........ September 11, 2001, at 8:46 A.M., a
hijacked airliner crashed into the north tower
of the World Trade Center in New York. At
9:03 A.M. a second plane crashed into the
[5] south tower. The resulting infernos caused
the buildings to collapse, the south tower
after burning for an hour and two minutes, the
north tower twenty-three minutes after
that. The attacks were masterminded by
[10] Osama bin Laden in an attempt to intimidate
the United States and unite Muslims for a
restoration of the caliphate.
9/11, as the happenings of that day are now
called, has set off debates on a vast array of
[15] topics. But I would like to explore a lesser-
known debate triggered by it. Exactly how
many events took place in New York on that
morning ........ September?
It could be argued that the answer is one.
[20] The attacks on the two buildings were part of
a single plan conceived by one man in service
of a single agenda. They unfolded ........ a few
minutes and yards of each other, targeting
the parts of a complex with a single name,
[25] design, and owner. And they launched a
single chain of military and political events in
their aftermath.
Or it could be argued that the answer is two.
The towers were distinct collections of glass
[30] and steel separated by an expanse of space,
and they were hit at different times and went
out of existence at different times. The
amateur video that showed the second plane
closing in on the south tower as the north
[35] tower billowed with smoke makes the twoness
unmistakable: while one event was frozen in
the past, the other loomed in the future.
The gravity of 9/11 would seem to make this
discussion frivolous to the point of impudence,
[40] a matter of mere "semantics," as we say, with
its implication of splitting hairs. But the
relation of language to our inner and outer
worlds is a matter of intellectual fascination
and real-world importance.
[45] ______ "importance" is often hard to
quantify, ........ this case I can put an exact
value on it: 3,5 billion dollars. That was the
sum in a legal dispute for the insurance
payout to Larry Silverstein, the leaseholder of
[50] the World Trade Center site. Silverstein’s
insurance policies stipulated a maximum
reimbursement for each destructive "event."
If 9/11 comprised a single event, he stood to
receive 3,5 billion dollars; if two, he stood to
[55] receive 7 billion. In the trials, the attorneys
disputed the applicable meaning of the term
event. The lawyers for the leaseholder defined
it in physical terms (two collapses); those for
the insurance companies defined it in mental
[60] terms (one plot). There is nothing "mere"
about semantics!
Adapted from: PINKER, Steven. The Stuff of Thought. New York: Penguin, 2007. p. 1-2.
Select the alternative that adequately fills in the gap in line 45.
So here I am, upside down in a woman. Arms
patiently crossed, waiting, waiting and
wondering who I'm in, what I’m in for. My
eyes close nostalgically when I remember
[5] how I once drifted in my translucent body
bag, floated dreamily in the bubble of my
thoughts through my private ocean in slow-
motion somersaults, colliding gently against
the transparent bounds of my confinement,
[10] the confiding membrane that vibrated with,
even as it muffled, the voices of conspirators
in a vile enterprise. That was in my careless
youth. Now, fully inverted, not an inch of
space to myself, knees crammed against
[15] belly, my thoughts as well as my head are
fully engaged. I’ve no choice, my ear is
pressed all day and night against the bloody
walls. I listen, make mental notes, and I’m
troubled. I’m hearing pillow talk of deadly
[20] intent and I’m terrified by what awaits me, by
what might draw me in.
I’m immersed in abstractions, and only the
proliferating relations between them create
the illusion of a known world. When I hear
[25] "blue," which I’ve never seen, I imagine some
kind of mental event that's fairly close to
"green"—which I’ve never seen. I count
myself an innocent, unburdened by
allegiances and obligations, a free spirit,
[30] despite my meagre living room. No one to
contradict or reprimand me, no name or
previous address, no religion, no debts, no
enemies. My appointment diary, if it existed,
notes only my forthcoming birthday. I am, or
[35] I was, despite what the geneticists are now
saying, a blank slate. But a slippery, porous
slate no school-room or cottage roof could
find use for, a slate that writes upon itself as
it grows by the day and becomes less blank. I
[40] count myself an innocent, but it seems I'm
party to a plot. My mother, bless her
unceasing, loudly squelching heart, seems to
be involved.
In: McEWAN, Ian. Nutshell: a novel. New York: Nan A. Talese / Doubleday, 2016. p. 1-2.
Considere as seguintes afirmações acerca do texto.
I - O narrador relata seu confinamento em um espaço restrito cujas paredes lhe permitem ouvir conversas íntimas aterradoras.
II - As referências a aspectos fisiológicos, apesar das reflexões de ordem existencial, denotam a natureza não humana do narrador, o que torna o texto inusitado e irônico.
