found dead at dawn, still seated on a bench overlooking the sea at the Zamboanga wharf. Tin cans and bottles, Dented washbasin. If I find nothing, I cannot set plates on the table. The day is an empty container Filled with empty time. What face can I present to those Whose plates are full, Whose time is full, Whose lives are full?

A bigger void still Is the sky Where stars scatter, pell-mell, And in daytime is space tinted blue. Hope Is what gives us patience. Are they two sisters Or two faces of being broke? Here I will wait for the sky To open her chest. Here we will face each other, Void to void. The origins and heritage of the Melaka Chetti people take center stage in this pantun, a traditional Malay poetic form. Listen to K. Traveling from India to Melaka, Dealing in spices, cloth, and copper.

We are known as the Chetti of Melaka, Guardians of tradition and culture. Sporting shirts with bronze buttons we inspire, Ornate fabric so expensive. A symbol of culture is our attire, Radiant, handsome, and majestic. Curry simmering in a cast-iron pot, A pot passed down through generations. Dressed in kebaya with hair tied up in a knot, Chetti women ready for celebrations. Dressed in sarongs and white T-shirts, And wooden clogs inherited from ancestors.

A shawl on the shoulder and headgear on point, These are a Chetti man's treasures. This poem praises the people, the land, and the culture of the Sri Lanka Portuguese Burgher community. The fish sing over here, The fish sing. If you go to the seashore You will hear them. The shrimp fishermen Are catching crabs. It is Batticaloa. How beautiful is it?

So beautiful Is our land, Batticaloa! We play the rabana 3 until its skin bursts, The violin and guitar until their strings break. A typical dance and musical tradition of the Sri Lanka Portuguese Burgher community. A popular Sri Lankan musical style historically connected with the traditions of the Portuguese Burgher community. A traditional Sri Lankan drum played with the hand. My beloved lady, my sweet lady, Come and sing so beautifully. Beside the house, On the nearby fence, Hang your skirts and all to dry, Then take them back inside. Your face is like a rose blossom, I quickly take your hand And offer you a gold ring, For your finger, my beloved lady. When you and I are united, Sitting cozily together, I will give my life, I will give my heart To you, my lady, without regret.

Listen to H. Macau, our homeland Humble, though of great nobility A tiny land of a thousand wonders A flower for anyone in grief. Macau, our homeland In the world there is no other like you Home of peace, of charity A home for every soul. View this article in Portuguese English - Portuguese. They left the islands a legacy of hybrid words and gloomy plantations, rusted mills, breathless sterns, sonorous aristocratic names, and the legend of a shipwreck on Sete Pedras. They arrived here from the North, by mandate or perhaps in the service of their king: navigators and pirates, slavers, thieves, smugglers, simple men, rebels and outlaws too, and Jewish infants so tender they withered like burnt corn.

On their ships they brought compasses, trinkets, seeds, experimental plants, atrocious sorrows, a standard of stone pale as wheat, and other dreamless, rootless cargos, because the entire island was a port and a dead-end road. All its hands were black pitchforks and hoes. And there were living footprints in the fields slashed like scars—each coffee bush now exhales a dead slave. And on the islands they were bold: arrogant statues on street corners, a hundred or so churches and chapels for a thousand square kilometers, and the insurgent syncretism of roadside Christmas shrines. At times I think of their pallid skeletons, their hair putrid at the edge of the sea.

Here, in this fragment of Africa where, facing the South, a word rises high like a painful flag. This year, we partnered with the Academy of American Poets to bring you the third edition of the Poems-in-Translation Contest. We received poems from poets and 79 countries, translated from 61 languages. Published alongside the poems will be the original language texts and recordings of both the original poems and their English language translations. Check back throughout the month for interviews with the winners on the WWB Daily , and don't miss a virtual celebration with readings from the winners on September 27 at 7 p. Though unrestrained by grammatical structure, this translation heightens craft by presenting the implicit and explicit—the personal and shared experience—as dually embedded.

In the vein of a paracolonial text, the poem examines the specters of a racialized human commodity and its ecological aftermath. The reading of each deftly interpreted line thrusts the reader to beautifully confront the ways in which land holds the stories that history attempts to colonize, and how land will out the truth until the long-buried rest. View this article in Spanish English - Spanish. Her contribution is additionally significant seeing that she simultaneously subverts the formal purity of literary genres, introducing a fusion between poetry and prose that was seldom seen at the time and has since been taken up and practiced by several younger women authors.

