Чет тиллар факультети инглиз тили ўҚитиш методикаси кафедраси

From Blackout by Campbell Armstrong
1. Why do you think the fragment opens with the description of the main character's wristwatch? What mood is set in by the opening paragraph?
2. Analyse the images of the wristwatch and the wind. How are they introduced in the fragment? What is their role?
3. Specify cases of metonymy, metaphor, and simile; say what purpose they serve.
4. Pick out the case of allusion and speak on its function. What effect does it create in the fragment?
5. Comment on the role of syntactic devices used in the fragment
6. What kind of girl is protrayed by the author? Is her image positive or negative? Give yor reasons.
7. What idea is emphacised by the framing, beginning with: "...meant nothing" and ending by "it didn't matter which any more."
He glanced at his wristwatch, but the face was cracked and the hands bent and the luminous dots meant nothing. And a wind came up and gathered the rain together and blew it directly into his eyes. Where was she – this girl he barely knew? He remembered her waif-like face and the detachment in her eyes and her long legs under the short blue velvet skirt, the white shoes with the thick clunky heels. He remembered how she'd drunk vodka like there was a new Prohibition Law about to be enacted. Sometimes she'd tried to make a fluting sound by pressing he r lips against the neck of the bottle and blowing. He'd seen the shape of her mouth by the light of the instrument panel and been distracted by it. Or enchanted. It didn't matter which any more.
From Blackout by Campbell Armstrong
Read the fragment bellow and answer the following questions:
1. The combination of what tropes and figures of speech introduces Nick in the fragment?
2. Did Nick fancy Darcy? What hints at it?
3. Does the author use direct or indirect method of character drawing while decribing Nick? Give your reasons.
4. What trope makes Nick's description vivid?
5. What syntactic devices convey Darcy's attitude to Nick?
Nick, handsome in a dark, gypsy kind of way – as if he knew ancient secrets, which wasn't even close to the truth – gazed at her across the table. "It's not like you can dance to it, Darcy. You can't even tap your feet.
"I'm trying to down grade you," Nick said. He stretched out his arm and laid his hand on the back of her fingers. He had soft hands. They felt like cotton handkerchiefs that had been dried out-doors on a spring day. He was eighteen and on his way to college in the Fall, and when he graduated he'd work in the family company, which produced something Darcy didn't like, some tissues, towels, toilet rolls, what have you.