作者：圣才电子书
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国际关系学院英语语言文学841英语语言文学专业综合历年考研真题及详解试读：
2015年国际关系学院英语语言文学841英语语言文学专业综合考研真题（含简单答案）
2014年国际关系学院英语语言文学841英语语言文学专业综合考研真题（含答案）
2013年国际关系学院英语语言文学841英语语言文学专业综合考研真题（含答案）
2012年国际关系学院英语语言文学841英语语言文学专业综合考研真题（含答案）
2010年国际关系学院英语语言文学841英语语言文学专业综合（文学方向）考研真题及详解
国际关系学院英语语言文学专业2010年硕士研究生入学考试试题英语语言文学专业综合(文学方向)I. Please match the following authors with their works (10 points)
1. William Bradford 1. Death of a Salesman
2. James Joyce 2. As You Like it
3. Thomas Pynchon 3. The Garden Party
4. Evelyn Waugh 4. The Forsyte Saga
5. J.D. Salinger 5. Herzog
6. Charles Dickens 6. Dubliners
7. Norman Mailer 7. The Vicar of Wakefield
8. Katherine Mansfield 8. Man and Superman
9. Saul Bellow 9. To Have and Have not
10. William Shakespeare 10. V.
11. Ralph Ellison 11. Decline and Fall
12. W.H. Auden 12. Animal Farm
13. John Galsworthy 13. The Naked and the Dead
14.John Steinbeck 14. The Catcher in the Rye
15. Ernest Hemingway 15. Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking
16. Walt Whitman 16. Of Plymouth Plantation
17. George Orwell 17. In Memory of W. B. Yeats
18. Oliver Goldsmith 18. Invisible Man
19. George Bernard Shaw 19. Pickwick Papers
20. Arthur Miller 20. The Grapes of Wrath
答案：
1. William Bradford （16. Of Plymouth Plantation）
2.James Joyce （6. Dubliners）
3.Thomas Pynchon （10. V.）
4.Evelyn Waugh （11. Decline and Fall）
5.J.D. Salinger （14. The Catcher in the Rye）
6.Charles Dickens （19. Pickwick Papers）
7.Norman Mailer （13. The Naked and the Dead）
8.Katherine Mansfield （3. The Garden Party）
9.Saul Bellow （5. Herzog）
10.William Shakespeare （2. As You Like it）
11.Ralph Ellison （18. Invisible Man）
12.W.H. Auden （17. In Memory of W. B. Yeats）
13.John Galsworthy （4. The Forsyte Saga）
14.John Steinbeck （20. The Grapes of Wrath）
15.Ernest Hemingway （9. To Have and Have not）
16. Walt Whitman （15. Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking）
17.George Orwell （12. Animal Farm）
18.Oliver Goldsmith （7. The Vicar of Wakefield）
19.George Bernard Shaw （8. Man and Superman）
20.Arthur Miller （1. Death of a Salesman）
II. Please fill in the following blanks (20 points)
1. Eugene O’Neill borrowed freely from the best traditions of (1) drama, be it Greek (2) , or the (3) of Ibsen, or the (4) of Strindberg.【答案与解析】（1）European（2）tragedies（3）realism （4）expressionism （尤金·奥尼尔是被称为“美国戏剧之父”，其戏剧融合欧洲戏剧传统的精华，包括希腊的悲剧，易卜生现实主义剧作和斯特林堡的表现主义。）
2. Black literature flourished in the (5) in the Northeast part of New York City called (6) , a neighborhood of poor black slums.【答案与解析】（5）1920s（6）Harlem（黑人文学在二十世纪二十年代达到顶峰时期，是由美国纽约黑人聚居区哈莱姆的黑人作家发起的，被称为哈莱姆文艺复兴（Harlem Renaissance）或者是黑人文艺复兴。）
3. Mark Twain, pseudonym of Samuel Langhome (7) , started off as a (8) colorist. His novel (9) is the one book from which, as Hemingway noted, “all (10) American literature comes”.【答案与解析】（7）Clemens （8）local （9）Adventures of Huckleberry Finn （10）modern （马克·吐温（Mark Twain）,原名萨缪尔·兰亨·克莱门 （Samuel Langhorne Clemens)是19世纪后期美国现实主义作家，他是乡土文学的代表人物，其小说《哈克贝利·芬恩历险记》被海明威成为“现代美国文学之源”。）
4. Virginia Woolf experimented with the (11) technique in her novel To the (12) .【答案与解析】（11）stream of consciousness （12）Lighthouse （在小说《到灯塔去》中，伍尔芙大量使用了意识流的创作手法。）
5. Of English drama in the first quarter of the 20th century mention should be made briefly of the theatrical activities in the two provincial centers of (13) and (14) .【答案与解析】（13）Manchester（14）Birmingham（二十世纪早期，英国的两个戏剧中心为曼彻斯特和伯明翰。）
6. The school of (15) in English literature and art in the last decades of the (16) century is mainly represented by Walter Paler and Oscar Wilde, with (17) as its chief authority and source of inspiration and (18) as its most popular spokesman.【答案与解析】（15）aestheticism（16）19th（17）Walter Pater （18）Oscar Wilde （唯美主义运动（Aesthetic movement）是于19世纪后期出现在英国艺术和文学领域中的一场运动。瓦尔特·佩特的一系列文章激发了当时的颓废主义者们的思想，这种思想继而在英国发展，其中最有名的代表则是奥斯卡·瓦尔德。）
7. Beowulf probably existed in its oral form as early as the (19) century and its hero and his adventures are placed in (20) and southern Sweden rather than in England.【答案与解析】（19）5th （20）Denmark（《贝奥武夫》最早在公元五世纪开始口头传诵，故事发生在丹麦和瑞典南部，诗中并没有提及英国。）
III. Please read the following poem and write a comment in about 300 words (50 points)
To Autumn
SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers;
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—-
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
答案：
⑴ Main Content“To Autumn" is a poem by English Romantic poet John Keats. The poem has three eleven-line stanzas which describe a progression through the season, from the late maturation of the crops to the harvest and to the last days of autumn when winter is nearing. The imagery is richly achieved through the personification of Autumn, and the description of its bounty, its sights and sounds.
