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English
Quarter 3 – Module 7:
Critique a Literary Selection Based
on the Reader-Response Approach
English – Grade 10
Quarter 3 – Module 7: Critique a Literary Selection Based
on the Reader-Response Approach
First Edition, 2020

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English
Quarter 3 – Module 7:
Critique a Literary Selection Based
on the Reader-Response Approach
Introductory Message
For the facilitator:
As a facilitator, you are expected to orient the learners on how to
use this module. You also need to keep track of the learners' progress
while allowing them to manage their own learning at home.
Furthermore, you are expected to encourage and assist the learners as
they do the tasks included in the module.

For the learner:

As a learner, you must learn to become responsible of your own
learning. Take time to read, understand, and perform the different
activities in the module.
As you go through the different activities of this module be
reminded of the following:
1. Use the module with care. Do not put unnecessary mark/s on
any part of the module. Use a separate sheet of paper in
answering the exercises.
2. Don’t forget to answer Let Us Try before moving on to the other
activities.
3. Read the instructions carefully before doing each task.
4. Observe honesty and integrity in doing the tasks and checking
your answers.
5. Finish the task at hand before proceeding to the next.
6. Return this module to your teacher/facilitator once you are
done.
If you encounter any difficulty in answering the tasks in this
module, do not hesitate to consult your teacher or facilitator. Always
bear in mind that you are not alone. We hope that through this
material, you will experience meaningful learning and gain deep
understanding of the relevant competencies. You can do it!

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 Let Us Learn
Hello there! In your previous lessons, you have been provided
with a lot of opportunities to improve yourself in critiquing a
literary selection using a reader-response approach.

In this activity sheet, you will be accomplishing series of

activities using a reader-response approach. After going through this,
you are expected to:

1. define a reader-response approach;

2. critique literary selections based on the reader-response
approach.

These are the skills that you are going to learn in this activity sheet.
So, have fun while doing the activities!

Let Us Try

PRE-TEST

Directions: Read the following questions. Choose the letter of the best
answer.

1. It is a reader’s interaction with the text that gives its meaning

a. Structuralist Approach
b. Moralist Approach
c. Reader-Response Approach
d. Marxist Approach

2. What should you look for in your reading if your teacher didn't give you
a specific prompt?

a. Any connections the text might have to your life

b. Feelings you have as you read the text
c. What you agree with or disagree with in the text
d. All of the above

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 3. What might be your response after reading a text?

a. Why did the author write this story?

b. The main character in the book was relatable because of her struggle.
c. The story was great.
d. A summary of the text was substantial.

4. Where might you effectively include a summary of the text in your

reader response?
a. In a summary should be most of the paper
b. In the introduction
c. In the conclusion
d. In your thesis statement

For Items 5-10. Read the poem then choose the correct answer.

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud

by William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

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 In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

5. The tone of the poem can be best described as

a. yoyful
b. sad
c. angry
d. comic

6. What are the daffodils doing when the speaker sees them?
a. singing
b. sleeping
c. dancing
d. listening

7. What are the stars in the milky way compared to?

a. clouds overhead
b. valleys and hills
c. lake
d. many daffodils growing in a line

8. What dances in the poem?

a. daffodils
b. waves
c. speaker’s heart
d. All of the above

9. What does the last stanza in the poem reveal about the speaker and his
memories of the daffodils?
a. He often feels down when he thinks about missing the daffodils.
b. The daffodils are a happy memory the speaker chooses to think about
when he is feeling sad or lonely.
c. The speaker often thinks of going back and visiting the daffodils.
d. He is frustrated because he has forgotten about the daffodils.

10. Which of the choices below is the best summary of the theme or central
idea of the poem?
a. Daffodils are the best dancers.
b. When you are feeling lonely, take a walk.
c. Humans rarely appreciate the beauty of nature.
d. The beauty of nature brings people happiness.

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 Let Us Study

Wow! You got a good start! You seemed to have an idea on what you will
be learning in this activity sheet.

Activity 1A: Let’s Read!

Directions: Read and analyze the texts that you are about to read. Answer
the questions below.

What I Have Lived For

By Bertrand Russel

Three passions, simple but overwhelmingly strong, have governed my

life: the longing for love, the search for knowledge, and unbearable pity for
the suffering of mankind. These passions, like great winds, have blown me
hither and thither, in a wayward course, over a great ocean of anguish,
reaching to the very verge of despair.

I have sought love, first, because it brings ecstasy - ecstasy so great

that I would often have sacrificed all the rest of life for a few hours of this
joy. I have sought it, next, because it relieves loneliness--that terrible
loneliness in which one shivering consciousness looks over the rim of the
world into the cold unfathomable lifeless abyss. I have sought it finally,
because in the union of love I have seen, in a mystic miniature, the
prefiguring vision of the heaven that saints and poets have imagined. This is
what I sought, and though it might seem too good for human life, this is
what--at last--I have found.

With equal passion I have sought knowledge. I have wished to

understand the hearts of men. I have wished to know why the stars shine.
And I have tried to apprehend the Pythagorean power by which number
holds sway above the flux. A little of this, but not much, I have achieved.

Love and knowledge, so far as they were possible, led upward toward
the heavens. But always pity brought me back to earth. Echoes of cries of
pain reverberate in my heart. Children in famine, victims tortured by
oppressors, helpless old people a burden to their sons, and the whole world
of loneliness, poverty, and pain make a mockery of what human life should
be. I long to alleviate this evil, but I cannot, and I too suffer. This has been
my life. I have found it worth living, and would gladly live it again if the
chance were offered me.

https://users.drew.edu/jlenz/br-prolog.html

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 1. The essayist talks about his three passions. Which of these passions
did he uphold? Do you agree with his views? Why? Why not?

