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Literary analysis
12th grade (Year 13 in England) · 16 questions · Common Core: RL.11-12.2, RL.11-12.3, RL.11-12.5 · England: GCSE English Language Paper 1 Q4, A-level English Literature
Name
Date
Score/ 16
Inheritance
When my aunt died she left me her piano, which was the one thing in her house I had never wanted. It was an upright of dark, scarred wood, too large for any room it had ever stood in, and it had been out of tune for as long as I could remember. As a child, I had been made to sit at it every Thursday while she counted the beats aloud in a voice like a ruler rapping a desk. I had hated it with the pure, uncomplicated hatred of a nine-year-old.
The removal men groaned it up the three flights to my flat and left it in the hall, where it blocked the light from the only window. For a month I edged around it sideways, as one edges around a guest who has outstayed their welcome. I told friends I would sell it. I photographed it twice for the listing and deleted the pictures both times.
It was during a power cut in February that I finally lifted the lid. I could not have said why. The flat was cold and dark and silent, and perhaps I simply wanted to hear something. I pressed middle C. It was flat, of course – everything about that piano was slightly flat – but the note hung in the hall far longer than I expected, and something in the slowness of its fading undid me.
I played the only piece I still knew, a dull exercise in C major that my aunt had made me repeat a hundred times. My fingers found it before my mind did. Halfway through, I realised I was counting under my breath, in her rhythm, in her voice.
I have not had the piano tuned. People ask me why, and I tell them I haven't got round to it, which is true in the way that most convenient answers are true. The other reason is harder to explain. Every flat note is exactly as she left it. I am not ready to correct her yet.
Question 1
Read "Inheritance". What is the best interpretation of "I am not ready to correct her yet"?
- A. He plans to become a piano tuner.
- B. He cannot afford a piano tuner.
- C. He thinks his aunt played badly.
- D. Tuning the piano would feel like erasing a trace of her, and he is still grieving.
Question 2
Read "Inheritance". What does the narrator's realisation that he is counting "in her voice" reveal?
- A. His aunt's influence has become part of him, despite his earlier resentment.
- B. He is imitating her to mock her.
- C. He has hired a teacher.
- D. He has forgotten the piece.
Question 3
The story ends with the protagonist on a train, unsure whether she is leaving home or returning to it. What is the effect of this ambiguous ending?
- A. It shows the writer forgot to finish.
- B. It proves she is going on holiday.
- C. It invites readers to reflect on what 'home' means rather than giving a neat answer.
- D. It reveals the train has broken down.
Inheritance
When my aunt died she left me her piano, which was the one thing in her house I had never wanted. It was an upright of dark, scarred wood, too large for any room it had ever stood in, and it had been out of tune for as long as I could remember. As a child, I had been made to sit at it every Thursday while she counted the beats aloud in a voice like a ruler rapping a desk. I had hated it with the pure, uncomplicated hatred of a nine-year-old.
The removal men groaned it up the three flights to my flat and left it in the hall, where it blocked the light from the only window. For a month I edged around it sideways, as one edges around a guest who has outstayed their welcome. I told friends I would sell it. I photographed it twice for the listing and deleted the pictures both times.
It was during a power cut in February that I finally lifted the lid. I could not have said why. The flat was cold and dark and silent, and perhaps I simply wanted to hear something. I pressed middle C. It was flat, of course – everything about that piano was slightly flat – but the note hung in the hall far longer than I expected, and something in the slowness of its fading undid me.
I played the only piece I still knew, a dull exercise in C major that my aunt had made me repeat a hundred times. My fingers found it before my mind did. Halfway through, I realised I was counting under my breath, in her rhythm, in her voice.
I have not had the piano tuned. People ask me why, and I tell them I haven't got round to it, which is true in the way that most convenient answers are true. The other reason is harder to explain. Every flat note is exactly as she left it. I am not ready to correct her yet.
Question 4
Read "Inheritance". What is the best interpretation of "I am not ready to correct her yet"?
- A. He plans to become a piano tuner.
- B. He cannot afford a piano tuner.
- C. He thinks his aunt played badly.
- D. Tuning the piano would feel like erasing a trace of her, and he is still grieving.
Question 5
Read "Inheritance". What does the narrator's realisation that he is counting "in her voice" reveal?
- A. He has hired a teacher.
- B. He has forgotten the piece.
- C. He is imitating her to mock her.
