Recognize argumentative writing on the SAT by writing better arguments

In most of the reading selections of the SAT (except for the literature selections), the passages present arguments.  But most students don’t realize this.  And because they don’t realize this, they may miss a shift in the writing from information the writer doesn’t agree with to information the writer does agree with.  And that leads to missed answers on the SAT

For example, in one reading passage from The Official SAT Study Guide 2020 edition, three paragraphs—34 lines—discuss public transportation—the number of people using it, the long waits, the overcrowding, the squalidness of it.  Paragraph 4 begins with, “It doesn’t have to be like this.”  Aha!  A shift from presenting a problem to arguing for a solution.  The next 50 lines discuss the solution.

In the same test, another passage discusses how a scientist set up an experiment to learn how bird ancestors learned to fly.  His experiment was challenged immediately by a rancher familiar with bird behavior.  The rancher’s argument led the scientist to change his experiment.  As a result, the scientist gained two kinds of knowledge about bird behavior which upset longstanding theories.

In still another passage from the same test, Talleyrand, a French diplomat argues in 1792 that denying women equal rights brings “mutual happiness” to men and women, and to society as a whole.  A companion passage by Mary Wollstonecraft, a British novelist, responds negatively to Talleyrand’s argument point by point.

How to help students recognize arguments in their reading?  One way is to teach students to write argumentatively.  And how to do that?  According to Gerald Graff and Cathy Birkenstein, authors of They Say / I Say, use templates to teach students how to write logical argumentative responses.

Their most basic template is “They say, I say.”  This means to summarize what someone else says, and then to say your response.  For example, News commentators [They] criticize President Biden’s withdrawal of US troops from Afghanistan.  I say. . . or. . . With Covid 19 spreading like wildfire in Florida, the governor [They] says masks cannot be mandated for students.  However, I say. . .

One fundamental point of the authors of They Say / I Say is that essays are written not in a vacuum, but rather in response to an event, a challenge, or the opinions of others.  Middle grade students learning to write essays write in response to a teacher’s prompt.  High school students are encouraged to discover their own topics but within parameters set by their teachers.  College students respond to texts, lectures and current events.  Adults respond to the world around them or to new information / arguments in their fields of study.

I Say / They Say offers good writing templates for weaving direct quotes into writing, for stating why your point of view matters, for repeating key words and phrases, for objecting to, and for using transitions.

By knowing the words and the templates to create argumentative writing, students can better recognize the words and form of arguments of others—including those whose reading passages are included in the SAT.

Teaching kids to identify two kinds of run-ons

Not recognizing run-on sentences is a common problem among the middle school students I tutor.  Two categories of run-ons are the most common:  those using a comma instead of a period or semicolon to separate clauses, and those whose second clause starts with a pronoun.

EPSON MFP image

Run-ons which use a comma as the punctuation to separate the two clauses are sometimes called “comma splices.”  Here are a few examples:

  • August runs to his homeroom, no one wants to sit next to him.
  • Julian bullies August every day, Julian even starts the “plague.”
  • August forgives Jack later, Jack says “sorry” to him.

I have tried using sentence grammar to make students see that sentences like these are run-ons.  But that doesn’t work.  The most effective way I have found is to have the student say aloud the clause before the comma.  “Does that sound like a sentence?” I ask.  The student usually knows if it sounds like a sentence or if it sounds “funny.”  Then I have the student say aloud the second clause.  Again I ask if that sounds like a sentence.  We do this over and over.

Run-ons which begin the second clause with a pronoun are another kind I often see.  Some examples are

  • The meanest of all is Julian he puts mean notes in August’s locker.
  • Jack’s friends help them escape they become friends with August.
  • August runs away he has been betrayed by one of his friends.

I ask students who often write run-ons to look for pronouns in the middle of a sentence.  “Read aloud what comes before the pronoun.”  They do.  “Does it sound like a sentence.”  It does.  “Now read the part that starts with the pronoun.  Does it sound like a sentence?”  It does.

For students to identify run-ons this way, they must know what a pronoun is.  Sometimes one or two lessons on identifying pronouns must precede lessons on run-ons.

Students pay attention more when the examples come from their own writing or when the sentences contain their names or those of their friends.

Does a narrative have a thesis?

Does a narrative have a thesis?

Yes, though it’s not called a thesis.  It’s called a story arc.  Think of some of the best-selling novels or movies you’ve read or seen.  Do they contain a story arc?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

How about Gone with the Wind?  The story starts with flirty Miss Scarlett surrounded by young men, all madly in love with her.  The story moves upstairs at the Wilkes’ mansion where the girls are reclining—all but Scarlet who slips downstairs, draws Ashley Wilkes into the library, and declares her love for him.  He politely says no, but  Scarlett won’t accept his refusal.  When Ashley leaves, Scarlet throws china at the fireplace.  An amused Rhett Butler, who has overheard everything, is aroused.  Scarlet wants Ashley and will do what it takes to get him.  And Rhett wants Scarlett.