III- O narrador, embora se declare inocente e livre de quaisquer obrigações, acredita ser parte de um plano em que sua mãe parece estar envolvida.
Quais estão corretas?
So here I am, upside down in a woman. Arms
patiently crossed, waiting, waiting and
wondering who I'm in, what I’m in for. My
eyes close nostalgically when I remember
[5] how I once drifted in my translucent body
bag, floated dreamily in the bubble of my
thoughts through my private ocean in slow-
motion somersaults, colliding gently against
the transparent bounds of my confinement,
[10] the confiding membrane that vibrated with,
even as it muffled, the voices of conspirators
in a vile enterprise. That was in my careless
youth. Now, fully inverted, not an inch of
space to myself, knees crammed against
[15] belly, my thoughts as well as my head are
fully engaged. I’ve no choice, my ear is
pressed all day and night against the bloody
walls. I listen, make mental notes, and I’m
troubled. I’m hearing pillow talk of deadly
[20] intent and I’m terrified by what awaits me, by
what might draw me in.
I’m immersed in abstractions, and only the
proliferating relations between them create
the illusion of a known world. When I hear
[25] "blue," which I’ve never seen, I imagine some
kind of mental event that's fairly close to
"green"—which I’ve never seen. I count
myself an innocent, unburdened by
allegiances and obligations, a free spirit,
[30] despite my meagre living room. No one to
contradict or reprimand me, no name or
previous address, no religion, no debts, no
enemies. My appointment diary, if it existed,
notes only my forthcoming birthday. I am, or
[35] I was, despite what the geneticists are now
saying, a blank slate. But a slippery, porous
slate no school-room or cottage roof could
find use for, a slate that writes upon itself as
it grows by the day and becomes less blank. I
[40] count myself an innocent, but it seems I'm
party to a plot. My mother, bless her
unceasing, loudly squelching heart, seems to
be involved.
In: McEWAN, Ian. Nutshell: a novel. New York: Nan A. Talese / Doubleday, 2016. p. 1-2.
Assinale com V (verdadeiro) ou F (falso) as seguintes afirmações acerca do texto.
( ) O narrador nostalgicamente rememora sua juventude despreocupada, anterior ao seu confinamento.
( ) O narrador, por encontrar-se de cabeça para baixo, está confuso e imerso em ilusões acerca do mundo ao seu redor.
( ) O texto reveste-se de ironia em função do descompasso entre a condição do narrador e seu domínio de linguagem.
( ) O texto apresenta um relato incomum que instiga o leitor a conjecturar acerca do desenvolvimento humano e da formação da consciência.
A sequência correta de preenchimento dos parênteses, de cima para baixo, é
So here I am, upside down in a woman. Arms
patiently crossed, waiting, waiting and
wondering who I'm in, what I’m in for. My
eyes close nostalgically when I remember
[5] how I once drifted in my translucent body
bag, floated dreamily in the bubble of my
thoughts through my private ocean in slow-
motion somersaults, colliding gently against
the transparent bounds of my confinement,
[10] the confiding membrane that vibrated with,
even as it muffled, the voices of conspirators
in a vile enterprise. That was in my careless
youth. Now, fully inverted, not an inch of
space to myself, knees crammed against
[15] belly, my thoughts as well as my head are
fully engaged. I’ve no choice, my ear is
pressed all day and night against the bloody
walls. I listen, make mental notes, and I’m
troubled. I’m hearing pillow talk of deadly
[20] intent and I’m terrified by what awaits me, by
what might draw me in.
I’m immersed in abstractions, and only the
proliferating relations between them create
the illusion of a known world. When I hear
[25] "blue," which I’ve never seen, I imagine some
kind of mental event that's fairly close to
"green"—which I’ve never seen. I count
myself an innocent, unburdened by
allegiances and obligations, a free spirit,
[30] despite my meagre living room. No one to
contradict or reprimand me, no name or
previous address, no religion, no debts, no
enemies. My appointment diary, if it existed,
notes only my forthcoming birthday. I am, or
[35] I was, despite what the geneticists are now
saying, a blank slate. But a slippery, porous
slate no school-room or cottage roof could
find use for, a slate that writes upon itself as
it grows by the day and becomes less blank. I
[40] count myself an innocent, but it seems I'm
party to a plot. My mother, bless her
unceasing, loudly squelching heart, seems to
be involved.
In: McEWAN, Ian. Nutshell: a novel. New York: Nan A. Talese / Doubleday, 2016. p. 1-2.
Considere as seguintes afirmações acerca do texto.