Even though the story follows a chronological timeline from childhood to adulthood, the narration gains dreamlike and visionary qualities, juxtaposing details of mundane incidents with descriptions of life-changing events. Just as importantly, however, the novel is about intimacy and that unique relationship with another human being that is simultaneously sexual, sensual, loving, disappointing, and ultimately unbearable. The novel fluctuates between passages in which the protagonist addresses her male partner and her reminiscences about her life, mainly in the first person and occasionally in third person narrative. Sections directly addressed to this man frame the book, thus positioning the protagonist as a modern-day mythical storyteller whose incursions into the past serve the poignant purpose of explaining the present and paving the way for her eventual decision to move on.

Darling, I needed to liberate my brain from these visions, to leave them behind, solidified. To leave them like the shells of odd, exotic snails, on the impersonal beach of memory detached from myself. To leave them behind like testimonies, like concrete proofs, on the yellow sand, fine and damp, on the shores of this deep world, this giant aquarium full of turbulent water, from which somehow, I do not know how, I might escape, might extract myself for a moment.

I could toss myself onto the shore, onto the other side, to suffocate myself in the new air, in the too-pure ether, to feel like I might lose consciousness. To believe I have died. And then to find, I do not know how, that I escaped this shell for a moment, that I can rise, I can breathe again, I can fly. With another understanding, with another state of being. PEN International , with centers in more than countries, celebrates its centennial this year with writers around the world who share a commitment to freedom of expression, to literature and the written word, and to each other. Its younger cousin Words Without Borders, launched in , has translated into English and published over writers from countries, translated from languages.

Both organizations were founded in the wake of cataclysmic global events. The mission expanded from simply a social club into one of the first human rights organizations of the twentieth century. PEN members today not only gather for literary events in their home countries and internationally but also defend writers and the freedom to write worldwide. United by a charter that asserts literature knows no frontiers and should be shared freely, PEN also acts to protect languages and translation, to assist writers in exile, and to expand the space for writers in developing areas of the world.

The Words Without Borders archive leads the field with the most literature translated into English, which it makes available for school classrooms through WWB Campus. PEN and Words Without Borders, through their missions, members, and fellow writers, share a love for language, literature, and a connection to the world. Both celebrate the universal and the specific, the global and the local, with storytelling as the connecting membrane. WWB has translated and is publishing here three works from three different regions of the world by writers who have a connection to both organizations.

Speech is in danger, human dignity is in danger. The solidarity that connects us is essential for the struggle of writers, journalists, bloggers, and artists around the world who speak and testify for the voiceless. Our fellow wo man is within reach of words. After the major earthquake in Haiti and the outbreak of cholera, an upper-class Haitian family must accept the return of their schizophrenic oldest son from an institution where he has been living for the past forty years. The shock, the silence, the buried emotions all must be faced by family members who in turn narrate the story, some in first person, others in close third. The closely narrated family story speaks to the heartache felt by so many Haitians in the wake of the earthquake.

Her controversial gender and political stands resulted in threats, and she moved first to Georgia and then to Germany and now lives on a Writers-in-Exile scholarship from German PEN for — Simultaneously, the incredible translator I began working with for the excerpt, Ralph Hubbell, agreed to translate the entirety of my novel. Not only have WWB and PEN supported me throughout this last year, but their efforts have also led to new, lifelong friendships in my life.

Elfiye depicts the life of the lesbian title character from her teen years, when her outraged family arranges an exorcism, to her relationships in adulthood. In the excerpt here, "Tribades," translated from Turkish by Ralph Hubbell, Elfiye reencounters a former lover who has transitioned to male. He says, "Undeniably, owing to its long-standing commitment to publish world literature in translation, Words Without Borders shares with PEN International the same and ineradicable principle in defense of the double mission to protect freedom of expression and to create a world community of writers in all circumstances.

Persecuted writers have found a keen sense of solidarity in PEN International that feeds on the deep-seated conviction to freeing stifled voices. As a writer in exile, with the help of PEN International, I enlarged my vision and experience of writing beyond national and local boundaries in conflicted times. Inasmuch as Words Without Borders offered me and other writers the precious opportunity to have our works translated and published in English, it multiplied the voices of literature in translation by spreading the words of the freedom of expression and of the right to creative freedom.

All three stories, set in different locations with different histories, explore the tender and troubled pathways of the heart as characters fall in and out of love and are bound to, then separated from, family. Intensely personal, the stories also reflect the social mores and anxieties of the societies in which the characters live. A wealthy Haitian family is thrown into chaos by an unexpected return in this excerpt from Kettly Mars's novel.

