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Golding himself has said the cause is nothing more than the inherent evil of man; no matter how well-intentioned he is, and no matter how reasonable a government he erects, man will never be able to permanently contain the beast within. But other critics have offered alternative explanations, most of which are based on the assumption that the beast can, in fact, be contained. Bernard F. Dick argues that the suppression of this natural, bestial side of man results in its unhealthy eruption and the consequent societal breakdown. John F. Fitzgerald and John R.

Kayser suggest that, in addition to original sin, society’s failure to reconcile reason with mystery causes the breakdown. Finally, Kathleen Woodward contends that when the beast is not suppressed strictly enough, when law and order is lax, evil erupts. Although we need not automatically accept Golding’s explanation of his own text, when alternative views fail to provide an appropriate rationale, it is not unreasonable to assume the author’s viewpoint. The three aforementioned critical views can be refuted, and Golding’s simple summary can explain what these more complex theories do not.

Golding’s own explanation for the breakdown of civilization in Lord of the Flies was delivered in a lecture given in 1962 at the University of California at Los Angeles. He describes the breakdown as resulting from nothing more complex than the inherent evil of man: “So the boys try to construct a civilization on the island; but it breaks down in blood and terror because the boys are suffering from the terrible disease of being human” (Golding, “Lord of the Flies as Fable” 42).

For Golding, the structure of a society is not responsible for the evil that erupts, or, at least, it is responsible only insofar as the society reflects the nature of the fallen man. The shape of the society the boys create is “conditioned by their diseased, their fallen nature” (Golding, “Fable” 41). Indeed, Golding claims to have intentionally avoided inserting some things into the novel that might have led readers to conclude that the society itself, rather than the fallen man, is responsible for the breakdown: The boys were below the age of overt sex, for I did not want to complicate the issue with that relative triviality.

They did not have to fight for survival, for I did not want a Marxist exegesis. If disaster came, it was not to come through the exploitation of one class by another. It was to rise, simply and solely out of the nature of the brute. (Golding, “Fable” 42) Many critics, in spending time explaining the breakdown, talk about what the children did (or failed to do) to make the breakdown occur. The implicit assumption behind all of these explanations is that if the children had simply done something different, the breakdown might not have occurred; in other words, the beast within man can be contained under certain circumstances.

But Golding’s explanation provides no such hope. Disaster arises “simply and solely out of the nature of the brute. ” Of course, we need not accept Golding’s explanation for the breakdown in Lord of the Flies simply because he is the author. New Critics, for instance, will argue that meaning is inherent in the text itself, and Reader-Response critics will tell us that it is the reader who creates meaning. (In discussing the accuracy of the various explanations for the breakdown, I will be looking to the text itself. Whatever an author’s intention may be, his work may end up communicating something quite different. As even Golding himself admits, at a certain point, the author loses authority over his text: “I no longer believe that the author has a sort of patria potestas over his brainchildren. Once they are printed they have reached their majority and the author has no more authority over them, knows no more about them, perhaps knows less about them than the critic who comes fresh to them, and sees them not as the author hoped they would be, but as what they are” (Golding, “Fable” 45).

Other views than the author’s may certainly be entertained, but they must provide an adequate explanation for the breakdown as it is depicted in the text itself before we can accept them. One such alternative view is Bernard F. Dick’s argument that the societal breakdown is caused by the suppression of the Dionysian, or “brute” side of man. Dick agrees with Golding that “evil is indigenous to the species” (Dick 15). Indeed, he seems to believe that his own explanation for the breakdown is perfectly consistent with Golding’s view.

Yet, implicit in Dick’s argument is the assumption that the brute side of man can, in fact, be contained under other circumstances, a possibility that Golding’s view, as presented in his 1962 lecture, does not supply. Dick argues that, in moderation, this brute side of man can actually be “beneficial to society” (13). This is an optimism that Golding does not seem to share when he says, “Man is a fallen being. He is gripped by original sin. His nature is sinful and his state perilous” (Golding, “Fable” 41).

Furthermore, Dick argues that Ralph’s “class consciousness” causes him to “think in terms of excess” which leads to his suppression of Jack’s bestial side and its consequent eruption (19). Golding, as has already been mentioned, believes that the breakdown “was not to come through the exploitation of one class by another” (Golding, “Fable” 42). We can not, of course, rule out Bernard F. Dick’s view simply because it differs from Golding’s. We must at least give a hearing to his arguments and see if they are consistent with the text and if they manage to adequately explain the breakdown in Lord of the Flies.