⑵ Theme
The work is often interpreted as an allegory of death.
①"To Autumn" describes, three different aspects of the season, its fruitfulness, its labor and its ultimate destitution. Through the stanzas there is a progression from early autumn to mid autumn and then to the heralding of winter. Parallel to this, the poem depicts the day turning from morning to afternoon and into dusk. These progressions are joined with a shift from the tactile sense to that of sight and then of sound, creating a three part symmetry. Throughout the poem, Autumn is personified as one who conspires, who ripens fruit, who harvests and makes music.
②The first stanza of the poem represents Autumn as involved with the promotion of natural processes, growth and ultimate maturation. In this stanza the fruits are still ripening. The tactile sense is suggested by the imagery of growth and gentle motion: swelling, bending and plumping.
③The second stanza presents the personification of Autumn as the harvester. There is a lack of definitive action, all motion being gentle. The progression through the day is revealed in actions that are all suggestive of the drowsiness of afternoon.
④The last stanza contrasts Autumn's sounds with those of Spring. The sounds that are presented are the gentle sounds of the evening. Gnats wail and lambs bleat in the dusk. As night approaches within the final moments of the song, death is slowly approaching alongside of the end of the year. The twittering swallows gather for departure, leaving the fields bare. In this stanza the songs of autumn becomes a song about life in general. The references to Spring, the growing lambs and the migrating swallows remind the reader that the seasons are a cycle.
⑤The poem as a whole creates within the imagination an image of death and a finality that is welcomed. "To Autumn" puts forth the idea that the progress of growth is no longer necessary as maturation is complete, and life and death are in harmony. Along with this harmony, the placing of the couplet before the end of each stanza reinforces the theme of continuation.
参考译文：
1
雾气洋溢、果实圆熟的秋，
你和成熟的太阳成为友伴；
你们密谋用累累的珠球，
缀满茅屋檐下的葡萄藤蔓；
使屋前的老树背负着苹果，
让熟味透进果实的心中，
使葫芦胀大，鼓起了榛子壳，
好塞进甜核；又为了蜜蜂
一次一次开放过迟的花朵，
使它们以为日子将永远暖和，
因为夏季早填满它们的粘巢。
2
谁不经常看见你伴着谷仓？
在田野里也可以把你找到，
你有时随意坐在打麦场上，
让发丝随着簸谷的风轻飘；
有时候，为罂粟花香所沉迷，
你倒卧在收割一半的田垄，
让镰刀歇在下一畦的花旁；
或者．像拾穗人越过小溪，
你昂首背着谷袋，投下倒影，
或者就在榨果架下坐几点钟，
你耐心地瞧着徐徐滴下的酒浆。
3
啊．春日的歌哪里去了？但不要
想这些吧，你也有你的音乐——
当波状的云把将逝的一天映照，
以胭红抹上残梗散碎的田野，
这时啊，河柳下的一群小飞虫
就同奏哀音，它们忽而飞高，
忽而下落，随着微风的起灭；
篱下的蟋蟀在歌唱，在园中
红胸的知更鸟就群起呼哨；
而群羊在山圈里高声默默咩叫；
丛飞的燕子在天空呢喃不歇。
IV. Please read the following story and make a comment in about 500 words (70 points)To Build a Fire
Day had broken cold and gray, exceedingly cold and gray, when the man turned aside from the main Yukon trail and climbed the high earth-bank, where a dim and little-travelled trail led eastward through the fat spruce timberland. It was a steep bank, and he paused for breath at the top, excusing the act to himself by looking at his watch. It was nine o’clock. There was no sun nor hint of sun, though there was not a cloud in the sky. It was a clear day, and yet there seemed an intangible pall over the face of things, a subtle gloom that made the day dark, and that was due to the absence of sun. This fact did not worry the man. He was used to the lack of sun. It had been days since he had seen the sun, and he knew that a few more days must pass before that cheerful orb, due south, would just peep above the sky-line and dip immediately from view.
The man flung a look back along the way he had come. The Yukon lay a mile wide and hidden under three feet of ice. On top of this ice were as many feet of snow. It was all pure white, rolling in gentle undulations where the ice-jams of the freeze-up had formed. North and south, as far as his eye could see, it was unbroken white, save for a dark hair-line that curved and twisted from around the spruce-covered island to the south, and that curved and twisted away into the north, where it disappeared behind another spruce-covered island. ......
But all this—the mysterious, far-reaching hair-line trail, the absence of sun from the sky, the tremendous cold, and the strangeness and weirdness of it all—made no impression on the man. It was not because he was long used to it. He was a newcomer in the land, a chechaquo, and this was his first winter. The trouble with him was that he was without imagination. He was quick and alert in the things of life, but only in the things, and not in the significances. Fifty degrees below zero meant eighty-odd degrees of frost. Such fact impressed him as being cold and uncomfortable, and that was all. It did not lead him to meditate upon his frailty as a creature of temperature, and upon man’s frailty in general, able only to live within certain narrow limits of heat and cold; and from there on it did not lead him to the conjectural field of immortality and man’s place in the universe. Fifty degrees below zero stood for a bite of frost that hurt and that must be guarded against by the use of mittens, ear-flaps, warm moccasins, and thick socks. Fifty degrees below zero was to him just precisely fifty degrees below zero. That there should be anything more to it than that was a thought that never entered his head.
