Love through the ages



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MOCK PAPER 1
ENGLISH LITERATURE (SPECIFICATION A) LITA3
Unit 3 Reading for Meaning
2 hours 30 minutes
Please read this advice carefully before you turn to the material.
1. Reading.

- Here are the materials taken from the prescribed area for study, Love Through the Ages. You will be using this material to answer the two questions on the page opposite.

- Read all four pieces (A, B, C and D) and their introductions several times in the light of the questions set. Your reading should be close and careful.

2. Wider Reading

The questions test your wider reading in the prescribed area for study, Love Through the Ages. In your answers, you should take every opportunity to refer to your wider reading.


-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Answer both questions

1 Read the two poems (Extract A and B) carefully. They were written at different times by different writers.
Basing your answer on the poems and, where appropriate, your wider reading in the poetry of love, compare the ways the two poets have used poetic form, structure and language to express their thoughts and ideas.

(40 marks)
2 Write a comparison of the ways Woolf and Williams present unrequited love

You should consider:

- the ways the writers’ choices of form, structure and language shape your responses

to these extracts

- how your wider reading in the literature of love has contributed to your

understanding and interpretation of the extracts.



(40 marks)

The Reading

Extract A
Nii Ayikwei Parkes, a Ghanaian writer, is also a performer and has led workshops in

Africa, the Americas and Europe. He writes mainly in English, but occasionally in French and his native Ga. His first collection of poetry, Eyes of a Boy, Lips of a Man was published in 1999. Since then he has written jazz-inspired poems and short stories and was a 2005 associate writer-in-residence for BBC Radio 3.


Sometimes I like it to rain

Heavy, relentless and loud,

So you burrow into me like pain,

And inhale me slow and free.

I like the clouds to stretch

And darken, and shadow the world

As water mimics prison bars,

And we bond like inmates.

For at these times the sun

Restrains its prying eyes,

Neighbours melt in the gloom,

And we are alone in love

It is morning,

But neither day nor night;

You are neither you nor I

I am neither prisoner nor free.



Extract B
Thomas Carew (1594/5-1640) was influenced by John Donne, for whom he wrote an elegy, published with Donne’s poems in 1633. His own poems were published in 1640. He was favoured by Charles I and, along with his friend Sir John Suckling, became one of the major Cavalier poets.
Ask Me No More by Thomas Carew

Ask me no more where Jove bestows,

When June is past, the fading rose;

For in your beauty's orient deep

These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.

Ask me no more whither do stray

The golden atoms of the day;

For in pure love heaven did prepare

Those powders to enrich your hair.

Ask me no more whither doth haste

The nightingale when May is past;

For in your sweet dividing throat

She winters and keeps warm her note.

Ask me no more where those stars 'light

That downwards fall in dead of night;

For in your eyes they sit, and there

Fixed become as in their sphere.

Ask me no more if east or west

The Phoenix builds her spicy nest;

For unto you at last she flies,

And in your fragrant bosom dies.

Extract C

This extract is from Virginia Woolf’s ‘The Waves’ (1931). Virginia Woolf was boldly

experimental in her writing, at the forefront of the Modernist movement. Conventional plotting and characterisation are replaced by impressionistic writing and subtly indirect narration. Woolf suffered bouts of severe depression during her lifetime, and in 1941 she drowned herself in the River Ouse.

In ‘The Waves’, Woolf tells the life stories of six different characters from childhood to maturity. Their inner lives are the focus of the novel, depicted through each person’s ‘stream of consciousness’, the outpouring of every thought, feeling and sensation as it occurs. Here, at the beginning of the novel, the six young children are playing outside. Susan sees Jinny kiss Louis.


“'I was running,' said Jinny, 'after breakfast. I saw leaves moving in a hole in the hedge. I thought "That is a bird on its nest." I parted them and looked; but there was no bird on a nest. The leaves went on moving. I was frightened. I ran past Susan, past Rhoda, and Neville and Bernard in the tool-house talking. I cried as I ran, faster and faster. What moved the leaves? What moves my heart, my legs? And I dashed in here, seeing you green as a bush, like a branch, very still, Louis, with your eyes fixed. "Is he dead?" I thought, and kissed you, with my heart jumping under my pink frock like the leaves, which go on moving, though there is nothing to move them. Now I smell geraniums; I smell earth mould. I dance. I ripple.

