Was a tough one....
@saurav205 said:Dont know the set number...hence going with RC for the day - 2The distinction that modern artists and art critics make between the arts, on the one hand, and crafts, on the other, was foreign to classical antiquity.
1. E
2. E
3. A
4. B
5. D
6. D
7. A
8. C
9. D
If Possible please Tag me in OA
2. E
3. A
4. B
5. D
6. D
7. A
8. C
9. D
If Possible please Tag me in OA
it's a request to everyone, please tag whoever attempted the RC's.
@saurav205 @vivekrajarshi
33. b In bourgeois society the rules change and the learning
of the rules is not done merely by repression but by
the gradual inculcation of values. Althusser, for
example, describes these two functions as repressive
and ideological state apparatuses. The former is
clear, but the latter is far more insidious. It is the way
in which the prevailing rules of the game become
second nature to you and your obligations are turned
into your desires. So, you pull your socks and get into
the process of earning money for your family. Perhaps
an unusual way of understanding this is through
metamorphosis. Gregor's metamorphosis into a bug is
the outward and inward transformation of the need to
earn money into his own picture of himself. This is
alienation theory in a beetle shell. Gregor gets alienated
from himself but he is not aware of this. (a) is incorrect
as it says that the man has some idea of what the
bourgeois society is doing to him. (He has idea about
what he is doing for his family but no idea of what the
bourgeois society is making him do.) Alienation is not
the cause but one of the effects of the drastic change
that the bourgeois society has brought about on the
man's mind. So (c) is incorrect. Author does not talk or
imply about whether this alienation is a normal or
abnormal response. Hence, (b) is the correct option.
34. b The ruling class make us learn its rules by repression
as well as by gradually making its rules a part of our
nature and turning our obligations into our desires. So
the ideas that we have in our mind are insinuated by
the society(they are not ours). So the author is most
likely to agree with (b).
OA.. a,b,b
32. a The author analyses the theory of Karl Marx about
ideologies and alienation. He uses Kafka's
Metamorphosis as a tool to analyse Karl Marx's theory.
Therefore, his tone is analytical.
ideologies and alienation. He uses Kafka's
Metamorphosis as a tool to analyse Karl Marx's theory.
Therefore, his tone is analytical.
33. b In bourgeois society the rules change and the learning
of the rules is not done merely by repression but by
the gradual inculcation of values. Althusser, for
example, describes these two functions as repressive
and ideological state apparatuses. The former is
clear, but the latter is far more insidious. It is the way
in which the prevailing rules of the game become
second nature to you and your obligations are turned
into your desires. So, you pull your socks and get into
the process of earning money for your family. Perhaps
an unusual way of understanding this is through
metamorphosis. Gregor's metamorphosis into a bug is
the outward and inward transformation of the need to
earn money into his own picture of himself. This is
alienation theory in a beetle shell. Gregor gets alienated
from himself but he is not aware of this. (a) is incorrect
as it says that the man has some idea of what the
bourgeois society is doing to him. (He has idea about
what he is doing for his family but no idea of what the
bourgeois society is making him do.) Alienation is not
the cause but one of the effects of the drastic change
that the bourgeois society has brought about on the
man's mind. So (c) is incorrect. Author does not talk or
imply about whether this alienation is a normal or
abnormal response. Hence, (b) is the correct option.
34. b The ruling class make us learn its rules by repression
as well as by gradually making its rules a part of our
nature and turning our obligations into our desires. So
the ideas that we have in our mind are insinuated by
the society(they are not ours). So the author is most
likely to agree with (b).
i have a doubt in 33... do u ppl agree with the explanation ya fir bas mujhe hi doubt ho raha hai...??
@vivekrajarshi said:@saurav205RC for the day - 2decbbcabb
@dushyantagarwal said:1. E2. E3. A4. B5. D6. D7. A8. C9. DIf Possible please Tag me in OA
OA :
E E C B B A D C B
@ankitpurohit991
m too in doubt
but not sure of explanation..though in last lines author has clearly mentioned he got alienated from himself coz of Job that he was doing for someone else.
m too in doubt
but not sure of explanation..though in last lines author has clearly mentioned he got alienated from himself coz of Job that he was doing for someone else.