He had a knack for this sort of thing. He had a knack for a lot of things, for as long as he could remember. He could've put money on it. But he never was a betting man. For what unthinkable reason would he leave the Institution? Alexandre had suffered from schizophrenia since adolescence and had lived inside the four walls of a psychiatric institution for more than forty years. What did they know about his life, about the voices that took away his reason and his speech, about the specters who, day after day, sealed his lips shut? How did he live in his own silent realm, on the very margins of life? What did he know about the wars throughout the world, about a Black man ascending to the rank of president of the United States of America, about the death of Michael Jackson?

Did he know the name of the Pope in Rome, about gay marriage, about the internet and cell phones? He lived and breathed in the same city as they did, but their worlds had been separated for ages. The family no longer knew Alexandre, lost for so long in his illness. Forty years was hardly the same as forty days. There had been travels, studies, vacations, encounters, loves, marriages and divorces, births and deaths. The story of Alexandre was stuck in that golden afternoon, in that bizarrely tender moment when he left the shocked household with two nurses, stupefied by a shot of tranquilizer. Alexandre was an illness, an inconsolable regret, a tender but bitter memory, a veil not to be lifted.

They preferred not to think about him nor speak of him. It was a way of avoiding the possibility of the impossible. A fault line, to that point unknown to the island's geologists, ruptured on a Tuesday in January. January, that lovely time of the year, when the nights are cool and the stars appear like flecks of glass blown across the night sky. The houses on the Bernier family's property held up. No one died in their courtyard, thank God. The family could still communicate over the internet, and in the evening, the news exchanged hands between parents and friends in the rest of the world.

But what of Alexandre? All of the telephone lines were blocked. Just like the city streets were blocked by monstrous traffic jams. The Institution called the following evening. Yes——everything was OK. The building had experienced a few jolts, but for the most part it managed to hold together——Alexandre had a few cuts and scrapes——a bookshelf had fallen——but nothing serious had happened. The head nurse had nothing else to add, everything was fine. The months went by. One October day, the media spoke of a few confirmed cases of cholera in the Artibonite River Valley, the river that runs through it and nourishes the fields and rice paddies of the Central Plateau like a flow of milk.

But the epidemic traveled quickly. The Institution only called once a month, on the last day of the month, to give brief updates on Alexandre. Always the same. He was in good health, he was generally fine apart from his cholesterol levels, which tended to be slightly elevated. It was the beginning of December. The Institution never called at the beginning of the month. This time the message was crystal clear, but he couldn't find meaning in what was said.

Wracked with emotions, his brain refused to register the information he received. A slight tremor overtook his body, from head to toe, and tiny drops of sweat glistened on his forehead. It was better to tell the old woman the news in person; with her heart condition, they had to be careful. He took his handkerchief out of his pocket and sponged his brow. The catastrophe had befallen him; he needn't wait for it any longer. Forty-eight hours. They only had forty-eight hours to pick Alexandre up from the Institution. To bring him home forever. That much was clear, especially since there were no other private mental institutions in the capital, and the outdated public institutions were simply not an option.

Given the current state of affairs in the country, one had to get creative and rely on solidarity in order to satisfy everyone's most basic needs. This new, unique, unexpected test required them to pool their energy and give their unadulterated attention to an emergency that touched them so profoundly. The medical director left no sense of doubt——the Institution was closing permanently. One of the boarders was sick with cholera and the Institution didn't have the means to handle a full-fledged outbreak within its walls; they had neither the space nor the personnel necessary to manage a quarantine.

To make matters even worse, the medical director informed everyone that the earthquake had cracked the foundation of the old house, according to the recent evaluation performed by the specialized Hashimoto firm. For three months, the continuous aftershocks had weakened the structure and the residents were no longer safe. Soon, the Institution would need to be torn down. All of the boarders needed to leave and return to their families. A few hundred yards from the Institution, the family could hear the muffled hum of the car engines and motorcycles that perpetually clogged the streets. Jackhammers and backhoes rumbled as well. It was hard to imagine the many lives clustered together under tents in every nook and cranny of the city capable of accommodating makeshift shelters for displaced persons——people who would continue living like this for quite some time.

Livia finished serving coffee and was in no hurry to leave. She felt the intensity of the moment, the weight of the silences between each sentence. Something serious had happened to the Bernier family. She was sure of it. But this time the reverberations came to the family in a different way. The danger had no name, not yet. The tiny metal spoons clanked against the insides of the hot china. They sat in the garden conversing in short and lively phrases, their tense little exchanges collided with one another. They looked at one another with disbelief lurking in their eyes.

