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What is close reading? putting a poem or a prose passage under intense scrutiny to examine the author’s style and diction and their effect on the reader.

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Presentation on theme: "What is close reading? putting a poem or a prose passage under intense scrutiny to examine the author’s style and diction and their effect on the reader."— Presentation transcript:

1 What is close reading? putting a poem or a prose passage under intense scrutiny to examine the author’s style and diction and their effect on the reader. the ability to “read between the lines” of a literary work to grasp an author’s tone and true intentions finding the patterns, contrasts, and relationships within a work of literature peeling back the layers of meaning to look beyond what is literally on the page a reader’s intellectual conversation with the text

2 Especially effective use of language Connotative and denotative meanings of words Figurative or poetic devices (Don’t forget to tell why you think they were used—how they affect the reader.) Literary elements Recurring images or details; links to other parts of the story Key ideas and your reflections about them Ideas or questions you have while reading Unusual or interesting sentence structure Things to point out on your annotation page

3 When Gregor Samsa woke up one morning from unsettling dreams, he found himself changed in his bed into a monstrous vermin. He was lying on his back as hard as armor plate, and when he lifted his head a little, he saw his vaulted brown belly, sectioned by arch-shaped ribs, to whose dome the cover, about to slide off completely, could barely cling. His many legs, pitifully thin compared with the size of the rest of him, were waving helplessly before his eyes. “What’s happened to me?” he thought. It was no dream. His room, a regular human room, only a little on the small side lay quiet between the four familiar walls. Over the table, on which an unpacked line of fabric samples was all spread out – Samsa was a traveling salesman – hung the picture which he had recently cut out of a glossy magazine and lodged in a pretty gilt frame. It showed a lady done up in a fur hat and a fur boa, sitting upright and raising up against the viewer a heavy fur muff in which her whole forearm had disappeared. Gregor’s eyes then turned to the window, and the overcast weather – he could hear raindrops hitting against the metal window ledge – completely depressed him. “How about going back to sleep for a few minutes and forgetting all this nonsense,” he thought, but that was completely impracticable, since he was used to sleeping on his right side and in his present state could not get into that position. No matter how hard he threw himself onto his right side, he always rocked onto his back again. He must have tried it a hundred times, closing his eyes so as not to have to see his squirming legs, and stopped only when he began to feel a slight, dull pain in his side, which he had never felt before.

4 When Gregor Samsa woke up one morning from unsettling dreams, he found himself changed in his bed into a monstrous vermin. He was lying on his back as hard as armor plate, and when he lifted his head a little, he saw his vaulted brown belly, sectioned by arch-shaped ribs, to whose dome the cover, about to slide off completely, could barely cling. His many legs, pitifully thin compared with the size of the rest of him, were waving helplessly before his eyes. “What’s happened to me?” he thought. It was no dream. His room, a regular human room, only a little on the small side lay quiet between the four familiar walls. Over the table, on which an unpacked line of fabric samples was all spread out – Samsa was a traveling salesman – hung the picture which he had recently cut out of a glossy magazine and lodged in a pretty gilt frame. It showed a lady done up in a fur hat and a fur boa, sitting upright and raising up against the viewer a heavy fur muff in which her whole forearm had disappeared. Gregor’s eyes then turned to the window, and the overcast weather – he could hear raindrops hitting against the metal window ledge – completely depressed him. “How about going back to sleep for a few minutes and forgetting all this nonsense,” he thought, but that was completely impracticable, since he was used to sleeping on his right side and in his present state could not get into that position. No matter how hard he threw himself onto his right side, he always rocked onto his back again. He must have tried it a hundred times, closing his eyes so as not to have to see his squirming legs, and stopped only when he began to feel a slight, dull pain in his side, which he had never felt before. The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka

5 When Gregor Samsa woke up one morning from unsettling dreams, he found himself changed in his bed into a monstrous vermin. He was lying on his back as hard as armor plate, and when he lifted his head a little, he saw his vaulted brown belly, sectioned by arch-shaped ribs, to whose dome the cover, about to slide off completely, could barely cling. His many legs, pitifully thin compared with the size of the rest of him, were waving helplessly before his eyes. “What’s happened to me?” he thought. It was no dream. His room, a regular human room, only a little on the small side lay quiet between the four familiar walls. Over the table, on which an unpacked line of fabric samples was all spread out – Samsa was a traveling salesman – hung the picture which he had recently cut out of a glossy magazine and lodged in a pretty gilt frame. It showed a lady done up in a fur hat and a fur boa, sitting upright and raising up against the viewer a heavy fur muff in which her whole forearm had disappeared. Gregor’s eyes then turned to the window, and the overcast weather – he could hear raindrops hitting against the metal window ledge – completely depressed him. “How about going back to sleep for a few minutes and forgetting all this nonsense,” he thought, but that was completely impracticable, since he was used to sleeping on his right side and in his present state could not get into that position. No matter how hard he threw himself onto his right side, he always rocked onto his back again. He must have tried it a hundred times, closing his eyes so as not to have to see his squirming legs, and stopped only when he began to feel a slight, dull pain in his side, which he had never felt before. 3 rd person narrative Change mentioned in title Dreams were not pleasant Irony: he woke from bad dreams to be living one Vermin: negative connotation for bug – type not given Imagery of helplessness Imagery: round shape of body – not natural surprised but not really shocked Gold covered Imagery Room is non-descript Mood: room gives sense of loneliness, claustrophobia Does this imply he’s lonely or is it for his job? Possibly a fur salesman? impossible Mood: melancholy Imagery of helplessness Similar to his reaction and his room - plain Imagery Rain contributes to dreary mood Not a very strong term to describe what happened Keeps mentioning dreams and sleeping – can’t escape this real nightmare The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka

6 Kafka, Franz. The Metamorphosis. New York: Bantam Classics


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