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填空题. SECTION A MULTIPLE-CHOICE QUESTIONS In this section there are three passages followed by fourteen multiple choice questions. For each multiple choice question, there are four suggested answers marked A, B, C and D. Choose the one that you think is the best answer. PASSAGE ONE (1) A major writer of twentieth-century American literature, Philip Roth has produced an impressive body of fiction that has attracted widespread critical commentary. His ideas and his wit range widely. Like the great satirists of the past, Roth is concerned with serious public and private subjects—genocide, war, the foibles of modern democracies, family life, the individual's inner turmoil, and the writer's imagination and craft. His prolific career has been marked by dualities of low comedy and high seriousness, contributing to his reception by critics and readers as both enfant terrible and literary elder statesman. Roth addresses this contradiction in Reading Myself and Others (1975), admitting that one of his "continuing problems" has been "to find the means to be true to these seemingly inimical realms of experience that I am strongly attached to by temperament and training—the aggressive, the crude, and the obscene, at one extreme, and something a good deal more subtle and, in every sense, refined at the other." He cites Philip Rahv's well-known essay "Paleface and Redskin", which segregated American writers either in the "paleface" mode of Henry James and T.S. Eliot or the "redskin" mode of Walt Whitman and Mark Twain, and notes that in postwar American when "a lot of redskins...went off to universities and infiltrated the departments to English," they became writers who felt "fundamentally ill-at-ease in, and at odds with both worlds." Roth places himself among these writers, whom he labels "red face", and the result in his work is "a self-conscious and deliberate zigzag," each book "veering sharply away from the one before". (2) Roth's artistic achievement has been recognized with many awards, honors, and grants, including a Houghton Mifflin Literary Fellowship (1959), a National Institute of Arts and Letters Grant (1959), a Guggenheim Fellowship (1959), a National Book Award and a Jewish Book Council of American Daroff Award in 1960 for Goodbye, Columbus (1959), a Ford Foundation Grant in playwriting (1962), a Rockefeller Fellowship (1966), election to the National Institute of Arts and Letters (1970), National Book Critics Circle Awards (1987)for The Counterlife (1987)and Patrimony (1992), a P. E. N./Faulkner Award (1993)and the Time magazine Best American Novel of 1993 award for Operation Shylock, and a National Book Award for Sabbath's Theater (1995). He has contributed to literary studies as the general editor of the Penguin Writers from the Other Europe series and as a teacher at the University of Chicago (1956～1957), the Iowa Writers' Workshop (1960～1962), Princeton University (1962～1964), the University of Pennsylvania (1965～1977), and Hunter College of the City University of New York (1989～ ). (3) Roth's literary world is shaped by masters cited in his own fiction—Franz Kafka, Anton Chekhov, Henry James, and Jonathan Swift. While a student, Roth read the great canonical novels whose influence is evident in his subject and style as well as in the literary dialogues of his characters. It was not until he read The Assistant (1957), by Bernard Malamud, and The Victim (1947), by Saul Bellow, however, that Roth understood the connection between "literature and neighborhood." Citing Malamud's The Magical Barrel (1958)and Bellow's The Adventures of Augie March (1953) in an interview with Alvin Sanoff, Roth acknowledged that he was moved by Malamud original manner of giving life to material that he recognized and that he was dazzled by Bellow's "big approach" to arguments, personalities, and language. Among contemporary writers, it is Bellow whom Roth mentions most frequently, identifying him as "the 'other' I have read from the beginning with the deepest pleasure and admiration" in the dedication to Reading Myself and Others. Malamud and Bellow paved the way for Roth's fictional transmission of himself and his Jewish characters. (4) Although he generally avoids writing about Judaism, Jewishness is an essential condition of Roth's person and fiction. In The Facts (1988) he writes, "Not only did growing up Jewish in Newark of the thirties and forties, Hebrew School and all, feel like a perfectly legitimate way of growing up American, but, what's more, growing up Jewish as I did and growing up American seemed to me indistinguishable." Accusations of self-hatred and anti-Semitism began with publication of his early stories "Defender of the Faith" and "Epstein" in Goodbye, Columbus and burgeoned with the publication of Portnoy's Complaint (1969). Roth has defended himself against these charges in interviews, critical essays, and fictional episodes. In Reading Myself and Others he argues, "I have always been far more pleased by my good fortune in being born a Jew than my critics may begin to imagine. It's a complicated, interesting, morally demanding, and very singular experience and I like that. I find myself in historic predicament of being Jewish, with all its implications." The hostility of Jewish critics has provided Roth with a major subject for his fiction, the situation of the Jewish American writer. (5) During a 1984 interview with Hermione Lee, Roth explained that the Jewish quality of his books resides not in their Jewish subjects, but in "the nervousness, the excitability, the arguing, the