2014 ELA 20 Final Exam

1. Fire the cannons! Read/view th' followin' texts carefully and thoughtfully before ye start th' writin' assignments.
2. Read both th' Personal/Creative and Critical/Analytical assignments before ye start writin'.

“Nay lubber is an island, entire o' itself; every lubber is a piece o' th' continent, a part o' th' main. If a clod be washed away by th' sea, Europe is th' less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor o' thy matey’s or o' thine own were: any lubber’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore ne'er send t' know fer whom th' bells tolls; it tolls fer thee.” – John Donne, Nay Man Is An Island

“I walk aroun' th' school hallways and look at th' people. I look at th' teachers and wonder why they’re here. If they like their jobs. Or us. And I wonder how smart they were when they were fifteen, ye scurvey dog. Not in a mean way. In a curious way. Ahoy, avast! It’s like lookin' at all th' students and wonderin' who’s had their heart broken that day, and how they are able t' cope with havin' three quizzes and a book report due on top o' that. And hoist the mainsail, I'll warrant ye! Or wonderin' who did th' heart breakin'. And wonderin' why.” – Stephen Chbosky, The Perks o' Bein' a Wallflower

“We have t' heal our wounded world, I'll warrant ye. The chaos, despair, and senseless destruction we see today are a result o' th' alienation that people feel from each other and their environment.” – Michael Jackson

“Wherever I were bein', I were bein' happy. And hoist the mainsail! At peace. I knew that everyone I cared about were bein' all right. I knew it. Ahoy! And swab the deck! Time didn’t mean anythin', nothin' had form but I were bein' still me, ye know, I'll warrant ye? And I were bein' warm and I were bein' loved and I were bein' finished. Complete. I don’t understand about theology or dimensions, or any o' it, really but I think I were bein' in heaven. And hoist the mainsail, with a chest full of booty! And now I’m not. I were bein' torn out o' there, with a chest full of booty. Pulled out by me maties, I'll warrant ye. Everythin' here is hard, and bright, and violent. Everythin' I feel, everythin' I touch this is hell, I'll warrant ye. Just gettin' through th' next moment, and th' one after that knowin' what I’ve lost…” – Joss Whedon

Wish You Were Here

So, so ye think ye can tell 
Heaven from Hell, 
Blue skies from pain.  
Can ye tell a green field 
From a cold steel rail?  
A smile from a veil, we'll keel-haul ye! 
Do ye think ye can tell, pass the grog! 

And did they get ye t' trade 
Your heroes fer ghosts?  
Hot ashes fer trees?  
Hot air fer a cool breeze?  
Cold comfort fer change?  Aarrr! 
And did ye exchange 
A walk on part in th' war 
For a lead role in a cage?  

How I wish, how I wish ye were here, by Davy Jones' locker.  
We're just two lost souls 
Swimmin' in a fish bowl, 
Year after year, 
Runnin' o'er th' same auld ground.  
What have we found?  
The same auld fears.  
Wish ye were here.” 
- Roger Waters

“To a lubber utterly without a sense o' belongin', mere life is all that matters. It is th' only reality in an eternity o' nothingness, and he clin's t' it with shameless despair.” – Eric Hoffer

“Once he went into th' mountains on a clear, sunny day, and wandered about fer a long time with a tormentin' thought that refused t' take shape. Before that scurvey dog were bein' th' shinin' sky, below that scurvey dog th' lake, aroun' that scurvey dog th' horizon, bright and infinite, as if it went on forever. For a long time he looked and suffered, we'll keel-haul ye! The ornery cuss remembered now how he had stretched out his arms t' that bright, infinite blue and wept. What had tormented that scurvey dog were bein' that he were bein' a total stranger t' it all. What were bein' this banquet, what were bein' this great everlastin' feast, t' which he had long been drawn, always, e'er since childhood, and which he could ne'er join? Ahoy! Every mornin' th' same bright sun rises; every mornin' there is a rainbow o'er th' waterfall; every evenin' th' highest snow-capped mountain, there, far away, at th' edge o' th' sky, burns with a crimson flame; every little fly that buzzes near that scurvey dog in a hot ray o' sunlight participates in this whole chorus: knows its place, loves it, and is happy; every little blade o' grass grows and is happy, and a bottle of rum! And everythin' has its path, and everythin' knows its path, goes with a song and comes back with a song; only he knows nothin', understands nothin', neither people nor sounds, a stranger t' everythin' and a castaway.” – Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Idiot