They still hadn't surmounted the invisible wall that stood before them. They evaluated it mentally. They skirted the issue at hand, superficially addressing it, asking each other about it, evoking it. They were at a loss. The day was the same as any other, a cool and bright December afternoon where the first breezes of the precocious evening caused the thick foliage of the old oaks to tremble in the courtyard. He cleared his throat before each sentence, as if he was trying to expel a cold. He did that when he was nervous. Jules robotically smoothed the sharp crease in his black pants. The old woman was shaken to the depths of her soul.

Her chest rose with greater effort than usual and her lips were stiff, a sign of great anxiety for her. Luckily her children were there, all around her. They were just as shaken, but they were present and attentive. Her children, who had not been children for quite some time. It was quite possible that she did this on purpose to annoy everyone else.

And she saw Jules, the radiologist son-in-law, athletic and elegant with his ponytail held up by a rubber band, trying his best to not appear jealous of his beloved wife, Gabrielle, eighteen years his junior. Nearly old, them too, thought the old woman. She grappled with her emotions. She faced her fears. She went to battle. They had to pick up Alexandre, her son wandering in the twists and turns of madness, her son who had once threatened her with a butcher's knife, her son whom she had lost for more than forty years, her son of so much love and so much pain. Leaning over him, she watches him sleep. The spectacle of crumbled houses and people huddled under tents in the streets made his skin crawl. Alexandre brought with him just one little suitcase and a feeling of confusion accentuated by a supplementary dose of medication before his departure from the Institution.

Just after settling into the little house, he stretched out on the bed in his room and, without even taking off his shoes, immediately fell into a deep sleep. He did not notice any of that. He just sought out his bed as though it was an abyss he could sink into. Forty-two years, three months, and eighteen days was the length of his absence. And he came back one year, to the very day, after Francis died. My God, what message are you sending me? A fantasy or a privilege that would not have been acceptable from the other children. Not even his father. He is almost an old man in her eyes, a body exhausted by illness, a body that never knew maturity and fulfillment——a fresh fruit that has faded.

She is the mother of an old man. Does he still know who she is? Will he even recognize her after all this time? Should she be afraid of him even though Dr. Durand-Franjeune says that he no longer has violent outbursts, that the years and years of medication have broken the inner workings of his illness and filled in the cracks of his being? This makes her tremble. Does he remember the little boy who ran after her in the shimmering light of the oaks? He runs his hands over his face once, twice, three times, as if he could somehow change the scenery, and return to the Institution, to the life from which he had just been torn.

He just went through an ordeal, the scale of which was overwhelming. He's feeling an emotion beyond fear, worse than a threat to his life. All the voices in his head go wild. A feeling of pure panic, like the one he tried to escape by running incessantly around the concrete pillar of the living room of the Institution. But here it was, the pillar was deep in the abyss, he saw it there and it must have weighed tons. He could never bring it back and replant it in the middle of his life. The stench of the wet paint smacks him in the face, the odor is like a wall he's run into. Where are the others? Where are Joseph and Miss Laurette and Maria? Where are his friends, Gogo and Samuel? He hears the birds singing and fluttering in the trees outside and thinks about the cookies in his pocket.

That is, if birds haven't stolen them from him. He'll have to kill the birds, all of them. This is not the Institution, and his legs feel the need to run and jump over the walls, but his legs feel weighed down, heavy. A herd of voices gallops through his head, causing him pain. He sees a woman with white hair leaning over him, looking at him intensely; he smells her perfume, he can hear her beating heart. The old woman can no longer leave. She is stunned and cannot run away, her knees are about to give.

Alexandre sees her in the bright light that passes through the glass slats in the little window above his bed. The galloping stops for an instant, just an instant. Translated by Nathan H. Forthcoming, with a foreword by Kaiama L. Glover, in Fall from the University of Virginia Press. By arrangement with the publisher. In this excerpt from a novel by Algeria's Mohamed Magani, folk tales foreshadow a family's sorrow. In the middle of an interior facade sunken in abiding shadow hung a water-swollen goatskin lashed to an iron rod. It wept lazy droplets into a broad, flat-edged metal saucer. Never, said Sefwane, had a member of his family been bitten or stung.

His father died, mourned by his mule, which refused its fodder and passed away shortly thereafter. One month before his daughter was to wed, Sefwane, who never spoke of things that had been, shared this scrap of the past with her. The memory had suddenly risen up from the depths of his own tender childhood years. Sefwane continued to rattle off memories from his childhood, noticing that they soothed her, procured her moments of respite from the apprehensions and uncertainties of her imminent new life. Having exhausted his personal memories, he moved on to tales and legends heard from grandparents, parents, grownups from the greater family.