I am thrown over you like a net of light. I lie quivering flung over you.'

'Through the chink in the hedge,' said Susan, 'I saw her kiss him. I raised my head from my flower-pot and looked through a chink in the hedge. I saw her kiss him. I saw them, Jinny and Louis, kissing. Now I will wrap my agony inside my pocket-handkerchief. It shall be screwed tight into a ball. I will go to the beech wood alone, before lessons. I will not sit at a table, doing sums. I will not sit next Jinny and next Louis. I will take my anguish and lay it

upon the roots under the beech trees. I will examine it and take it between my fingers. They will not find me. I shall eat nuts and peer for eggs through the brambles and my hair will be matted and I shall sleep under hedges and drink water from ditches and die there.'

'Susan has passed us,' said Bernard. 'She has passed the tool-house door with her

handkerchief screwed into a ball. She was not crying, but her eyes, which are so beautiful, were narrow as cats' eyes before they spring. I shall follow her, Neville. I shall go gently behind her, to be at hand, with my curiosity, to comfort her when she bursts out in a rage and thinks, "I am alone."

'Now she walks across the field with a swing, nonchalantly, to deceive us. Then she comes to the dip; she thinks she is unseen; she begins to run with her fists clenched in front of her. Her nails meet in the ball of her pocket-handkerchief. She is making for the beech woods out of the light. She spreads her arms as she comes to them and takes to the shade like a swimmer. But she is blind after the light and trips and flings herself down on the roots under the trees, where the light seems to pant in and out, in and out. The branches heave up and down. There is agitation and trouble here. There is gloom. The light is fitful. There is anguish here. The roots make a skeleton on the ground, with dead leaves heaped in the angles.

Susan has spread her anguish out. Her pocket-handkerchief is laid on the roots of the beech trees and she sobs, sitting crumpled where she has fallen.'

'I saw her kiss him,' said Susan. 'I looked between the leaves and saw her. She danced in flecked with diamonds light as dust. And I am squat, Bernard, I am short. I have eyes that look close to the ground and see insects in the grass. The yellow warmth in my side turned to stone when I saw Jinny kiss Louis. I shall eat grass and die in a ditch in the brown water where dead leaves have rotted.'”

Extract D

This extract is from Tennessee Williams’ ‘The Glass Menagerie’ (1941). In this extract Tom, instructed by his mother, brings a gentleman caller home for Laura. It is Jim, for whom Laura has nursed a quiet passion since their last years at school together. When the pair are left alone, Jim coaxes the gentle and reclusive Laura out of her shyness. She begins to blossom, but Jim is not a free man...


JIM It's right for you! -You're -pretty!

LAURA In what way am I pretty?

JIM In all respects--believe me! Your eyes--your hair--are pretty! Your hands are pretty!

He catches hold of her hand.

You think I'm making this up because I'm invited to dinner and have to be nice. Oh, I could do that! I could put on an act for you, Laura, and say lots of things without being very sincere. But this time I am. I'm talking to you sincerely. I happened to notice you had this inferiority complex that keeps you from feeling comfortable with

people. Somebody needs to build your confidence up and make you proud instead of shy and turning away and – blushing – Somebody - ought to - Ought to - kiss you, Laura!

His hand slips slowly up her arm to her shoulder. MUSIC SWELLS TUMULTUOUSLY. He suddenly turns her about and kisses her on the lips. When he releases her, LAURA sinks on the sofa with a bright, dazed look. JIM backs away and fishes in his pocket for a cigarette.
Stumble-john!
He lights the cigarette, avoiding her look. There is a peal of girlish laughter from AMANDA in the kitchen. LAURA slowly raises and opens her hand. It still contains the little broken glass animal. She looks at it with a tender, bewildered expression.
Stumble-john!

I shouldn't have done that-- That was way off the beam.

You don't smoke, do you?

She looks up, smiling, not hearing the question. He sits beside her a little gingerly. She looks at him speechlessly--waiting. He coughs decorously and moves a little farther aside as he considers the situation and senses her feelings, dimly, with perturbation. Gently.

Would you--care for a--mint?



She doesn't seem to hear him but her look grows brighter even.