dramatizing, the indignation, the obsessiveness, the play acting—above all the talking." Since that time his exploration of Jewishness has turned to Jewish subjects, taking a historic, international political turn that includes situating characters in Israeli settings and attributing dialogue to them that is centered on Jewish life and survival. Hillel Halkin is correct in his observation that "a sheer, almost abstract passion for being Jewish seems to grow stronger in Roth's work all the time." Roth's mature, more substantive, and complex treatment of Jewish subjects has garnered wide acclaim. (6) Roth is a profound comic writer whose characters confront personal and public aspects of modernity. His satiric universe is largely populated by artistic and intellectual second-generation Jews, as well as Israeli and Palestinian nationalists, zany baseball players, mindless media professionals, and corrupt politicians. In this universe, as Murray Baumgarten and Barbara Gottfried observe, "the comic moment reveals the underlying seriousness of contemporary life." Encountering a panorama of fluid social/ political/ethnicaL/cultural late-twentieth-century American experience, his protagonists question the accepted order and challenge conventional behavior and attitudes. They struggle with critical questions of the time—including sexual obsession and the ethics of social, aesthetic, and political choices. Roth's engagement of political subjects has led him to explore the Holocaust, totalitarian repression in Eastern Europe, Middle Eastern unrest, the My Lai Massacre, the foibles of American national and international policy, and both overt and genteel manifestations of anti-Semitism. The targets of Roth's satire include bourgeois Jewish parents, academics, novelists and literary critics, politicians, and journalists. With a deft talent for mimicry of accents and speech patterns, Roth moves adroitly from sociolinguistic matrix of urban and suburban American Jewish life of the 1950s to the double-speak of Nixonian politics, Arab and Israeli nationalist political discourse, the babble of Soviet-bloc bureaucrats, and American media platitudes and clichés. PASSAGE TWO (1) Faculty and student affairs professionals interact frequently with undergraduates, yet often know little about their private lives or work lives. Some identities beyond that of a student may be easily seen or understood, such as a student's gender, race, or physical ability. Prior student development research has examined how these more obvious student identities affect their college experiences, but the relevance of less obvious and more hidden, or latent identities has yet to be explored. Since out-of-class experiences have been shown to impact students' cognitive development, it is important to understand the implications of working in the sex industry for college students, particularly the ways in which students cope with the disparity between their identities as students and as sex workers. (2) Although the image of a student working in a strip club to pay for her college tuition is prevalent in popular culture in movies such as Flash Dance or Player's Club and books such as The Ivy League Stripper, this population is markedly absent in higher education literature. It is unknown whether this pattern of behavior is becoming more prevalent, but some recent work by Roberts et al. suggests that the combination of rising tuition, increasing debt burdens, and the low-wage work available to college students may be making female involvement in the sex industry a more attractive option to contain debt and avoid poverty or long work hours. In a rare study, Lantz found that female students in Australia who worked as prostitutes and strippers entered the sex industry to pay for their education in the face of decreasing state and federal aid programs. As budgets continue to shrink while the costs of higher education rise, more students, particularly women, may turn to the sex industry. (3) Due to the taboo, the existing higher education literature neglects this relatively invisible population perhaps. Despite the lack of research on this specific population, research on the sex industry as a whole, combined with social-psychological frameworks, can help faculty and staff better understand the issues facing college students working in this industry. (4) Research on the sex industry emphasizes the exchange value involved in the buying and selling of emotional labor. According to this theory, women exchange a fantasy version of themselves and the attention they give men for money, and that attention and the feigned emotional intimacy sex workers provide are more important than the sex or eroticism they are "selling". Several researchers have compared sex work to other jobs in the emotional labor market. Vanwesenbeeck compared levels of burnout for women in the sex industry to nurses, whose jobs require significant emotional labor. Sex workers only scored higher than nurses on one of the three levels of burnout, and this was found to be mitigated by the level of social support sex workers had. Similar research compares sex workers to psychiatrists and supports the idea that the consequences of working in the sex industry are similar to those of working in other areas of emotional labor. (5) Research on other stigmatized populations on college campuses finds that there are dramatic consequences in trying to hide the stigma. Research on homosexual college students also stresses the impact that living with stigma has on students and the challenges of disclosing this part of themselves to their families and