WAEC SSCE - Literature In English - 2013

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The expression "This book should fill the memory, rule the heart and guide the feet" illustrates the use of a metaphor. A metaphor is a figure of speech that makes a comparison between two unlike things, without using "like" or "as". In this case, the book is being compared to something that can "fill the memory, rule the heart, and guide the feet", implying that the book has a powerful and lasting impact on the reader.

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The phrase "the air was actually burning gas" is a metaphor. This is because it is comparing the sensation of the air feeling very hot to the idea of something being set on fire, even though the air itself is not actually burning gas. The use of the word "actually" emphasizes the intensity of the heat being felt by the persona, and the metaphor helps to convey this sensation to the reader in a vivid and memorable way.

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In a play, unfolding events reach their peak in the "climax." The climax is the moment of highest tension or drama in a play, where the conflict or main problem of the story is resolved. It is the point in the story where the audience is most engaged and invested in the outcome. The climax is often followed by the "denouement," which is the resolution or conclusion of the story. The denouement may tie up loose ends and provide closure for the audience. "Catharsis" is a term used to describe the emotional release or purification that the audience may experience during or after a play. It is often associated with tragedy and the feeling of release that comes with a character's recognition or acceptance of their fate. "Conflict" refers to the struggle or tension between characters in a play. While conflict is often a driving force in the plot, it does not necessarily reach its peak at the same time as the climax.

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The "lie" referred to in the scene is that the speaker is a coward. The speaker is insulting the addressee, calling them a "ignorant monster" and a "deboshed fish," and then rhetorically asking if there has ever been a man who is both a coward and has drunk as much as the speaker has. The speaker is essentially calling the addressee a liar for accusing him of being a coward.

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In the given context, 'Destiny' is an example of personification. Personification refers to the attribution of human qualities or characteristics to non-human things, such as animals or inanimate objects. In this case, 'Destiny' is being given the human quality of having the ability to act as an instrument and cause events to occur.

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The character addressed in the given extract is Ferdinard. This can be inferred from the context of the lines where the speaker urges the person addressed to be true and not indulge in frivolous activities that can cause them to break their strong oaths. The use of the words "good night your vow" suggests that the speaker is warning the addressee of the consequences of not being careful. Therefore, based on the text, the character addressed is Ferdinard.

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"When I have decked the sea with drops full salt" suggests weeping. In the context of the extract, the speaker is expressing gratitude to the Cherubin who preserved them when they were at sea and mentions that they wept so much that the sea was "decked" or covered with their tears, which were "full salt".

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In the given extract, the speaker is addressing three men who are described as "men of sin." Based on the clues provided in the text, we can infer that these three men are not fit to live on the island where the speaker is. The men are specifically identified as being brought to the island by the sea, which "belched them up." This suggests that they were shipwrecked or stranded on the island. The speaker also notes that the men are "amongst men" on the island, which implies that they are not alone but are part of a larger group. The three men are not explicitly named in the extract, but we can identify them by looking at the context of the play. In Act III, scene iii of William Shakespeare's play "The Tempest," the characters of Alonso, Antonio, and Sebastian are stranded on an island after a shipwreck. The speech in the extract is delivered by the spirit Ariel, who is a servant of the magician Prospero, the main character of the play. Therefore, based on the context of the play and the clues provided in the extract, the "three men of sin" are Alonso, Antonio, and Sebastian.

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The literary device in lines 52 and 53 is a metaphor. This is because the speaker is comparing the strongest oaths to straw that can be easily burned by the fire in one's blood. The comparison is not directly stated as in a simile, but rather implied through the use of the words "are" and "to". The metaphor helps to emphasize the speaker's warning to the addressee to be more abstemious and not let their passions control them.

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The speaker in this extract is Prospero. This can be determined by analyzing the context of the lines and looking at the other characters present in the scene. Prospero is a character in William Shakespeare's play "The Tempest," and is one of the main protagonists. In this extract, Prospero is reflecting on a past event where he was saved by a Cherubin when he was struggling to bear the burden of the sea. The other characters present in the scene are Alonso, Gonzalo, and Sebastian, but they do not speak in this particular extract.

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The speaker immediately reports the three men to Prospero. This is evident in the first line of the passage where the speaker addresses the three men as "three men of sin" and proceeds to accuse them of being unfit to live on the island. The speaker goes on to imply that the cause of their being on the island is destiny, which has used the sea to bring them there. The phrase "belch up" also suggests that the men were brought to the island against their will. The speaker's intention is to inform Prospero of their presence on the island.

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The diction in the extract conveys a feeling of helplessness. This is evident from the description of Grooby's shocked stupor, his inability to move or wipe away his sweat, and the metaphorical comparison of his whirling mind to a fly that dared not alight. The description of the sun settling over the earth and the air burning gas also creates a sense of oppressive heat and discomfort, contributing to the overall feeling of helplessness.

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A question used for effect which does not require an answer is called a rhetorical question. It is a figure of speech used to make a point or persuade the audience. The speaker already knows the answer to the question, and the audience is not expected to answer it. Rhetorical questions are often used in speeches, debates, and other forms of communication to engage the audience and emphasize a point.

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The two contrasting moods in the poem are excitement and disappointment. The first stanza conveys the speaker's excitement as they prepare to go soldering, with the rhythm running madly and the glory of the guns. However, in the second stanza, the speaker's mood changes to disappointment as they reflect on the reality of war, with the knowledge that blood is red and the rain falls heavily on dead flesh.