Peppermint--Life-Saver? My pocket's a regular drug store--wherever I go . . .



He pops a mint in his mouth. Then gulps and decides to make a clean breast of it. He speaks slowly and gingerly.

Laura, you know, if I had a sister like you, I'd do the same thing as Tom. I'd bring out fellows and - introduce her to them. The right type of boys of a type to - appreciate her. Only – well - he made a mistake about me. Maybe I've got no call to be saying this. That may not have been the idea in having me over. But what if it was?

There's nothing wrong about that. The only trouble is that in my case - I'm not in a situation to - do the right thing. I can't take down your number and say I'll phone.

I can't call up next week and - ask for a date. I thought I had better explain the situation in case you - misunderstood it and - hurt your feelings. . . .


Pause. Slowly, very slowly, LAURA'S look changes, her eyes returning slowly from his to the ornament in her palm. AMANDA utters another gay laugh in the kitchen.
LAURA Faintly. You - won't - call again?

JIM No, Laura, I can't.



He rises from the sofa.

As I was just explaining, I've - got strings on me. Laura, I've - been going steady!

I go out all of the time with a girl named Betty. She's a home-girl like you, and Catholic, and Irish, and in a great many ways we - get along fine. I met her last summer on a moonlight boat trip up the river to Alton, on the Majestic.

Well - right away from the start it was - love!


LAURA sways slightly forward and grips the arm of the sofa. He failsto notice, now enrapt in his own comfortable being.
Being in love has made a new man of me!
Leaning stiffly forward, clutching the arm of the sofa, LAURA struggles visibly with her storm. But JIM is oblivious, she is a long way off.

The power of love is really pretty tremendous! Love is something

that - changes the whole world, Laura!
The storm abates a little and LAURA leans back. He notices her again.
It happened that Betty's aunt took sick, she got a wire and had to go to Centralia. So Tom - when he asked me to dinner - I naturally just accepted the invitation, not knowing that you - that he - that I -

He stops awkwardly.

Huh--I'm a stumble-john!



He flops back on the sofa. The holy candles in the altar of LAURA'S face have been snuffed out. There is a look of almost infinite desolation. JIM glances at her uneasily.
I wish that you would--say something.
She bites her lip which was trembling and then bravely smiles. She opens her hand again on the broken glass ornament. Then she gently takes his hand and raises it level with her own. She carefully places the unicorn in the palm of his hand, then pushes his fingers closed upon it.
What are you--doing that for? You want me to have him?-- Laura?
She nods. What for?
LAURA A – souvenir...

Mock Paper 2
ENGLISH LITERATURE (SPECIFICATION A) LITA3
Unit 3 Reading for Meaning
2 hours 30 minutes

Please read this advice carefully before you turn to the material.



3. Reading.

- Here are the materials taken from the prescribed area for study, Love Through the Ages. You will be using this material to answer the two questions on the page opposite.

- Read all four pieces (A, B, C and D) and their introductions several times in the light of the questions set. Your reading should be close and careful.

4. Wider Reading

The questions test your wider reading in the prescribed area for study, Love Through the Ages. In your answers, you should take every opportunity to refer to your wider reading.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Answer both questions

1 Read the two poems (Extract A and B) carefully. They were written at different

times by different writers.

Basing your answer on the poems and, where appropriate, your wider reading in the

poetry of love, compare the ways the two poets have used poetic form, structure and language to express their thoughts and ideas.



(40 marks)
2 Write a comparison of the ways Henry James and Edward Albee present aspects of

married life and love. You should consider:

- the ways the writers’ choices of form, structure and language shape your responses to these extracts

- how your wider reading in the literature of love has contributed to your

understanding and interpretation of the extracts.

(40 marks)

The Reading
Extract A

Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861) lived for several years as an invalid.

She then mat and fell in love with Robert Browning, who was already married at the time of their meeting. They later married in secret and spent the rest of their married life in Italy. Rather than declining into an isolated death as an invalid, in this poem, the poet embraces the joys of married life on earth with her lover.

XXIII. "Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead..."

by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1850)
Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead,

Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine?

And would the sun for thee more coldly shine

Because of grave-damps falling round my head?