Dick bases his explanation on the obvious similarities between Lord of the Flies and Euripede’s Bacchae. In the Bacchae, the god Dionysus represents the brute side of man while Apollo (who is associated with Pentheus in the Bacchae) represents his rational side. Dionysus, like Jack, “can be gentle when he is propitiated, but when he is rejected, he exacts a terrible vengeance” (Dick 9). The Apollonian Pentheus, who is “rooted in a frigid intellectualism,” refuses “to acknowledge the new religion” of Dionysus just as Ralph refuses to acknowledge Jack’s counter society (Dick 10).

And, just as Simon is mistaken for the beast and killed, Pentheus is mistaken for a lion, hunted down, and dismembered (Dick 10). According to Dick, “[b]oth Lord of the Flies and the Bacchae portray a bipolar society in which the Apollonian refuses or is unable to assimilate the Dionysian” (10). This refusal, this “immoderate Apollonianism,” proves “fatal,” and the society breaks down (Dick 13). Although there are certainly similarities between Lord of the Flies and the Bacchae, there are dramatic differences as well. If Ralph represents Pentheus, then logically, he should be killed by the hunters instead of Simon.

But the greatest difference, and the most damaging to Dick’s argument, is the lack of a clear Apollonian-Dionysian dichotomy in Lord of the Flies. Elements of the Apollonian may be found in Jack and, conversely, elements of the Dionysian are present in Ralph. Jack has many Apollonian characteristics. Apollo is associated with music (Dick 9). It is Jack, and not Ralph, who is head of the choir, who can “sing C sharp” (Golding 21). Apollo is associated with rationalism (Dick 10). But it is Jack, and not Ralph, who realizes that Piggy’s glasses can be used to start the fire (Golding 38).

Dick points out that Ralph insists not just on rules, “but more rules,” and he argues that this is evidence of Ralph thinking in “terms of excess” (19). Yet Dick ignores the fact that it is Jack, and not Ralph, who is the first to leap to his feet and cry excitedly: “We’ll have rules . . . Lots of rules! ” (Golding 31). And even when Ralph does say they need more rules, Jack readily agrees: “I agree with Ralph. We’ve got to have rules and obey them. After all, we’re not savages. We’re English, and the English are best at everything. So we’ve got to do the right things. (Golding 40) Just as the Apollonian is clearly present in Jack’s character, so too is the Dionysian evident in Ralph’s. When Ralph summons the first meeting by blowing on the conch, “[h]is face [is] dark with the violent pleasure of making this stupendous noise” (17; emphasis added). Ralph participates in the ritual reenactment of a pig killing, and as he does, his Dionysian instincts are described in more detail than Jack’s: “Ralph too was fighting to get near, to get a handful of that brown, vulnerable flesh. The desire to squeeze and hurt was over-mastering” (Golding 104). This scene, as John F. Fitzgerald and John R.

Kayser point out, “conspires against the Bacchae interpretation . . . for the authors of that interpretation concluded that Ralph was Pentheus who tried to repress irrationality causing his downfall. He demonstrates that he too can be carried away by mad frenzy” (82). And even “more damning is [Ralph’s] participation in yet another pig killing ritual: the murder of Simon” (Fitzgerald and Kaiser 82). Dick rather lamely dismisses these events by saying, “There are also moments when some of the Dionysian rubs off on the Apollonian” (16). As we have seen, neither Ralph nor Jack are Apollonian or Dionysian extremes.

Therefore it makes little sense to argue that extreme rationalism (represented by Ralph), when imposed upon man’s primal urges (represented by Jack), causes the breakdown. But this is just what Dick argues. Dick’s point is also argued by James Baker, who writes that the boys “attempt to impose a rational order or pattern upon the vital chaos of their own nature, and so they commit the error and ‘sin’ of Pentheus . . . The penalties . . . are bloodshed, guilt, utter defeat of reason” (Baker 9). But in fact, the Pentheus representative, Ralph, is never particularly oppressive of the Dionysian representative, Jack.

At the very beginning of the novel, Ralph attempts to appease Jack. When Jack insists that he ought to be chief, Roger calls for a vote. Everyone shouts out Ralph’s name, but Ralph raises the conch for silence and gives Jack a chance: “Alright,” he says, “Who wants Jack for chief? ” (Golding 21). When Jack loses the election, “Ralph look[s] at him, eager to offer something,” and he puts Jack in charge of the choir (Golding 21). It is true that Ralph does not fully appreciate Jack as a hunter, and belittles him when the fire burns out.