The days flew by; but a dozen and his daughter would be wed; she was showing signs of anxiety. He began with the following fable:. In a hamlet perched on a plateau, a man and a woman lived in poverty. A thatch-roofed hut with walls of mud provided their only shelter, and a donkey their only keep. The man used the animal to transport goods and earn money. All they had in the world was this means of subsistence. One evening in April, three men armed to the teeth came, kicked in his door, and ordered him outside. He rushed to obey, falling before them with fear in his belly and panic in his eye. He knew nothing good could come, night or day, of such unexpected guests, who left slaughter, terror, and misery in their wake.

But he was soon reassured: they wished him no harm and required no payment of any kind. They simply wanted his donkey. He surrendered it to them, along with the saddlebags, into which his visitors stuffed six big black plastic bags and then vanished into the darkness that now covered the land. Mute with fear, and without the slightest hint of curiosity, the man hastened to hide himself away in his hut. Once he had told his wife what happened, she asked him many questions about what was in the bags.

The only description the man could supply was of their size and the strings that tied them tight. He never saw the three men again; they had disappeared for good. But the next day, the donkey found its way home in the hours before dawn, wandering through an untended wheatfield amid a riot of spring wildflowers, still laden with saddlebags and plastic bags alike as its owner looked on, dumbfounded.

The contents of these plastic bags proved, for the man and the woman, a source of profound stupefaction mingled with joy and fear. Bundles of a thousand dinars cascaded from the upended bags. The man and the woman had the presence of mind to bury the spoils in a hole inside their shabby hut, and soon forgot all about the source of their windfall. Now that safety had returned to their lives, those lives turned upside down. They built a big house and bought the surrounding land. As for the donkey, it was treated to a luxurious barn equipped with such amenities as heating and air conditioning.

After all, it had slaved away for them as both ox and donkey. All the fairy tales of the civil war, with or without the contribution of a donkey, prominently featured the spontaneous enrichment of simple folk after a series of singular events. The safekeepers never saw them again. They kept quiet about the spoils in their possession, resorting to them when the just exercise of their patience seemed to them to have reached its reasonable limit.

Beneficiaries of manna fallen from heaven, they went on to enjoy the affluent lives made possible by the money and jewels. Rumor named them. Sefwane cited these names to his daughter, and she was surprised to hear among them those of three families she knew—families of friends, even—but at the same time, she was indignant to discover that these families owed their fortunes to men with bags and ropes, men who were, moreover, true believers with lethal convictions about the uncrossable line between good and evil. Her father nodded. She told him she was happy to belong to a family that led a comfortable life free of suspicion of theft or dishonesty.

Sefwane nodded again, his face awash in utter agreement. He did not neglect to reassure his daughter about her immediate future: she was about to join an honorable family, safe from want, well-to-do long before the advent of the civil war and its fables. Her future held exhilarating possibilities. His daughter Yesma could dream of everything a girl of eighteen springs might dream of. Mainly, a husband just one year older, accommodating and open to her plans for the future. With his approval, she had chosen the school of life first, and would be free to resume her studies in biology whenever she wished. One subject impassioned her above all else: the preservation of the Saharan bee, a species threatened by the introduction of the Tunisian bee into its natural habitat.

Astonishing creature, the Saharan bee! They could travel up to six miles in search of red date trees whereas Tunisian bees had a range of barely two. The role of the gods is heavily woven into the events that unfold in Ransom. During his journey, a jovial young man who joins the travellers is revealed as Hermes, a god who has come to safely guide the elderly men to Achilles. The power of the gods in controlling human fate is illustrated during the scene where Hermes saves the travellers from being swept away by a stream. Even when confronted with doubt and hesitancy from his family, it is Priam who pushes onwards to fulfil his vision. Whether his actions were already predestined or of his own agency is up to you to decide.

Time moves on beyond our lives as we are forgotten over decades and centuries while nature prevails. Malouf demonstrates that in the end, life just is — we are granted by nature to have a brief existence, yet in the end, nature and time will move forward without us. For the first time, Priam is exposed to the different interests and values of the common man and is intrigued by the simplicities of life. It is Somax, a mere old man from the marketplace, who teaches Priam more about life than he had imagined possible. The twelve-spoked wheels are elaborately carved and painted, a wickerwork canopy covers the tray'.