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Conflict is fundamental to a play or novel. Conflict refers to the struggle or clash between two or more opposing forces, which creates tension and drives the plot forward. It can be between characters, society, nature, or even within the protagonist. Conflict is what propels the story forward, creates suspense and keeps the audience or readers engaged. Without conflict, a story would be dull and uninteresting, lacking a sense of purpose or direction. Therefore, conflict is essential to the structure of a play or novel, as it drives the narrative and keeps the audience or readers engaged.

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In poetry, the combination of stressed and unstressed syllables is called "meter." Meter creates a rhythmic pattern in a poem and helps to establish its musical quality. There are different types of meters in poetry, but one common type is called "iambic meter." An "iamb" is a metrical foot consisting of two syllables, the first unstressed and the second stressed. This pattern is often compared to the rhythm of a heartbeat: da-DUM, da-DUM, da-DUM. When iambic meter is used consistently throughout a poem, it is called "iambic pentameter," meaning there are five iambs (or ten syllables) per line. Other types of meters include "trochaic meter," which is the opposite of iambic meter and consists of a stressed syllable followed by an unstressed syllable (DUM-da, DUM-da, DUM-da), "anapaestic meter," which consists of two unstressed syllables followed by a stressed syllable (da-da-DUM, da-da-DUM, da-da-DUM), and "dactylic meter," which consists of a stressed syllable followed by two unstressed syllables (DUM-da-da, DUM-da-da, DUM-da-da). In summary, the combination of stressed and unstressed syllables in poetry is called "meter," and one common type of meter is "iambic meter," which consists of two syllables, the first unstressed and the second stressed.

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A long and serious narrative about heroic characters is an "epic." An epic is a type of poem that tells the story of a hero or heroes and their adventures. Epics often involve gods and goddesses, battles, and journeys to other worlds or realms. The heroes in epics are typically larger-than-life and possess qualities such as bravery, strength, and cunning. The language used in epics is often grand and elevated, and the poem is structured in a way that emphasizes the importance and grandeur of the story being told. Therefore, option C - "epic" - is the correct answer to this question.

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The phrase "The fire gnawed ceaselessly at the bark of the tree" is an example of personification, which is a figure of speech where inanimate objects or animals are given human characteristics. In this example, the fire is given the human characteristic of being able to "gnaw" on the bark of the tree, which is not possible for fire as it does not have a physical mouth or teeth to chew. Therefore, this is a personification because it attributes a human quality (gnawing) to a non-human entity (fire).

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A very brief story is an anecdote. An anecdote is a short and amusing or interesting story about a real incident or person. It often illustrates a particular point or character trait and is often used in conversation or speeches to entertain or make a point. Anecdotes are usually based on personal experiences or observations and are often shared to add a human element to a discussion or to create a connection with the audience.

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An epilogue is a concluding section added to a literary work, such as a play, novel, or memoir. Its purpose is to provide closure to the story or to offer final thoughts on the themes and characters. Unlike a prologue, which is an introductory section, an epilogue comes at the end of the work and is often used to sum up the events of the story or to offer a glimpse into the characters' futures. It can also be used to reflect on the themes or messages of the work, or to provide a final commentary on the story. Therefore, option C - "sums up a play" - is the correct answer to this question.

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The performance art that makes use of gesture only is mime. Mime is a form of theatrical performance that emphasizes physical movement and gesture to tell a story or convey emotions, without the use of words or spoken language. The performers use their bodies to create characters, settings, and situations, using a range of techniques such as facial expressions, body language, and hand gestures. Mime performances can be humorous or serious, and often involve the use of props and costumes to enhance the visual impact of the performance. The art of mime has a long history, dating back to ancient Greece, and has been used in various forms of theater, including vaudeville and contemporary theater. In contrast, comedy, lampoon, and satire are forms of written or spoken humor that rely on language and wordplay to make their point. While physical gestures may be used to enhance these forms of humor, they are not the primary means of expression.

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The setting of the extract is most likely midday or afternoon. This can be inferred from the description of the sun settling over the earth and the air feeling like "burning gas", which suggests that it is hot and sunny. Additionally, the farmer starts up his tractor and begins cutting something in the field, which is a task typically done during daylight hours. Therefore, the correct answer is either midday or afternoon.

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The expression ''like fly that dared not alight'' is an example of a simile. A simile is a figure of speech that compares two things using the words "like" or "as" to show their similarity. In this case, the speaker is comparing the whirling of Grooby's mind to the constant movement of a fly that is too afraid to land. The use of "like" makes the comparison clear, and helps the reader to better understand the character's mental state.

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The theme of the poem is the reality of war. The speaker describes the experience of soldering in realistic terms, with references to blood, rain falling on dead flesh, and the sound of drums, trumpets, and guns. The poem does not glorify war or express excitement about it, but rather acknowledges the harsh realities of combat.

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The device used in the phrase 'Light as wind on water laid' is a "simile." A simile is a figure of speech that compares two things using the words "like" or "as." In this phrase, the comparison is between the lightness of something and the way that wind feels when it moves over water. By using this simile, the author is able to convey the idea that the thing being described is very light and delicate, just as the wind is when it moves over water. Therefore, option B - "simile" - is the correct answer to this question.