As he turned to go on, he spat speculatively. There was a sharp, explosive, crackle that startled him. He spat again. And again, in the air, before it could fall to the snow, the spittle crackled. He knew that at fifty below spittle crackled on the snow, but this spittle had crackled in the air. Undoubtedly it was colder than fifty below—how much colder he did not know. But the temperature did not matter. He was bound for the old claim on the left fork of Henderson Creek, where the boys were already. They had come over across the divide from the Indian Creek country, while he had come the roundabout way to take a look at the possibilities of getting out logs in the spring from the islands in the Yukon. He would be in to camp by six o’clock; a bit after dark, it was true, but the boys would be there, a fire would be going, and a hot supper would be ready. As for lunch, he pressed his hand against the protruding bundle under his jacket. It was also under his shirt, wrapped up in a handkerchief and lying against the naked skin. It was the only way to keep the biscuits from freezing. He smiled agreeably to himself as he thought of those biscuits, each cut open and sopped in bacon grease, and each enclosing a generous slice of fried bacon.
At the man’s heels trotted a dog, a big native husky, the proper wolf-dog, gray-coated and without any visible or temperamental difference from its brother, the wild wolf. The animal was depressed by the tremendous cold. It knew that it was no time for travelling. Its instinct told it a truer tale than was told to the man by the man’s judgment. In reality, it was not merely colder than fifty below zero; it was colder than sixty below, than seventy below. It was seventy-five below zero. Since the freezing-point is thirty-two above zero, it meant that one hundred and seven degrees of frost obtained. The dog did not know anything about thermometers. Possibly in its brain there was no sharp consciousness of a condition of very cold such as was in the man’s brain. But the brute had its instinct. It experienced a vague but menacing apprehension that subdued it and made it slink along at the man’s heels, and that made it question eagerly every unwonted movement of the man as if expecting him to go into camp or to seek shelter somewhere and build a fire. The dog had learned fire, and it wanted fire, or else to burrow under the snow and cuddle its warmth away from the air.
Once in a while the thought reiterated itself that it was very cold and that he had never experienced such cold. As he walked along he rubbed his cheek-bones and nose with the back,of his mittened hand. He did this automatically, now and again changing hands. But rub as he would, the instant he stopped his cheek-bones went numb, and the following instant the end of his nose went numb. He was sure to frost his cheeks; he knew that, and experienced a pang of regret that he had not devised a nose-strap of the sort Bud wore in cold snaps. Such a strap passed across the cheeks, as well, and saved them. But it didn’t matter much, after all. What were frosted cheeks? A bit painful, that was all; they were never serious.
Empty as the man’s mind was of thoughts, he was keenly observant, and he noticed the changes in the creek, the curves and bends and timber-jams, and always he sharply noted where he placed his feet. Once, coming around a bend, he shied abruptly, like a startled horse, curved away from the place where he had been walking, and retreated everal paces back along the trail. The creek he knew was frozen clear to the bottom,—no creek could contain water in that arctic winter,—but he knew also that there were springs that bubbled out from the hillsides and ran along under the snow and on top the ice of the creek. He knew that the coldest snaps never froze these springs, and he knew likewise their danger. They were traps. They hid pools of water under the snow that might be three inches deep, or three feet. Sometimes a skin of ice half an inch thick covered them, and in turn was covered by the snow. Sometimes there were alternate layers of water and ice-skin, so that when one broke through he kept on breaking through for a while, sometimes wetting himself to the waist.
That was why he had shied in such panic. He had felt the give under his feet and heard the crackle of a snow-hidden ice-skin. And to get his feet wet in such a temperature meant trouble and danger. At the very least it meant delay, for he would be forced to stop and build a fire, and under its protection to bare his feet while he dried his socks and moccasins. He stood and studied the creek-bed and its banks, and decided that the flow of water came from the right. He reflected a while, rubbing his nose and cheeks, then skirted to the left, stepping gingerly and testing the footing for each step. Once clear of the danger, he took a fresh chew of tobacco and swung along at his four-mile gait.
In the course of the next two hours he came upon several similar traps. Usually the snow above the hidden pools had a sunken, candied appearance that advertised the danger. Once again, however, he had a close call; and once, suspecting danger, he compelled the dog to go on in front. The dog did not want to go. It hung back until the man shoved it forward, and then it went quickly across the white, unbroken surface. Suddenly it broke through, floundered to one side, and got away to firmer footing. It had wet its forefeet and legs, and almost immediately the water that clung to it turned to ice. It made quick efforts to lick the ice offits legs, then dropped down in the snow and began to bite out the ice that had formed between the toes. This was a matter of instinct. To permit the ice to remain would mean sore feet. It did not know this. It merely obeyed the mysterious prompting that arose from the deep crypts of its being. But the man knew, having achieved a judgment on the subject, and he removed the mitten from his right hand and helped tear out the ice-particles. He did not expose his fingers more than a minute, and was astonished at the swift numbness that smote them. It certainly was cold. He pulled on the mitten hastily, and beat the hand savagely across his chest.
……
The man took a chew of tobacco and proceeded to start a new amber beard. Also, his moist breath quickly powdered with white his mustache, eyebrows, and lashes. Fhere did not seem to be so many springs on the left fork of the Henderson, and for half an hour the man saw no signs of any. And then it happened. At a place where there were no signs, where the soft, unbroken snow seemed to advertise solidity beneath, the man broke through. It was not deep. He wet himself halfway to the knees before he floundered out to the firm crust.