________________________________________________________________________
____________________________________________________.

2. Why did he say that “love and passion led upward toward the heavens
and pity always brought him back to earth?”

_____________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________.

3. What do you think are his views about love? Do you agree or disagree?
Why?

________________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________.

Every day in our lives, we used to read. Reading has been a part of our
lives. Sometimes we made responses of what we have read. To better
understand and know the steps in reading-response approach let us read
further to know more about this approach and learn how and when to use
these steps in critiquing literary texts.

Steps in Writing Reader-Response

1. Write the introduction. Make sure that the introduction clearly

specifies the name of both the text and the author. It should also
include some description of the text, and what it's about. The
Introduction should end with your thesis statement or argument.

2. Write the body paragraphs. You should write 3-4 paragraphs that
discuss the text and the reading questions in depth. You don't
necessarily have to answer each question in order. Multiple questions
can be combined and addressed in a single paragraph, or reordered in
a way that flows well and makes sense to you.

3. Remember to explain how, why, and what. As you write your paper,
think about explaining not just how you felt about the text, but why it
made you feel a certain way. Remember that a reader response is
meant to be personal, so it's OK to incorporate personal anecdotes
and opinions into your analysis.

4. Incorporate specific examples into your analysis. Each body

paragraph should include at least 1-2 specific examples from the text.
These don't all have to be direct quotations. For example, you might
simply describe a particular event or passage in the text.

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5. Keep quotations short and sweet. Resist the temptation to string
together multiple multi-line quotes, and make sure to include at least
one sentence after each quote explaining how it relates to the point you
are making.

6. Write the conclusion. This should be one paragraph that summarizes

your arguments so far, and brings the reader back to your thesis or main
point.

7. Proofread, proofread, proofread!! Make sure and give your paper a

thorough once-over, looking for typos, grammatical errors, and things
that don't quite make sense.

Let Us Practice

Direction: Read the selection and be ready to answer the given

questions below.

The Necklace
By Guy de Maupassant

Mathilde Loisel is “pretty and charming” but feels she has been born
into a family of unfavorable economic status. She was married off to a lowly
clerk in the Ministry of Education, who can afford to provide her only with a
modest though not uncomfortable lifestyle. Mathilde feels the burden of her
poverty intensely. She regrets her lot in life and spends endless hours
imagining a more extravagant existence. While her husband expresses his
pleasure at the small, modest supper she has prepared for him, she dreams
of an elaborate feast served on fancy china and eaten in the company of
wealthy friends. She possesses no fancy jewels or clothing, yet these are the
only things she lives for. Without them, she feels she is not desirable. She
has one wealthy friend, Madame Forestier, but refuses to visit her because
of the heartbreak it brings her.

One night, her husband returns home proudly bearing an invitation to

a formal party hosted by the Ministry of Education. He hopes that Mathilde
will be thrilled with the chance to attend an event of this sort, but she is
instantly angry and begins to cry. Through her tears, she tells him that she
has nothing to wear and he ought to give the invitation to one of his friends
whose wife can afford better clothing. Her husband is upset by her reaction
and asks how much a suitable dress would cost. She thinks about it
carefully and tells him that 400 francs would be enough. Her husband
quietly balks at the sum but agrees that she may have the money.
As the day of the party approaches, Mathilde starts to behave oddly.
She confesses that the reason for her behavior is her lack of jewels.

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Monsieur Loisel suggests that she wear flowers, but she refuses. He
implores her to visit Madame Forestier and borrow something from her.
Madame Forestier agrees to lend Mathilde her jewels, and Mathilde selects a
diamond necklace. She is overcome with gratitude at Madame Forestier’s
generosity.
At the party, Mathilde is the most beautiful woman in attendance, and
everyone notices her. She is intoxicated by the attention and has an
overwhelming sense of self-satisfaction. At 4 a.m., she finally looks for
Monsieur Loisel, who has been dozing for hours in a deserted room. He
cloaks her bare shoulders in a wrap and cautions her to wait inside, away
from the cold night air, while he fetches a cab. But she is ashamed at the
shabbiness of her wrap and follows Monsieur Loisel outside. They walk for a
while before hailing a cab.
When they finally return home, Mathilde is saddened that the night has
ended. As she removes her wrap, she discovers that her necklace is no
longer around her neck. In a panic, Monsieur Loisel goes outside and
retraces their steps. Terrified, she sits and waits for him. He returns home
much later in an even greater panic—he has not found the necklace. He
instructs her to write to Madame Forestier and say that she has broken the
clasp of the necklace and is getting it mended.
They continue to look for the necklace. After a week, Monsieur Loisel
says they have to see about replacing it. They visit many jewelers, searching
for a similar necklace, and finally find one. It costs 40,000 francs, although
the jeweler says he will give it to them for 36,000. The Loisels spend a week
scraping up money from all kinds of sources, mortgaging the rest of their
existence. After three days, Monsieur Loisel purchases the necklace. When
Mathilde returns the necklace, in its case, to Madame Forestier, Madame
Forestier is annoyed at how long it has taken to get it back but does not
open the case to inspect it. Mathilde is relieved.
The Loisels began to live a life of crippling poverty. They dismiss their
servant and move into an even smaller apartment. Monsieur Loisel works
three jobs, and Mathilde spends all her time doing the heavy housework.
This misery lasts ten years, but at the end they have repaid their financial
debts. Mathilde’s extraordinary beauty is now gone: she looks just likes the
other women of poor households. They are both tired and irrevocably
damaged from these years of hardship.
https://www.sparknotes.com/short-stories/the-necklace/summary/

B. Choose the correct answer. Write your answers in the separate sheet.

1. What is the name of the main character?

a. Madame Mathilde
b. Madame Virginia
c. Madame Forestier
d. Madame Elizabeth

2. What is most likely the reason why the main character isn’t satisfied
with her life?

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 a. Everyone uses her strictly for money.
b. Her husband is always working.
c. Her mother died at a really young age.
d. She feels as if every luxury in the world should be hers.

