An example of a nonfiction memoir that represents a different culture is

a. beloved by toni morrison
b. a thousand acres by jane smiley
c. angela's ashes by frank mcourt
d. the tattooed girl: a novel by jayce carol oates

Ineed passing this course. how does one listen responsively? list the exact steps needed and use interview with marielle tsukamoto as an example.

The book the sweet hereafter: in three or four paragraphs, compare and contrast the irony of nichole's reasons for lying to the court about the accident to another well-known character who lies that you have encountered in literature. which of these characters had a better reason to lie: your character or nichole? which of these characters got the outcome they hoped for when they told the lie? what does the irony in each story say about the nature of truth and lies? (note: some famous literary liars you might consider writing about are: elizabeth proctor or abigail williams from the crucible; odysseus from the odyssey; romeo from romeo and juliet; tom or daisy buchanan from the great gatsby; arthur dimmesdale from the scarlet letter; the narrator or marla singer from fight club; cyrano or christian from cyrano de bergerac; sheherazhad from arabian nights; huck finn from the adventures of huckleberry finn; pip from great expectations, or a liar of your choice from a book or play you have read/seen)

Select the contred text in the passage which sentence in this excerpt from john galsworthy's narrative essay "gone" reflects his view that there is no afterlife? an old woman and mrs. herd's sister were in the sitting-room, they showed us to the crazy, narrow stairway. though we lived distant but four hundred yards of a crows flight, we had never seen mrs. herd before, for that is the way of things in this land of minding one's own business a slight dark girlish-looking woman, almost quite refined away, and with those eyes of the dying, where the spirit is coming through, as it only does when it knows that al is over except just the passing. she lay in a double bed with clean white sheets. a white-washed room, so low that the ceiling almost touched our heads, some flowers in a bow, the small lattice window open. though it was hot in there, it was better far than the rooms of most families in towns, living on a wage of twice as much, for here was no sign of defeat in decency or cleanliness. in her face, as in poor herd's, was that same strange minging of resigned despair and almost eager appeal, so terrible to disappoint. yet, trying not to disappoint it, one felt guilty of treachery: what was the good, the kindness in making this poor bird flutter still with hope against the bars, when fast prison had so surely closed in round her? but what else could we do? we could not give her those glib assurances that naive souls make so easily to others concerning their after state. and the night was so beautiful, so utterly glamourously beautiful, with its star-flowers, and its silence and its trees clothed in moonlight. all was tranquil as a dream of sleep. but it was long before our hearts wandering with poor herd, would let us remember that she had slipped away into so beautiful a dream