I - A expressão what I’m in for (l. 03) denota o desconhecimento do local onde o narrador se encontra.
II - A expressão bloody walls (l. 17-18) enfatiza a revolta do narrador diante de seu desconforto físico angustiante.
III- A membrana que limita o espaço do narrador abafa as vozes externas, mas também vibra com elas.
Quais estão corretas?
So here I am, upside down in a woman. Arms
patiently crossed, waiting, waiting and
wondering who I'm in, what I’m in for. My
eyes close nostalgically when I remember
[5] how I once drifted in my translucent body
bag, floated dreamily in the bubble of my
thoughts through my private ocean in slow-
motion somersaults, colliding gently against
the transparent bounds of my confinement,
[10] the confiding membrane that vibrated with,
even as it muffled, the voices of conspirators
in a vile enterprise. That was in my careless
youth. Now, fully inverted, not an inch of
space to myself, knees crammed against
[15] belly, my thoughts as well as my head are
fully engaged. I’ve no choice, my ear is
pressed all day and night against the bloody
walls. I listen, make mental notes, and I’m
troubled. I’m hearing pillow talk of deadly
[20] intent and I’m terrified by what awaits me, by
what might draw me in.
I’m immersed in abstractions, and only the
proliferating relations between them create
the illusion of a known world. When I hear
[25] "blue," which I’ve never seen, I imagine some
kind of mental event that's fairly close to
"green"—which I’ve never seen. I count
myself an innocent, unburdened by
allegiances and obligations, a free spirit,
[30] despite my meagre living room. No one to
contradict or reprimand me, no name or
previous address, no religion, no debts, no
enemies. My appointment diary, if it existed,
notes only my forthcoming birthday. I am, or
[35] I was, despite what the geneticists are now
saying, a blank slate. But a slippery, porous
slate no school-room or cottage roof could
find use for, a slate that writes upon itself as
it grows by the day and becomes less blank. I
[40] count myself an innocent, but it seems I'm
party to a plot. My mother, bless her
unceasing, loudly squelching heart, seems to
be involved.
In: McEWAN, Ian. Nutshell: a novel. New York: Nan A. Talese / Doubleday, 2016. p. 1-2.
Considere as seguintes expressões do texto.
I - private ocean (l. 07)
II - transparent bounds (l. 09)
III- meagre living room (l. 30)
Quais fazem referência a algum elemento do corpo humano?
So here I am, upside down in a woman. Arms
patiently crossed, waiting, waiting and
wondering who I'm in, what I’m in for. My
eyes close nostalgically when I remember
[5] how I once drifted in my translucent body
bag, floated dreamily in the bubble of my
thoughts through my private ocean in slow-
motion somersaults, colliding gently against
the transparent bounds of my confinement,
[10] the confiding membrane that vibrated with,
even as it muffled, the voices of conspirators
in a vile enterprise. That was in my careless
youth. Now, fully inverted, not an inch of
space to myself, knees crammed against
[15] belly, my thoughts as well as my head are
fully engaged. I’ve no choice, my ear is
pressed all day and night against the bloody
walls. I listen, make mental notes, and I’m
troubled. I’m hearing pillow talk of deadly
[20] intent and I’m terrified by what awaits me, by
what might draw me in.
I’m immersed in abstractions, and only the
proliferating relations between them create
the illusion of a known world. When I hear
[25] "blue," which I’ve never seen, I imagine some
kind of mental event that's fairly close to
"green"—which I’ve never seen. I count
myself an innocent, unburdened by
allegiances and obligations, a free spirit,
[30] despite my meagre living room. No one to
contradict or reprimand me, no name or
previous address, no religion, no debts, no
enemies. My appointment diary, if it existed,
notes only my forthcoming birthday. I am, or
[35] I was, despite what the geneticists are now
saying, a blank slate. But a slippery, porous
slate no school-room or cottage roof could
find use for, a slate that writes upon itself as
it grows by the day and becomes less blank. I
[40] count myself an innocent, but it seems I'm
party to a plot. My mother, bless her
unceasing, loudly squelching heart, seems to
be involved.
In: McEWAN, Ian. Nutshell: a novel. New York: Nan A. Talese / Doubleday, 2016. p. 1-2
Associe as palavras da coluna da esquerda aos seus respectivos sinônimos, na coluna da direita, de acordo com o sentido com que estão empregadas no texto.
( ) vile (l. 12)
( ) meagre (l. 30)
( ) unceasing (l. 42)
1. ashamed
2. continuum
3. untidy
4. exiguous
5. despicable
6. continual
A sequência correta de preenchimento dos parênteses, de cima para baixo, é