peers. Lantz explores how students fear disclosure of their sex work to classmates and professors because of the associated stigma. Rosenbloom and Fetner examined this issue of classroom disclosure among students working in strip clubs, and found that when students feared being stigmatized by their peers or instructors, they limited the amount of information they shared. (6) Frameworks utilizing the concept of cognitive dissonance support the notion that women who work in the sex industry while attending institutions of higher education could experience conflicting feelings about themselves and their actions. Based on multiple experiments, Festinger proposed the theory of cognitive dissonance, which states that individuals hold a number of thoughts or cognitions about various topics. If these cognitions are aligned and can easily be held about the same topic at the same time, they are referred to as consonant. Conversely, if two cognitions contradict each other, the individual experiences cognitive dissonance. An example of a person experiencing cognitive dissonance is someone who believes that smoking causes lung cancer and views themselves as a healthy person, yet continues to smoke. Since their behavior and beliefs are contradictory to each other, dissonance is produced. Dissonance is inherently psychologically uncomfortable; the greater the dissonance, the greater the pressure to reduce it. Given the social stigma associated with working in the sex continues to smoke. Since their behavior and beliefs are contradictory to each other, dissonance is produced. Dissonance is inherently psychologically uncomfortable; the greater the dissonance, the greater the pressure to reduce it. Given the social stigma associated with working in the sex industry, it is not difficult to imagine that a college student sex worker could experience cognitive dissonance. Furthermore, even if women working in the sex industry did not feel it was degrading or in contradiction with their morals, they could still experience cognitive dissonance from the threat of being stereotyped by others. Previous research has not explored the experiences of sex workers using cognitive dissonance theory. (7) The purpose of the present study is to explore how a group of female college students working in the sex industry make sense of the costs, benefits, and behavioral strategies relevant to their choice to finance their education in this way. In order to better understand their experiences, it is important to know how and why female students choose to work and remain in this industry, how they manage the dual roles of student and sex worker, and the potential cognitive or educational implications of that negotiation. PASSAGE THREE (1) William Stoner entered the University of Missouri as a freshman in the year 1910, at the age of nineteen. Eight years later, during the height of World War I, he received his Doctor of Philosophy degree and accepted an instructorship at the same University, where he taught until his death in 1956. He did not rise above the rank of assistant professor, and few students remembered him with any sharpness after they had taken his courses. When he died his colleagues made a memorial contribution of a medieval manuscript to the University Library. This manuscript may still be found in the Rare Books Collection, bearing the inscription: "Presented to the Library of the University of Missouri, in memory of William Stoner, Department of English" by his colleagues. (2) An occasional student who comes upon the name may wonder idly who William Stoner was, but he seldom pursues his curiosity beyond a casual question. Stoner's colleagues, who held him in no particular esteem when he was alive, speak of him rarely now; to the older ones, his name is a reminder of the end that awaits them all, and to the younger ones it is merely a sound which evokes no sense of the past and no identity with which they can associate themselves or their careers. (3) He was born in 1891 on a small farm in central Missouri near the village of Booneville, some forty miles from Columbia, the home of the University. Though his parents were young at the time of his birth—his father twenty-five, his mother barely twenty—Stoner thought of them, even when he was a boy, as old. At thirty his father looked fifty; stooped by labor, he gazed without hope at the arid patch of land that sustained the family from one year to the next. His mother regarded her life patiently, as if it were a long moment that she had to endure. Her eyes were pale and blurred, and the tiny wrinkles around them were enhanced by thin graying hair worn straight over her head and caught in a bun at the back. (4) From the earliest time he could remember, William Stoner had his duties. At the age of six he milked the bony cows, slopped the pigs in the sty a few yards from the house, and gathered small eggs from a flock of spindly chickens. And even when he started attending the rural school eight miles from the farm, his day, from before dawn until after dark, was filled with work of one sort or another. At seventeen his shoulders were already beginning to stoop beneath the weight of his occupation. (5) It was a lonely household, of which he was an only child, and it was bound together by the necessity of its toil. In the evenings the three of them sat in the small kitchen lighted by a single kerosene lamp, staring into the yellow flame; often during the hour or so between supper and bed, the only sound that could be heard was the weary movement of a body in a straight chair and the soft creak of a timber giving a little