3. The necklace that was worn by the main character in the story is an
example of
a. characterization
b. symbolism
c. irony
d. all of the above

4. The main character receives a(n) _______ in the mail

a. letter from her father
b. invitation
c. box containing a diamond
d. envelopes containing 500 Francs

5. What happened to the main character at the ball?

a. Everyone loved her.
b. She is shunned.
c. Nobody noticed her.
d. All of the above

6. What happened to the original necklace?

a. The main character lost the necklace.
b. The main character decided to keep it.
c. It was broken.
d. The gem fell out of the necklace.
7. How much did the main character pay for the new necklace?
a. 400 Francs
b. 500 Francs
c. 32,000 Francs
d. 36,000 Francs

8. How long was the main character and her husband in debt?
a. 5 months
b. 10 months
c. About 10 years
d. 15 years

9. What type does the conclusion show?

a. Situational Irony

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 b. Dramatic Irony
c. Verbal Irony
d. No Irony at all

10. What is the moral of the story?

a. Be honest
b. Be humble
c. Be contented
d. Be kind

B. Answer the following questions in your notebook.

1. Do you like or dislike the text?

2. Can you identify the author's purpose?
3. Do you agree or disagree with the author?
4. Does the text relate to you and your life? If so, how? If not, why not?
5. What, if anything, did you learn from the text?

Let Us Practice More

Activity 2: Thinking It Through

This time you will read another story entitled “The Ambitious Guest”
written by Nathaniel Hawthorne.

One December night, a long, long time ago, a family sat around the
fireplace in their home. A golden light from the fire filled the room. The
mother and father laughed at something their oldest daughter had just said.
The girl was seventeen, much older than her little brother and sister, who
were only five and six years old.

A very old woman, the family's grandmother, sat knitting in the

warmest corner of the room. And a baby, the youngest child, smiled at the
fire's light from its tiny bed. This family had found happiness in the worst
place in all of New England. They had built their home high up in the White
Mountains, where the wind blows violently all year long.

The family lived in an especially cold and dangerous spot. Stones from
the top of the mountain above their house would often roll down the
mountainside and wake them in the middle of the night. No other family
lived near them on the mountain. But this family was never lonely. They
enjoyed each other's company, and often had visitors. Their house was built
near an important road that connected the White Mountains to the Saint
Lawrence River.

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 People traveling through the mountains in wagons always stopped at
the family's door for a drink of water and a friendly word. Lonely travelers,
crossing the mountains on foot, would step into the house to share a hot
meal. Sometimes, the wind became so wild and cold that these strangers
would spend the night with the family. The family offered every traveler who
stopped at their home a kindness that money could not buy.

On that December evening, the wind came rushing down the

mountain. It seemed to stop at their house to knock at the door before it
roared down into the valley. The family fell silent for a moment. But then
they realized that someone really was knocking at their door. The oldest girl
opened the door and found a young man standing in the dark.

The old grandmother put a chair near the fireplace for him. The oldest
daughter gave him a warm, shy smile. And the baby held up its little arms
to him. "This fire is just what I needed," the young man said. "The wind has
been blowing in my face for the last two hours."

The father took the young man's travel bag. "Are you going to
Vermont?" the older man asked. "Yes, to Burlington," the traveler replied. "I
wanted to reach the valley tonight. But when I saw the light in your window,
I decided to stop. I would like to sit and enjoy your fire and your company
for a while."

As the young man took his place by the fire, something like heavy
footsteps was heard outside. It sounded as if someone was running down
the side of the mountain, taking enormous steps. The father looked out one
of the windows.

"That old mountain has thrown another stone at us again. He must

have been afraid we would forget him. He sometimes shakes his head and
makes us think he will come down on top of us," the father explained to the
young man. "But we are old neighbors," he smiled. "And we manage to get
along together pretty well. Besides, I have made a safe hiding place outside
to protect us in case a slide brings the mountain down on our heads."

As the father spoke, the mother prepared a hot meal for their guest.
While he ate, he talked freely to the family, as if it were his own. This young
man did not trust people easily. Yet on this evening, something made him
share his deepest secret with these simple mountain people.

The young man's secret was that he was ambitious. He did not know
what he wanted to do with his life, yet. But he did know that he did not
want to be forgotten after he had died. He believed that sometime during his

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life, he would become famous and be admired by thousands of people. "So
far," the young man said, "I have done nothing. If I disappeared tomorrow
from the face of the earth, no one would know anything about me. No one
would ask 'Who was he. Where did he go?' But I cannot die until I have
reached my destiny. Then let death come! I will have built my monument!"

