Characters in Monster Answers

Read the excerpt from Monster.We see STEVE stand shakily and head back to the defense table. He looks out onto the onlookers and sees his parents. His MOTHER forces a smile and his FATHER makes a fist and nods emphatically. We see STEVE sit down, start to pick up a glass of water, and have to put it down because his hand is shaking so badly.

Read this excerpt from "Poor Harold.”A room in Washington Square South. By the light of a candle, a young man in tousled hair and dressing gown is writing furiously at a little table. A clock within strikes seven.A door at the back opens, and a young woman looks in, sleepily. She frowns. The young man looks up guiltily.SHE. What are you doing?HE. (innocently) Writing.SHE. So I see. (She comes in, and sits down. It may be remarked that a woman's morning appearance, in dishabille, is a severe test of both looks and character; she passes that test triumphantly. She looks at the young man, and asks) – Poetry?HE. (hesitatingly) No. . . .SHE. (continues to look inquiry).HE. (finally) A letter. . . .SHE. (inflexibly) – To whom?HE. (defiantly) To my wife!SHE. Oh! That's all right. I thought perhaps you were writing to your father.HE. (bitterly) My father! Why should I write to my father? Isn't it enough that I have broken his heart and brought disgrace upon him in his old age –SHE. Disgrace? Nonsense! Anybody might be named as a co-respondent in a divorce case.HE. Not in Evanston, Illinois. Not when you are the local feature of a notorious Chicago scandal. Not when your letters to the lady are published in the newspapers. – Oh, those letters!SHE. Were they such incriminating letters, Harold?HAROLD. Incriminating? How can you ask that, Isabel? They were perfectly innocent letters, such as any gentleman poet might write to any lady poetess. How was I to know that a rather plain-featured woman I sat next to at a Poetry Dinner in Chicago was conducting a dozen love-affairs? How was I to know that my expressions of literary regard would look like love-letters to her long-suffering husband? That's the irony of it: I'm perfectly blameless.

Read the excerpt from Monster.We see STEVE stand shakily and head back to the defense table. He looks out onto the onlookers and sees his parents. His MOTHER forces a smile and his FATHER makes a fist and nods emphatically. We see STEVE sit down, start to pick up a glass of water, and have to put it down because his hand is shaking so badly.

Read the following excerpt from Steve Harmon's journal."It is about being alone when you are not really alone and about being scared all the time."

Read the excerpt from Monster.STEVENo, but I’ve seen a lot of ball games. I watch a lot of ball games.

Read this excerpt from “Poor Harold.”A room in Washington Square South. By the light of a candle, a young man in tousled hair and dressing gown is writing furiously at a little table. A clock within strikes seven.A door at the back opens, and a young woman looks in, sleepily. She frowns. The young man looks up guiltily.SHE. What are you doing?HE. (innocently) Writing.SHE. So I see. (She comes in, and sits down. It may be remarked that a woman's morning appearance, in dishabille, is a severe test of both looks and character; she passes that test triumphantly. She looks at the young man, and asks) – Poetry?HE. (hesitatingly) No. . . .SHE. (continues to look inquiry).HE. (finally) A letter. . . .SHE. (inflexibly) – To whom?HE. (defiantly) To my wife!SHE. Oh! That's all right. I thought perhaps you were writing to your father.HE. (bitterly) My father! Why should I write to my father? Isn't it enough that I have broken his heart and brought disgrace upon him in his old age –SHE. Disgrace? Nonsense! Anybody might be named as a co-respondent in a divorce case.HE. Not in Evanston, Illinois. Not when you are the local feature of a notorious Chicago scandal. Not when your letters to the lady are published in the newspapers. – Oh, those letters!SHE. Were they such incriminating letters, Harold?HAROLD. Incriminating? How can you ask that, Isabel? They were perfectly innocent letters, such as any gentleman poet might write to any lady poetess. How was I to know that a rather plain-featured woman I sat next to at a Poetry Dinner in Chicago was conducting a dozen love-affairs? How was I to know that my expressions of literary regard would look like love-letters to her long-suffering husband? That's the irony of it: I'm perfectly blameless.

Read the excerpt from Monster.STEVEI don’t remember seeing him play ball.PETROCELLIYou having trouble remembering what you’ve seen?STEVENo, but I’ve seen a lot of ball games. I watch a lot of ball games.PETROCELLIAre you nervous? Do you want to take a few minutes?

In Monster, what supports Mr. Sawicki's inference that Steve is an honest person?

Read the excerpt from Monster.PETROCELLIYou ever talk to Mr. Cruz? Osvaldo Cruz.STEVEYes, he’s about my age. I’ve talked with Osvaldo.PETROCELLIWhat did you talk to Mr. Cruz about?STEVESame thing, mostly. About playing ball, or the weather. Or what’s going on in the neighborhood.

Read the excerpt from The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood by Howard Pyle.IN MERRY ENGLAND in the time of old, when good King Henry the Second ruled the land, there lived within the green glades of Sherwood Forest, near Nottingham Town, a famous outlaw whose name was Robin Hood. No archer ever lived that could speed a gray goose shaft with such skill and cunning as his, nor were there ever such yeomen as the sevenscore merry men that roamed with him through the greenwood shades. Right merrily they dwelled within the depths of Sherwood Forest, suffering neither care nor want, but passing the time in merry games of archery or bouts of cudgel play, living upon the King's venison, washed down with draughts of ale of October brewing.Not only Robin himself but all the band were outlaws and dwelled apart from other men, yet they were beloved by the country people round about, for no one ever came to jolly Robin for help in time of need and went away again with an empty fist.And now I will tell how it came about that Robin Hood fell afoul of the law.When Robin was a youth of eighteen, stout of sinew and bold of heart, the Sheriff of Nottingham proclaimed a shooting match and offered a prize of a butt of ale to whosoever should shoot the best shaft in Nottinghamshire. "Now," quoth Robin, "will I go too, for fain would I draw a string for the bright eyes of my lass and a butt of good October brewing." So up he got and took his good stout yew bow and a score or more of broad clothyard arrows, and started off from Locksley Town through Sherwood Forest to Nottingham.