PSAT-Reading試験無料問題集「PSAT Preliminary Scholastic Aptitude Test - Reading 認定」

This passage discusses the work of Abe Kobo, a Japanese novelist of the twentieth century.
Abe Kobo is one of the great writers of postwar Japan. His literature is richer, less predictable, and
wider-ranging than that of his famed contemporaries, Mishima Yukio and Nobel laureate Oe Kenzaburo. It
is infused with the passion and strangeness of his experiences in Manchuria, which was a Japanese
colony on mainland China before World War II.
Abe spent his childhood and much of his youth in Manchuria, and, as a result, the orbit of his work would
be far less controlled by the oppressive gravitational pull of the themes of furusato (hometown) and the
emperor than his contemporaries'.
Abe, like most of the sons of Japanese families living in Manchuria, did return to Japan for schooling. He
entered medical school in Tokyo in 1944--just in time to forge himself a medical certificate claiming ill
health; this allowed him to avoid fighting in the war that Japan was already losing and return to Manchuria.
When Japan lost the war, however, it also lost its Manchurian colony. The Japanese living there were
attacked by the Soviet Army and various guerrilla bands. They suddenly found themselves refugees,
desperate for food. Many unfit men were abandoned in the Manchurian desert. At this apocalyptic time,
Abe lost his father to cholera.
He returned to mainland Japan once more, where the young were turning to Marxism as a rejection of the
militarism of the war. After a brief, unsuccessful stint at medical school, he became part of a Marxist group
of avant-garde artists. His work at this time was passionate and outspoken on political matters, adopting
black humor as its mode of critique.
During this time, Abe worked in the genres of theater, music, and photography. Eventually, he
mimeographed fifty copies of his first "published" literary work, entitled Anonymous Poems, in 1947. It
was a politically charged set of poems dedicated to the memory of his father and friends who had died in
Manchuria. Shortly thereafter, he published his first novel, For a Signpost at the End of a Road, which
imagined another life for his best friend who had died in the Manchurian desert. Abe was also active in the
Communist Party, organizing literary groups for workingmen.
Unfortunately, most of this radical early work is unknown outside Japan and underappreciated even in
Japan. In early 1962, Abe was dismissed from the Japanese Liberalist Party. Four months later, he
published the work that would blind us to his earlier oeuvre, Woman in the Dunes. It was director
Teshigahara Hiroshi's film adaptation of Woman in the Dunes that brought Abe's work to the international
stage. The movie's fame has wrongly led readers to view the novel as Abe's masterpiece. It would be
more accurate to say that the novel simply marked a turning point in his career, when Abe turned away
from the experimental and heavily political work of his earlier career. Fortunately, he did not then turn to
furusato and the emperor after all, but rather began a somewhat more realistic exploration of his
continuing obsession with homelessness and alienation. Not completely a stranger to his earlier
commitment to Marxism, Abe turned his attention, beginning in the sixties, to the effects on the individual
of Japan's rapidly urbanizing, growthdriven, increasingly corporate society.
From the sentence beginning "He entered medical school", it can be inferred that

