天津阅读 Rd001・2009 阅读理解

Societies all over the world name places in similar ways. Quite often there is no official naming ceremony but places tend to be called names as points of reference by people. Then an organized body steps in and gives the place a name. Frequently it happens that a place has two names: One is named by the people and the other by the government. As in many areas, old habits died hard, and the place continues to be called by its unofficial name long after the meaning is lost.

Many roads and places in Singapore (新加坡) are named in order that the pioneers will be remembered by future generations. Thus we have names such as Stamford Road and Raffles Place. This is in keeping with traditions in many countries — in both the West and the East.

Another way of naming places is naming them after other places. Perhaps they were named to promote friendships between the two places or it could be that the people who used to live there were originally from the places that the roads were named after. The mystery is clearer when we see some of the roads named in former British bases. If you step into Selector Airbase you will see Piccadilly Circus — obviously named by some homesick Royal Air Force personnel.

Some places were named after the activities that used to go on at those places. Bras Basah Road is an interesting example, “Bras Basah” means “wet rice” in Malay (马来语). Now why would anyone want to name a road “Wet Rice Road”? The reason is simple. During the pioneering days, wet rice was laid out to dry along this road.

A few roads in Singapore are named by their shapes. There is “Circular Road” for one. Other roads may have part of their names to describe their shapes, like “Paya Lebar Crescent”. This road is called a crescent (月牙) because it begins on the main road, makes a crescent and comes back to join the main road again.

I am a writer. I spend a great deal of my time thinking about the power of language—the way it can evoke an emotion, a visual image, a complex idea, or a simple truth. Language is the tool of my trade. And I use them all—all the Englishes I grew up with.

Born into a Chinese family that had recently arrived in California, I’ve been giving more thought to the kind of English my mother speaks. Like others, I have described it to people as “broken” English. But feel embarrassed to say that. It has always bothered me that I can think of no way to describe it other than “broken”, as if it were damaged and needed to be fixed, as if it lacked a certain wholeness. I’ve heard other terms used, “limited English,” for example. But they seem just as bad, as if everything is limited, including people’s perceptions of the limited English speaker.

I know this for a fact, because when I was growing up, my mother’s “limited” English limited my perception of her. I was ashamed of her English. I believed that her English reflected the quality of what she had to say. That is, because she expressed them imperfectly her thoughts were imperfect. And I had plenty of evidence to support me: the fact that people in department stores, at banks, and at restaurants did not take her seriously, did not give her good service, pretended not to understand her, or even acted as if they did not hear her.

I started writing fiction in 1985. And for reasons I won’t get into today, I began to write stories using all the Englishes I grew up with: the English she used with me, which for lack of a better term might be described as “broken”, and what I imagine to be her translation of her Chinese, her internal language, and for that I sought to preserve the essence, but neither an English nor a Chinese structure. I wanted to catch what language ability tests can never show: her intention, her feelings, the rhythms of her speech and the nature of her thoughts.

Tens of thousands of theatre tickets will be given away to young people next year as part of a government campaign to inspire a lifelong love for theatre.

The plan to offer free seats to people aged between 18 to 26—funded with £2.5 million of taxpayers’ money—was announced yesterday by Andy Burnham, the Culture Secretary. It received a cautious welcome from some in the arts world, who expressed concern that the tickets may not reach the most underprivileged.

The plan comes as West End theatres are enjoying record audiences, thanks largely to musicals teaming up with television talent shows. Attendances reached 13.6 million in 2007, up 10 percent on 2006, itself a record year. Total sales were up 18 percent on 2006 to almost £470 million.

One theatre source criticised the Government’s priorities (优先考虑的事) in funding free tickets when pensioners were struggling to buy food and fuel, saying: “I don’t know why the Government’s wasting money on this. The Young Vic, as The Times reported today, offers excellent performances at cheap prices.”

There was praise for the Government’s plan from Dominic Cooke of the Royal Court Theatre, who said: “I support any move to get young people into theatre, and especially one that aims to do it all over England, not just in London.”

Ninety-five publicly funded theatres could apply for funding under the two-year plan. In return, they will offer free tickets on at least one day each week to 18 to 26-year-olds, first-come, first-served. It is likely to be on Mondays, traditionally a quiet night for the theatre.

Mr. Burnham said: “A young person attending the theatre can find it an exciting experience, and be inspired to explore a new world. But sometimes people miss out on it because they fear it’s ‘not for them’. It’s time to change this perception.”

Jeremy Hunt, the Shadow Culture Secretary, said: “The real issue is not getting enthusiastic children into the theatre, but improving arts education so that more young people want to go in the first place. For too many children theatres are a no-go area.”

Next time a customer comes to your office, offer him a cup of coffee. And when you’re doing your holiday shopping online, make sure you’re holding a large glass of iced tea. The physical sensation of warmth encourages emotional warmth, while a cold drink in hand prevents you from making unwise decisions—those are the practical lessons being drawn from recent research by psychologist John A. Bargh.

Psychologists have known that one person’s perception (感知) of another’s “warmth” is a powerful determiner in social relationships. Judging someone to be either “warm” or “cold” is a primary consideration, even trumping evidence that a “cold” person may be more capable. Much of this is rooted in very early childhood experiences, Bargh argues, when babies’ conceptual sense of the world around them is shaped by physical sensations, particularly warmth and coldness. Classic studies by Harry Harlow, published in 1958, showed monkeys preferred to stay close to a cloth “mother” rather than one made of wire, even when the wire “mother” carried a food bottle. Harlow’s work and later studies have led psychologists to stress the need for warm physical contact from caregivers to help young children grow into healthy adults with normal social skills.

Feelings of “warmth” and “coldness” in social judgments appear to be universal. Although no worldwide study has been done, Bargh says that describing people as “warm” or “cold” is common to many cultures, and studies have found those perceptions influence judgment in dozens of countries.

To test the relationship between physical and psychological warmth, Bargh conducted an experiment which involved 41 college students. A research assistant who was unaware of the study’s hypotheses (假设), handed the students either a hot cup of coffee, or a cold drink, to hold while the researcher filled out a short information form. The drink was then handed back. After that, the students were asked to rate the personality of “Person A” based on a particular description. Those who had briefly held the warm drink regarded Person A as warmer than those who had held the iced drink.

“We are grounded in our physical experiences even when we think abstractly,” says Bargh.