I marvelled, my Belovèd, when I read

Thy thought so in the letter. I am thine---

But . . . so much to thee? Can I pour thy wine

While my hands tremble? Then my soul, instead

Of dreams of death, resumes life's lower range.

Then love me, Love! look on me---breathe on me!

As brighter ladies do not count it strange,

For love, to give up acres and degree,

I yield the grave for thy sake, and exchange

My near sweet view of Heaven, for earth with thee!



Extract B
Vicki Feaver was born in Nottingham in 1943 and has won many awards for her poetry. Her metaphors compel the reader; in particular, she employs classical myth in order to shed light on the female condition in dramatic monologues such as ‘Medusa’ and ‘Circe’. This poem appears to materialize out of nowhere like a crack in the wall.
The Crack’, Vicki Feaver

cut right through the house –

a thick wiggly line

you could poke a finger into,

a deep gash seeping

fine black dust.

It didn’t appear overnight.

For a long time

it was such a fine line

we went up and down stairs

oblivious of the stresses

that were splitting

our walls and ceilings apart.

And even when it thickened

and darkened, we went on

not seeing, or seeing

but believing the crack

would heal itself,

if dry earth was to blame,

a winter of rain

would seal its edges.

You didn’t tell me

That you heard at night

its faint stirrings

like something alive.

And I didn’t tell you –

until the crack

had opened so wide

that if we’d moved in our sleep

to reach for each other

we’d have fallen through.
Extract C

Henry James, The Portrait of a Lady (1881)
Henry James, (1843-1916) was an American writer, regarded as one of the key figures of 19th-century literary realism. James spent the last 40 years of his life in England, becoming a British subject in 1915, one year before his death. He is primarily known for the series of novels in which he portrays the encounter of Americans with Europe and Europeans. His method of writing from the point of view of a character within a tale allows him to explore issues related to consciousness and perception, and his style in later works has been compared to impressionist painting. This extract marks the point in the novel where Isabel Archer sees clearly that her husband does not love her. It comes as a dark realisation.
It was as if he had had the evil eye; as if his presence were a blight and his favour a

misfortune. Was the fault in himself, or only in the deep mistrust she had conceived

for him? This mistrust was the clearest result of their short married life; a gulf had

opened between them over which they looked at each other with eyes that were on



either side a declaration of the deception suffered. It was a strange opposition, of the like of which she had never dreamed—an opposition in which the vital principle of the one was a thing of contempt to the other. It was not her fault—she had practised no deception; she had only admired and believed. She had taken all the first steps in the purest confidence, and then she had suddenly found the infinite vista of a multiplied life to be a dark, narrow alley, with a dead wall at the end. Instead of leading to the high places of happiness, from which the world would seem to lie below one, so that one could look down with a sense of exaltation and advantage, and judge and choose and pity, it led rather downward and earthward, into realms of restriction and depression, where the sound of other lives, easier and freer, was heard as from above, and served to deepen the feeling of failure. It was her deep distrust of her husband— this was what darkened the world. That is a sentiment easily indicated, but not so easily explained, and so composite in its character that much time and still more suffering had been needed to bring it to its actual perfection. Suffering, with Isabel, was an active condition; it was not a chill, a stupor, a despair; it was a passion of thought, of speculation, of response to every pressure. She flattered herself, however, that she had kept her failing faith to herself—that no one suspected it but Osmond. Oh, he knew it, and there were times when she thought that he enjoyed it. It had come gradually—it was not till the first year of her marriage had closed that she took the alarm. Then the shadows began to gather; it was as if Osmond deliberately, almost malignantly, had put the lights out one by one. The dusk at first was vague and thin, and she could still see her way in it. But it steadily increased, and if here and there it had occasionally lifted, there were certain corners of her life that were impenetrably black. These shadows were not an emanation from her own mind; she was very sure of that; she had done her best to be just and temperate, to see only the truth. They were a part of her husband’s very presence. They were not his misdeeds, his turpitudes; she accused him of nothing—that is, of but one thing, which was not a crime. She knew of no wrong that he had done; he was not violent, he was not cruel; she simply believed that he hated her. That was all she accused him of, and the miserable part of it was precisely that it was not a crime, for against a crime she might have found redress. He had discovered that she was so different, that she was not what he had believed she would prove to be.
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