He was a un-common small man, he really was. Certainly not so small as he was made out to be, but
where IS your Dwarf as is? He was a most uncommon small man, with a most uncommon large Ed; and
what he had inside that Ed, nobody ever knowed but himself: even supposin himself to have ever took
stock of it, which it would have been a stiff job for even him to do.
The kindest little man as never growed! Spirited, but not proud. When he travelled with the Spotted Baby
though he knowed himself to be a nat'ral Dwarf, and knowed the Baby's spots to be put upon him artificial,
he nursed that Baby like a mother. You never heerd him give a ill-name to a Giant. He DID allow himself
to break out into strong language respectin the Fat Lady from Norfolk; but that was an affair of the 'art; and
when a man's 'art has been trifled with by a lady, and the preference giv to a Indian, he ain't master of his
actions.
He was always in love, of course; every human nat'ral phenomenon is. And he was always in love with a
large woman; I never knowed the Dwarf as could be got to love a small one. Which helps to keep 'em the
Curiosities they are.
One sing'ler idea he had in that Ed of his, which must have meant something, or it wouldn't have been
there. It was always his opinion that he was entitled to property. He never would put his name to anything.
He had been taught to write, by the young man without arms, who got his living with his toes (quite a
writing master HE was, and taught scores in the line), but Chops would have starved to death, afore he'd
have gained a bit of bread by putting his hand to a paper. This is the more curious to bear in mind,
because HE had no property, nor hope of property, except his house and a sarser. When I say his house,
I mean the box, painted and got up outside like a reg'lar six-roomer, that he used to creep into, with a
diamond ring (or quite as good to look at) on his forefinger, and ring a little bell out of what the Public
believed to be the Drawing-room winder. And when I say a sarser, I mean a Chaney sarser in which he
made a collection for himself at the end of every Entertainment. His cue for that, he took from me: "Ladies
and gentlemen, the little man will now walk three times round the Cairawan, and retire behind the curtain."
When he said anything important, in private life, he mostly wound it up with this form of words, and they
was generally the last thing he said to me at night afore he went to bed.
He had what I consider a fine mind--a poetic mind. His ideas respectin his property never come upon him
so strong as when he sat upon a barrel-organ and had the handle turned. Arter the wibration had run
through him a little time, he would screech out, "Toby, I feel my property coming--grind away! I'm counting
my guineas by thousands, Toby--grind away! Toby, I shall be a man of fortun! I feel the Mint a jingling in
me, Toby, and I'm swelling out into the Bank of England!" Such is the influence of music on a poetic mind.
Not that he was partial to any other music but a barrel-organ; on the contrary, hated it.
He had a kind of a everlasting grudge agin the Public: which is a thing you may notice in many
phenomenons that get their living out of it. What riled him most in the nater of his occupation was, that it
kep him out of Society. He was continiwally saying, "Toby, my ambition is, to go into Society. The curse of
my position towards the Public is, that it keeps me hout of Society. This don't signify to a low beast of a
Indian; he an't formed for Society. This don't signify to a Spotted Baby; HE an't formed for Society. I am."
Which is the most likely reason for the author to include the paragraph concerning the barrel-organ in 5th
paragraph?

Oliver Goldsmith (17301774) wrote criticism, plays, novels, biographies, travelogues, and nearly every
other conceivable kind of composition. This good-humored essay is from a series published in the Public
Ledger and then in book form as The Citizen of the World (1762).
Were we to estimate the learning of the English by the number of books that are every day published
among them, perhaps no country, not even China itself, could equal them in this particular. I have
reckoned not less than twenty-three new books published in one day, which, upon computation, makes
eight thousand three hundred and ninety-five in one year. Most of these are not confined to one single
science, but embrace the whole circle. History, politics, poetry, mathematics, metaphysics, and the
philosophy of nature, are all comprised in a manual no larger than that in which our children are taught the
letters. If then, we suppose the learned of England to read but an eighth part of the works which daily
come from the press and surely non can pretend to learning upon less easy terms), at this rate every
scholar will read a thousand books in one year. From such a calculation, you may conjecture what an
amazing fund of literature a man must be possessed of, who thus reads three new books every day, not
one of which but contains all the good things that ever were said or written.
And yet I know not how it happens, but the English are not, in reality so learned as would seem from this
calculation. We meet but few who know all arts and sciences to perfection; whether it is that the generality
are incapable of such extensive knowledge, or that the authors of those books are not adequate
instructors. In China, the Emperor himself takes cognizance of all the doctors in the kingdom who profess
authorship. In England, every man may be an author, that can write; for they have by law a liberty, not
only of saying what they please, but of being also as dull as they please.
Yesterday, as I testified to my surprise, to the man in black, where writers could be found in sufficient
number to throw off the books I saw daily crowding from the press. I at first imagined that their learned
seminaries might take this method of instructing the world. But, to obviate this objection, my companion
assured me that the doctors of colleges never wrote, and that some of them had actually forgot their
reading. "But if you desire," continued he, "to see a collection of authors, I fancy I can introduce you to a
club, which assembles every Saturday at seven . . . ." I accepted his invitation; we walked together, and
entered the house some time before the usual hour for the company assembling. My friend took this
opportunity of letting me into the characters of the principal members of the club . . .
"The first person," said he, "of our society is Doctor Nonentity, a metaphysician. Most people think him a
profound scholar, but, as he seldom speaks, I cannot be positive in that particular; he generally spreads
himself before the fire, sucks his pipe, talks little, drinks much, and is reckoned very good company. I'm
told he writes indexes to perfection: he makes essays on the origin of evil, philosophical inquiries upon
any subject, and draws up an answer to any book upon 24 hours' warning . . . ."
Goldsmith believes that