beneath the age of the house. (6) The house was built in a crude square, and the unpainted timbers sagged around the porch and doors. It had with the years taken on the colors of the dry land—gray and brown, streaked with white. On one side of the house was a long parlor, sparsely furnished with straight chairs and a few hewn tables, and a kitchen, where the family spent most of its little time together. On the other side were two bedrooms, each furnished with an iron bedstead enameled white, a single straight chair, and a table, with a lamp and a wash basin on it. The floors were of unpainted plank, unevenly spaced and cracking with age, up through which dust steadily seeped and was swept back each day by Stoner's mother. (7) At school he did his lessons as if they were chores only somewhat less exhausting than those around the farm. When he finished high school in the spring of 1910, he expected to take over more of the work in the fields; it seemed to him that his father grew slower and more weary with the passing months. (8) But one evening in late spring, after the two men had spent a full day hoeing corn, his father spoke to him in the kitchen, after the supper dishes had been cleared away. (9) "County agent came by last week." (10) William looked up from the red-and-white-checked oilcloth spread smoothly over the round kitchen table. He did not speak. (11) "Says they have a new school at the University in Columbia. They call it a College of Agriculture. Says he thinks you ought to go. It takes four years." (12) "Four years," William said. "Does it cost money?" (13) "You could work your room and board," his father said. "Your ma has a first cousin owns a place just outside Columbia. There would be books and things. I could send you two or three dollars a month." (14) William spread his hands on the tablecloth, which gleamed dully under the lamplight. He had never been farther from home than Booneville, fifteen miles away. He swallowed to steady his voice. (15) "Think you could manage the place all by yourself?" he asked. (16) "Your ma and me could manage. I'd plant the upper twenty in wheat; that would cut down the hand work." (17) William looked at his mother. "Ma?" he asked. (18) She said tonelessly, "You do what your pa says." (19) "You really want me to go?" he asked, as if he half hoped for a denial. "You really want me to?" (20) His father shifted his weight on the chair. He looked at his thick, callused fingers, into the cracks of which soil had penetrated so deeply that it could not be washed away. He laced his fingers together and held them up from the table, almost in an attitude of prayer. (21) "I never had no schooling to speak of," he said, looking at his hands. "I started working a farm when I finished sixth grade. Never held with schooling when I was a young 'un. But now I don't know. Seems like the land gets drier and harder to work every year; it ain't rich like it was when I was a boy. County agent says they got new ideas, ways of doing things they teach you at the University. Maybe he's right. Sometimes when I'm working the field I get to thinking." He paused. His fingers tightened upon themselves, and his clasped hands dropped to the table. "I get to thinking..." He scowled at his hands and shook his head. "You go on to the University come fall. Your ma and me will manage." (22) It was the longest speech he had ever heard his father make. That fall he went to Columbia and enrolled in the University as a freshman in the College of Agriculture. (23) He came to Columbia with a new black broadcloth suit ordered from the catalogue of Sears Roebuck and paid for with his mother's egg money, a worn greatcoat that had belonged to his father, a pair of blue serge trousers that once a month he had worn to the Methodist church in Booneville, two white shirts, two changes of work clothing, and twenty-five dollars in cash, which his father had borrowed from a neighbor against the fall wheat. He started walking from Booneville, where in the early morning his father and mother brought him on the farm's flat-bed, mule-drawn wagon. (24) It was a hot fall day, and the road from Booneville to Columbia was dusty; he had been walking for nearly an hour before a goods wagon came up beside him and the driver asked him if he wanted a ride. He nodded and got up on the wagon seat. His serge trousers were red with dust to his knees, and his sun and wind-browned face was caked with dirt, where the road dust had mingled with his sweat. During the long ride he kept brushing at his trousers with awkward hands and running his fingers through his straight sandy hair, which would not be flat on his head. (25) They got to Columbia in the late afternoon. The driver let Stoner off at the outskirts of town and pointed to a group of buildings shaded by tall elms. "That's your University," he said. "That's where you'll be going to school." (26) For several minutes after the man had driven off, Stoner stood unmoving, staring at the complex of buildings. He had never before seen anything so imposing. The red brick buildings stretched upward from a broad field of green that was broken by stone walks and small patches of garden. Beneath his awe, he had a sudden sense of security and serenity he had never felt before. Though it was late, he walked for many minutes about the edges of the campus, only looking, as if he had no right to enter.1. Philip Rahv's essay "Paleface and Redskin" classifies writers into two categories, what do they possibly mean?(PASSAGE ONE)

填空题How to Write a Speech We can categorize the whole

填空题Language performance and language acquisition are