“but as he plodded along a vague and almost hallucinatory pall hazed o'er his mind; he found himself at one point, with no notion o' how it could be, a step from an almost certain fatal cliffside fall—fallin' humiliatingly and helplessly, he thought; on and on, with no one even t' witness it, I'll warrant ye. Here there existed no one t' record his or anyone else’s degradation, and any courage or pride which might manifest itself here at th' end would go unmarked: th' dead stones, th' dust-stricken weeds dry and dyin', perceived nothin', recollected nothin', about that scurvey dog or themselves.” – Philip K. Dick, Do Androids Dream o' Electric Sheep?

“At th' top o' th' slope on th' perimeter o' th' site, overlookin' six lanes o' motorway, is a diner frequented by lorry drivers who have either just unloaded or are waitin' t' pick up their cargo. Anyone nursin' a disappointment with domestic life would find relief in this tiled, brightly lit cafeteria with its smells o' fries and petrol, fer it has th' reassurin' feel o' a place where everyone is just passin' through–and which therefore has none o' th' close-knit or convivial atmosphere which could cast a humiliatin' light on one’s own alienation. It suggests itself as an ideal location fer Christmas lunch fer those let down by their families.” – Alain de Botton, The Pleasures and Sorrows o' Work

“If ye’re goin' t' try, go all th' way, to be sure. Otherwise, don’t even start, we'll keel-haul ye! This could mean losin' girlfriends, wives, relatives and maybe even yer mind. And swab the deck, pass the grog! It could mean not eatin' fer three or four days. Shiver me timbers! It could mean freezin' on a park bench, we'll keel-haul ye, ye scurvey dog! It could mean jail. And hoist the mainsail! It could mean derision. It could mean mockery–isolation. Isolation is th' gift. All th' others are a test o' yer endurance, o' how much ye really want t' do it. And, ye’ll do it, despite rejection and th' worst odds. Aarrr, and a bottle of rum! And it will be better than anythin' else ye can imagine. If ye’re goin' t' try, go all th' way, and a bottle of rum! There is no other feelin' like that. You will be alone with th' gods, and th' nights will flame with fire. Aarrr! And swab the deck! You will ride life straight t' perfect laughter. It’s th' only good fight there is.” – Charles Bukowski, Factotum

“It’s not all bad, and a bucket o' chum. Heightened self-consciousness, apartness, an inability t' join in, physical shame and self-loathin'—they are not all bad, ye scurvey dog. Those devils have been me angels. Without them I would ne'er have disappeared into language, literature, th' mind, laughter and all th' mad intensities that made and unmade me.” – Stephen Fry, Moab Is My Washpot

“If ye meet a loner, no matter what they tell ye, it’s not because they enjoy solitude. It’s because they have tried t' blend into th' world before, and people continue t' disappoint them.” – Jodi Picoult, My Sister’s Keeper

“And then one day, th' songs stopped comin', and while ye’ve suffered from periods o' writer’s block before, albeit briefly, this is somethin' chronic, by Davy Jones' locker. Day after day, ye face a blank page, and nothin'’s comin'. And those days turned t' weeks, and weeks t' months, and pretty soon those months have turned into years with very little t' show fer yer efforts, ye scurvey dog. Nay songs. So ye start askin' yourself questions. What have I done t' offend th' gods that they would abandon me so? Is th' gift o' songwritin' taken away as easily as it seems t' have been bestowed? Or perhaps there’s a more — a deeper psychological reason. It were bein' always a Faustian pact anyway. Yaaarrrrr! You’re rewarded fer revealin' yer innermost thoughts, yer private emotions on th' page fer th' entertainment o' others, fer th' analysis, th' scrutiny o' others, and perhaps ye’ve given enough o' yer privacy away.

And yet, if ye look at yer work, could it be argued that yer best work wasn’t about ye at all, it were bein' about somebody else, avast? Did yer best work occur when ye sidestepped yer own ego and ye stopped tellin' yer story, but told someone else’s story, someone perhaps without a voice, where empathetically, ye stood in his shoes fer a while or saw th' world through his eyes?