On all occasions, the king had used this elegant cart to alert others that royalty was present. The use of this cart demonstrates how Priam has been encapsulated in his own royal sphere since everything is meticulously chosen and designed specifically for the king. At the beginning of the journey, Priam is characterised with childish traits. For Somax, the little griddlecakes are a regular and delectable snack, yet Priam 'ha[s] never seen them before'. He had previously never noticed that there was so much preparation and work that went into the food that appeared at his table, let alone the ingredients and thickness of a batter.

Achilles, the greatest warrior of the Greeks, stands next to the sea while reminiscing about the past. The death of Patroclus left Achilles with an overwhelming sense of loss and also burning animosity. Hector, the son of Trojan king Priam and leader of the Trojan army, wore Achilles' armour as a sign of triumph and disrespect for the Greeks. In a dramatic battle between Hector and himself, Achilles was successful in killing his enemy. For Achilles however, this was not enough. Along with the conflict between Greece and Troy, Ransom also delves into the consequences of those affected by the war. As the greatest warrior of all Greeks, Achilles has lived his life as a fighter.

While warriors are known for sacrificing their lives in the battlefield, Achilles does not literally refer to warriors confronting death each time they fight for their team. Furthermore, Achilles grieves for his mother in the opening passages of Ransom. If you'd like to read more of my analysis, feel free to access a sample of our ebook A Killer Text Guide: Ransom.

Time to Test Your Listening Skills. Since this section was introduced to the exam fairly recently, limited past exam questions are available for students to practice. In this blog, you will find a comprehensive list of external resources that are accessible for free. Although they are not designed specifically for the purpose of VCAA exams, they can still boost your marks if used wisely. I will offer some advice that helped me receive a perfect study score in EAL and give you a step-by-step guide on how to use these listening resources to better prepare for EAL listening. ABC 5 minutes more this is super fun and easy one to listen to, perfect for times when we feel a bit lazy.

I particularly love the fact that both the website and its free app offer English transcription and Chinese translation side by side. I recommend you listen to the audio three times. Below, I have broken down what you should pay attention to during each listening exercise. This will help you during note taking and formulating your answer. Under the stress of exams, we might lose track of which speaker is talking, especially when the two speakers sound similar.

By highlighting the name of the speaker in the question, it reminds us which speaker to pay attention to when answering the question. The answer you need to provide will typically be a two-word answer. I would encourage you to learn the adjectives used to describe a range of interactions, for example:. Below, I will demonstrate the step-by-step process of how you can make full use of the listening resources above. Download this worksheet so that you can work through this listening task on your own too!

We are going to designate a separate table for each speaker in the audio. This is where you have the opportunity to fill in the blanks for the challenging words that you did not pick up in the first round. For example: Ubiquitous, monopolists, admirable, immersed, sophisticated and algorithm. As you listen, see if you can identify why I have chosen these two words to describe the interaction.

Keep in mind that there is no right or wrong answer here as long as your choice of descriptive words suit the audio clip. Usually I would read the transcript in this third and final step, however, since there is no transcript available for this piece, I will skip this step. Using the same audio clip and worksheet , have a go at these VCAA-style questions that I wrote up, and then check out my sample answers to see how your own answers compare. Most assessments require you to write essays using formal language. In English writing, there are two main styles of writing — formal and informal.

The primary purpose of formal language is to achieve sophistication and clarity. Consider these two examples:. It is clear that example 1 is formal while example 2 is informal. The vocabulary, tone, and syntax are all things that change depending on the style you wish to adopt. Creative pieces and persuasive pieces can be written informally, for example, if it is a personal diary or an advertisement respectively. Below are some more specific examples of the differences between formal and informal writing:. Formal: Avoids contractions write out full words — was not, did not, had not etc.

Informal: May use first I, me etc. Informal: May address readers using second person pronouns you, your, etc. Formal: Avoids using abbreviated words write in full — photograph, television, etc. When writing essays ensure that you stick to one or the other. I find it to be one of the most intriguing texts of our time - managing to weave together a historical narrative with humour, wit, and modern-day social concerns regarding patriarchy, class, and the effects of isolation. The Dressmaker is one of those texts which reinforces why studying English can be so great when you give it a proper chance. Specifically, The Dressmaker offers real insight into some of the most pressing issues that have been around for centuries - how communities respond to crisis, why certain groups are marginalised, and how we should respond to tyranny and intolerance.

The main message I want you to take from this section is that understanding s Australia is essential to understanding Dungatar. This discussion broadly reflects the experiences of colonised Australia because that is the frame which Rosalie Ham provides. A general rule to help us understand the Outback is that it is way out in the centre of the country, far away from urban Australia. Its main industry is pastoralism, which refers to the grazing of cattle, sheep, and other species such as goats. This is a tough lifestyle, and as such small towns and a lot of room for livestock is preferable.