填空题 Language pervades social life

填空题Self-discipline: the Foundation of Productive Livi

填空题. SECTION A MULTIPLE-CHOICE QUESTIONS In this section there are three passages followed by fourteen multiple choice questions. For each multiple choice question, there are four suggested answers marked A, B, C and D. Choose the one that you think is the best answer. PASSAGE ONE (1) A major writer of twentieth-century American literature, Philip Roth has produced an impressive body of fiction that has attracted widespread critical commentary. His ideas and his wit range widely. Like the great satirists of the past, Roth is concerned with serious public and private subjects—genocide, war, the foibles of modern democracies, family life, the individual's inner turmoil, and the writer's imagination and craft. His prolific career has been marked by dualities of low comedy and high seriousness, contributing to his reception by critics and readers as both enfant terrible and literary elder statesman. Roth addresses this contradiction in Reading Myself and Others (1975), admitting that one of his "continuing problems" has been "to find the means to be true to these seemingly inimical realms of experience that I am strongly attached to by temperament and training—the aggressive, the crude, and the obscene, at one extreme, and something a good deal more subtle and, in every sense, refined at the other." He cites Philip Rahv's well-known essay "Paleface and Redskin", which segregated American writers either in the "paleface" mode of Henry James and T.S. Eliot or the "redskin" mode of Walt Whitman and Mark Twain, and notes that in postwar American when "a lot of redskins...went off to universities and infiltrated the departments to English," they became writers who felt "fundamentally ill-at-ease in, and at odds with both worlds." Roth places himself among these writers, whom he labels "red face", and the result in his work is "a self-conscious and deliberate zigzag," each book "veering sharply away from the one before". (2) Roth's artistic achievement has been recognized with many awards, honors, and grants, including a Houghton Mifflin Literary Fellowship (1959), a National Institute of Arts and Letters Grant (1959), a Guggenheim Fellowship (1959), a National Book Award and a Jewish Book Council of American Daroff Award in 1960 for Goodbye, Columbus (1959), a Ford Foundation Grant in playwriting (1962), a Rockefeller Fellowship (1966), election to the National Institute of Arts and Letters (1970), National Book Critics Circle Awards (1987)for The Counterlife (1987)and Patrimony (1992), a P. E. N./Faulkner Award (1993)and the Time magazine Best American Novel of 1993 award for Operation Shylock, and a National Book Award for Sabbath's Theater (1995). He has contributed to literary studies as the general editor of the Penguin Writers from the Other Europe series and as a teacher at the University of Chicago (1956～1957), the Iowa Writers' Workshop (1960～1962), Princeton University (1962～1964), the University of Pennsylvania (1965～1977), and Hunter College of the City University of New York (1989～ ). (3) Roth's literary world is shaped by masters cited in his own fiction—Franz Kafka, Anton Chekhov, Henry James, and Jonathan Swift. While a student, Roth read the great canonical novels whose influence is evident in his subject and style as well as in the literary dialogues of his characters. It was not until he read The Assistant (1957), by Bernard Malamud, and The Victim (1947), by Saul Bellow, however, that Roth understood the connection between "literature and neighborhood." Citing Malamud's The Magical Barrel (1958)and Bellow's The Adventures of Augie March (1953) in an interview with Alvin Sanoff, Roth acknowledged that he was moved by Malamud original manner of giving life to material that he recognized and that he was dazzled by Bellow's "big approach" to arguments, personalities, and language. Among contemporary writers, it is Bellow whom Roth mentions most frequently, identifying him as "the 'other' I have read from the beginning with the deepest pleasure and admiration" in the dedication to Reading Myself and Others. Malamud and Bellow paved the way for Roth's fictional transmission of himself and his Jewish characters. (4) Although he generally avoids writing about Judaism, Jewishness is an essential condition of Roth's person and fiction. In The Facts (1988) he writes, "Not only did growing up Jewish in Newark of the thirties and forties, Hebrew School and all, feel like a perfectly legitimate way of growing up American, but, what's more, growing up Jewish as I did and growing up American seemed to me indistinguishable." Accusations of self-hatred and anti-Semitism began with publication of his early stories "Defender of the Faith" and "Epstein" in Goodbye, Columbus and burgeoned with the publication of Portnoy's Complaint (1969). Roth has defended himself against these charges in interviews, critical essays, and fictional episodes. In Reading Myself and Others he argues, "I have always been far more pleased by my good fortune in being born a Jew than my critics may begin to imagine. It's a complicated, interesting, morally demanding, and very singular experience and I like that. I find myself in historic predicament of being Jewish, with all its implications." The hostility of Jewish critics has provided Roth with a major subject for his fiction, the situation of the Jewish American writer. (5) During a 1984 interview with Hermione Lee, Roth explained that the Jewish quality of his books resides not in their Jewish subjects, but in "the