He was angry, and cursed his luck aloud. He had hoped to get into camp with the boys at six o’clock, and this would delay him an hour, for he would have to build a ire and dry out his foot-gear. This was imperative at that low temperature—he knew hat much; and he turned aside to the bank, which he climbed. On top, tangled in the underbrush about the thinks of several small spruce trees, was a high-water deposit of try fire-wood—sticks and twigs, principally, but also larger portions of seasoned branches and fine, dry, last-year’s grasses. He threw down several large pieces on top of the snow. This served for a foundation and prevented the young flame from drowning itself in the snow it otherwise would melt. The flame he got by touching a match to a small shred of birch-bark that he took from his pocket. This burned even note readily than paper. Placing it on the foundation, he fed the young flame with wisps of dry grass and with the tiniest dry twigs.
......
But before he could cut the strings, it happened. It was his own fault or, rather, his mistake. He should not have built the fire under the spruce tree. He should have built it in the open. But it had been easier to pull the twigs from the brush and drop them directly on the fire. Now the tree ,under which he had done this carded a weight of snow on its boughs. No wind had blown for weeks, and each bough was fully freighted. Each time he had pulled a twig he had communicated a slight agitation to the tree—an imperceptible agitation, so far as he was concerned, but an agitation sufficient to bring about the disaster. High up in the tree one bough capsized its load of snow. This fell on the boughs beneath, capsizing them. This process continued, spreading out and involving the whole tree. It grew like an avalanche, and it descended without warning upon the man and the fire, and the fire was blotted out! Where it had burned was a mantle of fresh and disordered snow.
The man was shocked. It was as though he had just heard his own sentence of death. For a moment he sat and stared at the spot where the fire had been. Then he grew very calm. Perhaps the old-timer on Sulphur Creek was right. If he had only had a trail-mate he would have been in no danger now. The trail-mate could have built the fire. Well, it was up to him to build the fire over again, and this second time there must be no failure. Even if he succeeded, he would most likely lose some toes. His feet must be badly frozen by now, and there would be some time before the second fire was ready.
Such were his thoughts, but he did not sit and think them. He was busy all the time they were passing through his mind. He made a new foundation for a fire, this time in the open, where no treacherous tree could blot it out. Next, he gathered dry grasses and tiny twigs from the high-water flotsam. He could not bring his fingers together to pull them out, but he was able to gather them by the handful. In this way he got many rotten twigs and bits of green moss that were undesirable, but it was the best he could do. He worked methodically, even collecting an armful of the larger branches to be used later when the fire gathered strength. And all the while the dog sat and watched him, a certain yearning wistfulness in its eyes, for it looked upon him as the fire-provider, and the fire was slow in coming.
When all was ready, the man reached in his pocket for a second piece of birch-bark. He knew the bark was there, and, though he could not feel it with his fingers, he could hear its crisp rustling as he fumbled for it. Try as he would, he could not clutch hold of it. And all the time, in his consciousness, was the knowledge that each instant his feet were freezing. This thought tended to put him in a panic, but he fought against it and kept calm. He pulled on his mittens with his teeth, and threshed his arms back and forth, beating his hands with all his might against his sides. He did this sitting down, and he stood up to do it; and all the while the dog sat in the snow, its wolf-brush of a tail curled around warmly over its forefeet, its sharp wolf-ears pricked forward intently as it watched the man. And the man, as he beat and threshed with his arms and hands, felt a great surge of envy as he regarded the creature that was warm and secure in its natural covering.
……
The old-timer on Sulphur Creek was fight, he thought in the moment of controlled despair that ensued: after fifty below, a man should travel with a partner. He beat his hands, but failed in exciting any sensation. Suddenly he bared both hands, removing the mittens with his teeth. He caught the whole bunch between the heels of his hands. His arm-muscles not being frozen enabled him to press the hand-heels tightly against the matches. Then he scratched the bunch along his leg. It flared into flame, seventy sulphur matebes at once! There was no wind to blow them out. He kept his head to one side to escape the strangling fumes, and held the blazing bunch to the birch-bark. As he so held it, he became aware of sensation in his hand. His flesh was burning. He could smell it. Deep down below the surface he could feel it. The sensation developed into pain that grew acute. And still he endured it, holding the flame of the matches clumsily to the bark that would not light readily because his own burning hands were in the way, absorbing most of the flame.
At last, when he could endure no more, he jerked his hands apart. The blazing matches fell sizzling into the snow, but the birch-bark was alight. He began laying dry grasses and the tiniest twigs on the flame. He could not pick and choose, for he had to lift the fuel between the heels of his hands. Small pieces of rotten wood and green moss clung to the twigs, and he bit them off as well as he could with his teeth. He cherished the flame carefully and awkwardly. It meant life, and it must not perish. The withdrawal of blood from the surface of his body now made him begin to shiver, and he grew more awkward. A large piece of green moss fell squarely on the little fire. He tried to poke it out with his fingers, but his shivering frame made him poke too far, and he disrupted the nucleus of the little fire, the burning grasses and tiny twigs separating and scattering. He tried to poke them together again, but in spite of the tenseness of the effort, his shivering got away with him, and the twigs were hopelessly scattered. Each twig gushed a puff of smoke and went out. The fire-provider had failed. As he looked apathetically about him, his eyes chanced on the dog, sitting across the ruins of the fire from him, in the snow, making restless, hunching movements, slightly lifting one forefoot and then the other, shifting its weight back and forth on them with wistful eagerness.