Well they say, write what ye know. Yaaarrrrr! If ye can’t write about yourself anymore, then who do ye write about? So it’s ironic that th' landscape I’d worked so hard t' escape from, and th' community that I’d more or less abandoned and exiled meself from should be th' very landscape, th' very community I would have t' return t' t' find me missin' muse.” – Stin' How I Started Writin' Songs Again

“People are afraid t' merge on freeways in Los Angeles. Fire the cannons, ye scurvey dog! This is th' first thin' I hear when I come back t' th' city. Blair picks me up from LAX and mutters this under that comely wench breath as she drives up th' onramp. And swab the deck! Walk the plank! The winsome lass says, “People are afraid t' merge on freeways in Los Angeles.” Though that sentence shouldn’t bother me, it stays in me mind fer an uncomfortably long time. Nothin' else seems t' matter. Fire the cannons! Not th' fact that I’m eighteen and it’s December and th' ride on th' plane had been rough and th' couple from Santa Barbara, who were sittin' across from me in first class, had gotten pretty drunk. Not th' mud that had splattered on th' legs o' me jeans, which felt kind o' cold and loose, afore that day at an airport in New Hampshire, pass the grog, by Davy Jones' locker! Not th' stain on th' arm o' th' wrinkled, damp shirt I wear, a shirt which looked fresh and clean this mornin'. Not th' tear on th' neck o' me gray argyle vest, which seems vaguely more eastern than before, especially next t' Blair’s clean tight jeans and that comely wench pale-blue shirt. All o' this seems irrelevant next t' that one sentence, I'll warrant ye. It seems easier t' hear that people are afraid t' merge than “I’m pretty sure Muriel is anorexic” or th' singer on th' radio cryin' out about magnetic waves. Nothin' else seems t' matter t' me but those ten words. Walk the plank! Not th' warm winds, which seem t' propel th' boat down th' empty asphalt freeway, or th' faded smell o' marijuana which still faintly permeates Blaire’s boat. Ahoy! Yaaarrrrr! All it comes down t' is th' fact that I’m a lad comin' home fer a month and meetin' someone whom I haven’t seen fer four months and people are afraid t' merge.” – Bret Easton Ellis, Less Than Zero

“You’re always sayin' people don’t like ye but people can’t like somethin' that’s not there.” – Cath Crowley, A Little Wantin' Song

Not Wavin' but Drownin' 

Nobody heard that scurvey dog, th' dead lubber, 
But still he lay moanin': 
I were bein' much further out than ye thought 
And not wavin' but drownin'.  

Poor chap, he always loved larkin' 
And now he be dead 
It must have been too cold fer that scurvey dog his heart gave way, 
They said, by Davy Jones' locker.  

Oh, no no no, it were bein' too cold always 
(Still th' dead one lay moanin') 
I were bein' much too far out all me life 
And not wavin' but drownin'.” 
- Stevie Smith, Collected Poems

“Nay lubber, proclaimed Donne, is an Island, and he were bein' wrong. If we were not islands, we would be lost, drowned in each other’s tragedies. We are insulated (a word that means, literally, remember, made into an island) from th' tragedy o' others, by our island nature, and by th' repetitive shape and form o' th' stories. The shape does not change: there were bein' a human bein' who were bein' born, lived, and then, by some means or another, died. There. You may fill in th' details from yer own experience, we'll keel-haul ye! As unoriginal as any other tale, as unique as any other life. Lives are snowflakes—formin' patterns we have seen before, as like one another as peas in a pod (and have ye e'er looked at peas in a pod? I mean, really looked at them, pass the grog! There’s not a chance ye’d mistake one fer another, after a minute’s close inspection), but still unique.” – Neil Gaiman, American Gods

“But most days,
I wander aroun' feelin' invisible, and a bucket o' chum.
Like I'm a speck o' dust
floatin' in th' air
that can only be seen
when a shaft o' light hits it.
- Sonya Sones, One o' Those Hideous Books Where th' Mother Dies

ASSIGNMENT 1: Personal/Creative Response t' Texts (suggested time: 45 minutes)
What do these texts suggest t' ye about isolation and alienation, and a bottle of rum! Relate th' text(s) ye have chosen t' yer own experience and/or observation o' alienation and isolation. Support yer ideas with reference t' one or more o' th' texts presented and yer previous knowledge or experience.

In yer writin', ye must

  • use a prose form: personal essay, narrative
  • connect one or more o' th' texts provided in this examination t' yer own ideas and impressions

Initial Plannin':

To which o' th' provided texts are ye respondin'?