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"But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near" illustrates a metaphor. A metaphor is a figure of speech in which a word or phrase is used to describe something by stating that it is something else. In this case, the metaphor compares time to a winged chariot that is hurrying towards the speaker's back. This comparison creates a vivid mental image of time as something that is constantly moving forward and is rapidly approaching. The use of a metaphor helps to convey the idea that time is relentless and unstoppable, and that it is always moving closer to us. Therefore, the line serves as an example of a metaphor.

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The "oath" referred to in the scene is Ferdinand's promise to remain chaste with Miranda before they are married. The speaker (Prospero) warns Ferdinand not to let his desire take control, as the most solemn promises can be easily broken when passion runs high. Prospero cautions Ferdinand to be more moderate in his behavior, or else he will break his vow to Miranda.

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An omniscient narrator in a novel is a narrator who knows everything about the characters and events in the story. This means that the narrator can provide insights into the thoughts, feelings, and motivations of the characters, as well as describe events and settings in detail. Unlike a detached narrator who stays separate from the story, an omniscient narrator has a more active role in the storytelling process. They can provide commentary, offer opinions, and guide the reader's understanding of the story.

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The statement "The king has joined his ancestors" is an example of a euphemism. A euphemism is a mild or indirect word or expression used in place of one considered to be too harsh or blunt when referring to something unpleasant or embarrassing. In this case, the phrase is a way of saying that the king has died, without using the word "died" directly, which may be considered too harsh or impolite in some cultures or contexts.

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The character in the scene whom Prospero admires is Gonzalo. In the given extract, Prospero is rebuking the three men (Antonio, Sebastian, and Alonso) for their treachery and calling them "three men of sin." He then goes on to praise Gonzalo, stating that he is the only one among them who is fit to live on the island.

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In the line "season of mist and mellow fruitfulness," the main appeal is to the sense of sight. The words "mist" and "mellow fruitfulness" create vivid mental images of autumnal scenery, which appeals to our visual sense. The image of mist suggests a hazy, dreamlike atmosphere, and the phrase "mellow fruitfulness" evokes the idea of ripe, colorful fruit hanging from trees, both of which are visual descriptions. Therefore, the line appeals to our ability to imagine or visualize a beautiful, serene autumn season.

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A short witty saying is called an epigram. It is a concise and clever statement that often includes a twist in meaning or a play on words. Epigrams are often used to express a humorous or satirical idea in a memorable way.

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The character addressed is Caliban.

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Mr. Okadu is one of the chief comic and satirical figures in Kobina Sekyi's The Blinkards. He is a young anglicised African, and Sekyi uses him to embody and ridicule the cultural blindness that gives the play its title.

He is a leading blinkard. Okadu is a young man who has come under the spell of European fashion and despises everything African. He affects English dress, English speech and English manners, and he looks down on his own language, food and customs as beneath him. In him the folly of blind imitation is concentrated and exposed.

He is a source of satire and comedy. Much of the play's humour flows from Okadu's absurd behaviour. His exaggerated attempts to appear European, his affected talk and his contempt for his own people make him laughable. Through this comic portrait Sekyi criticises the educated young Africans of the colonial period who were ashamed of their identity.

He represents cultural alienation. Okadu illustrates the danger of losing one's roots. By rejecting African values in favour of foreign ones he becomes a rootless figure, neither truly European nor properly African. He stands as a warning of what happens when imitation replaces genuine self-respect.

He serves as a foil. Okadu's shallow mimicry contrasts sharply with the balanced wisdom of the traditional and the sensibly educated characters, who keep their African dignity. This contrast sharpens Sekyi's message that education should not mean self-contempt.

The role of Mr. Okadu, therefore, is to personify the blind imitator of European ways. He advances the play's satire, provides much of its comedy, and serves as a foil that highlights the value of cultural pride that Sekyi wishes his audience to embrace.

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In William Golding's Lord of the Flies, the death of Simon is the moral and symbolic climax of the novel. It is the moment at which the boys' descent into savagery becomes irreversible and Golding's grim vision of human nature is most fully exposed.

Simon as the truth-bearer. Simon is the mystic and visionary of the group, gentle, solitary and intuitive. Alone he confronts the pig's head on a stick, the "Lord of the Flies," and grasps the novel's central truth: that the beast the boys fear is not an external monster but the evil inside themselves. He then climbs the mountain, discovers that the dreaded "beast" is merely the corpse of a dead parachutist, and hurries down to free the others from their terror.

The manner of his death. Simon stumbles into the frenzied ritual dance on the beach during a storm. Caught up in their chant, "Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Spill his blood!", the boys, including Ralph and Piggy, fall upon him in the darkness and beat and tear him to death, mistaking the very messenger of truth for the beast itself.

Symbolic significance. The irony is devastating: the boys murder the one person who could have delivered them from their fear. Simon, often read as a Christ figure, is killed as he brings saving knowledge, so that his death dramatises humanity's tendency to destroy its prophets and reject truth. It marks the triumph of mob violence and irrationality over reason, goodness and spiritual insight.

Loss of innocence and foreshadowing. Simon's death confirms the complete collapse of civilised restraint on the island. Innocence is irretrievably lost, and the killing foreshadows the more deliberate murder of Piggy and the hunt for Ralph that follow.

Conclusion. Simon's death is deeply significant: it destroys the bearer of truth and goodness, exposes the innate savagery Golding believes lies in every human heart, and turns the boys finally from frightened children into a murderous mob, making it the tragic pivot of the whole novel.

