Unit 8

Text A

Pre-reading Activities

1. In the famous tale Through the Looking-Glass, Alice finds her way through a mirror to a very strange land. In the scene you're about to hear, Alice has been sitting under a tree and talking with the Red Queen. Listen to the passage twice and fill in the missing words from the text below.

Suddenly they began to run.
Alice never could quite understand how they began: All she remembers is that they were running hand in hand, and the Queen went so fast that Alice could hardly manage to keep up with her. The Queen kept crying " _____! _____!" But Alice couldn't go faster, though she had no breath left to say so. She felt as if she would never be able to talk again, she was getting so out of breath. And still the Queen cried "_____! _____!" and dragged her along.
" _____?" Alice managed to gasp.
" _____?!" the Queen repeated. "Why, _____ten minutes ago! _____!" And they ran on, with the wind whistling in Alice's ears and almost blowing her hair off her head, she imagined. They went so fast that at last they seemed to hardly touch the ground with their feet. And then suddenly, just as Alice was getting quite exhausted, they stopped, and she found herself sitting on the ground.
Alice looked around in great surprise. "Why, I do believe _____!"
"Of course we have," said the Queen. "What would you expect?"
"Well, in my country," said Alice, "you'd generally _____."
"_____!" said the Queen. "Here it takes _____."

2. The Queen's final statement is very often quoted（引用）as a comment on modern society. What aspects of life does it make you think of?

The Highs of Low Technology

Johanne Mednick

I have a wonderful bicycle. My family refers to it as "that piece of junk" —an ancient piece of metal, the likes of which can be found in the dump or, if you're lucky, at garage sales. But I have confidence in my bike. It gives me power, and I cherish its simplicity.
What intrigues me, in this age of technological innovation (which is nowhere more apparent than in the bicycle world), is the number of people who stop me and comment on my bike. It's a real conversation piece. "Where did you get that thing?" "I haven't seen one of those in ages." "What a great bike." I get all kinds of comments — the best one being from a motorcycle gang who cornered me while I was locking it up. They politely suggested that I should wear gloves while riding to protect my hands. Maybe I should also put on a leather jacket.
But really, what is it that people are admiring? Are they admiring me for resisting the lure of mass bicycle consumerism? I must look like an eyesore pedaling behind my family, who all ride the latest model of mountain bike. (To them, I'm some sort of odd person, an embarrassment not fit to be on the road.) On the other hand, maybe people are just genuinely curious, as they would be if confronted with a dinosaur bone. I never get the feeling that they think I'm crazy for riding something so old when I could be fussing with gears and having a presumably easier time of things. My bike seems to touch a sensitive chord in people, and I'm not quite sure what or why that is.
Perhaps my bike is representative of a world gone by: the world before gimmicks and gadgets, accessories and attachments. A time when people thought in terms of settling into a cushioned seat, stopping the movement with their heel and travelling a bit slower than we are travelling now. My bike is certainly not built for speed, but who needs speed when I can coast along the streets, hold my head high and deliciously feel the wind on my face? My bike is built for taking time. It makes people feel relaxed.
When I'm riding my bike, I feel as though I have control. And I don't feel that way about most things these days. I don't deny that my computer and my microwave make my life a lot easier. I use these things, but they also make me feel rather small and, in a strange way, inadequate. What if I press the wrong button? What if something goes wrong? Maybe if I learned to understand these appliances I'd feel better — more secure about my relationship with technology. But frankly, I'm not comforted by manuals and how-to courses. Of course there are always "experts" I could go to who seem to know everything about anything. Relatives, friends, salespeople — people who seem at ease with all the latest inventions and who delight in ingenuity.
I just don't get excited over the idea of yet another thing I could do if I pulled the right lever or set the right program. Nervous and unsure in the beginning, I eventually adapt to these so-called conveniences and accept them as a part of life, but I'm not entirely convinced of their merit. I hunger for simplicity and I have a sneaking suspicion that many people feel the same way. That's why they admire my bike. It comforts them and gives them a sense of something manageable, not too complicated.
I'm not suggesting that we all go back to a pioneer-village attitude. But I do think it's important to respect that which is simple and manageable — no doubt difficult in a time when more means better and new means best. I'm proud that my "piece of junk" makes me and others feel good. It allows me the opportunity to relax and, when I'm heading down the road, to escape what I don't understand.
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