The young man's powerful emotions touched the family. They smiled.
"You laugh at me," the young man said, taking the oldest daughter's hand.
"You think my ambition is silly." She was very shy, and her face became
pink with embarrassment. "It is better to sit here by the fire," she whispered,
"and be happy, even if nobody thinks of us."

Her father stared into the fire. "I think there is something natural in
what the young man says. And his words have made me think about our
own lives here. "It would have been nice if we had had a little farm down in
the valley. Some place where we could see our mountains without being
afraid, they would fall on our heads. I would have been respected by all our
neighbors. And, when I had grown old, I would die happy in my bed. You
would put a stone over my grave so everyone would know I lived an honest
life."

"You see!" the young man cried out. "It is in our nature to want a
monument. Some want only a stone on their grave. Others want to be a part
of everyone's memory. But we all want to be remembered after we die!" The
young man threw some more wood on the fire to chase away the darkness.

The firelight fell on the little group around the fireplace: the father's
strong arms and the mother's gentle smile. It touched the young man's
proud face, and the daughter's shy one. It warmed the old grandmother, still
knitting in the corner. She looked up from her knitting and, with her fingers
still moving the needles, she said, "Old people have their secrets, just as
young people do."

The old woman said she had made her funeral clothes some years
earlier. They were the finest clothes she had made since her wedding dress.
She said her secret was a fear that she would not be buried in her best
clothes. The young man stared into the fire. "Old and young," he said. "We
dream of graves and monuments. I wonder how sailors feel when their ship
is sinking, and they know they will be buried in the wide and nameless
grave that is the ocean?"

A sound, rising like the roar of the ocean, shook the house. Young and
old exchanged one wild look. Then the same words burst from all their lips.
"The slide! The slide!" They rushed away from the house, into the darkness,
to the secret spot the father had built to protect them from the mountain

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slide. The whole side of the mountain came rushing toward the house like a
waterfall of destruction.

But just before it reached the little house, the wave of earth divided in
two and went around the family's home. Everyone and everything in the
path of the terrible slide was destroyed, except the little house. The next
morning, smoke was seen coming from the chimney of the house on the
mountain. Inside, the fire was still burning. The chairs were still drawn up
in a half circle around the fireplace. It looked as if the family had just gone
out for a walk.

Some people thought that a stranger had been with the family on that
terrible night. But no one ever discovered who the stranger was. His name
and way of life remain a mystery. His body was never found.

https://learningenglish.voanews.com/a/ambitious-guest-nathaniel-hawthorne-american-
stories/2807887.html

Do this in your notebook.

1. The story was entitled “The Ambitious Guest” because…

2. I think that…

3. I feel that…

4. I see that…

5. I have learned that…

Let Us Remember

Reader Response is a critical theory that stresses the

importance of the role of the reader in constructing the meaning of a work of
literature. Lois Tyson offers this definition: “Reader-response
theory…maintains that what a text is cannot be separated from what it
does…reader-response theorists share two beliefs: (1) that the role of the
reader cannot be omitted from our understanding of literature and (2) that
readers do not passively consume the meaning presented to them by an
objective literary text”.
Reader-response theorists recognize that texts do not interpret
themselves. Even if all of the evidences for a certain interpretation comes
from the work itself, and even if everyone who reads the text interprets it in

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the same (as improbable as that might be) it is still the readers, who do the
interpreting, assigning meaning to the text. Reader response criticism not
only allows for, but even interests itself in how these meanings to change
from reader to reader and from time to time.

Reader-response criticism is a school of literary theory that focuses

on the reader (or “audience”) and their experience of a literary work, in
contrast to other schools and theories that focus attention primarily on the
author or the content and form of the work.

Reader-response theory recognizes the reader as an active agent who

imparts “real existence” to the work and completes its meaning through
interpretation. It argues that literature should be viewed as a performing art
in which each reader creates their own, possibly unique, text-related
performance. It stands in total opposition to the theories of formalism and
the New Criticism.

How did you find the previous activities? Are you still excited to read? Very
good! Continue reading as your habit. You will surely enjoy reading as part
of daily routine.

Let Us Assess

Directions: Choose the correct answer from the given choices. Write
your answer in your notebook.

A Psalm of Life
By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

What the heart of the young man said to the Psalmist.

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!

And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,

Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.

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 Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world’s broad field of battle,

In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!

Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,— act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o’erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us

We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,

Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,

With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.

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 1. Who is the speaker?
A. God
B. A Young Man
C. A Psalmist
D. A Narrator
2. The main thing the young man advises is to ___.
A. act
B. think
C. pray
D. question
3. The young man does not want to hear that life is ___.
A. hard
B. complicated
C. an empty dream
D. short
4. "Our destined end or way" is neither enjoyment nor ____.
A. pain
B. sorrow
C. pleasure
D. death
5. Heartbeats are compared to ____.
A. lightning
B. footsteps
C. drums
D. waves
6. Life is compared to a/an _____.
A. battlefield
B. garden
C. book
D. sky
7. We should live in the _____.
A. past
B. afterlife
C. present
D. future
8. Who reminds us we can make our lives sublime?
A. Our fathers
B. Great men
C. We do
D. Biblical teachers
9. Life is also compared to a/an ___.
A. ocean
B. sky
C. mountain
D. forest
10. The tone is__________

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 A. bleak
B. angry
C. confused
D. optimistic

Let Us Enhance

Well done! Now for you to apply what you have learned about our
lesson. Write your response to the selection that you will be reading today.