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Asare Konadu's A Woman in Her Prime is deeply rooted in the traditional beliefs of an Akan village, and superstitious beliefs and practices pervade the novel, shaping Pokuwaa's struggle to bear a child and the life of the community around her.

Belief that childlessness has a spiritual cause. The governing superstition of the novel is that Pokuwaa's failure to conceive is not a medical matter but the work of unseen forces, offended spirits or an unfulfilled destiny. This belief drives the entire plot, sending Pokuwaa from one remedy to another in search of supernatural intervention.

Ritual sacrifice and worship of the gods. Pokuwaa performs repeated sacrifices to appease the gods, notably offerings connected with the river god and other deities of the land. She rises at dawn to make sacrifices of sheep and to observe prescribed rites at the appointed times, especially around the cycles of the moon, believing that faithful sacrifice will unlock the gift of a child.

Reliance on priests, diviners and fetish shrines. The community turns constantly to fetish priests, diviners and medicine men who interpret the will of the gods, prescribe rituals and dispense charms and medicines. Their pronouncements carry great authority, and Pokuwaa submits to their instructions in hope of a cure.

Wider communal superstitions. Beyond Pokuwaa's case, the villagers hold a web of beliefs about ancestral spirits, taboos, omens, curses and malevolent forces such as witches and the dreaded sasabonsam. Everyday life is regulated by observances meant to keep the living in harmony with the spirit world.

The author's attitude. Konadu presents these beliefs with understanding but also with quiet criticism. Pokuwaa's long dependence on ritual brings her no child; only when she abandons her anxious round of sacrifices and finds inner calm does she at last conceive. The novel thus questions blind reliance on superstition while acknowledging its hold on the community.

Conclusion. Superstitious beliefs and practices, the spiritualising of childlessness, sacrifice, divination and communal taboos, form the cultural fabric of the novel, and Konadu uses them both to portray traditional Akan life faithfully and to suggest the limits of superstition.

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The struggle for power is indeed a major issue in William Golding's Lord of the Flies. Almost every important development in the novel grows out of the contest for leadership between Ralph and Jack, and this struggle carries the book's larger meaning about civilisation and savagery.

The origins of the struggle. When the boys are first stranded, they hold an election and choose Ralph as chief, largely because he possesses the conch shell and looks the part. Jack, leader of the choir, wants the position for himself and resents Ralph's authority from the beginning. This rivalry sets up the central power struggle of the novel.

The conch and legitimate authority. Ralph's power rests on the conch, which summons meetings and grants the right to speak. The conch symbolises order, democracy and rational government. As long as it is respected, Ralph's leadership represents civilisation, rules and the common good, chiefly the keeping of the signal fire and the building of shelters.

Jack's rival power. Jack builds a competing base of power through hunting, meat and fear. He offers the boys the excitement of the hunt, the feasts of pig meat, and protection from the imagined beast, appealing to their appetites and their fears rather than their reason. Gradually he wins their allegiance away from Ralph.

The breakaway and tyranny. Jack finally breaks away to form his own tribe, painting his face and ruling by terror and ritual. His power is that of the dictator, enforced by violence and superstition. The shift of followers from Ralph to Jack charts the triumph of savagery over civilisation.

Deadly consequences. The power struggle turns lethal. Piggy is killed and the conch shattered, destroying the last emblem of ordered authority, and Jack's tribe hunts Ralph across the island, meaning to kill him. Only the arrival of the naval officer halts the bloodshed.

Conclusion. The struggle for power between Ralph and Jack is therefore a central issue that drives the plot and embodies Golding's theme: the fragile rule of reason and order is overthrown by the darker human craving for dominance, fear and violence.

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Femi Osofisan's Women of Owu, an African reworking of Euripides' tragedy about the fall of a city, gives the supernatural an important role. The gods and ancestral deities frame the human suffering, comment on it, and raise disturbing questions about divine justice and responsibility for the destruction of Owu.

The gods frame the action. The play opens and closes with the supernatural. The deities, chief among them Anlugbua, the founding ancestral god of Owu, appear above the ruined city. Their presence lifts the historical fall of Owu onto a cosmic plane, so that the massacre of men and the enslavement of the women are seen as part of a larger struggle involving the gods.

They expose divine indifference and complicity. A central concern is the failure of the gods to save Owu. Anlugbua, who founded and once protected the town, arrives too late to prevent its ruin, and the deities are shown quarrelling, shifting blame and pursuing their own grievances while human beings are slaughtered. Osofisan uses this to question a world in which the powerful, whether gods or conquering armies, allow the innocent to suffer.

They pronounce judgement and prophecy. The supernatural also delivers warning and retribution. The gods foretell that the victorious allies who sacked Owu will themselves meet disaster on their journeys home, so that the play insists that cruelty and injustice will be punished in time. This prophetic function gives the tragedy a moral shape.

They deepen the political meaning. By setting divine forces behind the conquest, Osofisan enlarges his criticism of imperial aggression and needless war, suggesting that both earthly and heavenly powers must answer for the ruin of a people.

The supernatural is therefore not mere decoration; it frames the tragedy, exposes the failure and complicity of the powerful, pronounces future judgement, and reinforces the play's protest against the horrors of conquest.

