Part 1 (Questions 1 - 8)
                        Listening Passage:  Multiple-Choice Questions

Directions (1 - 8): Use your notes to answer the following questions about the passage read to you. Select the
best suggested answer to each question and record your answer on the separate answer sheet provided for you.

Listening Passage
The following passage is from a book entitled “Physics of the Impossible” by
Michio Kaku, published in 2008. In this excerpt, Dr. Kaku discusses his fascination
with science.
     One day, would it be possible to walk through walls? To build starships that can travel
faster than the speed of light? To read other people’s minds? To become invisible? To move
objects with the power of our minds? To transport our bodies instantly through outer space?
     Since I was a child, I’ve always been fascinated by these questions. Like many
physicists, when I was growing up, I was mesmerized by the possibility of time travel, ray
guns, force fields, parallel universes, and the like. Magic, fantasy, science fiction were all a
gigantic playground for my imagination. They began my lifelong love affair with the
impossible.
     I remember watching the old Flash Gordon reruns on TV. Every Saturday, I was glued
to the TV set, marveling at the adventures of Flash, Dr. Zarkov, and Dale Arden and their
dazzling array of futuristic technology: the rocket ships, invisibility shields, ray guns, and
cities in the sky. I never missed a week. The program opened up an entirely new world
for me. I was thrilled by the thought of one day rocketing to an alien planet and exploring
its strange terrain. Being pulled into the orbit of these fantastic inventions I knew that
my own destiny was somehow wrapped up with the marvels of the science that the
show promised. …
     I was just a child the day when Albert Einstein died, but I remember people talking
about his life, and death, in hushed tones. The next day I saw in the newspapers a picture
of his desk, with the unfinished manuscript of his greatest, unfinished work. I asked myself,
What could be so important that the greatest scientist of our time could not finish it? The
article claimed that Einstein had an impossible dream, a problem so difficult that it was not
possible for a mortal to finish it. It took me years to find out what that manuscript was
about: a grand, unifying “theory of everything.” His dream - which consumed the last three
decades of his life - helped me to focus my own imagination. I wanted, in some small way,
to be a part of the effort to complete Einstein’s work, to unify the laws of physics into a
single theory.
     As I grew older I began to realize that although Flash Gordon was the hero and always
got the girl, it was the scientist who actually made the TV series work. Without Dr. Zarkov,
there would be no rocket ship, no trips to Mongo, no saving Earth. Heroics aside, without
science there is no science fiction.
     I came to realize that these tales were simply impossible in terms of the science
involved, just flights of the imagination. Growing up meant putting away such fantasy. In
real life, I was told, one had to abandon the impossible and embrace the practical.
     However, I concluded that if I was to continue my fascination with the impossible, the
key was through the realm of physics. Without a solid background in advanced physics, I
would be forever speculating about futuristic technologies without understanding whether
or not they were possible. I realized I needed to immerse myself in advanced mathematics
and learn theoretical physics. So that is what I did.
     In high school for my science fair project I assembled an atom smasher in my mom’s
garage. I went to the Westinghouse company and gathered 400 pounds of scrap transformer
steel. Over Christmas I wound 22 miles of copper wire on the high school football field.
Eventually I built a 2.3-million-electron-volt betatron particle accelerator, which consumed
6 kilowatts of power (the entire output of my house) and generated a magnetic field of
20,000 times the Earth’s magnetic field. The goal was to generate a beam of gamma rays
powerful enough to create antimatter.

    My science fair project took me to the National Science Fair and eventually fulfilled my
dream, winning a scholarship to Harvard, where I could finally pursue my goal of
becoming a theoretical physicist and follow in the footsteps of my role model, Albert
Einstein. …
    In my own research I focus professionally on trying to complete Einstein’s dream of a
“theory of everything.” Personally, I find it quite exhilarating to work on a “final theory” that
may ultimately answer some of the most difficult “impossible” questions in science today,
such as whether time travel is possible, what lies at the center of a black hole, or what
happened before the big bang. I still daydream about my lifelong love affair with the
impossible, and wonder when and if some of these impossibilities might enter the ranks of
the everyday.
                                            - excerpted from Physics of the Impossible, 2008
                                                                               Doubleday

Part 2 (Questions 9 - 20)

Directions (9 - 20): Below each passage, there are several multiple-choice questions. Select the best suggested
answer to each question and record your answer on the separate answer sheet provided for you.

