Лексико-стилистический анализ текста: MARTIN EDEN. Jack London

Лексико-стилистический анализ текста (004)

Участники: обучающиеся вузов, колледжей и техникумов. Все участники конкурса получают электронные сертификаты участников конкурса.
Победители - дипломы и подарочные карты памяти от организаторов.                                                        

Язык: английский

Цели:

- повышение навыков аналитического чтения художественного текста (идейного содержания и художественной формы);

- привлечение внимания и повышение мотивации к изучению английского языка, развитие творческой инициативы;

- выявление и поддержка талантливых студентов;

- повышение мотивации студентов к использованию письменной иноязычной речи, развитие их творческих способностей.

Форма представления конкурсного материала:

· работа выполняется в текстовом редакторе Microsoft Word;

· стиль Times New Roman, 12 шрифт, интервал 1,5;

· поля по 2 см. с каждой стороны;

· выравнивание по ширине;

Работа принимается на конкурс, если на титульном листе указаны:

− фамилия, имя, отчество автора;

− наименование образовательной организации, факультета, курса, группы;

− фамилия ведущего преподавателя иностранного языка;

− контактный телефон; адрес электронной почты.

Работы направлять на адрес электронной почты dir@akvobr.ru

Критерии оценки:

- определение места произведения в творчестве автора;

- освещение главной идеи текста, понимание его содержания и причинно-следственных связей;

- выделение лексических и грамматических средств автора, настроения;

- характеристика главных героев, их взаимоотношений;

- грамотность, соблюдение языковых норм, разнообразие лексического наполнения;

- четкость структуры, логичность, согласованность ключевых тезисов и утверждений;

- личностный характер восприятия темы и ее осмысление;

Все конкурсные работы будут проверены средствами обнаружения плагиата.

Сроки проведения c 17 мая 2019 г.по 31 декабря 2019 г.

 

MARTIN EDEN. Jack London

CHAPTER VIII

Several weeks went by, during which Martin Eden studied his grammar, reviewed the books on etiquette, and read voraciously the books that caught his fancy.  Of his own class he saw nothing.  The girls of the Lotus Club wondered what had become of him and worried Jim with questions, and some of the fellows who put on the glove at Riley’s were glad that Martin came no more.  He made another discovery of treasure-trove in the library.  As the grammar had shown him the tie-ribs of language, so that book showed him the tie-ribs of poetry, and he began to learn metre and construction and form, beneath the beauty he loved finding the why and wherefore of that beauty.  Another modern book he found treated poetry as a representative art, treated it exhaustively, with copious illustrations from the best in literature.  Never had he read fiction with so keen zest as he studied these books.  And his fresh mind, untaxed for twenty years and impelled by maturity of desire, gripped hold of what he read with a virility unusual to the student mind.

When he looked back now from his vantage-ground, the old world he had known, the world of land and sea and ships, of sailor-men and harpy-women, seemed a very small world; and yet it blended in with this new world and expanded.  His mind made for unity, and he was surprised when at first he began to see points of contact between the two worlds.  And he was ennobled, as well, by the loftiness of thought and beauty he found in the books.  This led him to believe more firmly than ever that up above him, in society like Ruth and her family, all men and women thought these thoughts and lived them.  Down below where he lived was the ignoble, and he wanted to purge himself of the ignoble that had soiled all his days, and to rise to that sublimated realm where dwelt the upper classes.  All his childhood and youth had been troubled by a vague unrest; he had never known what he wanted, but he had wanted something that he had hunted vainly for until he met Ruth.  And now his unrest had become sharp and painful, and he knew at last, clearly and definitely, that it was beauty, and intellect, and love that he must have.

During those several weeks he saw Ruth half a dozen times, and each time was an added inspiration.  She helped him with his English, corrected his pronunciation, and started him on arithmetic.  But their intercourse was not all devoted to elementary study.  He had seen too much of life, and his mind was too matured, to be wholly content with fractions, cube root, parsing, and analysis; and there were times when their conversation turned on other themes—the last poetry he had read, the latest poet she had studied.  And when she read aloud to him her favorite passages, he ascended to the topmost heaven of delight.  Never, in all the women he had heard speak, had he heard a voice like hers.  The least sound of it was a stimulus to his love, and he thrilled and throbbed with every word she uttered.  It was the quality of it, the repose, and the musical modulation—the soft, rich, indefinable product of culture and a gentle soul.  As he listened to her, there rang in the ears of his memory the harsh cries of barbarian women and of hags, and, in lesser degrees of harshness, the strident voices of working women and of the girls of his own class.  Then the chemistry of vision would begin to work, and they would troop in review across his mind, each, by contrast, multiplying Ruth’s glories.  Then, too, his bliss was heightened by the knowledge that her mind was comprehending what she read and was quivering with appreciation of the beauty of the written thought.  She read to him much from “The Princess,” and often he saw her eyes swimming with tears, so finely was her aesthetic nature strung.  At such moments her own emotions elevated him till he was as a god, and, as he gazed at her and listened, he seemed gazing on the face of life and reading its deepest secrets.  And then, becoming aware of the heights of exquisite sensibility he attained, he decided that this was love and that love was the greatest thing in the world.  And in review would pass along the corridors of memory all previous thrills and burnings he had known,—the drunkenness of wine, the caresses of women, the rough play and give and take of physical contests,—and they seemed trivial and mean compared with this sublime ardor he now enjoyed.