@vivekrajarshi
right he is alienated, but 'he has no idea of what is being done to him'? I dont completely agree with that... Because he says:
At one point Gregor Samsa says of his family and his work life:
창€œThe fruits of his labour were transformed into the provision of money ... and he earned enough to meet the expenses of the entire family and actually did so. They had just become used to it, the family as well as Gregor, the money was received with thanks and given with pleasure, but that special warmth was missing.창€?
창€œThe fruits of his labour were transformed into the provision of money ... and he earned enough to meet the expenses of the entire family and actually did so. They had just become used to it, the family as well as Gregor, the money was received with thanks and given with pleasure, but that special warmth was missing.창€?
Now, according to the explanation, it means that he has idea about what he is doing for his family but no idea of what the society is making him do. How can we infer that...?
Itna dur ka koi kaise infer kare...
RC of the Day 
08/03/2013
08/03/2013 You see, society feels that it must control or discipline the citizen, shape his mind according to certain
religious, social, moral and economic patterns. One of our most difficult problems is what we call discipline,
and it is really very complex. Now, is discipline necessary at all? Most of us feel, especially while we are
young, that there should be no discipline, that we should be allowed to do whatever we like, and we think
that is freedom. But merely to say that we should or should not have discipline, that we should be free, and
so on, has very little meaning without understanding the whole problem of discipline. The keen athlete is
disciplining himself all the time, is he not? His joy in playing games and the very necessity to keep fit
makes him go to bed early, refrain from smoking, eat the right food and generally observe the rules of good
health. His discipline is not an imposition or a conflict, but a natural outcome of his enjoyment of athletics.
Now, does discipline increase or decrease human energy? Human beings throughout the world, in every
religion, in every school of thought, impose discipline on the mind, which implies control, resistance,
adjustment, suppression; and is all this necessary? If discipline brings about a greater output of human
energy, then it is worthwhile, then it has meaning; but if it merely suppresses human energy, it is very
harmful and destructive. All of us have energy, and the question is whether through discipline that energy
can be made vital, rich and abundant, or whether discipline destroys whatever energy we have. I think this
is the central issue. Many human beings do not have a great deal of energy, and what little energy they
have is soon smothered and destroyed by the controls, threats and taboos of their particular society with
its so-called education; so they become imitative, lifeless citizens of that society. And does discipline give
increased energy to the individual who has a little more to begin with? Does it make his life rich and full of vitality?
When you are very young, as you all are, you are full of energy, are you not? You want to play, to rush
about, to talk — you can't sit still, you are full of life. Then what happens? As you grow up your teachers
begin to curtail that energy by shaping it, directing it into various moulds; and when at last you become
men and women the little energy you have left is soon smothered by society, which says that you must be
proper citizens, you must behave in a certain way. Through so-called education and the compulsion of
society this abounding energy you have when you are young is gradually destroyed.
Now, can the energy you have at present be made more vital through discipline? If you have only a little
energy, can discipline increase it? If it can, then discipline has meaning; but if discipline really destroys
one's energy, then discipline must obviously be put aside.
What is this energy which we all have? This energy is thinking, feeling; it is interest, enthusiasm, greed,
passion, lust, ambition, and hate. Painting pictures, inventing machines, building bridges, making roads,
cultivating the fields, playing games, writing poems, singing, dancing, going to the temple, worshipping —
these are all expressions of energy; and energy also creates illusion, mischief and misery. The very finest
and the most destructive qualities are equally the expressions of human energy. But, you see, the process
of controlling or disciplining this energy and letting it out in one direction and restricting it in another
becomes merely a social convenience; the mind is shaped according to the pattern of a particular culture,
and thereby its energy is gradually dissipated.