Reading Comprehension Passage A
         In all years and all seasons, The Bridge was there. We could see it from the roof of the
     tenement where we lived, the stone towers rising below us from the foreshortened streets
     of downtown Brooklyn. We saw it in newspapers and at the movies and on the covers of
     books, part of the signature of the place where we lived. Sometimes, on summer afternoons
 5   during World War II, my mother would gather me and my brother Tom and my sister,
     Kathleen, and we’d set out on the most glorious of walks. We walked for miles, leaving
     behind the green of Prospect Park, passing factories and warehouses and strange
     neighborhoods, crossing a hundred streets and a dozen avenues, seeing the streets turn
     green again as we entered Brooklyn Heights, pushing on, beaded with sweat, legs rubbery,
10   until, amazingly, looming abruptly in front of us, stone and steel and indifferent, was The
     Bridge.
         It was the first man-made thing that I knew was beautiful. We could walk across it,
     gazing up at the great arc of the cables. We could hear the sustained eerie musical note they
     made when combed by the wind (and augmented since by the hum of automobile tires),
15   and we envied the gulls that played at the top of those arches. The arches were Gothic, and
     provided a sense of awe that was quite religious. And awe infused the view of the great
     harbor, a view my mother embellished by describing to us the ships that had brought her
     and so many other immigrants to America - the Irish and the Italians and the Jews, the
     Germans, the Poles, and the Swedes, all of them crowding the decks, straining to see their
20   newfound land. What they saw first was the Statue of Liberty, and the skyline, and The
     Bridge. The Brooklyn Bridge. …
         There was a long time in my life when I didn’t see much of The Bridge, except from the
     roof or the back window. The reason was simple: Trolleys were replaced by automobiles,
     and nobody I knew in our neighborhood owned a car. But then when I was sixteen, I got a
25   job in the Brooklyn Navy Yard as a sheet-metal worker, and at lunchtime we would wander
     out along the cobblestone streets beside the dry docks, and from there we could look up at
     The Bridge. “Now the cats that built that,” a black welder named Fred Thompson said to
     me one day, “they knew what they were doin’.”
         They certainly did. As I grew older, I came increasingly to see The Bridge as a
30   monument to craft. It was New York’s supreme example of the Well-Made Thing. All
     around us in the sixties, the standards of craft eroded. As aestheticians1 proclaimed the
     virtues of the spontaneous, or exalted the bold gesture, or condemned form as an artistic
     straitjacket, I would cross The Bridge and wonder what they could mean. More than
     twenty men were killed in the construction of this thing, and others were ruined for life by
35   accidents and disease suffered in its service. To those men, carelessness meant death, not
     simply for themselves, but for the human beings who would use what they were making. So
     they had no choice: They had to make it to last. And in doing so, in caring about detail and
     function and strength, they saw craft triumph into art. …
         Of course, it is the nature of all bridges that they travel in two directions. I know dozens
40   of people who traveled west on The Bridge, wandered the world, and then made the long,
     wide circle home to Brooklyn. I don’t know anybody who ever did that from the Bronx.

   From the Manhattan shore, The Bridge still seems to whisper: “Come, travel across me. It’s
   only 1,562 feet across the river, and over here, and beyond, lies Oz, or Camelot, or
   Yoknapatawpha County.”2 And from the Brooklyn side it speaks in plain, bourgeois3 tones,
45 with a plain, simple message: “Come home.” …
                                                                                    - Pete Hamill
                                                               excerpted from “Bridge of Dreams”
                                                                New York Magazine, May 30, 1983

    1
        aestheticians  -  specialists in the nature of beauty
    2
        Oz, Camelot, Yoknapatawpha County  -  fictional places
    3
        bourgeois  -  middle class