Sir Giles's irritating reserve, not even excused by a word of apology, reached the limits of his endurance.
He respectfully protested. "I regret to find, sir," he said, "that I have lost my place in my employer's
estimation. The man to whom you confide the superintendence of your clerks and the transaction of your
business has, I venture to think, some claim (under the present circumstances) to be trusted." The banker
was now offended on his side. "I readily admit your claim," he answered, "when you are sitting at your
desk in my office. But, even in these days of strikes, co-operations, and bank holidays, an employer has
one privilege left--he has not ceased to be a Man, and he has not forfeited a man's right to keep his own
secrets. I fail to see anything in my conduct which has given you just reason to complain." Dennis,
rebuked, made his bow in silence, and withdrew.
Did these acts of humility mean that he submitted? They meant exactly the contrary. He had made up his
mind that Sir Giles Mountjoy's motives should, sooner or later, cease to be mysteries to Sir Giles
Mountjoy's clerk.
In context, the word "rebuked" is best represented by

Though the new pharmaceutical regime was intended to be beneficial, its actual effect was __________,
a result the medical community __________.

Here my friend, about whose madness I now saw, or fancied that I saw, certain indications of method,
removed the peg which marked the spot where the beetle fell, to a spot about three inches to the
westward of its former position. Taking, now, the tape measure from the nearest point of the trunk to the
peg, as before, and continuing the extension in a straight line to the distance of fifty feet, a spot was
indicated, removed, by several yards, from the point at which we had been digging.
Around the new position a circle, somewhat larger than in the former instance, was now described, and
we again set to work with the spades. I was dreadfully weary, but, scarcely understanding what had
occasioned the change in my thoughts, I felt no longer any great aversion from the labor imposed. I had
become most unaccountably interested--nay, even excited. Perhaps there was something, amid all the
extravagant demeanor of Legrand--some air of forethought, or of deliberation, which impressed me. I dug
eagerly, and now and then caught myself actually looking, with something that very much resembled
expectation, for the fancied treasure, the vision of which had demented my unfortunate companion. At a
period when such vagaries of thought most fully possessed me, and when we had been at work perhaps
an hour and a half, we were again interrupted by the violent howlings of the dog. His uneasiness, in the
first instance, had been, evidently, but the result of playfulness or caprice, but he now assumed a bitter
and serious tone. Upon Jupiter's again attempting to muzzle him, he made furious resistance, and,
leaping into the hole, tore up the mould frantically with his claws. In a few seconds he had uncovered a
mass of human bones, forming two complete skeletons, intermingled with several buttons of metal, and
what appeared to be the dust of decayed woolen. One or two strokes of a spade upturned the blade of a
large Spanish knife, and, as we dug farther, three or four loose pieces of gold and silver coin came to
light.
At sight of these the joy of Jupiter could scarcely be restrained, but the countenance of his master wore an
air of extreme disappointment he urged us, however, to continue our exertions, and the words were hardly
uttered when I stumbled and fell forward, having caught the toe of my boot in a large ring of iron that lay
half buried in the loose earth.
We now worked in earnest, and never did I pass ten minutes of more intense excitement. During his
interval we had fairly unearthed an oblong chest of wood, which, from its perfect preservation and
wonderful hardness, had plainly been subjected to some mineralizing process--perhaps that of the
Bi-chloride of Mercury. This box was three feet and a half long, three feet broad, and two and a half feet
deep. It was firmly secured by bands of wrought iron, riveted, and forming a kind of open trelliswork over
the whole. On each side of the chest, near the top, were three rings of iron--six in all--by means of which a
firm hold could be obtained by six persons. Our utmost united endeavors served only to disturb the coffer
very slightly in its bed. We at once saw the impossibility of removing so great a weight. Luckily, the sole
fastenings of the lid consisted of two sliding bolts. These we drew back trembling and panting with anxiety.
In an instant, a treasure of incalculable value lay gleaming before us. As the rays of the lanterns fell within
the pit, there flashed upwards a glow and a glare, from a confused heap of gold and of jewels, that
absolutely dazzled our eyes. I shall not pretend to describe the feelings with which I gazed. Amazement
was, of course, predominant. Legrand appeared exhausted with excitement, and spoke very few words.
Jupiter's countenance wore, for some minutes, as deadly a pallor as it is possible, in nature of things, for
any negro's visage to assume. He seemed stupefied thunderstricken. Presently he fell upon his knees in
the pit, and, burying his naked arms up to the elbows in gold, let them there remain, as if enjoying the
luxury of a bath.
It became necessary, at last, that I should arouse both master and valet to the expediency of removing the
treasure. It was growing late, and it behooved us to make exertion, that we might get every thing housed
before daylight. It was difficult to say what should be done, and much time was spent in deliberation--so
confused were the ideas of all. We, finally, lightened the box by removing two thirds of its contents, when
we were enabled, with some trouble, to raise it from the hole. The articles taken out were deposited
among the brambles, and the dog left to guard them, with strict orders from Jupiter neither, upon any
pretence, to stir from the spot, nor to open his mouth until our return.
The sentence "Perhaps there was something, amid all the extravagant demeanor of Legrand--some air of
forethought, or of deliberation, which impressed me" (2nd paragraph) is best an example of