So, our problem is, can this energy, which in one degree or another we all possess, be increased, given
greater vitality — and if so, to do what? What is energy for? Is it the purpose of energy to make war? Is it
to invent jet planes and innumerable other machines, to pursue some guru, to pass examinations, to have
children, to worry endlessly over this problem and that? Or can energy be used in a different way so that all
our activities have significance in relation to something which transcends them all? Surely, if the human
mind, which is capable of such astonishing energy, is not seeking reality or God, then every expression of
its energy becomes a means of destruction and misery. To seek reality requires immense energy; and if
man is not doing that, he dissipates his energy in ways which create mischief, and therefore society has
to control him. Now, is it possible to liberate energy in seeking God or truth and, in the process of discovering
what is true, to be a citizen who understands the fundamental issues of life and whom society cannot
destroy? Are you following this, or is it a little bit too complex? You see, man is energy, and if man does not
seek truth, this energy becomes destructive; therefore society controls and shapes the individual, which
smothers this energy. That is what has happened to the majority of grown-up people all over the world. And
perhaps you have noticed another interesting and very simple fact: that the moment you really want to do
something, you have the energy to do it. What happens when you are keen to play a game? You immediately
have energy, do you not? And that very energy becomes the means of controlling itself, so you don't need
outside discipline. In the search for reality, energy creates its own discipline. The man who is seeking
reality spontaneously becomes the right kind of citizen, which is not according to the pattern of any
particular society or government.
religious, social, moral and economic patterns. One of our most difficult problems is what we call discipline,
and it is really very complex. Now, is discipline necessary at all? Most of us feel, especially while we are
young, that there should be no discipline, that we should be allowed to do whatever we like, and we think
that is freedom. But merely to say that we should or should not have discipline, that we should be free, and
so on, has very little meaning without understanding the whole problem of discipline. The keen athlete is
disciplining himself all the time, is he not? His joy in playing games and the very necessity to keep fit
makes him go to bed early, refrain from smoking, eat the right food and generally observe the rules of good
health. His discipline is not an imposition or a conflict, but a natural outcome of his enjoyment of athletics.
Now, does discipline increase or decrease human energy? Human beings throughout the world, in every
religion, in every school of thought, impose discipline on the mind, which implies control, resistance,
adjustment, suppression; and is all this necessary? If discipline brings about a greater output of human
energy, then it is worthwhile, then it has meaning; but if it merely suppresses human energy, it is very
harmful and destructive. All of us have energy, and the question is whether through discipline that energy
can be made vital, rich and abundant, or whether discipline destroys whatever energy we have. I think this
is the central issue. Many human beings do not have a great deal of energy, and what little energy they
have is soon smothered and destroyed by the controls, threats and taboos of their particular society with
its so-called education; so they become imitative, lifeless citizens of that society. And does discipline give
increased energy to the individual who has a little more to begin with? Does it make his life rich and full of vitality?
When you are very young, as you all are, you are full of energy, are you not? You want to play, to rush
about, to talk — you can't sit still, you are full of life. Then what happens? As you grow up your teachers
begin to curtail that energy by shaping it, directing it into various moulds; and when at last you become
men and women the little energy you have left is soon smothered by society, which says that you must be
proper citizens, you must behave in a certain way. Through so-called education and the compulsion of
society this abounding energy you have when you are young is gradually destroyed.
Now, can the energy you have at present be made more vital through discipline? If you have only a little
energy, can discipline increase it? If it can, then discipline has meaning; but if discipline really destroys
one's energy, then discipline must obviously be put aside.
What is this energy which we all have? This energy is thinking, feeling; it is interest, enthusiasm, greed,
passion, lust, ambition, and hate. Painting pictures, inventing machines, building bridges, making roads,
cultivating the fields, playing games, writing poems, singing, dancing, going to the temple, worshipping —
these are all expressions of energy; and energy also creates illusion, mischief and misery. The very finest
and the most destructive qualities are equally the expressions of human energy. But, you see, the process
of controlling or disciplining this energy and letting it out in one direction and restricting it in another
becomes merely a social convenience; the mind is shaped according to the pattern of a particular culture,
and thereby its energy is gradually dissipated.