                               Reading Comprehension Passage B
          The common raven (Corvus corax) holds a special fascination for bird lovers because of
     its complex, even baffling behaviors and its aura of mystery - which are revealed in fact and
     embellished in legend.
          This denizen1 of northern latitudes and high altitude is North America’s largest
 5   passerine, or perching bird, and a relative of the crow. With a length of 24-26 inches and a
     wingspan in excess of four feet, this iridescent black bird presents an imposing sight
     especially when it skillfully executes hawk-like flight motions during courtship displays and
     while guarding its nest. The raven, you see, is a bit of an aerial acrobat and seems to fly for
     the sheer joy of it. Rolls, somersaults and even level flight upside-down may be the most
10   spectacular behaviors the casual birder will be able to observe.
          Because both birds are large, black, and similarly shaped, it can be hard to tell the
     common raven from the American crow (Corvus brachyrhynchos). In addition to being
     somewhat larger, ravens have a heavier beak with a decided “Roman nose” appearance.
     They also have shaggy throat feathers, called hackles, which can be slicked down or fluffed
15   out, apparently to aid communication. In flight, their rounded, wedge-shaped tails and
     feathers resemble extended fingers near the ends of their wings. …
          The raven is both predator and scavenger. Although omnivorous, most of its diet is
     animal matter, including insects, lizards, frogs, rodents and the eggs and young of other
     birds. In addition, it regularly dines on carrion2 and garbage.
20        The raven’s sometimes inexplicable and genuinely annoying habits - they’ve been
     known to harass livestock and pets, pilfer golf balls and peck holes in the skins of
     unattended light airplanes - led to human reactions that thinned its ranks, particularly in
     the Northeast. This bird has made a remarkable comeback in the last few decades,
     however, partly due to its ability to take advantage of the presence of people. The raven can
25   survive everything from arctic to desert conditions, often aided, ironically, by garbage
     dumps and other artifacts of human settlement. …
          Raven pairs stay together throughout the breeding season and usually bond for life.
     Courtship displays generally begin in February, just before breeding. Pairs often return to
     previous nesting areas and begin a spectacular aerial courtship ritual. They perform unison
30   flight maneuvers, sometimes circling their chosen nest site with wingtips nearly touching.
     Occasionally, the male takes steep, sudden dives or tumbles in mid-air. Feather-preening
     seems to be a common activity while earthbound.
          Ravens prefer remote, forested areas with tall coniferous trees or rocky ledges where
     they can build nests and catch air currents that loft them into soaring flights. They also nest
35   on rugged seacoasts and forested marine islands, as are found off the coast of Maine. …
          Nests tend to be built in solitary places, typically miles from other raven nests.
     Sometimes, new nests are built atop old ones, although nesting pairs may alternate among
     two or more sites in the same nesting area from year to year. In this way, the best nesting
     areas can be used for 100 years or more. …
40        Many a researcher has discovered firsthand the cunning ways of the raven. Generally
     acknowledged to be among the most intelligent of birds, ravens display a seeming social
     awareness, even with other species, and surprising problem-solving abilities.
          Accounts abound of ravens closely following large predators such as wolves or coyotes,
     and of sharing, unmolested, in their kills once the carnivores opened the carcasses.
45   Although this could be seen as just opportunistic feeding, the easy relationship between the
     species seems to hint at something more substantial.

    Inuit3 hunting traditions advise watching where ravens circle and dip their wings as a
sure tipoff to the location of game. Some speculate that ravens actually use their aerial
vantage points to guide larger, stronger predators to prey, which they then share. …
                                                                                 - Brian W. Swinn
                                                            excerpted from “Mystery on the Wing:
                                                            Life and Lore of the Common Raven”
                                                   New York State Conservationist, December 2005

     1
      denizen  -  inhabitant
     2
      carrion  -  dead flesh
     3
      Inuit  -  Native people of northern North America and Greenland

Part 3 (Questions 21 - 27)

Directions: On the following pages read Passage I (an excerpt from an autobiography) and Passage II (a poem)
about traditions. You may use the margins to take notes as you read. Answer the multiple-choice questions on
the answer sheet provided for you. Then write your response for question 26 on page 1 of your essay booklet
and question 27 on page 2 of your essay booklet.