nervousness, the excitability, the arguing, the dramatizing, the indignation, the obsessiveness, the play acting—above all the talking." Since that time his exploration of Jewishness has turned to Jewish subjects, taking a historic, international political turn that includes situating characters in Israeli settings and attributing dialogue to them that is centered on Jewish life and survival. Hillel Halkin is correct in his observation that "a sheer, almost abstract passion for being Jewish seems to grow stronger in Roth's work all the time." Roth's mature, more substantive, and complex treatment of Jewish subjects has garnered wide acclaim. (6) Roth is a profound comic writer whose characters confront personal and public aspects of modernity. His satiric universe is largely populated by artistic and intellectual second-generation Jews, as well as Israeli and Palestinian nationalists, zany baseball players, mindless media professionals, and corrupt politicians. In this universe, as Murray Baumgarten and Barbara Gottfried observe, "the comic moment reveals the underlying seriousness of contemporary life." Encountering a panorama of fluid social/ political/ethnicaL/cultural late-twentieth-century American experience, his protagonists question the accepted order and challenge conventional behavior and attitudes. They struggle with critical questions of the time—including sexual obsession and the ethics of social, aesthetic, and political choices. Roth's engagement of political subjects has led him to explore the Holocaust, totalitarian repression in Eastern Europe, Middle Eastern unrest, the My Lai Massacre, the foibles of American national and international policy, and both overt and genteel manifestations of anti-Semitism. The targets of Roth's satire include bourgeois Jewish parents, academics, novelists and literary critics, politicians, and journalists. With a deft talent for mimicry of accents and speech patterns, Roth moves adroitly from sociolinguistic matrix of urban and suburban American Jewish life of the 1950s to the double-speak of Nixonian politics, Arab and Israeli nationalist political discourse, the babble of Soviet-bloc bureaucrats, and American media platitudes and clichés. PASSAGE TWO (1) Faculty and student affairs professionals interact frequently with undergraduates, yet often know little about their private lives or work lives. Some identities beyond that of a student may be easily seen or understood, such as a student's gender, race, or physical ability. Prior student development research has examined how these more obvious student identities affect their college experiences, but the relevance of less obvious and more hidden, or latent identities has yet to be explored. Since out-of-class experiences have been shown to impact students' cognitive development, it is important to understand the implications of working in the sex industry for college students, particularly the ways in which students cope with the disparity between their identities as students and as sex workers. (2) Although the image of a student working in a strip club to pay for her college tuition is prevalent in popular culture in movies such as Flash Dance or Player's Club and books such as The Ivy League Stripper, this population is markedly absent in higher education literature. It is unknown whether this pattern of behavior is becoming more prevalent, but some recent work by Roberts et al. suggests that the combination of rising tuition, increasing debt burdens, and the low-wage work available to college students may be making female involvement in the sex industry a more attractive option to contain debt and avoid poverty or long work hours. In a rare study, Lantz found that female students in Australia who worked as prostitutes and strippers entered the sex industry to pay for their education in the face of decreasing state and federal aid programs. As budgets continue to shrink while the costs of higher education rise, more students, particularly women, may turn to the sex industry. (3) Due to the taboo, the existing higher education literature neglects this relatively invisible population perhaps. Despite the lack of research on this specific population, research on the sex industry as a whole, combined with social-psychological frameworks, can help faculty and staff better understand the issues facing college students working in this industry. (4) Research on the sex industry emphasizes the exchange value involved in the buying and selling of emotional labor. According to this theory, women exchange a fantasy version of themselves and the attention they give men for money, and that attention and the feigned emotional intimacy sex workers provide are more important than the sex or eroticism they are "selling". Several researchers have compared sex work to other jobs in the emotional labor market. Vanwesenbeeck compared levels of burnout for women in the sex industry to nurses, whose jobs require significant emotional labor. Sex workers only scored higher than nurses on one of the three levels of burnout, and this was found to be mitigated by the level of social support sex workers had. Similar research compares sex workers to psychiatrists and supports the idea that the consequences of working in the sex industry are similar to those of working in other areas of emotional labor. (5) Research on other stigmatized populations on college campuses finds that there are dramatic consequences in trying to hide the stigma. Research on homosexual college students also stresses the impact that living with stigma has on students and the challenges of disclosing