So, our problem is, can this energy, which in one degree or another we all possess, be increased, given
greater vitality — and if so, to do what? What is energy for? Is it the purpose of energy to make war? Is it
to invent jet planes and innumerable other machines, to pursue some guru, to pass examinations, to have
children, to worry endlessly over this problem and that? Or can energy be used in a different way so that all
our activities have significance in relation to something which transcends them all? Surely, if the human
mind, which is capable of such astonishing energy, is not seeking reality or God, then every expression of
its energy becomes a means of destruction and misery. To seek reality requires immense energy; and if
man is not doing that, he dissipates his energy in ways which create mischief, and therefore society has
to control him. Now, is it possible to liberate energy in seeking God or truth and, in the process of discovering
what is true, to be a citizen who understands the fundamental issues of life and whom society cannot
destroy? Are you following this, or is it a little bit too complex? You see, man is energy, and if man does not
seek truth, this energy becomes destructive; therefore society controls and shapes the individual, which
smothers this energy. That is what has happened to the majority of grown-up people all over the world. And
perhaps you have noticed another interesting and very simple fact: that the moment you really want to do
something, you have the energy to do it. What happens when you are keen to play a game? You immediately
have energy, do you not? And that very energy becomes the means of controlling itself, so you don't need
outside discipline. In the search for reality, energy creates its own discipline. The man who is seeking
reality spontaneously becomes the right kind of citizen, which is not according to the pattern of any
particular society or government.
126. The athlete's example proves that
a. When discipline is in-born we enjoy it
b. Games create discipline naturally
c. When one really enjoys doing something, discipline will follow as a natural outcome
d. Athletes do not need the imposition of discipline, they are naturally disciplined
a. When discipline is in-born we enjoy it
b. Games create discipline naturally
c. When one really enjoys doing something, discipline will follow as a natural outcome
d. Athletes do not need the imposition of discipline, they are naturally disciplined
127. As per the passage, the general effect of education is
a. An organized society b. Destruction of energy
c. Resistance and suppression d. None of the above
a. An organized society b. Destruction of energy
c. Resistance and suppression d. None of the above
128. The author believes that the discipline that exists in society is
a. Merely a social gimmick
b. Merely a social convenience at the cost of human potential
c. A necessary evil
d. Totally undesirable
a. Merely a social gimmick
b. Merely a social convenience at the cost of human potential
c. A necessary evil
d. Totally undesirable
129. According to the author, energy is
a. Greed b. Lust c. Enthusiasm d. All of the above
a. Greed b. Lust c. Enthusiasm d. All of the above
130. The author is least likely to agree with the idea that
a. Discipline is useless if it cannot augment the meagre reserves of energy
b. Cultural patterns are a major determinant of how energy is dissipated
c. A man is necessarily moulded according to the type of society he lives in
d. None of the above
a. Discipline is useless if it cannot augment the meagre reserves of energy
b. Cultural patterns are a major determinant of how energy is dissipated
c. A man is necessarily moulded according to the type of society he lives in
d. None of the above
Happy CATing 
6. c
7. b
8. b
9. d
10. d
OAs For RC 08/03/2013 
@Logrhythm @Exodia @saurav205 @dushyantagarwal and All
126. c
Choice (c) is supported by the author in the initial part
of passage. Refer to the last 3 lines of the first
paragraph.
of passage. Refer to the last 3 lines of the first
paragraph.
127. b
Refer to paragraph 2, lines 8 to 11 and to paragraph 3,
lines 1 to 4. The author explains as to how education
results in the destruction of energy.
lines 1 to 4. The author explains as to how education
results in the destruction of energy.
128. b
Option (a) is ruled out as in paragraph 5 the author
says that it is a social convenience, he does not say
that it is a force. He does not say that it is a necessary
evil. He says discipline helps in curbing wrong actions,
so (d) is wrong. Thus (b) is the best possible option.
says that it is a social convenience, he does not say
that it is a force. He does not say that it is a necessary
evil. He says discipline helps in curbing wrong actions,
so (d) is wrong. Thus (b) is the best possible option.