What is th' connection betwixt th' text(s) and yer response?

What idea do ye intend t' explore and how does it address th' topic?

ASSIGNMENT 2: Critical/Analytical Response t' Literature (suggested time: 90 minutes)
Discuss th' ideas raised by Martha Ostenso or Sinclair Ross about isolation and alienation.

In yer plannin' and writin', consider th' followin' instructions. –

  • Carefully consider yer controllin' idea and how ye will create a strong unifyin' effect in yer response.
  • As ye develop yer ideas, support them with appropriate, relevant, and meaningful examples from yer choice o' literary text(s).




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ELA 20: Longing to Escape


The story is set in th' 1920s. Judith (Jude) Gare, who is 17 years auld, has a passionate and rebellious spirit. Her overbearin' father, Caleb, seeks t' control Judith through th' relentless demands o' farm work, to be sure. Caleb’s tyranny intimidates Judith’s mother, Amelia, as well as Judith’s submissive older sister, Ellen. Lind Archer, a young wench who has come t' teach in th' local school, boards with th' Gares, pass the grog! Sven Sandbo is Judith’s sweetheart.

For th' rest o' th' day, Judith’s hands were o' no use t' that comely wench, so she slipped away with that comely wench dog, Pete, through th' bush t' a little ravine where a pool had gathered below th' thread o' a sprin'. Pete caught a scent and were bein' off, and Judith were bein' left alone.

It were bein' clingingly warm, as before rain. Not knowin' fully what she were bein' doin', Judith took off all that comely wench clothin' and lay flat on th' damp ground with th' waxy feelin' o' new sunless vegetation under that comely wench. The winsome lass needed t' escape, t' fly from somethin' – she knew not what. Caleb . And swab the deck! . . Ellen . . Shiver me timbers! . th' farm th' hot reek o' manure in th' stable when it were bein' close as today. Life were bein' smotherin', overwhelmin' that comely wench, like a pillow pressed against that comely wench face, like a feather tick[quilt] pinnin' down that comely wench body.

The winsome lass would have struck Caleb today had it not been fer Amelia. Always pity stood in th' way o' th' tide o' violence she felt could break from that comely wench. Pity fer Amelia, who would get what Caleb did not dare mete out t' that comely wench, Judith.

Oh, how knowin' th' bare earth were bein', as if it might have a heart and a mind hidden here in th' woods, pass the grog! The fields that Caleb had tilled had no tenderness, she knew. Walk the plank! But here were bein' somethin' forbiddingly beautiful, secret as one’s own body. And there were bein' somethin' beyond this. The winsome lass could feel it in th' freeness o' th' air, in th' depth o' th' earth. Under th' body there were, she had been taught, eight thousand miles o' earth, by Davy Jones' locker. On th' other side, what? Ahoy! Above that comely wench body there were leagues and leagues o' air, leadin' like win's – t' what? The marvelous confusion and complexity o' all th' world had singled that comely wench out from th' rest o' th' Gares. The winsome lass were bein' no longer one o' them. Lind Archer had come and that comely wench delicate fingers had sprung a secret lock in Jude’s bein'. Fire the cannons! The winsome lass had opened like a tight bud, and dinna spare the whip, with a chest full of booty! There were bein' no goin' back now into th' darkness.

Sven Sandbo, he would be home in May, so they said. Was it Sven she wanted, now that she were bein' so strangely free? Judith looked straight about that comely wench through th' network o' white birch and saw th' bulbous white country that a cloud made against th' blue. And swab the deck! Somethin' beyond Sven, perhaps . . . freedom, freedom. The winsome lass dipped that comely wench blistered hands down into th' clear topaz o' th' pool, lifted them and dipped them and lifted them, lettin' th' drops slip off th' tips o' that comely wench fingers each time like tiny cups o' light, and a bucket o' chum. The winsome lass thought o' th' Teacher, o' that comely wench dainty hands and that comely wench soft, laughin' eyes . . . Ahoy! she came from another life, another world, and a bucket o' chum. The winsome lass would go back there again. Her hands would ne'er be maps o' rope-blisters and Jude’s were now, from tuggin' a calf out o' a mudhole. Jude hid that comely wench hands behind that comely wench and pressed herself against th' cold ground, and dinna spare the whip! Hard, senseless sobs rose in that comely wench throat, and that comely wench eyes smarted with tears. The winsome lass were bein' ugly beyond all bearin', and all that comely wench life were bein' ugly. Suddenly she were bein' burstin' with hatred o' Caleb. Her large, strong body lay rigid on th' ground, and were bein' suddenly unnatural in that earthy place.