Isolation tends to create its own culture, practices, and social standards. For Dungatar, we see massive economic divides and strict expectations around the role of men and women. For instance, the McSwineys live in absolute poverty, yet Councilman Evan and his family are relatively wealthy. Most of the women in the town either care for children or stay at home, reflecting the outdated idea that it is the role of the man to work, and the role of the woman to be a homemaker.

Changing this way of life would be dangerous for them because it means they have to completely reconsider the way they live. Abuse of women is common in Dungatar, and it is almost expected that women will be subservient to men and do as they demand. Sergeant Farrat subverts social expectations placed upon s men by adoring feminine fashion. However, the fact that he is forced to hide his passion reveals how, in conservative towns such as Dungatar, individuals are forced to suppress their true selves in order to fit in with the broader population. Buela Harridene pretends to care about the enforcement of the law, but her true concern is bending the law to her own will to make those who step outside of their socially defined roles suffer.

Although this specifically refers to William Beaumont, it alludes to the broader picture that the people of Dungatar believe that any outside ideas fundamentally threaten everything about the way they live. If you'd like to see the all Chapter plots, their analysis, along with important quotes, then have a look at our The Dressmaker Study Guide. One of the central conflicts in The Dressmaker is between the isolated town of Dungatar, and the rapidly modernising surroundings of post-depression s Australia, as we established in Historical Context.

Ham uses this dichotomy meaning when two opposing factors are placed right next to each other to question whether isolated communities like Dungatar really have a role in the modern world. The Dressmaker speaks extensively about social class. By class, what I mean is the economic and social divisions which determine where people sit in society. It's also important to introduce the notion of a classist society. A classist society is one where all social relations are built on these aforementioned economic and social divides - in other words, everything you do in life, and everything you are able to do , is built on where you sit in the class structure.

For The Dressmaker , the question then becomes - "how does class relate to Dungatar? Dungatar and Femininity. The idea of femininity describes, on a basic level, the ability of a woman to express herself independent of any man. Above all else, Dungatar exists within a patriarchal framework, which is one where men hold structural power and authority, and that power relies on keeping women silent and subservient.

Think also about Sergeant Farrat. However, as always, Ham elucidates that there too exists a dark side to fashion in a town like Dungatar. What this quote tells us is that, despite a temporary possibility for empowerment, the women of Dungatar did not fundamentally change their identities. Tilly, or Myrtle Dunnage, is the protagonist of The Dressmaker , and an acclaimed dressmaker trained in Paris. This pessimistic perspective on life inspires Tilly to adopt an incredibly individualistic understanding of the world; believing that the only way for her to survive is embracing her individual worth and rejecting toxic communities.

Teddy becomes essential to the plot when he and Tilly spark a budding romance. Farrat is, in essence, entrusted with preventing the townspeople from destroying themselves by now, we all know how easily the townspeople slide into hatred and division! The Dressmaker is written in the Gothic style, which means it combines romance with death and horror, particularly horror of the emotional kind. The Dressmaker is divided into four sections, each named after a type of fabric Tilly uses in her work. The four types are:.

A fabric made from cotton or yarn, with a checkered shape. In this section of the novel, Sergeant Farrat also buys gingham fabric to secretly make into a skirt, symbolising how the town is still rife with secrets and a disparity between the public and private personas of its inhabitants. A fabric used for bridal gowns. Gertrude is married in this section and her dress, which Tilly makes, is the first instance where the town witnesses her work. Shantung originates from China, matching this notion of exoticism and foreignness which seeing the dress spreads among the townspeople. A fabric noted for its ability to be used for a wide variety of purposes.

A richly decorative fabric made with threads of gold and silver. Brocade is used primarily for upholstery, drapery, and costumes. Who needs speed? For more sample essay topics, head over to our The Dressmaker Study Guide to practice writing essays using the analysis you've learnt in this blog! One of the most logical ways to approach this topic is a chronological structure. The introduction of Language Analysis essays for VCE English is somewhat rigid as there are multiple components that must be included, for instance: issue, form, contention, name, publishing date, tone, etc.

With this guideline in mind, the advice I am sharing in this blog post is based on the understanding and assumption that EAL Language Analysis introductions DO NOT need background information such as where the article is published, when is it published, style, etc. Since EAL is more flexible than mainstream English, and requires fewer elements, you can adopt a template for introductions that you are comfortable using to save time during the assessments. Using the templates above, here are some examples of what the final product for your introduction may look like.