But he never actually takes any action to prevent Jack from hunting, so it can not accurately be said that he suppresses the Dionysian element in Jack’s personality. And, since he joins in the pig killing ritual, it can not even be said that Ralph suppresses the Dionysian element in his own personality. Dick’s argument can not adequately explain the presence of the Dionysian and Apollonian in both boys, but Golding’s view can and does. For Golding, evil is inherent in every man; thus it is not surprising to find so many elements of the Dionysian even in Ralph.

And, if Golding is trying to show that the breakdown arises from the nature of the brute itself, and not any political system, then it is not surprising to find Jack and Ralph sharing so many Apollonian characteristics. Were they really opposite extremes, the breakdown would not have been so tragic. But because both are “men of goodwill . . . searching for some hope, some power for good, some commonsense,” the divide which arises between them is truly lamentable (Golding, “Fable” 43). Dick argues that Lord of the Flies depicts “a clash not so much of wills as of extremes” (13).

This does not appear to be true. Jack and Ralph clash at the second meeting, when the Apollonian-Dionysian distinction is by no means clear. They argue over the issue of the beast, although both agree that there is no beast. Jack says, “Ralph’s right of course. There isn’t a snake-thing. But if there was a snake, we’d hunt it and kill it,” and Ralph loudly responds, “But there isn’t a beast! ” (Golding 34). Since the two boys do not yet represent extremes (if they can ever be said to), this clash can not be explained in terms of the Dionysian-Apollonian dichotomy.

However, all of the clashes can be explained in Golding’s view; they are the result of the beast inherent in both boys. The clash that arises from the discussion of the beast does not result from Ralph’s extreme rationalism, but rather from the murmurings of the beast within him: “Something he had not known was there rose in him and compelled him to make the point, loudly and again” (Golding 34). Motivated by that inherent evil, that original sin of pride, both boys assert their power. Later, Ralph agrees to look for the beast, and “[s]omething deep” within him speaks for him when he says, “I’m chief.

I’ll go. Don’t argue” (Golding 94). When the boys begin to clash yet again, Ralph senses “the rising antagonism, understanding that this was how Jack felt as soon as he ceased to lead” (Golding 107). Although Ralph may end up agitating for reason and Jack for sensation, the two begin in the same place. Both are a mixture of the Dionysian-Apollonian. They are rational, well-intentioned, and desire law and order, but the beast within both leads them to an inevitable and horrifying clash. “Things are breaking up,” Ralph says, “I don’t understand why. We began well; we were happy. And then–” (74).

And then the beast drew them apart. Having realized that Dick’s Dionysian-Apollonian dichotomy is unsustainable, John F. Fitzgerald and John R. Kayser draw a different mythical parallel in their article “Golding’s Lord of the Flies: Pride as Original Sin. ” They compare the novel to the Egyptian myth of Osiris and Set-Typhon, which “accounts for the emergence of discord and . . . thereby demonstrates the precariousness of civilization” (Fitzgerald and Kayser 80). In the myth, Osiris’s brother Set-Typhon seeks to usurp his throne. Typhon drowns Osiris, but Osiris’s wife recovers the body.

Then Typhon discovers the body while hunting for pig, and he mutilates it. Typhon, who Fitzgerald and Kayser argue is represented by Jack, symbolizes the harmful and destructive aspect of human nature. They argue that Osiris, who may be identified “with both the reasonable and creative elements of the soul” is represented by Piggy and Simon respectively (81). Fitzgerald’s and Kayser’s mythical parallel avoids some of the inconsistencies of Dick’s. Because they do not compare Ralph to Osiris, as Dick compares him to Pentheus, their argument is not weakened by the same textual evidence that assaults Dick’s.

Ralph is not killed as Pentheus is killed; but Piggy and Simon are killed as Osiris is killed. Ralph is not as severely intellectual as Pentheus. “[W]hat intelligence had been shown was traceable to Piggy” (Golding 21). Piggy is the one who knows how they got on the island, what the conch is, and how to use it; and it is Piggy, rather than Ralph, who suggests calling an assembly (Fitzgerald and Kayser 81). Piggy, therefore, can easily be defended as representative of the “reasonable” side of Osiris.