The sight of the dog put a wild idea into his head. He remembered the tale of the man, caught in a blizzard, who killed a steer and crawled inside the carcass, and so was saved. He would kill the dog and bury his hands in the warm body until the numbness went out of them. Then he could build another fire. He spoke to the dog, calling it to him; but in his voice was a strange note of fear that frightened the animal, who had never known the man to speak in such way before. Something was the matter, and its suspicious nature sensed danger—it knew not what danger, but somewhere, somehow, in its brain arose an apprehension of the man. It flattened its ears down at the sound of the man’s voice, and its restless, hunching movements and the liftings and shirtings of its forefeet became more pronouneed; but it would not come to the man. He got on his hands and knees and crawled toward the dog. This unusual posture again excited suspicion, and the animal sidled mincingly away.
The man sat up in the snow for a moment and struggled for calmness. Then he pulled on his mittens, by means of his teeth, and got upon his feet. He glanced down at first in order to assure himself that he was really standing up, for the absence of sensation in his feet left him unrelated to the earth. His erect position in itself started to drive the webs of suspicion from the dog’s mind; and when he spoke peremptorily, with the sound of whip-lashes in his voice, the dog rendered its customary allegiance and came to him. As it came within reaching distance, the man lost his control. His arms flashed out to the dog, and he experienced genuine surprisewhen he discovered that his hands could not clutch, that there was neither bend nor feeling in the fingers. He had forgotten for the moment that they were frozen and that they were freezing more and more. All this happened quickly, and before the animal could get away, he encircled its body with his arms. He sat down in the snow, and in this fashion held the dog, while it snarled and whined and struggled.
But it was all he could do, hold its body encircled in his arms and sit there. He realized that he could not kill the dog. There was no way to do it. With his helpess hands he could neither draw nor hold his sheath-knife nor throttte the animal. He released it, and it plunged wildly away, with tail between its legs, and still snarling. It halted forty feet away and surveyed him curiously, with ears sharply pricked forward. The man looked down at his hands in order to locate them, and found them hanging on the ends of his arms. It struck him as curious that one should have to use his eyes in order to find out where his hands were. He began threshing his arms back and forth, beating the mittened hands against his sides. He did this for five minutes, violently, and his heart pumped enough blood up to the surface to put a stop to his shivering. But at no sensation was aroused in the hands. He had an impression they hung like weights on the ends of his arms, but when he tried to run the impression down, he could not find it.
A certain fear of death, dull and oppressive, came to him. This fear quickly became poignant as he realized that it was no longer a mere matter of freezing his fingers and toes, or of losing his hands and feet, but that it was a matter of life and death with the chances against him. This threw him into a panic, and he turned and ran up the creek-bed along the old, dim trail. The dog joined in behind and kept up with him. He ran blindly, without intention, in fear such as he had never known in his life. Slowly, as he ploughed and floundered through the snow, he began to see things again,—the banks of the creek, the old timber-jams, the leafless aspens, and the sky. The running made him feel better. He did not shiver. Maybe, if he ran on, his feet would thaw out; and, anyway, if he ran far enough, he would reach camp and the boys. Without doubt he would lose some fingers and toes and some of his face; but the boys would take care of him, and save the rest ofhim when he got there. And at the same time there was another thought in his mind that said he would never get to the camp and the boys; that it was too many miles away, that the freezing had too great a start on him, and that he would soon be stiff and dead. This thought he kept in the background and refused to consider. Sometimes it pushed itself forward and demanded to be heard, but he thrust it back and strove to think of other things.
......
And all the time the dog ran with him, at his heels. When he fell down a second time, it curled its tail over its forefeet and sat in front of him, facing him, curiously eager and intent. The warmth and security of the animal angered him, and he cursed it till it flattened down its ears appeasingly. This time the shivering came more quickly upon the man. He was losing in his battle with the frost. It was creeping into his body from all sides. The thought of it drove him on, buthe ran nornore than a hundred feet, when he staggered and pitched headlong. It was his last panic. When he had recovered his breath and control, he sat up and entertained in his mind the conception of meeting death with dignity. However, the conception did not come to him in such terms. His idea of it was that he had been making a fool of himself, running around like a chicken with its head cut off—such was the simile that occurred to him. Well, he was bound to freeze anyway, and he might as well take it decently. With this new-found peace of mind came the first glimmerings of drowsiness. A good idea, he thought, to sleep off to death. It was like taking .an anaesthetic. Freezing was not so bad as people thought. There were lots worse ways to die.
Then the man drowsed off into what seemed to him the most comfortable and satisfying sleep he had ever known. The dog sat facing him and waiting. The brief day drew to a close in a long, slow twilight. Thee were no signs of a fire to be made, and, besides, never in the dog’s experience had it known a man to sit like that in the snow and make no fire. As the twilight drew on, its eager yearning for the fire mastered it, and with a great lifting and shifting of forefeet, it whined softly, then flattened its ears down in anticipation of being chidden by the man. But the man remained silent. Later, the dog whined loudly. And still later it crept close to the man and caught the scent of death. This made the animal bristle and back away. A little longer it delayed, howling under the stars that leaped and danced and shone brightly in the cold sky. Then it turned and trotted up the trail in the direction of the camp it knew, where were the other food-providers and fire-providers.【参考范文】
分析一 ⑴Main Plot“To Build a Fire” by Jack London is a story about man versus nature. A man sets out to hike a trail in the Yukon Territory without any company except a dog. He knows that it is not safe to be traveling when it is so cold, but stubbornly keeps moving. He falls through a crack in the ice, wetting his feet. In order to stay alive, he must build a fire to warm his feet and move on. Despite several attempts, the man fails and dies. The dog that accompanies the man follows his instincts and survives. Of the fourteen pages within "To Build a Fire," eight of those are devoted to the events of the man trying to make a fire; the other six mainly focus on the setting.