How about Anna Karenina?  In the opening pages, Mrs. Karenina visits her brother who has recently had an affair.  She meets a military officer and by her return home a few days later, she is in love, as is Count Vronsky.   Anna Karenina wants Count Vronsky and flaunts society to live as his mistress.

As Huckleberry Finn begins, Huck tries repeatedly to get away from the Widow Douglas who represents rules and civilized behavior–anathema to Huck. Pretty soon he does slip away, finding a raft and floating down the Mississippi with Jim, an escaped slave.  Huckleberry Finn rides the Mississippi in order to experience freedom.

How about Casablanca?  Rick, a stoic bar owner, lives without love until his old flame and her husband appear in his bar.  He must choose:  keep Elsa for himself and be safe or help her husband and her to escape the Nazis and become a wanted man.  Rick wrestles with emotions he thought were dead to make his choice.

Agatha Christie wrote dozens of murder mysteries all with the same story arc:  Who done it?  You know when you start to read one of her books that someone will die, and eventually, someone will be exposed as the killer.  Person A kills person B and either Hercule Poirot or Miss Marple solves the crime.

Have you ever read a story lacking a story arc?  I have started several, but if I can’t figure out where the story is going early on, I don’t continue.  So a story arc is like a thesis in that it tells readers what they can expect to learn from the story.  A story arc is usually stated more obliquely than a thesis, but it must be present for the story to be satisfying.

How to begin a novel

Q:  How should a good novel begin, according to writing experts today?

  1. With backstory
  2. With an inciting event

A:  b.  With an inciting event, with action of some kind to grab the reader into the story.  Two hundred, one hundred, even fifty years ago this wasn’t the way writers started novels.  But times have changed, and so have readers who expect writers to grab them into their stories in the opening paragraphs.

Q:  If that’s true, then how should a novel introduce backstory?

  1.  By getting the story underway, pausing to fill in background details, and then resuming the forward action of the story.
  2. By weaving background details into a story as needed without ever pausing.

A:  b.  By weaving background details into a story as they are needed, without stopping or even slowing down the forward action, is the recommended way to include backstory today.

And yet,

This past week I read a novel which received high praise from a news source I respect.  As I turned from page 3 to page 4 to page 13 to page 24, I thought, C’mon, c’mon. When is this story going to take off?  It did around page 35, or so I thought for a couple of pages.  But I was wrong.  The scene described there turned out to be more backstory.  It wasn’t until about page 70 that the action really started.

70 unnecessary pages.  Or at least 70 pages which could have been reduced to two or three pages and tucked into the forward action part of the novel.  If not for the four-star review, I would have stopped reading by page 10. 

Q:  So how did this novel get published with such a laborious beginning?

A:  The author is an established writer with several best sellers, some of which have been turned into TV miniseries.  Editors are reluctant to ask such a writer to cut 35 pages, no matter how slowly they move the novel along.

Q:  What can we learn from this?

  1.  If you are a best-selling author, anything goes.
  2. Even if you are a best-selling author, some reviewers will pan your book if it has a slow, wordy start.
  3. Listen to writing experts and start with an inciting event until you become a best-selling author.

A:  a.  Yes.  b.  Yes.  I went online and found reviewers who liked the book and others who said it could have been improved by eliminating several dozen pages at the beginning.  c.  Yes.  Jump right in if you want to hook your readers.

When is biography nonfiction? When is it fiction?

When is biography nonfiction?  When is it fiction?

Consider these lines from a recent biography of Cleopatra: 

  • “We can picture the queen on her bed, her curves rising with every breath, as she gazes at Antony confidently, intensely, invitingly, her full lips half open.”)

Or consider this description of Cleopatra about to bathe:

  • “First her calves disappear, then her harmonious thighs.”

These descriptions are taken from a just published English version of a biography of the Egyptian queen entitled Cleopatra: The Queen Who Challenged Rome and Conquered Eternity.

 

But is this book biography?  Do biographers have the right to imagine scenes which might have happened to historical figures when there is no written record of such scenes?  Is it okay for them to write of intimate details of lives when those intimate details—even if true—are lost to history?  Can we call such writing “biography?”

Like Angela, other contemporary writers are forsaking strict factual evidence when they write biographies, instead favoring imagined scenes, facial expressions, and dialog.  This is true especially for biographies of women about whom so little was written in the past.

Television is influencing this trend.  Consider The Crown, the Netflix series about Queen Elizabeth II.  So much of the conversation in this series is imagined by the show’s writers.  They admit that some of the scenes never happened.  Yet the producers refuse to add a disclaimer to say that the series is fiction.  The series deals with real people and with significant historical events.  But with so much of its contents imagined, is it nonfiction or fiction?

When is biography nonfiction?  When is it fiction?  We live in a time when we have become accustomed to governments and politicians lying to us.  Perhaps we now expect license with the truth.  Perhaps it is the new normal.