- D. His aunt's influence has become part of him, despite his earlier resentment.
Question 6
In the story, a girl keeps a broken clock on her windowsill long after her father's death. In the final scene, she finally has it repaired, and it begins to tick. What does the repaired clock most likely symbolise?
- A. Her love of mechanics.
- B. Her readiness to move forward with life after grief.
- C. The family's wealth.
- D. That time has stopped forever.
Inheritance
When my aunt died she left me her piano, which was the one thing in her house I had never wanted. It was an upright of dark, scarred wood, too large for any room it had ever stood in, and it had been out of tune for as long as I could remember. As a child, I had been made to sit at it every Thursday while she counted the beats aloud in a voice like a ruler rapping a desk. I had hated it with the pure, uncomplicated hatred of a nine-year-old.
The removal men groaned it up the three flights to my flat and left it in the hall, where it blocked the light from the only window. For a month I edged around it sideways, as one edges around a guest who has outstayed their welcome. I told friends I would sell it. I photographed it twice for the listing and deleted the pictures both times.
It was during a power cut in February that I finally lifted the lid. I could not have said why. The flat was cold and dark and silent, and perhaps I simply wanted to hear something. I pressed middle C. It was flat, of course – everything about that piano was slightly flat – but the note hung in the hall far longer than I expected, and something in the slowness of its fading undid me.
I played the only piece I still knew, a dull exercise in C major that my aunt had made me repeat a hundred times. My fingers found it before my mind did. Halfway through, I realised I was counting under my breath, in her rhythm, in her voice.
I have not had the piano tuned. People ask me why, and I tell them I haven't got round to it, which is true in the way that most convenient answers are true. The other reason is harder to explain. Every flat note is exactly as she left it. I am not ready to correct her yet.
Question 7
Read "Inheritance". What is the best interpretation of "I am not ready to correct her yet"?
- A. He thinks his aunt played badly.
- B. He cannot afford a piano tuner.
- C. He plans to become a piano tuner.
- D. Tuning the piano would feel like erasing a trace of her, and he is still grieving.
Question 8
Read "Inheritance". What does the narrator's realisation that he is counting "in her voice" reveal?
- A. He is imitating her to mock her.
- B. His aunt's influence has become part of him, despite his earlier resentment.
- C. He has forgotten the piece.
- D. He has hired a teacher.
Question 9
A poem describes an old woman planting an oak tree she knows she will never see fully grown. Which theme does this image most strongly suggest?
- A. regret about wasted time
- B. the dangers of gardening in old age
- C. acting generously for the benefit of future generations
- D. the speed at which oak trees grow
Inheritance
When my aunt died she left me her piano, which was the one thing in her house I had never wanted. It was an upright of dark, scarred wood, too large for any room it had ever stood in, and it had been out of tune for as long as I could remember. As a child, I had been made to sit at it every Thursday while she counted the beats aloud in a voice like a ruler rapping a desk. I had hated it with the pure, uncomplicated hatred of a nine-year-old.
The removal men groaned it up the three flights to my flat and left it in the hall, where it blocked the light from the only window. For a month I edged around it sideways, as one edges around a guest who has outstayed their welcome. I told friends I would sell it. I photographed it twice for the listing and deleted the pictures both times.
It was during a power cut in February that I finally lifted the lid. I could not have said why. The flat was cold and dark and silent, and perhaps I simply wanted to hear something. I pressed middle C. It was flat, of course – everything about that piano was slightly flat – but the note hung in the hall far longer than I expected, and something in the slowness of its fading undid me.
I played the only piece I still knew, a dull exercise in C major that my aunt had made me repeat a hundred times. My fingers found it before my mind did. Halfway through, I realised I was counting under my breath, in her rhythm, in her voice.
I have not had the piano tuned. People ask me why, and I tell them I haven't got round to it, which is true in the way that most convenient answers are true. The other reason is harder to explain. Every flat note is exactly as she left it. I am not ready to correct her yet.
Question 10
Read "Inheritance". What is the best interpretation of "I am not ready to correct her yet"?
- A. Tuning the piano would feel like erasing a trace of her, and he is still grieving.
- B. He thinks his aunt played badly.
- C. He cannot afford a piano tuner.
- D. He plans to become a piano tuner.
Question 11
Read "Inheritance". What does the narrator's realisation that he is counting "in her voice" reveal?
- A. He has hired a teacher.