Finally, because Ralph represents, in Fitzgerald’s and Kayser’s view, nothing more than the “better than average humanity,” and not Pentheus’s frigid intellectualism, they do not need to explain why he is carried away by Dionysian impulses (82). Although the mythological parallel to Osiris and Set-Typhon is superior to the parallel to Pentheus and Dionysus, it still fails to explain one aspect of the text: the reasonable and magnanimous side of Jack. Typhon, these critics tells us, “represents ‘the element of soul which is passionate . . . without reason, and brutish’” (Fitzgerald and Kayser 81). But Jack is not without reason.

When the boys land on the island, he is very practical; he immediately explores to see if there is “water all around,” to determine if they are, indeed, on an island (Golding 22). He suggests hunting pigs for meat, which is wise, since the fruit is causing diarrhea (Golding 28). And he thinks of using Piggy’s spectacles to start a fire (Golding 31). Neither is Jack always brutish. When he first approaches a pig, he can not bring himself to kill it, “because of the enormity of the knife descending and cutting into living flesh; because of the unbearable blood” (Golding 29). He wants “to do the right things” (Golding 40).

And even when he does finally kill a pig, Jack seeks, “charitable in his happiness, to include [Ralph] in the thing that had happened” (Golding 63). Fitzgerald and Kayser, as one of their explanations for the societal breakdown, give Golding’s own answer. They say it is caused by original sin, by the natural depravity of man. But their addition of this mythological parallel, although interesting, unnecessarily complicates the explanation, because Typhon is without reason, whereas Jack is not. Golding’s simpler explanation poses no such problem. Even if Jack is reasonable, he can still have the beast within, because it is inherent to the race.

And, as I have mentioned before, the very fact that Jack is reasonable makes his deterioration all the more horrific. Were Jack as obviously demonic as Set-Typhon, then the exposure of “the darkness” of his heart might not have left Ralph weeping “for the end of innocence” (Golding 184). Although Fitzgerald and Kayser agree with Golding that the ultimate cause of the societal breakdown in Lord of the Flies is the evil (or sin) inherent in man, they suggest that there may also be a political reason. The cause of the breakdown is “[t]he separation of rational and revelatory knowledge” (Fitzgerald and Kayser 85).

Golding himself, they say, has seen this separation as “both the essence and the illness of the West” (Fitzgerald and Kaiser 85). Golding may very well believe that this separation has “‘begotten that lame giant we call civilization’” (Fitzgerald and Kayser 85). But in his 1962 lecture, he does not use this separation as an explanation for the societal breakdown in Lord of the Flies. This separation may have begotten western civilization, but the question Lord of the Flies is seeking to explain is not what creates civilizations, but rather what destroys them.

As an explanation for the breakdown of society in Lord of the Flies, the separation of reason and intuition proves insufficient. Presumably, the breakdown could have been avoided had the two been reconciled: “Until Simon and Piggy together comprise an Osiris, Western civilization cannot . . . cure . . . its essential illness” (Fitzgerald and Kayser 85). Perhaps the greatest flaw in this theory is that Fitzgerald and Kayser offer no proof for their assumption that a reconciliation of reason and intuition would actually bring man closer to curing his essential illness. In fact, the very myth upon which this argument is based suggests otherwise.

Osiris reconciled reason and intuition within himself, but he was nonetheless drowned and mutilated by his demonic brother Set-Typhon. Kathleen Woodward, like Fitzgerald and Kayser, also opposes Dick’s interpretation, but not by introducing a third mythological parallel. Rather, her argument directly contradicts Dick’s, despite the fact that she applauds him for “[a]ptly” describing Lord of the Flies “as an anthropological passion play” (Woodward 88). For whereas Dick argues that the suppression of the beast within leads to its eruption, Woodward argues that the indulgence of it does.

In her article, “The Case for Strict Law and Order,” Woodward contends that Lord of the Flies actually presents a convincing argument for the imposition of strict law and order to suppress violent behavior. Dick claims that Ralph excessively insists on more rules, while Woodward asserts that “the problem is that there are not enough rules: a system of rules is necessary for when the rules are broken” (94). Woodward begins her argument by declaring that “Golding presents us with a completely unrealistic model of the origins of human politics” (90).