Big earthquakes are naturally occurring events well outside the powers of humans to create or stop. An
earthquake is caused by a sudden slip on a fault. Stresses in the earth's outer layer push the side of the
fault together. The friction across the surface of the fault holds the rocks together so they do not slip
immediately when pushed sideways. Eventually enough stress builds up and the rocks slip suddenly,
releasing energy in waves that travel through the rock to cause the shaking that we feel during an
earthquake. Earthquakes typically originate several tens of miles below the surface of the earth. It takes
many years--decades to centuries--to build up enough stress to make a large earthquake, and the fault
may be tens to hundreds of miles long. The scale and force necessary to produce earthquakes are well
beyond our daily lives. Likewise, people cannot prevent earthquakes from happening or stop them once
they've started--giant nuclear explosions at shallow depths, like those in some movies, won't actually stop
an earthquake.
The two most important variables affecting earthquake damage are the intensity of ground shaking cased
by the quake and the quality of the engineering of structures in the region. The level of shaking, in turn, is
controlled by the proximity of the earthquake source to the affected region and the types of rocks that
seismic waves pass through en route (particularly those at or near the ground surface). Generally, the
bigger and closer the earthquake, the stronger the shaking. But there have been large earthquakes with
very little damage either because they caused little shaking or because the buildings were built to
withstand that shaking. In other cases, moderate earthquakes have caused significant damage either
because the shaking was locally amplified or more likely because the structures were poorly engineered.
This passage was most likely written to

The bright coloration of American coot chicks is an anomaly: although colorful plumage is usually __ to
newborn birds because it may attract predators, among this species it appears to be __ , because parents
are more likely to notice and care for brightly-colored offspring.

Sir Giles's irritating reserve, not even excused by a word of apology, reached the limits of his endurance.
He respectfully protested. "I regret to find, sir," he said, "that I have lost my place in my employer's
estimation. The man to whom you confide the superintendence of your clerks and the transaction of your
business has, I venture to think, some claim (under the present circumstances) to be trusted." The banker
was now offended on his side.
"I readily admit your claim," he answered, "when you are sitting at your desk in my office. But, even in
these days of strikes, co-operations, and bank holidays, an employer has one privilege left--he has not
ceased to be a Man, and he has not forfeited a man's right to keep his own secrets. I fail to see anything in
my conduct which has given you just reason to complain." Dennis, rebuked, made his bow in silence, and
withdrew.
Did these acts of humility mean that he submitted? They meant exactly the contrary. He had made up his
mind that Sir Giles Mountjoy's motives should, sooner or later, cease to be mysteries to Sir Giles
Mountjoy's clerk.
In context, the words "irritating reserve" in first paragraph is best represented by the word