Three Days to See

by Hellen Keller

All of us have read thrilling stories in which the hero had only a
limited and specified time to live. Sometimes it was as long as a year;
sometimes as short as twenty-four hours. But always we were interested in
discovering just how the doomed man chose to spend his last days or his
last hours. I speak, of course, of free men who have a choice, not
condemned criminals whose sphere of activities is strictly delimited.
Such stories set us thinking, wondering what we should do under
similar circumstances. What events, what experiences, what associations,
should we crowd into those last hours as mortal beings? What happiness
should we find in reviewing the past, what regrets?
Sometimes I have thought it would be an excellent rule to live each
day as if we should die tomorrow. Such an attitude would emphasize
sharply the values of life. We should live each day with a gentleness, a vigor,
and a keenness of appreciation which are often lost when time stretches
before us in the constant panorama of more days and months and years to
come. There are those, of course, who would adopt the epicurean motto of
'Eat, drink, and be merry,' but most people would be chastened by the
certainty of impending death.
Discuss this article in the Arts & Literature forum of Post & Riposte.
In stories, the doomed hero is usually saved at the last minute by some
stroke of fortune, but almost always his sense of values is changed. He
becomes more appreciative of the meaning of life and its permanent spiritual
values. It has often been noted that those who live, or have lived, in the
shadow of death bring a mellow sweetness to everything they do.

Most of us, however, take life for granted. We know that one day we
must die, but usually we picture that day as far in the future. When we are
in buoyant health, death is all but unimaginable. We seldom think of it. The
days stretch out in an endless vista. So we go about our petty tasks, hardly
aware of our listless attitude toward life.

16
 The same lethargy, I am afraid, characterizes the use of all our
faculties and senses. Only the deaf appreciate hearing, only the blind realize
the manifold blessings that lie in sight. Particularly does this observation
apply to those who have lost sight and hearing in adult life. But those who
have never suffered impairment of sight or hearing seldom make the fullest
use of these blessed faculties. Their eyes and ears take in all sights and
sounds hazily, without concentration and with little appreciation. It is the
same old story of not being grateful for what we have until we lose it, of not
being conscious of health until we are ill.
I have often thought it would be a blessing if each human being were
stricken blind and deaf for a few days at some time during his early adult
life. Darkness would make him more appreciative of sight; silence would
teach him the joys of sound.
Now and then I have tested my seeing friends to discover what they
see. Recently I was visited by a very good friend who had just returned from
a long walk in the woods, and I asked her what she had observed. "Nothing
in particular," she replied. I might have been incredulous had I not been
accustomed to such responses, for long ago I became convinced that the
seeing see little.
How was it possible, I asked myself, to walk for an hour through the
woods and see nothing worthy of note? I who cannot see find hundreds of
things to interest me through mere touch. I feel the delicate symmetry of a
leaf. I pass my hands lovingly about the smooth skin of a silver birch, or the
rough, shaggy bark of a pine. In spring I touch the branches of trees
hopefully in search of a bud, the first sign of awakening Nature after her
winter's sleep. I feel the delightful, velvety texture of a flower, and discover
its remarkable convolutions; and something of the miracle of Nature is
revealed to me. Occasionally, if I am very fortunate, I place my hand gently
on a small tree and feel the happy quiver of a bird in full song. I am
delighted to have the cool waters of a brook rush through my open fingers.
To me a lush carpet of pine needles or spongy grass is more welcome than
the most luxurious Persian rug. To me the pageant of seasons is a thrilling
and unending drama, the action of which streams through my fingertips.
At times my heart cries out with longing to see all these things. If I can
get so much pleasure from mere touch, how much more beauty must be
revealed by sight. Yet, those who have eyes apparently see little. The
panorama of color and action which fills the world is taken for granted. It is
human, perhaps, to appreciate little that which we have and to long for that
which we have not, but it is a great pity that in the world of light the gift of
sight is used only as a mere convenience rather than as a means of adding
fullness to life.
If I were the president of a university, I should establish a compulsory
course in "How to Use Your Eyes." The professor would try to show his
pupils how they could add joy to their lives by really seeing what passes

17
unnoticed before them. He would try to awake their dormant and sluggish
faculties.
Perhaps I can best illustrate by imagining what I should most like to
see if I were given the use of my eyes, say, for just three days. And while I
am imagining, suppose you, too, set your mind to work on the problem of
how you would use your own eyes if you had only three more days to see. If
with the oncoming darkness of the third night you knew that the sun would
never rise for you again, how would you spend those three precious
intervening days? What would you most want to let your gaze rest upon?
I, naturally, should want most to see the things which have become
dear to me through my years of darkness. You, too, would want to let your
eyes rest long on the things that have become dear to you so that you could
take the memory of them with you into the night that loomed before you.
If, by some miracle, I were granted three seeing days, to be followed by
a relapse into darkness, I should divide the period into three parts.
On the first day, I should want to see the people whose kindness and
gentleness and companionship have made my life worth living. First, I
should like to gaze long upon the face of my dear teacher, Mrs. Anne
Sullivan Macy, who came to me when I was a child and opened the outer
world to me. I should want not merely to see the outline of her face, so that I
could cherish it in my memory, but to study that face and find in it the
living evidence of the sympathetic tenderness and patience with which she
accomplished the difficult task of my education. I should like to see in her
eyes that strength of character which has enabled her to stand firm in the
face of difficulties, and that compassion for all humanity which she has
revealed to me so often.
I do not know what it is to see into the heart of a friend through that
"window of the soul," the eye. I can only "see" through my fingertips the
outline of a face. I can detect laughter, sorrow, and many other obvious
emotions. I know my friends from the feel of their faces. But I cannot really
picture their personalities by touch. I know their personalities, of course,
through other means, through the thoughts they express to me, through
whatever of their actions are revealed to me. But I am denied that deeper
understanding of them which I am sure would come through sight of them,
through watching their reactions to various expressed thoughts and
circumstances, through noting the immediate and fleeting reactions of their
eyes and countenance.
Friends who are near to me I know well, because through the months
and years they reveal themselves to me in all their phases; but of casual
friends I have only an incomplete impression, an impression gained from a
handclasp, from spoken words which I take from their lips with my
fingertips, or which they tap into the palm of my hand.