129. d
If we read paragraph 5, lines 1 and 2, the author
explicitly mentions (a), (b)and (c). Thus the answer is
(d).
explicitly mentions (a), (b)and (c). Thus the answer is
(d).
130. c
Choice (a) is supported by the views in the initial part
of the passage. Option (b) is supported in paragraph
3. Choice (c) is not mentioned and goes against
author창€™s view that 창€œif a person wants to do something,
he has the energy to do it창€?. Though he says that most
of the time, people are the outcome of their society, he
does not agree with the view that society necessarily
moulds a man. Therefore, the best option is (c).
of the passage. Option (b) is supported in paragraph
3. Choice (c) is not mentioned and goes against
author창€™s view that 창€œif a person wants to do something,
he has the energy to do it창€?. Though he says that most
of the time, people are the outcome of their society, he
does not agree with the view that society necessarily
moulds a man. Therefore, the best option is (c).
Happy CATing
P.S- Sorry for Delay I was in slumber 
I was in slumber
RC of the Day 
12/03/2013
12/03/2013Conscious of her approaching death, she has broken at last a lifetime's practice of concealment, of
stashing the truth away in the manner of the papers and mementoes mouldering in her battered travel
trunk. The woman in her eighties (her bones aching in the humid heat of summer, her step cautious in
winter's frozen treachery) unwinds the past, sends it twisting and spiralling in an unstoppable black flow
across the pages. The urgency of the project is insistent: impending foreclosure flays her on, reopening old
wounds, forcing her to confront life in all its bewilderment and pain.
This, in the sparest of terms, is the framework of The Blind Assassin, the novel which has won for the
Canadian writer, Margaret Atwood this year's Booker Prize. Her previous near-winners were The Handmaid's
Tale, Cat's Eye, and Alias Grace. In her latest book Atwood explores again a theme central to her fictional
universe: what happens to relationships, to human potential, to the possibility of happiness when women
are kept subordinate, stultified by their inferior status and locked in silence.
Iris Chase, the woman who unravels her past across the pages of The Blind Assassin, is at first sight an
improbable victim of history. The granddaughter of an entrepreneur who built an empire out of the manufacture
of buttons and cheap clothing for the masses, she has lived for the most part of her life, cocooned from
economic hardship. In her narrative, she conjures up the whimsical splendours of Avilion, the evocatively
titled domain her grandparents built in celebration of their new wealth and status and the place where she spent her childhood. Reliving her marriage to a young tycoon with political ambitions, she takes us into the
sumptuous between-the-Wars world of the highly moneyed: the fur-draped fashions, the dinner parties, the
Atlantic crossings on luxury liners. Such landscapes, replete with nostalgia, have in our own times yielded
rich pickings to advertisers and commercial film-makers aware of the power of the past. In Atwood's case,
however, evoking a class experience characterized by profligacy and privilege is not done to beguile us or
set the book on course for film rights. Rather, it establishes a polarity between material advantage and
emotional poverty, between the possibilities opened up by access to plenty and the reality of futile, empty
lives. In a real sense this is not only a political novel but also a morality tale.
In the book's opening pages, information is thrown at the reader from a variety of sources: from a narrative
we do not yet understand to be Iris', from newspaper clippings, and from a book written by Laura Chase
(Iris' sister). The last carries immediate poignancy, for we already know Laura to be dead, her car having
plunged from a bridge; there is speculation that it was suicide.
This choice of structure allows Atwood to introduce from the start, a sense of the contended nature of
experience: there is a world of difference between the clipped prose of the pro-establishment local paper
and the dead Laura's unfolding of emotion (her novel is a high-intensity story of unmarried love which
generated shock waves following its publication in the late 1940s). The structure also builds in elasticity,
enabling the writer not only to throw the past against the present but also to change pace, to intensify and
then release in a way that tightens her hold on our sensibilities, propelling us deeper into the mystery.
There is a further dimension to this structure: through it we, the readers, find ourselves repeatedly revising
the assumptions we formed at the novel's beginning. In the manner of a landscape viewed from a moving
vantage point, the story shifts, rearranges itself, discloses elements once hidden from view. To specify the changes would be to give away too much of the plot, reducing the novel's capacity to surprise and challenge.