⑵ Reflections and Themes
①Indifferent environment and survival
Naturalism not only maintains that the environment is deterministic, but indifferent. The environment does nothing to help its inhabitants; in fact, it is coldly indifferent to their existence and struggle. In "To Build a Fire," the Yukon would be bitterly cold without the man, as well, and it does not cease when the man struggles to stay alive. This indifference makes survival itself a critical goal for naturalist characters. As the story goes on, the man changes his goal from reaching the camp, to warding off frostbite, to merely staying alive. Naturalism thus elicits profound conflicts, man versus nature being one of them.
②Instinct over intellectualism
Though the man is hardly an "intellectual," he exercises intellectual properties more than instinctive ones. He uses complicated tools (matches) to build a fire; he understands how cold it is through temperature readings; he identifies where he is (Henderson Creek, the Yukon) through language on a map. The dog, on the other hand, is pure instinct. It remains warm through its fur coat or by burrowing into the snow; it has an innate understanding of the cold and its dangers; it could not point out its location on a map, but it knows by scent where to find the nearby camp with men. In the Yukon, instinct is far superior to intellect. The man's intellect backfires on him. His ability to light the matches with his numb fingers suffers in the extreme cold, and both his fingers and the matches are examples of man's naturally selected advantage of intellect: man has fingers to operate tools, and his larger, more complex brain allows him to create such tools. The dog is much wiser, aware that the cold is too dangerous for them; it even knows when the man is trying to deceive it somehow (he wants to kill it and bury his hands in its warm carcass). Accordingly, only the dog survives, and though it may not be able to take care of itself fully, it instinctively knows to go to "the other food-providers and fire-providers" in the nearby camp.
分析二
"To Build a Fire" is the quintessential naturalist short story. Naturalism was a movement in literature developed largely by Emile Zola, Theodore Dreiser, Edith Wharton, Stephen Crane, and Jack London in the late 19th-century. Its major themes (which will all be explained and explored in greater depth here) are determinism over free will; the indifference of the environment; survival; absence of moral judgment; instinct over intellectualism; a fascination with processes; the emphasis of narrative over character; depiction of characters in the lower classes; and more realistic language befitting such characters and settings.
"To Build a Fire" reveals much about itself and its naturalist origins in its title. "To Build a Fire" sounds almost like an instruction manual, and the story does, indeed, teach the reader how to perform various acts, such as building fires, avoiding dangerous springs, and navigating a creek. As in Herman Melville's Moby Dick (not considered a naturalist novel, but it shares many of the same concerns), where the reader learns all about whale hunting, the reader leaves the story with a sense of the processes at work in its world. We see other processes in effect, too, such as the layers of snow and ice that have built up in the Yukon, or the ice that accumulates on the man's beard.
The title also implies the need for survival. London might have (unwisely) given his story the unpleasant title "To Survive, You Need To Build a Fire." Naturalism is interested in the deep conflicts that bring out the brute instincts of man. London's story provides one of the oldest conflicts in literature and life: man versus nature. The man is at constant risk of freezing in the brutal cold, and soon mere survival, rather than the prospect of finding gold, will become his preoccupation.
The man is clearly not an experienced Yukon adventurer. He ignores all the facts that indicate danger--he underestimates the cold, he ignores the absence of travelers in the last month, he de-emphasizes his soon-to-be-frostbitten cheekbones. Again, processes are important: he does not make any mental processes, taking facts and assigning them increasing significance. While this may seem at first like an intellectual deficit, what the man truly lacks is instinct--the unconscious understanding of what the various facts mean.
The dog, on the other hand, is pure instinct. While it cannot intellectualize the cold as the man can, assigning numerical values to the temperature, it has "inherited knowledge" about the cold. Without thinking, the dog knows the cold is dangerous, knows the spring is risky, knows to bite at the ice that forms between its toes, and even knows not to get too close to the fire for fear of singeing itself.
While the main conflict is man versus nature, it would be inaccurate to say that nature actively assaults the man. Nature does not go out of its way to hurt the man; it would be just as cold without the man's presence, as well. Rather, the environment is indifferent to the man, as it frequently is in naturalist literature. The bitter environment does not aid him in any way, and it will not notice if he perishes. In the same way, the dog does not care about the man, only about itself.
Even London does not seem to care about the man too much--or, more precisely, he does not make any overt moral judgments about the man. He merely conveys the objective facts, pessimistic though they may be about the man. For instance, in describing the man's inability to make mental leaps, London only states "That there should be anything more to it than that was a thought that never entered his head." London never denounces outright the man's foolhardiness; his most aggressive comment, "The trouble with him was that he was without imagination," is only a suggestion that the man will encounter trouble because of this deficit.