F. Scott Fitzgerald was a prominent American writer of the twentieth century. This passage comes from
one of his short stories and tells the story of a young John Unger leaving home for boarding school. John
T. Unger came from a family that had been well known in Hades a small town on the Mississippi River for
several generations. John's father had held the amateur golf championship through many a heated
contest; Mrs. Unger was known "from hot-box to hot-bed," as the local phrase went, for her political
addresses; and young John T. Unger, who had just turned sixteen, had danced all the latest dances from
New York before he put on long trousers. And now, for a certain time, he was to be away from home
That respect for a New England education which is the bane of all provincial places, which drains them
yearly of their most promising young men, had seized upon his parents.
Nothing would suit them but that he should go to St. Midas's School near Boston-Hades was too small to
hold their darling and gifted son. Now in Hades-as you know if you ever have been there the names of the
more fashionable preparatory schools and colleges mean very little. The inhabitants have been so long
out of the world that, though they make a show of keeping up-to-date in dress and manners and literature,
they depend to a great extent on hearsay, and a function that in Hades would be considered elaborate
would doubtless be hailed by a Chicago beef-princess as "perhaps a little tacky."
John T. Unger was on the eve of departure. Mrs. Unger, with maternal fatuity, packed his trunks full of
linen suits and electric fans, and Mr. Unger presented his son with an asbestos pocket-book stuffed with
money.
"Remember, you are always welcome here," he said. "You can be sure, boy, that we'll keep the home
fires burning." "I know," answered John huskily.
"Don't forget who you are and where you come from," continued his father proudly, "and you can do
nothing to harm you. You are an Unger-from Hades."
So the old man and the young shook hands, and John walked away with tears streaming from his eyes.
Ten minutes later he had passed outside the city limits and he stopped to glance back for the last time.
Over the gates the old-fashioned Victorian motto seemed strangely attractive to him. His father had tried
time and time again to have it changed to something with a little more push and verve about it, such as
"Hades-Your Opportunity," or else a plain "Welcome" sign set over a hearty handshake pricked out in
electric lights. The old motto was a little depressing, Mr. Unger had thought-but now.
So John took his look and then set his face resolutely toward his destination. And, as he turned away, the
lights of Hades against the sky seemed full of a warm and passionate beauty.
The phrase "maternal fatuity", suggests that

They __ their offer of aid when they became disillusioned with the project

The main purpose of this story is to appeal to the reader's interest in a subject which has been the theme
of some of the greatest writers, living and dead--but which has never been, and can never be, exhausted,
because it is a subject eternally interesting to all mankind. Here is one more book that depicts the struggle
of a human creature, under those opposing influences of Good and Evil, which we have all felt, which we
have all known. It has been my aim to make the character of "Magdalen," which personifies this struggle,
a pathetic character even in its perversity and its error; and I have tried hard to attain this result by the
least obtrusive and the least artificial of all means--by a resolute adherence throughout to the truth as it is
in Nature. This design was no easy one to accomplish; and it has been a great encouragement to me
(during the publication of my story in its periodical form) to know, on the authority of many readers, that
the object which I had proposed to myself, I might, in some degree, consider as an object achieved.
Round the central figure in the narrative other characters will be found grouped, in sharp
contrast--contrast, for the most part, in which I have endeavored to make the element of humor mainly
predominant. I have sought to impart this relief to the more serious passages in the book, not only
because I believe myself to be justified in doing so by the laws of Art--but because experience has taught
me (what the experience of my readers will doubtless confirm) that there is no such moral phenomenon
as unmixed tragedy to be found in the world around us. Look where we may, the dark threads and the
light cross each other perpetually in the texture of human life.
Which word best describes the meaning of "personifies" in 1st paragraph?