- B. He has forgotten the piece.
- C. His aunt's influence has become part of him, despite his earlier resentment.
- D. He is imitating her to mock her.
Question 12
In the story, a girl keeps a broken clock on her windowsill long after her father's death. In the final scene, she finally has it repaired, and it begins to tick. What does the repaired clock most likely symbolise?
- A. That time has stopped forever.
- B. The family's wealth.
- C. Her love of mechanics.
- D. Her readiness to move forward with life after grief.
Inheritance
When my aunt died she left me her piano, which was the one thing in her house I had never wanted. It was an upright of dark, scarred wood, too large for any room it had ever stood in, and it had been out of tune for as long as I could remember. As a child, I had been made to sit at it every Thursday while she counted the beats aloud in a voice like a ruler rapping a desk. I had hated it with the pure, uncomplicated hatred of a nine-year-old.
The removal men groaned it up the three flights to my flat and left it in the hall, where it blocked the light from the only window. For a month I edged around it sideways, as one edges around a guest who has outstayed their welcome. I told friends I would sell it. I photographed it twice for the listing and deleted the pictures both times.
It was during a power cut in February that I finally lifted the lid. I could not have said why. The flat was cold and dark and silent, and perhaps I simply wanted to hear something. I pressed middle C. It was flat, of course – everything about that piano was slightly flat – but the note hung in the hall far longer than I expected, and something in the slowness of its fading undid me.
I played the only piece I still knew, a dull exercise in C major that my aunt had made me repeat a hundred times. My fingers found it before my mind did. Halfway through, I realised I was counting under my breath, in her rhythm, in her voice.
I have not had the piano tuned. People ask me why, and I tell them I haven't got round to it, which is true in the way that most convenient answers are true. The other reason is harder to explain. Every flat note is exactly as she left it. I am not ready to correct her yet.
Question 13
Read "Inheritance". What is the best interpretation of "I am not ready to correct her yet"?
- A. He thinks his aunt played badly.
- B. He plans to become a piano tuner.
- C. Tuning the piano would feel like erasing a trace of her, and he is still grieving.
- D. He cannot afford a piano tuner.
Question 14
Read "Inheritance". What does the narrator's realisation that he is counting "in her voice" reveal?
- A. He has forgotten the piece.
- B. He has hired a teacher.
- C. He is imitating her to mock her.
- D. His aunt's influence has become part of him, despite his earlier resentment.
Question 15
In the story, a girl keeps a broken clock on her windowsill long after her father's death. In the final scene, she finally has it repaired, and it begins to tick. What does the repaired clock most likely symbolise?
- A. Her readiness to move forward with life after grief.
- B. The family's wealth.
- C. Her love of mechanics.
- D. That time has stopped forever.
Inheritance
When my aunt died she left me her piano, which was the one thing in her house I had never wanted. It was an upright of dark, scarred wood, too large for any room it had ever stood in, and it had been out of tune for as long as I could remember. As a child, I had been made to sit at it every Thursday while she counted the beats aloud in a voice like a ruler rapping a desk. I had hated it with the pure, uncomplicated hatred of a nine-year-old.
The removal men groaned it up the three flights to my flat and left it in the hall, where it blocked the light from the only window. For a month I edged around it sideways, as one edges around a guest who has outstayed their welcome. I told friends I would sell it. I photographed it twice for the listing and deleted the pictures both times.
It was during a power cut in February that I finally lifted the lid. I could not have said why. The flat was cold and dark and silent, and perhaps I simply wanted to hear something. I pressed middle C. It was flat, of course – everything about that piano was slightly flat – but the note hung in the hall far longer than I expected, and something in the slowness of its fading undid me.
I played the only piece I still knew, a dull exercise in C major that my aunt had made me repeat a hundred times. My fingers found it before my mind did. Halfway through, I realised I was counting under my breath, in her rhythm, in her voice.
I have not had the piano tuned. People ask me why, and I tell them I haven't got round to it, which is true in the way that most convenient answers are true. The other reason is harder to explain. Every flat note is exactly as she left it. I am not ready to correct her yet.
Question 16
Read "Inheritance". What is the best interpretation of "I am not ready to correct her yet"?
- A. He thinks his aunt played badly.
- B. He cannot afford a piano tuner.
- C. Tuning the piano would feel like erasing a trace of her, and he is still grieving.
- D. He plans to become a piano tuner.
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