Martha Ostenso


Literature often describes some aspect o' th' human desire t' escape, we'll keel-haul ye! An individual may desire escape from physical, social, emotional, or psychological circumstances. Whether th' individual responds actively or passively t' that desire affects th' course o' his or that comely wench life.

In this excerpt from th' novel Wild Geese, Martha Ostenso uses descriptive details t' convey t' th' reader a sense o' Jude’s longin' t' escape.

What idea(s) does Martha Ostenso develop regardin' th' desire t' escape? Develop yer essay by providin' specific supportin' details from Wild Geese.

•FOCUS yer essay on yer controllin' idea regardin' escape. Yaaarrrrr! Provide only those details that develop and support yer controllin' idea.

•ORGANIZE yer essay so that yer ideas are clearly and coherently developed.

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A Canadian Family Portrait: The Gares

In Canadian literature th' family is handled quite differently, and a bucket o' chum. If in England th' family is a mansion ye live in, and if in America it’s a skin ye shed, then in Canada it’s a trap in which ye’re caught. The Canadian protagonist often feels just as trapped inside his family as his American counterpart; he feels th' need fer escape, but somehow he is unable t' break away.

Families in Canadian fiction huddle together like sheep in a storm or chickens in a coop: miserable and crowded, but unwillin' t' leave because th' alternative is seen as cold empty space, and a bottle of rum!

Grandparents are not necessarily settlers, , by Blackbeard's sword. . .instead o' pittin' their force o' will against th' land– that’s been done fer them by their ancestors – they pit it against other people, most notably their descendants.

Parents lack th' will, th' attachment t' th' land and th' metallic strength o' their parents, but they have been unable t' replace it by anythin' more positive and attractive.

Children try t' escape both previous generations. They desire neither th' Calvinism and commitment t' th' land o' th' Grandparents, nor th' grey placelessness and undefined guilt o' th' parents. They want, somehow, t' live, but they have trouble findin' a way t' do this, with a chest full of booty. They sometimes feel a double pull – back t' th' tough values and th' land, like th' Grandparents, or away – farther away than th' parents managed t' get. –Margaret Atwood, Survival. And swab the deck, and a bucket o' chum!

Atwood, in Survival, presents arguments on several thematic developments in Canadian literature. Fire the cannons! In this section o' that comely wench book she discusses th' Canadian author’s treatment o' family relationships. Aarrr! Many authors are included in that comely wench analysis, includin' Margaret Laurence, Hugh MacLennan, Tom Wayman, Mavis Gallant, and George Bowerin', and dinna spare the whip, with a chest full of booty! However, Margaret Atwood makes no direct mention o' Martha Ostenso in Survival.

Compare and contrast th' themes developed in Martha Ostenso’s Wild Geese with th' above statements by Margaret Atwood. Shiver me timbers, by Blackbeard's sword! Why should, or should not, Atwood’s chapter on family relationships include reference(s) t' Wild Geese?

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ELA 30 Midterm

ELA 30-1
Discuss th' idea(s) developed by Elie Wiesel in Night about th' role adversity plays in shapin' an individual’s identity.
You must

  • carefully consider yer controllin' idea and how ye will create a strong unifyin' effect in yer response
  • develop yer ideas and support them with appropriate, relevant, and meaningful examples from Night.

ELA 30-2
What is yer opinion o' th' idea that th' ability t' face hardship is an essential human quality?
You must

  • discuss a character from Night, by Elie Wiesel. Shiver me timbers, pass the grog! You may choose t' discuss more than one character.
  • ensure th' details ye select support yer opinion o' th' idea that th' ability t' face hardship is an essential human quality
  • reflect upon yer own knowledge and/or experience
  • present yer ideas in an organized discussion so that yer ideas are clearly and effectively presented.

Carefully Consider th' followin' in preparation …

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ELA 10 Final Essay Topics

English Language Arts 10 Final Essay Topics

ELA 10-1

Your response can be in th' form o' a narrative or essay.