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In Ernest Hemingway's The Old Man and the Sea, the boy Manolin plays a vital part in Santiago's domestic life. Though he is not the old man's son, he cares for Santiago with the devotion of a son, and his presence lights up the loneliness of the old fisherman's existence on land.

Practical care in the home. Manolin looks after Santiago's daily needs. He helps carry the fishing gear, the mast, the sail, the harpoon and the coiled lines, up from the boat to the old man's shack. He brings Santiago food and coffee, worries about whether the old man has eaten, and even arranges meals, sometimes obtained from Martin at the Terrace, so that Santiago will not go hungry. He tends to the shack, the blanket and the equipment, easing the hardships of Santiago's poverty.

Loyalty and faith. Manolin's role is emotional as well as practical. Although his parents, believing Santiago to be salao (unlucky) after eighty-four days without a fish, have made him fish in a luckier boat, the boy's loyalty never wavers. He continues to seek out the old man, insists on his belief in him, and longs to return to fishing at his side. This unshaken faith comforts Santiago and sustains his self-respect.

Companionship. The boy is Santiago's chief companion at home. They talk together of baseball and of the great DiMaggio, recall past catches, and share an easy, affectionate intimacy. In his solitude Santiago repeatedly wishes aloud that "the boy were here," showing how much Manolin's company means to him during the ordeal at sea.

Symbol of continuity and hope. Manolin represents the passing on of skill and love from one generation to the next. At the end, weeping over the exhausted old man and the ruined marlin, he vows that they will fish together again, promising continuity and hope beyond Santiago's defeat.

Conclusion. Manolin is, in effect, Santiago's surrogate son and caretaker. Through practical service, unwavering loyalty and warm companionship he brings comfort, dignity and hope to the old man's domestic life, making their bond one of the tenderest elements of the novel.

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In Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's Purple Hibiscus, the relationship between Kambili Achike and Father Amadi is one of the most important in the novel, marking the awakening of the timid heroine into feeling, confidence and selfhood.

How they meet. Kambili encounters Father Amadi, a young, handsome and charismatic Catholic priest, during her stays at Aunty Ifeoma's home in Nsukka. Unlike the rigid, fanatical religion of her father Eugene, Father Amadi's faith is warm, human and joyful, blending Christian devotion with Igbo songs and easy laughter.

His effect on Kambili. Father Amadi draws Kambili out of her silence. He talks to her gently, teases her kindly, takes her to the stadium, and encourages her to run, to smile and to believe in herself. Through his attention she discovers that she is worthy of notice and affection, and her stammering shyness gives way to growing confidence and self-worth.

Kambili's love for him. Kambili falls deeply and innocently in love with Father Amadi. Her feelings awaken her emotionally and sexually for the first time; she thinks of him constantly, treasures his words, and experiences the ordinary joys and jealousies of first love. This love is a measure of how far she has come from the frightened girl of her father's house.

The limits of the relationship. Because Father Amadi is a celibate priest, the relationship cannot become a conventional romance. He is affectionate and encouraging but maintains the boundaries of his vocation, and when he is posted away as a missionary they are separated, keeping in touch by letters. Kambili's love remains largely unfulfilled, yet it is not wasted, for it has already transformed her.

Significance. The relationship symbolises liberation and healing. Father Amadi represents a loving, life-giving faith opposed to Eugene's oppressive religion, and through him Kambili blossoms into a young woman capable of love, courage and hope.

Conclusion. The bond between Kambili and Father Amadi is a tender, formative and ultimately platonic love that, though it cannot be consummated, awakens and strengthens Kambili, making it central to her growth and to the novel's theme of freedom overcoming fear.

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Marriage is the central concern of Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest. It supplies the plot, motivates almost every character, and gives Wilde his target for satirising Victorian attitudes to love, class and money.

Marriage drives the plot. The action springs from two courtships: Jack Worthing's desire to marry Gwendolen Fairfax and Algernon Moncrieff's pursuit of Cecily Cardew. Every complication, the double identities as "Ernest," the deceptions, the confrontations, arises from the characters' efforts to marry the partners they want. The play ends, as comedy demands, in the promise of three marriages.

Marriage as a social and financial transaction. Through Lady Bracknell, Wilde exposes the Victorian view of marriage as a business arrangement rather than a union of hearts. Her interrogation of Jack concerns his income, property, politics and pedigree, not his affection for her daughter. She approves of Cecily only after learning of her large fortune, revealing marriage as a market governed by wealth and social standing.

The idealised name over the man. Gwendolen and Cecily both insist that they can only love a man called Ernest, valuing an ideal image and a name above the real character of a suitor. Wilde mocks the romantic illusions and superficial standards that Victorian young women were taught to bring to marriage.

Contrasting views of matrimony. Algernon's cynical epigrams ("in married life three is company") and Lady Bracknell's mercenary calculations sit beside the young lovers' romantic enthusiasm, so that the play surveys marriage from several angles, all treated comically.

Conclusion. Marriage is thus supremely important in the play, both as the engine of the plot and as the theme through which Wilde satirises the snobbery, hypocrisy and mercenary calculation of Victorian society. It is the subject on which nearly every joke and every twist depends.

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Sergius Saranoff, the Bulgarian cavalry officer in Bernard Shaw's Arms and the Man, is Shaw's vehicle for satirising the romantic idea of the heroic soldier. On the surface he is the dashing war hero; on examination he is brave but foolish, theatrical rather than professional.