Passage I
         “I believe that the Japanese word for wife literally means honorable person remaining
     within,” says my mother. “During the nineteen twenties, when I was a child in Japan, my
     seventeen-year-old cousin married into a wealthy family. Before her marriage, I would
     watch as she tripped gracefully through the village on her way to flower arrangement class.
5    Kimono faintly rustling. Head bent in modesty. She was the most beautiful woman I had
     ever seen. After her marriage, she disappeared within her husband’s house. She was not
     seen walking through the village again. Instead, she would send the clear, plucked notes of
     her okoto - her honorable Japanese harp - to scale the high courtyard wall. I used to pause
     to listen. In late spring, showers of petals from swollen cherry blossoms within her
10   courtyard would rain onto the pavement. I would breathe the fragrant air and imagine her
     kneeling at her okoto, alone in a serene shadowy room. It seemed so romantic, I could
     hardly bear it.” My mother laughs and shakes her head at her childhood excess. After a
     moment she speaks. “Courtyard walls, built to keep typhoons out, also marked the
     boundaries of a well-bred wife. Because of this, in other ways, the Japanese always have
15   taught their daughters to soar.”
         “And you?”
         “When I was eleven years old, my father gave me okoto.”
         During the 1950s, in our four-room flat on the south side of Albany, New York, my
     mother would play her okoto. Sometimes on Sunday afternoons when the jubilant gospel
20   singing had faded from the AME Zion Church across the alley, my mother would kneel over
     a long body of gleaming wood, like a physician intent on reviving a beautiful patient, and
     pinch eerie evocative1 chords from the trembling strings of her okoto.
         “Misa-chan, Yuri-chan,” she would call to my sister and me, “would you like to try?”
         “Hai, Okaa-chan” - yes sweet honorable mother - we would murmur, as if stirred from
25   a trance.
         “I was a motherless child,” says Okaa-chan, when I have grown to adolescence. “My
     father gave me okoto to teach me to cherish my womanhood.”
         “Your womanhood?”
         My mother plucks a chord in demonstration. “The notes are delicate yet there is
30   resonance. Listen. You will learn about timelessness and strength. Listen. You will
     understand how, despite sorrow, heart and spirit can fly.”
         An American daughter, I cannot understand the teachings of my mother’s okoto.
     Instead, I listen to the music of her words.
         A formal, family photograph is the only memento my mother has of her mother. In
35   1919, an immigrant family poses in a Los Angeles studio and waits for a moment to be
     captured that will document success and confidence in America; a moment that can be sent
     to anxious relatives in Japan. A chubby infant, pop-eyed with curiosity, my mother sits
     squirming on her father’s lap. My forty-five-year-old grandfather levels a patrician2 stare
     into the camera. By his side, wearing matching sailor suits, his sons aged three and five

40   stand self-conscious with pride and excitement. My grandmother stands behind her
     husband’s chair. In her early twenties, she owns a subdued prettiness and an even gaze.
         My seven-year-old aunt is not in the picture. She has been sent to Japan to be raised as
     a proper ojo-san - the fine daughter of a distinguished family. Within the next year, her
     mother, brothers, and baby sister will join her. Five years later, my grandmother will be
45   banished from the family. The circumstances of her banishment will remain a family secret
     for over forty years. …
                                                                        - Lydia Yuri Minatoya
                                             excerpted and adapted from “My Mother’s Music”
                                                          Talking to High Monks in the Snow:
                                                            An Asian American Odyssey, 1992
                                                                              HarperCollins

     1
      evocative  -  calling forth
     2
      patrician  -  aristocratic 

                                                      Passage II
                                                      Chain Saw
         The trunk’s roped to fall
         back into the woods
         and not toward the house.
         They take the top first,
5        dismantling the great ladder,
         no limbs cracking,
         nothing falling,
         but lowered by cables
         then chipped and sprayed
10       back into the woods.
         They leave the stump.
         Soon ferns will grow there
         in the duff.1
         As far as I know,
15       cousin Sam was the last
         to climb it, in the early sixties - 
         he’d have been ten or twelve.
         He reached the spot my father
         did at the same age: strong fork,
20       last reliable seat, the family seat,
         white pine a century old,
         the height of the dominion,2
         staying up there for a while
         in medicinal air, overlooking
25       Gran’s roof, the apple trees,
         the car, the relatives gathering
         in the reddening day,
         the hour of nostalgia, the alpenglow.3
         Sam saw the scar
30       of his initials, and the date.
                                                                               - Chase Twichell
                                                                            Dog Language, 2005
                                                                           Copper Canyon Press

     _______
     1
       duff  -  the partly decayed organic matter on the forest floor
     2
       dominion  -  territory or sphere of influence
     3
       alpenglow  -  light seen near sunrise or sunset on the summits of mountains