this part of themselves to their families and peers. Lantz explores how students fear disclosure of their sex work to classmates and professors because of the associated stigma. Rosenbloom and Fetner examined this issue of classroom disclosure among students working in strip clubs, and found that when students feared being stigmatized by their peers or instructors, they limited the amount of information they shared. (6) Frameworks utilizing the concept of cognitive dissonance support the notion that women who work in the sex industry while attending institutions of higher education could experience conflicting feelings about themselves and their actions. Based on multiple experiments, Festinger proposed the theory of cognitive dissonance, which states that individuals hold a number of thoughts or cognitions about various topics. If these cognitions are aligned and can easily be held about the same topic at the same time, they are referred to as consonant. Conversely, if two cognitions contradict each other, the individual experiences cognitive dissonance. An example of a person experiencing cognitive dissonance is someone who believes that smoking causes lung cancer and views themselves as a healthy person, yet continues to smoke. Since their behavior and beliefs are contradictory to each other, dissonance is produced. Dissonance is inherently psychologically uncomfortable; the greater the dissonance, the greater the pressure to reduce it. Given the social stigma associated with working in the sex continues to smoke. Since their behavior and beliefs are contradictory to each other, dissonance is produced. Dissonance is inherently psychologically uncomfortable; the greater the dissonance, the greater the pressure to reduce it. Given the social stigma associated with working in the sex industry, it is not difficult to imagine that a college student sex worker could experience cognitive dissonance. Furthermore, even if women working in the sex industry did not feel it was degrading or in contradiction with their morals, they could still experience cognitive dissonance from the threat of being stereotyped by others. Previous research has not explored the experiences of sex workers using cognitive dissonance theory. (7) The purpose of the present study is to explore how a group of female college students working in the sex industry make sense of the costs, benefits, and behavioral strategies relevant to their choice to finance their education in this way. In order to better understand their experiences, it is important to know how and why female students choose to work and remain in this industry, how they manage the dual roles of student and sex worker, and the potential cognitive or educational implications of that negotiation. PASSAGE THREE (1) William Stoner entered the University of Missouri as a freshman in the year 1910, at the age of nineteen. Eight years later, during the height of World War I, he received his Doctor of Philosophy degree and accepted an instructorship at the same University, where he taught until his death in 1956. He did not rise above the rank of assistant professor, and few students remembered him with any sharpness after they had taken his courses. When he died his colleagues made a memorial contribution of a medieval manuscript to the University Library. This manuscript may still be found in the Rare Books Collection, bearing the inscription: "Presented to the Library of the University of Missouri, in memory of William Stoner, Department of English" by his colleagues. (2) An occasional student who comes upon the name may wonder idly who William Stoner was, but he seldom pursues his curiosity beyond a casual question. Stoner's colleagues, who held him in no particular esteem when he was alive, speak of him rarely now; to the older ones, his name is a reminder of the end that awaits them all, and to the younger ones it is merely a sound which evokes no sense of the past and no identity with which they can associate themselves or their careers. (3) He was born in 1891 on a small farm in central Missouri near the village of Booneville, some forty miles from Columbia, the home of the University. Though his parents were young at the time of his birth—his father twenty-five, his mother barely twenty—Stoner thought of them, even when he was a boy, as old. At thirty his father looked fifty; stooped by labor, he gazed without hope at the arid patch of land that sustained the family from one year to the next. His mother regarded her life patiently, as if it were a long moment that she had to endure. Her eyes were pale and blurred, and the tiny wrinkles around them were enhanced by thin graying hair worn straight over her head and caught in a bun at the back. (4) From the earliest time he could remember, William Stoner had his duties. At the age of six he milked the bony cows, slopped the pigs in the sty a few yards from the house, and gathered small eggs from a flock of spindly chickens. And even when he started attending the rural school eight miles from the farm, his day, from before dawn until after dark, was filled with work of one sort or another. At seventeen his shoulders were already beginning to stoop beneath the weight of his occupation. (5) It was a lonely household, of which he was an only child, and it was bound together by the necessity of its toil. In the evenings the three of them sat in the small kitchen lighted by a single kerosene lamp, staring into the yellow flame; often during the hour or so between supper and bed, the only sound that could be heard was the weary movement of a body in a straight chair and