The accidental hero. Sergius wins fame by leading a reckless cavalry charge against the Serbs at Slivnitza. It succeeds, but only by luck: the enemy had been supplied with the wrong ammunition and could not fire. Bluntschli, the professional soldier, dismisses the charge as the suicidal folly of an amateur, comparing Sergius to Don Quixote tilting at windmills. Militarily the charge should have been a massacre; Sergius is celebrated for an act of ignorance, not skill.

Romantic idealist, poor strategist. Sergius approaches war as a stage on which to display glory and honour. He knows nothing of the practical craft of soldiering that Bluntschli embodies, the man who carries chocolates instead of cartridges because food keeps a soldier alive. Precisely because he broke the rules of war and won, Sergius is passed over for promotion, a bitterness that helps to disillusion him.

Disillusionment. By the play's development Sergius grows cynical about the whole profession. He resigns his commission and delivers his famous verdict that soldiering is "the coward's art of attacking mercilessly when you are strong, and keeping out of harm's way when you are weak." The romantic hero comes to despise the very heroism the world praises in him.

The poseur off the battlefield. His conduct in love mirrors his conduct in war. He preaches the "higher love" to Raina while flirting with the servant Louka, proving that his heroic and noble poses are a performance rather than a settled character.

Conclusion. My impression is that Sergius is physically courageous but professionally incompetent, a brave but vain amateur whose reputation rests on accident and posturing. Through him Shaw deflates the glamorous myth of the soldier and champions instead the unromantic competence of the realist Bluntschli.

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In John Donne's metaphysical poem "The Sun Rising," the persona addresses the sun directly, and his attitude moves through scorn, defiant superiority and finally a gracious condescension, all serving to exalt the lovers' bond above every worldly power.

Scorn and impatience. The poem opens with insult. The persona calls the sun a "busy old fool, unruly Sun" and a "saucy pedantic wretch" for intruding through curtains to disturb the lovers in bed. He resents the sun's authority over time, its power to summon schoolboys, apprentices, courtiers and huntsmen to their duties, and he insists that love is not subject to the sun's seasons, hours or days.

Defiant superiority. The persona then belittles the sun's supposed strength. He boasts that he could eclipse the sun's beams merely by closing his eyes, but will not, because that would mean losing sight of his beloved. He hyperbolically claims that his mistress contains all the riches of the Indies and that she is "all states" while he is "all princes." Compared to their love, all worldly honour is mimicry and all wealth is alchemy, mere counterfeit.

Gracious condescension. In the final stanza his tone softens into a lofty generosity. Since the lovers are the whole world, the sun, being old and needing rest, can perform its duty of warming the world simply by shining on their bed: "Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere; / This bed thy centre is, these walls thy sphere." The sun is thus demoted from tyrant to servant of the lovers.

Conclusion. The poet's attitude to the sun is therefore one of playful contempt turning to triumphant assertion of love's supremacy. By mocking, then commanding, the sun, Donne dramatises the metaphysical conceit that the lovers' private world is the true universe, before which even the sun must bow.

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In Femi Osofisan's Women of Owu, Maye Okunade is the commander of the allied army of Ijebu, Ife and their supporters that razes the ancient Owu Kingdom to the ground. The play, an adaptation of Euripides' The Trojan Women set against the nineteenth-century Yoruba wars, exposes the gap between the noble reasons Maye offers for the war and the greed and personal grievance that truly drive it.

The stated, public reason: liberation and free trade. Maye and his allies present the assault as a war of liberation. They claim to have come to break Owu's stranglehold on commerce and to reopen the great Apomu market, which Owu had seized and closed, thereby strangling the trade of neighbouring kingdoms. He casts himself as a deliverer freeing oppressed peoples from Owu's arrogance and its practice of enslaving fellow Yoruba. This lofty language of freedom and justice is the banner under which the coalition marches.

The personal reason: the recovery of Iyunloye. Beneath the political excuse lies a private wound. Maye's wife, Iyunloye, had been taken from him to Owu, an echo of Helen of Troy in the source play. His desire to recover her and to avenge the insult to his honour is a powerful private motive that he conveniently dresses in the robes of a just war. The personal and the political are deliberately blurred.

Ambition, plunder and the hypocrisy of the "liberators". Osofisan makes it clear that imperial appetite drives the war as much as any principle. The allies covet Owu's wealth, its people and its land. Once the city falls, the "liberators" loot the shrines, enslave the surviving women and murder the royal child Aderogun, behaving no better than the tyranny they claimed to overthrow. The Erelu and the chorus of Owu women repeatedly puncture Maye's justifications, showing that the rhetoric of liberation masks conquest.

Conclusion. Maye Okunade's reasons for attacking Owu are therefore layered: an official pretext of liberating trade and freeing oppressed peoples, a personal thirst to reclaim his abducted wife and salve his honour, and an underlying hunger for plunder and power. Osofisan uses this mixture to condemn all wars fought behind the mask of high ideals, insisting that the true victims are always the innocent women left to mourn.

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The African poem "Homeless not Hopeless" sets the fortunes of the rich and the poor side by side and shows that, far from being separate worlds, the two are bound together in a single web of dependence and consequence. A good answer identifies the several ways the poem links them.

Economic dependence. The wealth of the rich is drawn from the labour of the poor. The comfort, buildings and prosperity that the affluent enjoy rest on the work, sweat and service of those who own little. In this sense the fortunes of the rich are built upon the poor, so that the two cannot be separated.