2009年国际关系学院英语语言文学841英语语言文学专业综合（文学方向）考研真题及详解
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Ⅰ. Please match the following authors with their works (10 points)
1. D. H. Lawrence 1. To Helen
2. Henry James 2. An Ideal Husband
3. George Eliot 3. When You Are Old
4. Sinclair Lewis 4. The Beautiful and Damned
5. Joseph Conrad 5. Hugh Selwyn Mauberley
6. Theodore Dreiser 6. Howards End
7. E Scott Fitzgerald 7. The Return of the Native
8.Virginia Woolf 8. The American
9. Eugene O’Neill 9. Heart of Darkness
10. T. S. Eliot 10. Song of Solomon
11. James Fenimore Cooper 11. Sartoris
12. James Joyce 12. The Financier
13. William Faulkner 13. The Rainbow
14.Oscar Wilde 14. Long Day’s Journey into Night
15. Edgar Allan Poe 15. The Sacred Wood
16. Ezra Pound 16. To the Lighthouse
17. William Butler Yeats 17. The Deerslayer
18. E.M. Forster 18. Main Street
19. Toni Morrison 19. Finnegans Wake
20. Thomas Hardy 20. Silas Marner
答案：
1. D. H. Lawrence （13. The Rainbow）
2. Henry James （8. The American）
3. George Eliot （20. Silas Marner）
4. Sinclair Lewis （18. Main Street）
5.Joseph Conrad （9. Heart of Darkness）
6. Theodore Dreiser （12. The Financier）
7. E Scott Fitzgerald （4. The Beautiful and Damned）
8.Virginia Woolf （16. To the Lighthouse）
9. Eugene O’Neill （14. Long Day’s Journey into Night）
10. T. S. Eliot （15. The Sacred Wood）
11. James Fenimore Cooper （17. The Deerslayer）
12. James Joyce （19. Finnegans Wake）
13. William Faulkner （11. Sartoris）
14.Oscar Wilde （2. An Ideal Husband）
15. Edgar Allan Poe （1. To Helen）
16. Ezra Pound （5. Hugh Selwyn Mauberley）
17. William Butler Yeats （3. When You Are Old）
18. E.M. Forster （6. Howards End）
19. Toni Morrison （10. Song of Solomon）
20. Thomas Hardy （7. The Return of the Native）
II. Please fill in the following blanks (20 points)
1. Two English poets, (1) and (2) published a book of poems Lyrical Ballads.【答案与解析】（1）William Wordsworth （2）Samuel Taylor Coleridge 1798年，华兹华斯和柯尔律治联合出版了《抒情歌谣集》，标志着英国浪漫主义的诞生。
2. T.S. Eliot’s poem The Waste Land is divided into (3) sections. The waste land here stands for (4) 【答案与解析】（3）five （4）the spiritual ruins in Europe 艾略特最著名的长诗《荒原》分为五部分：《死者的葬礼》、《弈棋》、《火的布道》、《水里的死亡》和《雷霆的话》，将一战后的欧洲描写为一片人欲横流、精神堕落的荒原，折射出现代西方人的幻灭感和精神危机。
3. The main part of the title of the novel Vanity Fair, or A Novel without A Hero is taken from the English writer (5) ’s work (6) .【答案与解析】（5）John Bunyan （6）The Pilgrim’s Progress 《名利场》是萨克雷的代表作，该书名字来自于班扬的《天路历程》。
4. Jonathan Swift’s A Tale of a Tub is a devastating attack on (7) and even on (8) itself.【答案与解析】（7）the three branches of the church（8）Christianity 《木桶的故事》表面上讲的是三兄弟背弃父亲遗嘱的故事，实际上讽刺了罗马天主教、清教和英国国教，甚至是对整个基督教的嘲讽。
5. Shakespeare’s authentic non-dramatic poetry consists of two (9) and 154 (10) .【答案与解析】（9）long poems （10）sonnets 莎士比亚的作品除了戏剧之外，还包括两首长诗（“Venus and Adonis”及 “The Rape of Lucrece”）和154首十四行诗。
6. The first book to treat the (11) theme in America is Joseph Heller’s (12) .【答案与解析】（11）absurdist （12）Catch-22 海勒的《第二十二条军规》是美国二战后出现的第一部“反战性”荒诞派小说。
7. In his novel, William Faulkner has invented a county named (13) and the seat of the county (14) .【答案与解析】（13）Yoknapatawpha （14）the town of Jefferson 福克纳在自己的一系列著作中虚构了位于密西西比州北部的约克纳帕塔法县，这个县的中心是杰弗生镇。
8．“In a Station of the Metro” has only the following two lines:
The (15) of these faces in the crowd;
(16) on a wet, black bough.【答案与解析】（15）apparition （16）Petals 这是著名意象派诗人庞德的一首短诗：众中梦幻身影，黝黑枝头疏花。
9. Naturalism stresses the determinism of (17) and (18) .【答案与解析】（17）heredity （18）social environment 自然主义强调遗传和社会环境决定论。
10. Ralph W. Emerson believes in the concept of the (19) . It is the (20) within which every man’s particular being is contained and made one with all other.【答案与解析】（19）Transcendentalism （20）Oversoul 爱默生信奉超验主义，在他看来，超灵为人所共有，每个人的思想存在于超灵之中，人能以直觉官能与之交融。
Ⅲ. Please read the following essay and write a comment in about 400 words (50 points)
It is not easy to write a familiar style. Many people mistake a familiar for a vulgar style, and suppose that to write without affectation is to write at random. On the contrary, there is nothing that requires more precision, and, if I may so say, purity of expression, than the style I am speaking of. It utterly rejects not only all unreeling pomp, but all low, cant phrases, and loose, unconnected, slipshod allusions. It is not to take the first word that offers, but the best word in common use; it is not to throw words together in any combinations we please, but to follow and avail ourselves of the true idiom of the language. To write a-genuine familiar or truly English style, is to write as any one would speak in common conversation who had a thorough command and choice of words, or who could discourse with ease, force, and perspicuity setting aside all pedantic and oratorical flourishes. Or, to give another illustration, to write naturally is the same thing in regard to common conversation as to read naturally is in regard to common speech. It does not follow that it is easy thing to give the true accent and inflection to the words you utter, because you do not attempt to rise above the level of ordinary life and colloquial speaking. You do not assume, indeed, the solemnity of the pulpit, or the tone of stage declamation; neither are you at liberty to gabble on at a venture, without emphasis or discretion, or to resort to a vulgar dialect or clownish pronunciation. You must steer a middle course. You are tied down to a given and appropriate articulation, which is determined by the habitual associations between sense and sound, and which you can only hit by entering into the author’s meaning, as you must find the proper words and style to express yourself by fixing your thoughts on the subject you have to write about. Any one may mouth out a passage with a theatrical cadence, or get upon stilts to tell his thoughts; but to write or speak with propriety and simplicity is a more difficult task. Thus it is easy to affect a pompous style, to use a word twice as big as the thing you want to express: it is not so easy to pitch upon the very word that exactly fits it. Out of eight or ten words equally common, equally intelligible, with nearly equal pretensions, it is a matter of some nicety and discrimination to pick out the very one the preferableness of which is scarcely perceptible, but decisive. The reason why I object to Dr. Johnson’s style is that there is no discrimination, no selection, no variety in it. He uses none but “tall, opaque words, taken from the “first row of the rubric”—words