What Atwood is attempting, one senses, is not a bid for authorial cleverness designed to leave the reader
stunned and bemused, but rather a journey towards the truth which invites her reader to question, reformulate
and reinterpret. Despite its old technology form, this is an interactive novel.
For the reader who accepts the invitation, this is a journey into pain. Atwood wields her pen like the most
deadly and delicate of knives, cutting through to the raw edge of emotion, exposing our areas of greatest
vulnerability: our relationships with others. Part of the stiletto sharpness of her writing derives from a use of
language that is precise and alive to the sheer potency of words.
Atwood's use of analogy, too, can bring the reader up short. When Iris' father, lamed and broken, returns
home in his uniform from the First World War, his medals “are like holes shot in the cloth, through which
the dull gleam of his real, metal body can be seen”. On board a ship at the start of her honeymoon, Iris
watches professional dancers perform a passionless tango accompanied by music that is “… jagged,
hobbled — like a four-legged animal lurching on three legs; a crippled bull with its head down, lunging”.
This is also a book rich in tongue-in-cheek humour that at several points had me laughing out loud. In a
narrative that has a strong aural quality to it, a pervasive sense of voice play, Atwood makes artful use of the
character of Renee, the housekeeper at the ancestral home to whom Iris and Laura, having lost their own mother, turn for maternal attention. A working class woman with a no-nonsense outlook on life, Renee
offers, through her repertoire of proverbs, sayings and catch-phrases, a running commentary on events that
both entertains and unsettles. But the primary source of humour is Iris herself: curmudgeonly and difficult
in old age, she is possessed of a capacity for wry observation, an ability to lay bare the incongruities of life,
with humour jostling the sadness.
stashing the truth away in the manner of the papers and mementoes mouldering in her battered travel
trunk. The woman in her eighties (her bones aching in the humid heat of summer, her step cautious in
winter's frozen treachery) unwinds the past, sends it twisting and spiralling in an unstoppable black flow
across the pages. The urgency of the project is insistent: impending foreclosure flays her on, reopening old
wounds, forcing her to confront life in all its bewilderment and pain.
This, in the sparest of terms, is the framework of The Blind Assassin, the novel which has won for the
Canadian writer, Margaret Atwood this year's Booker Prize. Her previous near-winners were The Handmaid's
Tale, Cat's Eye, and Alias Grace. In her latest book Atwood explores again a theme central to her fictional
universe: what happens to relationships, to human potential, to the possibility of happiness when women
are kept subordinate, stultified by their inferior status and locked in silence.
Iris Chase, the woman who unravels her past across the pages of The Blind Assassin, is at first sight an
improbable victim of history. The granddaughter of an entrepreneur who built an empire out of the manufacture
of buttons and cheap clothing for the masses, she has lived for the most part of her life, cocooned from
economic hardship. In her narrative, she conjures up the whimsical splendours of Avilion, the evocatively
titled domain her grandparents built in celebration of their new wealth and status and the place where she spent her childhood. Reliving her marriage to a young tycoon with political ambitions, she takes us into the
sumptuous between-the-Wars world of the highly moneyed: the fur-draped fashions, the dinner parties, the
Atlantic crossings on luxury liners. Such landscapes, replete with nostalgia, have in our own times yielded
rich pickings to advertisers and commercial film-makers aware of the power of the past. In Atwood's case,
however, evoking a class experience characterized by profligacy and privilege is not done to beguile us or
set the book on course for film rights. Rather, it establishes a polarity between material advantage and
emotional poverty, between the possibilities opened up by access to plenty and the reality of futile, empty
lives. In a real sense this is not only a political novel but also a morality tale.
In the book's opening pages, information is thrown at the reader from a variety of sources: from a narrative
we do not yet understand to be Iris', from newspaper clippings, and from a book written by Laura Chase
(Iris' sister). The last carries immediate poignancy, for we already know Laura to be dead, her car having
plunged from a bridge; there is speculation that it was suicide.
