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Paragraph 10
1. I like storytellers. I’m a story teller.
2. I’m not good enough to be a writer. I’m Jeffrey Archer and I tell a tale.
3. I hope people turn the pages, and I hope they enjoy it, and in the end, that’s what I ask for.
198 Can you explain what the author means?
- Archer divides novelists into storytellers and writers
- I like storytellers. I’m a storyteller. I’m not good enough to be a writer.
199 Which should the storyteller give priority to, in your opinion?
- the plot and its development?
- the characters?
- the description?
- the stylistic devices?
- other?
200 After you’ve read and analysed the passage, what Belarusian/Russian equivalent would you suggest for the title? Write it down below.
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201 Now read a passage from Not a Penny More, Not a Penny Less and identify the underlined devices . Make notes in the right-hand column.
Making a million legally has always been difficult. Making a million illegally has always been a little easier. Keeping a million when you have made it is perhaps the most difficult of all. Henryk Metelski was one of those rare men who had managed all three. Even if the million he had made legally came after he had made illegally, Metelski was still a yard ahead of the others: he had managed to keep it all.
Henryk Metelski was born on the Lower East Side of New York on May 17th, 1909, in a small room that already slept four children. He grew up through the Depression, believing in God and one meal a day. His parents were from Warsaw and had emigrated from Poland at the turn of the century. Henryk’s father wa a baker by trade and had soon found a job in New York, where immigrant Poles specialised in baking black rye bread and running small restaurants for their countrymen. Both parents would have liked Henryk to be an academic success, but he was never destined to become an outstanding pupil at his high school. His natural gifts lay elsewhere. A cunning, smart little boy, he was far more interested in the control of the underground school market in cigarettes and liquor than in stirring tales of the American Revolution and the Liberty Bell. Little Henryk never believed for one moment that the best things in life were free, and the pursuit of money and power came as naturally to him as the pursuit of a mouse to a cat.
When Henryk was a pimply and flourishing fourteen-year-old, his father died of what we now know to be cancer. His mother outlived her husband by no more than a few months, leaving the five children to fend for themselves. Henryk, like the other four, should have gone into the district orphanage for destitute children, but in the mid-20s it was not hard for a boy to disappear in New York – though it was harder tosurvive. Henryk became a master of survival, a schooling which was to prove very useful to him in later life.
He knocked around the Lower East Side with his belt tightened andhis eyes open, shining shoes here, washing dishes there, always looking for an entrance to the maze at the heart of which lay wealth and prestige. His first chance came when his room-mate Jan Pelnik, a messenger boy on the New York Stock Exchange, put himself temporarily out of the action with a sausage garnished with salmonella. Henryk, deputed to report his friend’s mishap to the Chief Messenger, upgraded food-poisoning to tuberculosis, and talked himself into the ensuing vacancy. He then changed his room, donned a new uniform, lost a friend, and gained a job.
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| 202 Read the passage taken from John Grisham’s “The Testament” and do its stylistic analysis. Underline or highlight lexical and syntactic devices and make commenting notes on the right. There are some expressive means there too.
Down to the last day, even the last hour now. I’m an old man, lonely and unloved, sick and hurting and tired of living. I am ready for the hereafter; it has to be better than this.
I own the tall glass building in which I sit, and 97 percent of the company housed in it, below me, and the land around it half a mile in three directions, and the two thousand people who work here and the other twenty who do not, and I own the pipeline under the land that brings gas to the building from my fields in Texas, and I own the utility lines that deliver electricity, and I lease the satellite unseen miles above by which I once barked commands to my empire flung far around the world. My assets exceed eleven billion dollars. I own silver in Nevada and copper in Montana and coffee in Kenya and coal in Angola and rubber in Malaysia and natural gas in Texas and crude oil in Indonesia and steel in China. My company owns companies that produce electricity and make computers and build dams and print paperbacks and broadcast signals to my satellite. I have subsidiaries with divisions in more countries than anyone can find.
I once owned all the appropriate toys – the yachts and jets and blondes, the homes in Europe, thoroughbreds, and even a hockey team. But I’ve grown too old for toys.
The money is the root of my misery.
I had three families – three ex-wives who bore seven children, six of whom are still alive and doing all they can to torment me. To the best of my knowledge, I fathered all seven, and buried one. I should say his mother buried him. I was out of the country.
I am estranged from all the wives and all the children. They’re gathering here today because I’m dying and it’s time to divide the money.
I have planned this day for a long time. My building has fourteen floors, all long and wide and squared around a shaded courtyard in the rear where I once held lunches in the sunshine. I live and work on the top floor – twelve thousand square feet of opulence that would seem obscene to many but doesn’t bother me in the least. By sweat and brains and luck I built every dime of my fortune. Spending it is my prerogative. Giving it away should be my choice too, but I’m being hounded.
Why should I care who gets the money? I’ve done everything imaginable with it. As I sit here in my wheelchair, alone and waiting, I cannot think of a single thing I want to buy, or see, or a single place I want to go, or another adventure I want to pursue.
I’ve done it all, and I’m very tired.
I don’t care who gets the money. But I do care very much who does not get it.
Every square foot of this building was designed by me, and so I know exactly where to place everyone for this little ceremony. They’re all here, waiting and waiting, though they don’t mind. They’d stand naked in a blizzard for what I’m about to do.
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