with the greatest number of syllables, or Latin phrases with merely English terminations, if a fine style depended on this sort of arbitrary pretension, it would be fair to judge of an author’s elegance by the measurement of his words and the substitution of foreign circumlocutions (with no precise associations) for the mother-tongue. How simple is it to be dignified without ease, to be pompous without meaning. Surely, it is but a mechanical rule for avoiding what is low, to be always pedantic and affected. It is clear you cannot use a vulgar English word if you never use a common English word at all. A fine tact is shown in adhering to those which are perfectly common, and yet never falling into any expressions which are debased by disgusting circumstances, or which owe their signification and point to technical or professional allusions. A truly, natural or familiar style can never be quaint or vulgar, for this reason, that it is of universal force and applicability, and that quaintness and vulgarity arise out of .the immediate connection of certain words with coarse and disagreeable, or with confined ideas. The last form what we understand by cant or slang phrases—To give an example of what is not very clear in the general statement. I should say that the phrase To cut with a knife, or To cut a piece of wood, is perfectly free from vulgarity, because it is perfectly common; but to cut an acquaintance is not quite unexceptionable, because it is not perfectly common or intelligible, and has hardly yet escaped out of the limits of slang phraseology. I should hardly, therefore, use the word in this sense without putting it in italics as a license of expression, to be received cum grano salis. All provincial or bye-phrases come under the same mark of reprobation—all such as the writer transfers to the page from his fireside or a particular coterie, or that he invents for his own sole use and convenience. I conceive that words are like money, not the worse for being common, but that it is the stamp of custom alone that gives them circulation or value. I am fastidious in this respect, and would almost as soon coin the currency of the realm as counterfeit the King’s English. I never invented or gave a new and unauthorized meaning to any words but one single one (the term impersonal applied to feelings), and that was in an abstruse metaphysical discussion to express a very difficult distinction. I have been (I know) loudly accused of revelling in vulgarisms and broken English. I cannot speak to that point; but so far I plead guilty to the determined use of acknowledged idioms and common elliptical expressions. I am not sure that the critics in question know the one from the other, that is, can distinguish any medium between formal pedantry and the most barbarous solecism. As an author I endeavour to employ plain words and popular modes of construction, as, were I a chapman and dealer, I should common weights and measures.
The proper force of words lies not in the words themselves, but in their application. A word may be a find-sounding word, of an unusual length, and very imposing from its learning and novelty, and yet in the connection in which it is introduced may be quite Pointless and irrelevant. It is not pomp or pretension, but the adaptation of the expression to the idea, that clenches a writer’s meaning: —as it is not the size or glossiness of the materials, but their being fitted each to its place, that gives strength to the arch; or as the pegs and nails are as necessary to the support of the building as the larger timber, and more so than the mere showy, unsubstantial ornaments. I hate anything that occupies more space than it is worth. I hate to see a load of band-boxes go along the street, and I hate to see a parcel of big words without anything in them. A person who does not deliberately dispose of all his thoughts alike in cumbrous draperies and flimsy disguises, may strike out twenty varieties of familiar every-day language, each coming somewhat nearer to the feeling he wants to convey, and at last not hit upon that particular and only one which may be said to be identical with the exact impression in his mind. This would seem to show that Mr Cobbet is hardly right in saying that the first word that occurs is always the best. It may be a very good one; and yet a better may present itself on reflection or from time to time. It should be suggested naturally, however, and spontaneously, from a fresh and lively conception of the subject. We seldom succeed by trying at improvement, or by merely substituting one word for another that we are not satisfied with. as we cannot recollect the name of a place or person by, merely plaguing ourselves about it We wander farther form the point by persisting in a wrong scent; but it start up accidentally, in the memory when we least expect it, by touching some link in the chain of previous association.
答案：
This essay, written by Hazlitt, constitutes a valid medium for literary expression. Hazlitt is primarily concerned with the task of distinguishing consistently between a “familiar” and a “vulgar” style, he claims that while the latter permits the use of “low, cant phrases, and loose unconnected, slipshod allusions”, the former can only be achieved if “precision”, “purity of expression”, “propriety and simplicity” characterize the discourse. In this essay, Hazlitt puts much emphasize on how to choose words. The choice of words is associated with the context. The context tells which word is more appropriate and compatible with the specific situation. It is worth noticing that the best word in common use should be chosen. To put it in another way, the common people are able to understand the words. Besides, the writing style should be natural, stemming from the spontaneous feelings deep inside. In order to write a good familiar style, the words should be carefully selected. Too big words or monotonous usage of words are not efficient to express the meaning that is going to be stated. A word cannot stand alone. No matter how wonderful the word is, it will not be used if it serves no function in the article, for the word should be relevant to the idea. Some people might say in the process of writing the best word is the one which pops into the head first, while Hazlitt thinks that the best choice of words comes from reflection from time to
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