the soft creak of a timber giving a little beneath the age of the house. (6) The house was built in a crude square, and the unpainted timbers sagged around the porch and doors. It had with the years taken on the colors of the dry land—gray and brown, streaked with white. On one side of the house was a long parlor, sparsely furnished with straight chairs and a few hewn tables, and a kitchen, where the family spent most of its little time together. On the other side were two bedrooms, each furnished with an iron bedstead enameled white, a single straight chair, and a table, with a lamp and a wash basin on it. The floors were of unpainted plank, unevenly spaced and cracking with age, up through which dust steadily seeped and was swept back each day by Stoner's mother. (7) At school he did his lessons as if they were chores only somewhat less exhausting than those around the farm. When he finished high school in the spring of 1910, he expected to take over more of the work in the fields; it seemed to him that his father grew slower and more weary with the passing months. (8) But one evening in late spring, after the two men had spent a full day hoeing corn, his father spoke to him in the kitchen, after the supper dishes had been cleared away. (9) "County agent came by last week." (10) William looked up from the red-and-white-checked oilcloth spread smoothly over the round kitchen table. He did not speak. (11) "Says they have a new school at the University in Columbia. They call it a College of Agriculture. Says he thinks you ought to go. It takes four years." (12) "Four years," William said. "Does it cost money?" (13) "You could work your room and board," his father said. "Your ma has a first cousin owns a place just outside Columbia. There would be books and things. I could send you two or three dollars a month." (14) William spread his hands on the tablecloth, which gleamed dully under the lamplight. He had never been farther from home than Booneville, fifteen miles away. He swallowed to steady his voice. (15) "Think you could manage the place all by yourself?" he asked. (16) "Your ma and me could manage. I'd plant the upper twenty in wheat; that would cut down the hand work." (17) William looked at his mother. "Ma?" he asked. (18) She said tonelessly, "You do what your pa says." (19) "You really want me to go?" he asked, as if he half hoped for a denial. "You really want me to?" (20) His father shifted his weight on the chair. He looked at his thick, callused fingers, into the cracks of which soil had penetrated so deeply that it could not be washed away. He laced his fingers together and held them up from the table, almost in an attitude of prayer. (21) "I never had no schooling to speak of," he said, looking at his hands. "I started working a farm when I finished sixth grade. Never held with schooling when I was a young 'un. But now I don't know. Seems like the land gets drier and harder to work every year; it ain't rich like it was when I was a boy. County agent says they got new ideas, ways of doing things they teach you at the University. Maybe he's right. Sometimes when I'm working the field I get to thinking." He paused. His fingers tightened upon themselves, and his clasped hands dropped to the table. "I get to thinking..." He scowled at his hands and shook his head. "You go on to the University come fall. Your ma and me will manage." (22) It was the longest speech he had ever heard his father make. That fall he went to Columbia and enrolled in the University as a freshman in the College of Agriculture. (23) He came to Columbia with a new black broadcloth suit ordered from the catalogue of Sears Roebuck and paid for with his mother's egg money, a worn greatcoat that had belonged to his father, a pair of blue serge trousers that once a month he had worn to the Methodist church in Booneville, two white shirts, two changes of work clothing, and twenty-five dollars in cash, which his father had borrowed from a neighbor against the fall wheat. He started walking from Booneville, where in the early morning his father and mother brought him on the farm's flat-bed, mule-drawn wagon. (24) It was a hot fall day, and the road from Booneville to Columbia was dusty; he had been walking for nearly an hour before a goods wagon came up beside him and the driver asked him if he wanted a ride. He nodded and got up on the wagon seat. His serge trousers were red with dust to his knees, and his sun and wind-browned face was caked with dirt, where the road dust had mingled with his sweat. During the long ride he kept brushing at his trousers with awkward hands and running his fingers through his straight sandy hair, which would not be flat on his head. (25) They got to Columbia in the late afternoon. The driver let Stoner off at the outskirts of town and pointed to a group of buildings shaded by tall elms. "That's your University," he said. "That's where you'll be going to school." (26) For several minutes after the man had driven off, Stoner stood unmoving, staring at the complex of buildings. He had never before seen anything so imposing. The red brick buildings stretched upward from a broad field of green that was broken by stone walks and small patches of garden. Beneath his awe, he had a sudden sense of security and serenity he had never felt before. Though it was late, he walked for many minutes about the edges of the campus, only looking, as if he had no right to enter.1. Philip Rahv's essay "Paleface and Redskin" classifies writers into two categories, what do they possibly mean?(PASSAGE ONE)

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