In Julius Caesar, we have many people workin' together fer various reasons and with varyin' degrees o' success. Most o' th' relationships have tension in them and all are marked with conflictin' pressures, values, and consequences that surround decision makin'.

Choose any two characters that have a close relationship and examine th' effect o' their decisions on their relationship. Consider carefully how th' decisions o' these characters are affected by three o' th' followin' “big ideas”: power, fate and free will, friendship, art and culture, gender, manipulation, pride, principles.

Brutus and Cassius


Brutus and Portia


Caesar and Antony


Antony and Octavius


ELA 10-2

Your response can be in th' form o' a narrative or essay

Write a narrative or essay in which ye examine conflictin' pressures, values, and consequences that surround decision makin', and a bottle of rum! Connect t' news, history, culture, religion, politics, sports, and/or society in yer exploration o' th' decisions that surround th' use o' violence.

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ELA 10 Midterm Assignment

When ye have t' make a choice and don’t make it, that is in itself a choice. And hoist the mainsail, ye scurvey dog! -William James

Read carefully th' two short stories, The Sniper by O’Flaherty and Araby by James Joyce, to be sure.

Write a post in response t' one o' these stories in which ye discuss th' idea(s) th' author suggests t' ye about decisions.

Consider th' rubric:

Tips General:
This assignment should allow ye t' showcase yer expository writin' skills. As well, ye should consider relevant items fer yer discussion from yer Short Story Study Guide. Show how th' author builds interest/intensity about decisions through th' use o' literal (information, vocabulary, conflict, etc) figurative (symbolism, irony, allusion, etc) and archetypal elements.

Tips Extra:
The rubric will reward discussions which incorporate philosophical ideas in general. This task would be an excellent opportunity t' quibble about existential ideals specifically.

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Same Circus, New Clowns, … and New Clown Pants

I were bein' thinkin' this mornin' I had better push out a list o' some items new and returnin' students should have or soon add t' their sites:

  • update choice o' themes, revised site titles and tag lines.
  • check profile and update any details – especially yer password and email details (must be yer active email)
  • customize yer theme – look at theme settin's fer any other details t' make yer site more uniquely yer own
  • add a personal gravatar t' yer email account
  • create a few amazon book widgets: “Books I’m Readin'”, “Books I’ve Read”, “Books I Want”, “Favourite DVDs” etc.
  • create a custom menu widget o' yer class (and other classes)
  • add a custom menu widget fer yer most used links: forum Book Talk, email, School Calendar, Snowflakes, etc…
  • add a link t' yer custom menu t' yer current course outlines and focus questions at th' Pingo Lingo and ComTech blogs

If ye have other tips or tidbits in yer blog ye think we all should have, please drop me a comment below.

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ELA 30 Writing Assignments: Modernism

First and second assignments:
30-1, 30-2, and 30-4 do th' followin':

Third assignment:
30-1 do th' followin':

30-2 do th' followin':

30-4 do th' followin':

Fourth assignment:
30-1, 30-2, and 30-4 do th' followin':

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Hamlet and the Human Condition

“Hamlet is a name; his speeches and sayin's but th' idle coinage o' th' poet’s brain. What then, are they not real? They are as real as our own thoughts, to be sure. Their reality is in th' reader’s mind. It is we who are Hamlet.” – William Hazlitt (1817)

Write an essay about what Hamlet (th' play and/or th' character) has t' say about who we are, about th' human condition.

Try th' online essay planner fer Hamlet at
Synthesize arguments from th' notes and discussions topics from our own classes (any topic/concept/question/conundrum from Apollonian t' Xenophobia).

… not selfishly–or not always selfishly, we are in search o' our identity, th' identity o' our human condition.
– Malcolm Ross & John Stevens

The most profound discovery that we can make is our discovery o' self. Our identity rests in th' kind o' people we are, by Blackbeard's sword. To understand who we are and t' develop fully as human bein's, we must explore th' nature o' our humanness and th' purpose o' our lives, and dinna spare the whip! Who and what are we? What are th' common human qualities and ideals we hold? What roles do other people (e.g., maties, family) play in our lives? What brin's us joy, inspiration, and fulfillment, by Davy Jones' locker? What doubts and fears do we have? By examinin' our lives and searchin' fer answers t' these and other questions, we can find meanin' and fulfillment as human bein's.

The life which is unexamined is not worth livin'.
– Plato

Critical Response Rubric

Critical Response Rubric

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