And if you want to learn more about tones, head to Language Analysis Tones. Meg Mundell insists that making it illegal to sleep on the street will only exacerbate the problem in a demanding tone. If you want to take your introduction to the next level, see The Importance of the Introduction for tips! Although the guide is aimed at mainstream English students, you can still apply some of the tips and strategies as an EAL student. It will really help to take your Language Analysis to the next level! Plans are one of the most ignored and underestimated steps in the essay writing process.

Each of these situations place too many students time and time again in sticky situations come an English SAC or exam. To learn more about themes, quotes, characters about this text, and to have a look at an essay topic breakdown, check out this blog post written by outstanding LSG tutor, Angelina! Now, it may seem like I've just highlighted the whole prompt, and I understand why you might think that!

However, each of the words highlighted convey something meaningful within the prompt. If you're ever unsure about what could be considered a key word, consider whether the prompt would have the same meaning without the word in question. For me, this signals that we must consider morality and the weighing up of right and wrong, especially when tough decisions have to be made.

For some more detailed info on how to tackle different types of essay prompts, check out this blog post. Although it seems like the above steps would take a while, my real-life planning process only takes about 5 minutes. Personally, I like to format my plans in dot-point form. I write 1, 2, 3 for each of my body paragraphs and I leave a space underneath each so I can plan each paragraph. Again, these are only rough topic sentences — fancying them up will come during the essay writing phase. In Year 12, I made a conscious effort to include one literary device or metalanguage example per body paragraph in all of my English essays.

This really set me apart from the rest of the state because, in reality, not enough students really focused on the language of their texts, which can really impress examiners. For me, using different colours in my plans helped me organise my thoughts, distinguish between them, and ensure that I had covered everything that I wanted to cover. Obviously, you can come up with a colour system that works for you, but this is what I came up with:. Hey guys. I've been doing a load of essay topic breakdowns for you guys, and we've been looking at plans for them, so I thought I would actually show you how I actually do a real life plan, one that I would do on paper if I was preparing for a SAC or an exam, as opposed to the ones that I do on YouTube because the ones that I do on YouTube are slightly different.

I definitely go into more detail than I normally would. But at the same time I still do use the same concepts as I would when I do read the steps on YouTube. So I'm going to go and show you that today. And before I actually do that, I just want to preface this and tell you guys why doing a plan is so important. So I know that a plan is something that one, a lot of people just don't do, or two, they tend to sacrifice it if they feel like they don't have enough time, or three, they do a plan in their head, but they don't actually write it down on paper. Now, all of these things are pretty detrimental for you, especially because when you write a plan, it actually helps to secure you and ensure that one, you're not going to mind blank throughout your essay or let me rephrase that, if you do mind blank throughout your essay, you will still have a piece of paper in front of you telling you, "This is what you were thinking Lisa, just go and follow this method or what you've written down here.

Second thing is that it ensures that you don't go off topic. This is something that happens quite frequently. If you don't have a plan, then you have this idea of, "Oh, I'll write this and this", and then somehow halfway through an essay, halfway through a paragraph, you realize, "Holy crap, I have completely veered off the topic or this has gone completely in the other direction from what I intended.

This is not what I wanted. You will find that it ends up saving you so much time and it just gives you that reassurance that you need in situations where there are so many unpredictable factors, like what prompts you're actually going to get. And your focus and attention should be more about developing those ideas, rather than having a mind blank in the middle of your essay and then having a little bit of a freakout as a result. So I'm going to base this video on a previous essay topic breakdown in the past, and that is on Kate Grenville's The Lieutenant.

I was going to say Lieutenant, because I always accidentally say that, but no, it is Lieutenant. Now, if you are not doing as text as always, don't stress about it because what I want you to take away from this video is how you actually do plans, the thinking that goes behind it and the formatting around it. So let's just get started. The essay topic that we're doing today is, "But a man could not travel along two different paths.

I would recommend you go watch that first Essay On Patriarchy And Fatherhood you watch this, because pretty much all of the concepts that I Differences And Similarities Between Baz Luhrmann And The Great Gatsby about in that video, uh, Buddhism In China Summary just expected details that you should know for this video. Kung Woman. In Examples Of Sexism In Disney Movies, Nancy A. New York. So, like I mentioned Global Stratification Sociology, there may be situations Differences And Similarities Between Baz Luhrmann And The Great Gatsby, you know, worst case scenario, you I Love Coffee Descriptive Essay finish Global Stratification Sociology essay in time.