Shared physical space and mutual visibility. The poor and the rich inhabit the same city or society; the homeless live in the shadow of the mansions. Their nearness means the fortune of one is always in the sight of the other, and the poverty of the poor is a direct measure of, and reproach to, the abundance of the rich.

Moral and social interdependence. The poem suggests that the security of the rich is never complete while the poor are desperate. Neglect of the poor breeds discontent, crime and unrest that threaten the very comfort of the wealthy, so that the fortunes of the two classes rise and fall together. Conversely, the compassion or hardness of the rich shapes whether the poor sink or rise.

Hope as the equalising link. The title itself, "Homeless not Hopeless," links the two by insisting that material poverty does not extinguish human worth or aspiration. The poor share with the rich the same humanity and the same capacity to hope, so that dignity, not wealth, becomes the common ground uniting them.

Conclusion. The fortunes of the rich and the poor are linked economically, spatially, morally and in a shared humanity. The poem uses this interdependence to protest against inequality and to argue that the well-being of one class cannot finally be divorced from the fate of the other.

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In Ernest Hemingway's The Old Man and the Sea, Santiago's attitude to nature is complex, blending love, reverence and kinship with a clear-eyed acceptance of the harsh law of struggle and survival. He is both nature's devoted admirer and its determined adversary.

Love and reverence for the sea. Santiago regards the sea with affection and respect. He thinks of it as la mar, the feminine form, as something that gives or withholds great favours and cannot help its nature, unlike the younger fishermen who call it el mar and treat it as a hostile contestant. To him the sea is beautiful and generous even when cruel.

Kinship with creatures. Santiago feels a deep brotherhood with the living things around him. He calls the stars, the flying fish and the birds his brothers, pities the small warbler that rests on his line, and sympathises with the sea turtles. Above all he comes to love the great marlin he is fighting, admiring its strength, dignity and nobility and calling it his brother even as he must kill it.

Respect for a worthy opponent. His struggle with the marlin is a contest between equals conducted with mutual respect. Santiago honours the fish as a noble creature and feels that it is worthy to take his life or that he is worthy to take its own. There is no hatred in the killing, only reverence.

Acceptance of nature's harsh order. Yet Santiago accepts that nature is a place of predation and struggle. Man must kill to live, and the fish was born to be a fish just as he was born to be a fisherman. When the sharks devour the marlin he feels guilt for having gone "too far out," beyond his rights, but he does not rebel against the natural law that has destroyed his prize.

Conclusion. Santiago's attitude to nature is therefore one of reverent love and kinship joined to stoic acceptance. He sees the sea and its creatures as brothers to be honoured, while recognising and enduring the merciless struggle for survival that binds all living things together.

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Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest is subtitled "A Trivial Comedy for Serious People," and humour is the very substance of the play. Wilde uses several kinds of comedy to entertain the audience and, beneath the laughter, to satirise the manners and hypocrisies of Victorian upper-class society.

Verbal wit, epigram and paradox. The play sparkles with clever one-liners that reverse ordinary sense. Algernon declares that "in married life three is company and two is none," and that "the truth is rarely pure and never simple." Such paradoxes make the audience laugh while quietly exposing the shallowness of the values being mocked. The dialogue treats trivial matters (cucumber sandwiches, muffins) with grave seriousness and serious matters (marriage, death, morality) with airy triviality.

The pun on "Earnest". The whole plot turns on a comic pun. Both Gwendolen and Cecily long to marry a man named Ernest, confusing the name with the moral quality of being earnest. Jack and Algernon each pretend to be "Ernest," and the double meaning generates both farce and satire on Victorian earnestness.

Comedy of situation and "Bunburying". The invented invalid friend Bunbury and the fictitious wicked brother Ernest allow the men to lead double lives. The resulting mistaken identities, the two women both engaged to "Ernest," and the farcical confrontations create sustained situational humour.

Character as comic satire. Lady Bracknell is the great comic creation, her absurd interview of Jack (treating a lost handbag as a social disqualification) ridiculing the snobbery and mercenary marriage market of her class. Miss Prism, Canon Chasuble and the servants all add further layers of comedy of manners.

Farcical resolution. The discovery that Jack was the baby left in a handbag at Victoria Station, and is really named Ernest, resolves everything in a burst of improbable, delightful coincidence.

Conclusion. Humour in the play is therefore not mere decoration; through wit, paradox, puns, farce and comic characters, Wilde entertains richly while satirising Victorian hypocrisy about marriage, class, respectability and morality.

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A strong answer on the changes in the persona in the African poem "Expelled" traces how the speaker moves from one emotional and moral condition to another across the poem, showing the experience of expulsion or banishment as a process of transformation.

The persona at the start. At the opening the persona is typically presented in a settled, secure or hopeful state, belonging to a place or community and confident of acceptance. This initial condition establishes a base line against which the later change is measured, so that the reader feels the weight of what is lost.

The turning point of expulsion. The central event is the expulsion itself, the moment the persona is cast out, rejected or driven away. This produces a sharp emotional shift from belonging to alienation, from security to vulnerability. The persona's tone darkens into pain, shame, anger or bewilderment as the reality of rejection takes hold.

The changed persona. After the expulsion the persona is altered: no longer innocent or trusting, but wiser, more bitter, or hardened by the experience. The change may be for the worse, a fall into loneliness and disillusion, or paradoxically for the better, a new self-awareness, resilience or determination born of suffering. Either way the persona who emerges is not the one who began the poem.