How much easier, how much more satisfying it is for you who can see
to grasp quickly the essential qualities of another person by watching the

18
subtleties of expression, the quiver of a muscle, the flutter of a hand. But
does it ever occur to you to use your sight to see into the inner nature of a
friend or acquaintance? Do not most of you seeing people grasp casually the
outward features of a face and let it go at that?
For instance, can you describe accurately the faces of five good
friends? Some of you can, but many cannot. As an experiment, I have
questioned husbands of long standing about the color of their wives' eyes,
and often they express embarrassed confusion and admit that they do not
know. And, incidentally, it is a chronic complaint of wives that their
husbands do not notice new dresses, new hats, and changes in household
arrangements.
The eyes of seeing persons soon become accustomed to the routine of
their surroundings, and they actually see only the startling and spectacular.
But even in viewing the most spectacular sights the eyes are lazy. Court
records reveal every day how inaccurately "eyewitnesses" see. A given event
will be "seen" in several different ways by as many witnesses. Some see more
than others, but few see everything that is within the range of their vision.
Oh, the things that I should see if I had the power of sight for just
three days!
The first day would be a busy one. I should call to me all my dear
friends and look long into their faces, imprinting upon my mind the outward
evidences of the beauty that is within them. I should let my eyes rest, too,
on the face of a baby, so that I could catch a vision of the eager, innocent
beauty which precedes the individual's consciousness of the conflicts which
life develops.
And I should like to look into the loyal, trusting eyes of my dogs -- the
grave, canny little Scottie, Darkie, and the stalwart, understanding Great
Dane, Helga, whose warm, tender, and playful friendships are so comforting
to me.
On that busy first day I should also view the small simple things of my
home. I want to see the warm colors in the rugs under my feet, the pictures
on the walls, the intimate trifles that transform a house into home. My eyes
would rest respectfully on the books in raised type which I have read, but
they would be more eagerly interested in the printed books which seeing
people can read, for during the long night of my life the books I have read
and those which have been read to me have built themselves into a great
shining lighthouse, revealing to me the deepest channels of human life and
the human spirit.
In the afternoon of that first seeing day, I should take a long walk in
the woods and intoxicate my eyes on the beauties of the world of Nature,
trying desperately to absorb in a few hours the vast splendor which is
constantly unfolding itself to those who can see. On the way home from my
woodland jaunt my path would lie near a farm so that I might see the
patient horses ploughing in the field (perhaps I should see only a tractor!)

19
and the serene content of men living close to the soil. And I should pray for
the glory of a colorful sunset.
When dusk had fallen, I should experience the double delight of being
able to see by artificial light, which the genius of man has created to extend
the power of his sight when Nature decrees darkness.
In the night of that first day of sight, I should not be able to sleep, so
full would be my mind of the memories of the day.
The next day -- the second day of sight -- I should arise with the dawn
and see the thrilling miracle by which night is transformed into day. I
should behold with awe the magnificent panorama of light with which the
sun awakens the sleeping earth.
This day I should devote to a hasty glimpse of the world, past and
present. I should want to see the pageant of man's progress, the
kaleidoscope of the ages. How can so much be compressed into one day?
Through the museums, of course. Often I have visited the New York
Museum of Natural History to touch with my hands many of the objects
there exhibited, but I have longed to see with my eyes the condensed history
of the earth and its inhabitants displayed there -- animals and the races of
men pictured in their native environment; gigantic carcasses of dinosaurs
and mastodons which roamed the earth long before man appeared, with his
tiny stature and powerful brain, to conquer the animal kingdom; realistic
presentations of the processes of evolution in animals, in man, and in the
implements which man has used to fashion for himself a secure home on
this planet; and a thousand and one other aspects of natural history.
I wonder how many readers of this article have viewed this panorama
of the face of living things as pictured in that inspiring museum. Many, of
course, have not had the opportunity, but I am sure that many who have
had the opportunity have not made use of it. There, indeed, is a place to use
your eyes. You who see can spend many fruitful days there, but I, with my
imaginary three days of sight, could only take a hasty glimpse, and pass on.
My next stop would be the Metropolitan Museum of Art, for just as the
Museum of Natural History reveals the material aspects of the world, so
does the Metropolitan show the myriad facets of the human spirit.
Throughout the history of humanity, the urge to artistic expression has been
almost as powerful as the urge for food, shelter, and procreation. And here,
in the vast chambers of the Metropolitan Museum, is unfolded before me the
spirit of Egypt, Greece, and Rome, as expressed in their art. I know well
through my hands the sculptured gods and goddesses of the ancient Nile
land. I have felt copies of Parthenon friezes, and I have sensed the rhythmic
beauty of charging Athenian warriors. Apollos and Venuses and the Winged
Victory of Samothrace are friends of my fingertips. The gnarled, bearded
features of Homer are dear to me, for he, too, knew blindness.
My hands have lingered upon the living marble of Roman sculpture as
well as that of later generations. I have passed my hands over a plaster cast
of Michelangelo's inspiring and heroic Moses; I have sensed the power of