This choice of structure allows Atwood to introduce from the start, a sense of the contended nature of
experience: there is a world of difference between the clipped prose of the pro-establishment local paper
and the dead Laura's unfolding of emotion (her novel is a high-intensity story of unmarried love which
generated shock waves following its publication in the late 1940s). The structure also builds in elasticity,
enabling the writer not only to throw the past against the present but also to change pace, to intensify and
then release in a way that tightens her hold on our sensibilities, propelling us deeper into the mystery.
There is a further dimension to this structure: through it we, the readers, find ourselves repeatedly revising
the assumptions we formed at the novel's beginning. In the manner of a landscape viewed from a moving
vantage point, the story shifts, rearranges itself, discloses elements once hidden from view. To specify the changes would be to give away too much of the plot, reducing the novel's capacity to surprise and challenge.
What Atwood is attempting, one senses, is not a bid for authorial cleverness designed to leave the reader
stunned and bemused, but rather a journey towards the truth which invites her reader to question, reformulate
and reinterpret. Despite its old technology form, this is an interactive novel.
For the reader who accepts the invitation, this is a journey into pain. Atwood wields her pen like the most
deadly and delicate of knives, cutting through to the raw edge of emotion, exposing our areas of greatest
vulnerability: our relationships with others. Part of the stiletto sharpness of her writing derives from a use of
language that is precise and alive to the sheer potency of words.
Atwood's use of analogy, too, can bring the reader up short. When Iris' father, lamed and broken, returns
home in his uniform from the First World War, his medals “are like holes shot in the cloth, through which
the dull gleam of his real, metal body can be seen”. On board a ship at the start of her honeymoon, Iris
watches professional dancers perform a passionless tango accompanied by music that is “… jagged,
hobbled — like a four-legged animal lurching on three legs; a crippled bull with its head down, lunging”.
This is also a book rich in tongue-in-cheek humour that at several points had me laughing out loud. In a
narrative that has a strong aural quality to it, a pervasive sense of voice play, Atwood makes artful use of the
character of Renee, the housekeeper at the ancestral home to whom Iris and Laura, having lost their own mother, turn for maternal attention. A working class woman with a no-nonsense outlook on life, Renee
offers, through her repertoire of proverbs, sayings and catch-phrases, a running commentary on events that
both entertains and unsettles. But the primary source of humour is Iris herself: curmudgeonly and difficult
in old age, she is possessed of a capacity for wry observation, an ability to lay bare the incongruities of life,
with humour jostling the sadness.
131. If medals “are like holes shot in the cloth”, then Atwood is a critic of
a. Perpetrators of war b. Third grade tailoring
c. Glorification of war d. War and its effects
a. Perpetrators of war b. Third grade tailoring
c. Glorification of war d. War and its effects
132. Pick the odd one out:
a. A sense of contended nature of experience
b. This is an interactive novel
c. A moving vantage point
d. A capacity for wry observation
a. A sense of contended nature of experience
b. This is an interactive novel
c. A moving vantage point
d. A capacity for wry observation
133. Infer, what the 'contended nature of experience' stands for:
a. That quality of experience which makes us satisfied with our lot
b. Contextual nature of experience
c. Contradictory nature of experience
d. None of the above
a. That quality of experience which makes us satisfied with our lot
b. Contextual nature of experience
c. Contradictory nature of experience
d. None of the above
134. The Blind Assassin is a political novel because
a. It recognizes class divisions and examines some of them closely
b. It examines stark contrasts in the economic states of people
c. It is an allegory of exploitative capitalism
d. All of the above
a. It recognizes class divisions and examines some of them closely
b. It examines stark contrasts in the economic states of people
c. It is an allegory of exploitative capitalism
d. All of the above
135. Identify the central theme of Atwood's novel:
a. Presence of the past in the working of the present
b. Potential effects of female-subjugation
c. Communality of human experience
d. None of the above
a. Presence of the past in the working of the present
b. Potential effects of female-subjugation
c. Communality of human experience
d. None of the above
Happy CATing
P.S- I won't Sleep this time 