Significance of the change. The transformation carries the poem's meaning, whether about injustice, the pain of exile, loss of innocence, or the growth that hardship forces upon a person. The reader is invited to judge the causes and consequences of the persona's changed state.

Conclusion. The persona in "Expelled" changes from an initial state of belonging and security, through the crisis of rejection, to a final condition of alienation and altered self-knowledge, and this movement is the emotional and thematic heart of the poem.

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Kobina Sekyi's The Blinkards is a satirical comedy set in colonial Cape Coast, and it presents African life in two contrasting forms: authentic African custom on one side, and a foolish, blind imitation of European ways on the other. The very title, referring to people who wear blinkers, points to those who cannot see the value of their own culture.

Genuine African life through custom and tradition. Sekyi presents true African life through its rich traditions. The play shows respect for elders, communal solidarity, the use of the mother tongue Fante, proverbs and courtesy, and above all the customary marriage rites. The traditional betrothal and marriage, conducted with the proper family negotiations and ceremony, are presented as dignified and meaningful, embodying the settled values of the community.

The distortion of African life by imitation. Against this, Sekyi satirises the anglicised Africans who despise their own heritage. Characters such as Mrs. Brofusem, who has returned from England, and the young Mr. Okadu ape European dress, speech, food and manners, scorning African clothing, language and customs as inferior. Their slavish mimicry is presented as ridiculous and self-destructive, a betrayal of their own identity.

The voice of balance. The educated lawyer Mr. Onyimdze represents true wisdom. Though Western-trained, he keeps his African values and marries in the traditional way, showing that education need not mean the loss of one's culture. Through him Sekyi presents the ideal of an African who embraces the good in his own life while resisting empty imitation.

Comic exposure. The clash of the two ways of life produces the play's comedy, but beneath the laughter lies a serious plea for cultural pride.

African life is therefore presented both as a source of dignity and worth, seen in its customs and communal values, and as something endangered by the blind imitators who despise it. Sekyi urges his people to value their own heritage rather than lose themselves in foreign fashions.

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In Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's Purple Hibiscus, the visits that Kambili and her brother Jaja make to Aunty Ifeoma's flat in Nsukka are the turning point of Kambili's development. Away from the terror of her father Eugene's house, several aspects of her character are gradually revealed.

Her deep repression and timidity. At first the visits expose how thoroughly her father has crushed her. She is painfully shy, stammers, struggles to speak at meals, and cannot join easily in the free, laughing conversation of Ifeoma's household. Her difficulty even in laughing shows the extent to which fear has silenced her.

Her capacity for warmth and love. As the visits continue, Kambili's suppressed capacity for affection surfaces. She responds to the love and freedom of the household and develops her first, tender feelings of love for the young priest Father Amadi, revealing a warm, romantic and yearning inner self hidden beneath her silence.

Her growing self-expression and confidence. Under Ifeoma's encouragement Kambili begins to open up: she learns to smile, to laugh, to run at the stadium, and to speak her mind more freely. Her transformation from a mute, fearful girl into one who can express joy shows a latent liveliness and strength that her home had stifled.

Her sensitivity and capacity for jealousy. Her feelings for Father Amadi and her uneasy relationship with her outspoken cousin Amaka reveal a sensitive, self-conscious nature capable of jealousy, longing and wounded pride, the ordinary emotions of a maturing adolescent.

Her budding independence. The freedom of Nsukka plants the seeds of quiet rebellion against her father's tyranny, so that the visits reveal a girl capable of growth, questioning and eventual independence.

Conclusion. The visits to Aunty Ifeoma reveal Kambili as a naturally warm, sensitive and intelligent girl whose true self, long buried by fear, blossoms into affection, confidence and the first stirrings of independence once she is given love and freedom.

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John Fletcher's "Upon an Honest Man's Fortune" is a meditation on free will and self-determination, and in the course of praising the self-made honest man it mounts a firm case against astrologers and all who claim that the stars govern human destiny.

Man is his own star. The poem's controlling argument is that a virtuous man is the maker of his own fortune. In the famous lines, "Man is his own star, and the soul that can / Render an honest and a perfect man / Commands all light, all influence, all fate." If the human soul, through honesty, controls light and fate, then the astrologers who read fate in the heavens are usurping a power that in truth belongs to human character. Nothing, the poem insists, falls to such a man "too early or too late."

Our acts are our angels. Fletcher relocates destiny from the sky to conduct: "Our acts our angels are, or good or ill, / Our fatal shadows that walk by us still." The forces that shape a life are one's own deeds, the good or evil that a person does, not the movements of distant planets. This directly denies the astrologer's premise that celestial bodies dictate events.

The charge against astrologers. The case against them therefore has several strands. First, they are frauds who claim to foretell what no star determines. Second, they preach a fatalism that robs men of moral responsibility, teaching people to blame the heavens rather than their own choices. Third, they degrade human dignity by making men the puppets of the stars when in fact the honest soul "commands" fate. The wise and upright man rules the stars; the astrologer would enslave him to them.

Conclusion. The poem's verdict is that astrology is empty and even harmful. By insisting that virtue and action, not planetary influence, decide an honest man's fortune, Fletcher exposes the astrologers as deceivers who deny free will and moral accountability. The case against them is, at bottom, a defence of human freedom and responsibility.

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