20
Rodin; I have been awed by the devoted spirit of Gothic wood carving. These
arts which can be touched have meaning for me, but even they were meant
to be seen rather than felt, and I can only guess at the beauty which
remains hidden from me. I can admire the simple lines of a Greek vase, but
its figured decorations are lost to me.
So on this, my second day of sight, I should try to probe into the soul
of man through his art. The things I knew through touch I should now see.
More splendid still, the whole magnificent world of painting would be opened
to me, from the Italian Primitives, with their serene religious devotion, to the
Moderns, with their feverish visions. I should look deep into the canvases of
Raphael, Leonardo da Vinci, Titian, Rembrandt. I should want to feast my
eyes upon the warm colors of Veronese, study the mysteries of El Greco,
catch a new vision of Nature from Corot. Oh, there is so much rich meaning
and beauty in the art of the ages for you who have eyes to see!
Upon my short visit to this temple of art I should not be able to review
a fraction of that great world of art which is open to you. I should be able to
get only a superficial impression. Artists tell me that for a deep and true
appreciation of art one must educate the eye. One must learn through
experience to weigh the merits of line, of composition, of form and color. If I
had eyes, how happily would I embark upon so fascinating a study! Yet I am
told that, to many of you who have eyes to see, the world of art is a dark
night, unexplored and unilluminated.
It would be with extreme reluctance that I should leave the
Metropolitan Museum, which contains the key to beauty -- a beauty so
neglected. Seeing persons, however, do not need a Metropolitan to find this
key to beauty. The same key lies waiting in smaller museums, and in books
on the shelves of even small libraries. But naturally, in my limited time of
imaginary sight, I should choose the place where the key unlocks the
greatest treasures in the shortest time.
The evening of my second day of sight I should spend at a theatre or
at the movies. Even now I often attend theatrical performances of all sorts,
but the action of the play must be spelled into my hand by a companion.
But how I should like to see with my own eyes the fascinating figure of
Hamlet, or the gusty Falstaff amid colorful Elizabethan trappings! How I
should like to follow each movement of the graceful Hamlet, each strut of
the hearty Falstaff! And since I could see only one play, I should be
confronted by a many-horned dilemma, for there are scores of plays I should
want to see. You who have eyes can see any you like. How many of you, I
wonder, when you gaze at a play, a movie, or any spectacle, realize and give
thanks for the miracle of sight which enables you to enjoy its color, grace,
and movement?
I cannot enjoy the beauty of rhythmic movement except in a sphere
restricted to the touch of my hands. I can vision only dimly the grace of a
Pavlova, although I know something of the delight of rhythm, for often I can
sense the beat of music as it vibrates through the floor. I can well imagine

21
that cadenced motion must be one of the most pleasing sights in the world. I
have been able to gather something of this by tracing with my fingers the
lines in sculptured marble; if this static grace can be so lovely, how much
more acute must be the thrill of seeing grace in motion.
One of my dearest memories is of the time when Joseph Jefferson
allowed me to touch his face and hands as he went through some of the
gestures and speeches of his beloved Rip Van Winkle. I was able to catch
thus a meagre glimpse of the world of drama, and I shall never forget the
delight of that moment. But, oh, how much I must miss, and how much
pleasure you seeing ones can derive from watching and hearing the
interplay of speech and movement in the unfolding of a dramatic
performance! If I could see only one play, I should know how to picture in
my mind the action of a hundred plays which I have read or had transferred
to me through the medium of the manual alphabet.
So, through the evening of my second imaginary day of sight, the great
figures of dramatic literature would crowd sleep from my eyes. The following
morning, I should again greet the dawn, anxious to discover new delights,
for I am sure that, for those who have eyes which really see, the dawn of
each day must be a perpetually new revelation of beauty.
This, according to the terms of my imagined miracle, is to be my third
and last day of sight. I shall have no time to waste in regrets or longings;
there is too much to see. The first day I devoted to my friends, animate and
inanimate. The second revealed to me the history of man and Nature. Today
I shall spend in the workaday world of the present, amid the haunts of men
going about the business of life. And where can one find so many activities
and conditions of men as in New York? So, the city becomes my destination.

I start from my home in the quiet little suburb of Forest Hills, Long
Island. Here, surrounded by green lawns, trees, and flowers, are neat little
houses, happy with the voices and movements of wives and children, havens
of peaceful rest for men who toil in the city. I drive across the lacy structure
of steel which spans the East River, and I get a new and startling vision of
the power and ingenuity of the mind of man. Busy boats chug and scurry
about the river -- racy speed boats, stolid, snorting tugs. If I had long days
of sight ahead, I should spend many of them watching the delightful activity
upon the river.
I look ahead, and before me rise the fantastic towers of New York, a
city that seems to have stepped from the pages of a fairy story. What an
awe-inspiring sight, these glittering spires, these vast banks of stone and
steel -- structures such as the gods might build for themselves! This
animated picture is a part of the lives of millions of people every day. How
many, I wonder, give it so much as a second glance? Very few, I fear. Their
eyes are blind to this magnificent sight because it is so familiar to them.

22
 I hurry to the top of one of those gigantic structures, the Empire State
Building, for there, a short time ago, I "saw" the city below through the eyes
of my secretary. I am anxious to compare my fancy with reality. I am sure I
should not be disappointed in the panorama spread out before me, for to me
it would be a vision of another world.
Now I begin my rounds of the city. First, I stand at a busy corner,
merely looking at people, trying by sight of them to understand something of
their lives. I see smiles, and I am happy. I see serious determination, and I
am proud. I see suffering, and I am compassionate.
I stroll down Fifth Avenue. I throw my eyes out of focus, so that I see
no particular object but only a seething kaleidoscope of color. I am certain
that the colors of women's dresses moving in a throng must be a gorgeous
spectacle of which I should never tire. But perhaps if I had sight I should be
like most other women -- too interested in styles and the cut of individual
dresses to give much attention to the splendor of color in the mass. And I
am convinced, too, that I should become an inveterate window shopper, for
it must be a delight to the eye to view the myriad articles of beauty on
display.
From Fifth Avenue I make a tour of the city -- to Park Avenue, to the
slums, to factories, to parks where children play. I take a stay-at-home trip
abroad by visiting the foreign quarters. Always my eyes are open wide to all
the sights of both happiness and misery so that I may probe deep and add
to my understanding of how people work and live. My heart is full of the
images of people and things. My eye passes lightly over no single trifle; it
strives to touch and hold closely each thing its gaze rests upon. Some sights
are pleasant, filling the heart with happiness; but some are miserably
pathetic. To these latter I do not shut my eyes, for they, too, are part of life.
To close the eye on them is to close the heart and mind.
My third day of sight is drawing to an end. Perhaps there are many
serious pursuits to which I should devote the few remaining hours, but I am
afraid that on the evening of that last day I should again run away to the
theatre, to a hilariously funny play, so that I might appreciate the overtones
of comedy in the human spirit.
At midnight my temporary respite from blindness would cease, and
permanent night would close in on me again. Naturally in those three short
days I should not have seen all I wanted to see. Only when darkness had
again descended upon me should I realize how much I had left unseen. But
my mind would be so crowded with glorious memories that I should have
little time for regrets. Thereafter the touch of every object would bring a
glowing memory of how that object looked.
Perhaps this short outline of how I should spend three days of sight
does not agree with the programme you would set for yourself if you knew
that you were about to be stricken blind. I am, however, sure that if you
actually faced that fate your eyes would open to things you had never seen
before, storing up memories for the long night ahead. You would use your

23
eyes as never before. Everything you saw would become dear to you. Your
eyes would touch and embrace every object that came within your range of
vision. Then, at last, you would really see, and a new world of beauty would
open itself before you.
I who am blind can give one hint to those who see -- one admonition
to those who would make full use of the gift of sight: Use your eyes as if
tomorrow you would be stricken blind. And the same method can be applied
to the other senses. Hear the music of voices, the song of a bird, the mighty
strains of an orchestra, as if you would be stricken deaf tomorrow. Touch
each object you want to touch as if tomorrow your tactile sense would fail.
Smell the perfume of flowers, taste with relish each morsel, as if tomorrow
you could never smell and taste again. Make the most of every sense; glory
in all the facets of pleasure and beauty which the world reveals to you
through the several means of contact which Nature provides. But of all the
senses, I am sure that sight must be the most delightful.
https://www.theatlantic.com/past/docs/issues/33jan/keller.htm

Let’s Do This!
Direction: Write your reading response in your notebook.

READING RESPONSE
Title:____________________________________
Author:_________________________________
If you could talk to Helen Keller, what advice would you give her?
What questions would you ask this to her? Why you want to know
that?

Advice:________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________
____________________________________________________________.
Questions with Reasoning:

24
 Let Us Reflect
Did you enjoy reading? Well, that’s good to hear! Though
sometimes reading is tiring and boring. But always remember
when you read, you have to comprehend what you are reading so that
you can fully understand the selections and at the same time you can
critique them wholeheartedly! Good luck and keep on reading.

25
 26

Let Us Assess

1.B 6.A

2.A 7.C

3.C 8.B

4.B 9.A

5.C 10.D

Let Us Practice-A Pre-test

1.a 6. a 1.c 6.c

2.d 7.d 2.d 7.d

3.d 8.c 3.b 8.d

4.b 9.a 4.b 9.b

5.a 10.c 5.a 10.d

Answer Key
 References

https://courses.lumenlearning.com/introliterature/chapter/reader-
response-criticism-suggested Retrieved December 14, 2020
https://americanliterature.com/author/guy-de-maupassant/short-
story/the-necklace Retrieved December 15, 2020
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45521/i-wandered-lonely-
as-a-cloud Retrieved December 13, 2020
http://graemearkell.weebly.com/uploads/3/8/4/8/38485229/i_wan
dered_lonely_as_a_cloud_quiz_1.pdf Retrieved December 15,
2020
https://www.wikihow.com/Write-a-Reader-Response Retrieved
December 15 2020
https://www.slideshare.net/leniebelandres/readersresponse
Retrieved December 15, 2020
https://learningenglish.voanews.com/a/ambitious-guest-nathaniel-
hawthorne-american-stories/2807887.html Retrieved December
15, 2020

https://www.carleton.edu/departments/ENGL/Alice/CritRead.html
Retrieved December 15, 2020
https://www.theatlantic.com/past/docs/issues/33jan/keller.html
Retrieved December 15, 2020

https://www.gradesaver.com/a-psalm-of-life/study-
guide/quiz1/answer_quiz

27
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