She claims that Golding does not show us how a rational society breaks down, but “how the conceivably pleasant condition of anarchy disintegrates under the pressure of aggression” (90). Ignoring for the moment the seeming oxymoron of a disintegrating anarchy, we can see that Woodward is still addressing basically the same question as the other critics. Why does the trouble arise in Lord of the Flies? Woodward’s answer contradicts her premise that Golding is showing how anarchy disintegrates. She argues that the problem is the lack of strict law and order.

But if strict law and order is imposed, then anarchy ceases to exist. The imposition of strict law and order can not stop the disintegration of anarchy; if it could stop anything, it would be the disintegration of society. So let us assume, for the moment, that what Kathleen Woodward is really addressing here (despite her reflections on anarchy) is the reason for the disintegration of society. Golding, Woodward says, “has misread the moral of his own fiction” (93). He does not show that violence arises “‘simply and solely out of the nature of the brute’,” but rather “how a society . . . an degenerate into lawlessness when there seems to be no apparent . . . ties binding people together” (Woodward 93). Lord of the Flies is not so much a “resigned plea” that the shape of a society depends on the ethical nature of the individual as it is “an argument for strict law and order within the democratic system” (Woodward 93). Jack causes the break up of the society; had he been contained, had “the sweet persuasions of democracy [been] sharpened by force,” the problem would not have occurred (Woodward 93). Jack must be fought, for “[a]ggression requires aggression” (Woodward 94).

Basically, Woodward argues that the only way the beast can be contained, the only way that society can endure, is if Ralph were to “smash Jack’s political machine, which involves us in an unpleasant contradiction that Golding does not face (England was forced to go to war against Hitler)” (Woodward 94). Golding does not fail to face the issue of World War II. In fact, the issue is very much at the heart of his novel. And if he declines to confront Woodward’s “unpleasant contradiction,” then that is because it does not exist, at least not in Lord of the Flies.

The novel presents the war of the “grownup” world not as an “unpleasant contradiction,” but as a tragedy, a breakdown of society not unlike the one that is occurring on the island. If Roger’s sadism is temporarily restrained by the taboos that were once imposed through strict law and order, then let us not forget that this restraint is “conditioned by a civilization that knew nothing of him and was in ruins” (Golding 56). If the civilization is in ruins, then obviously strict law and order did not work there. Piggy remarks that “Grownups know things . . . They’d meet and have tea and discuss.

Then things ‘ud be all right–” (Golding 85). And Woodward believes that this is “possible. Realism and maturity might help one to see clearly, diplomacy might work” (Woodward 95). But Piggy’s assertion is clearly meant to be perceived as naive. There are only two “grownups” in the story. The first is the dead parachuter whose corpse is the result of a horrible war and who is associated with the beast. The second is the officer who comes to rescue the boys. As Golding has been quoted as saying, here “‘adult life appears, dignified and capable, but in reality enmeshed in the same evil as the symbolic life of the children on the island.

The officer, having interrupted a man-hunt, prepares to take the children off the island in a cruiser which will presently be hunting its enemy in the same implacable way’” (Esptein 186). The officer’s white drill, epaulets, and revolver are not all that far removed from Jack’s stick, sharpened at both ends. The officer’s “row of gilt buttons down the front of a uniform” is something like the paint that frees the savages from the shame of killing (Golding 182). The officer asks Ralph cheerfully, “What have you been doing? Having a war or something? ” (Golding 183). And he also says, “I should have thought a pack of British boys . . would have been able to put up a better show than that” (Golding 184). But since the officer is himself involved in a war, there seems no logical reason why he should have expected better of the boys. And, since the officer is himself a part of a democracy that employs strict law and order, there is no reason Kathleen Woodward should think that Lord of the Flies makes a case for its success. Not only does Lord of the Flies not make a case for strict law and order, it shows how horrifying it can be. Woodward argues that democracy is clearly preferable to tyranny.

Yet Jack’s tyranny supplies most of the things she says are lacking in Ralph’s democracy (the want of which causes the society to fall). Woodward bemoans the fact that “[t]here are no kinship structures whatsoever, no bonds . . . among these boys” (92). But Jack draws the boys together in a tight bond through the ritual reenactment of the pig killing. She complains that the society “has no objective” (92). But Jack certainly gives the boys an objective: to hunt and kill pig in order to eat and later to hunt and kill Ralph in order to eliminate the last nonconformist.

Woodward says that in Ralph’s democracy there “is no apparent need to work with each other” (93). But in Jack’s society, the boys must work together to hunt and kill and defend their fortress. In the weak democracy, says Woodward, there are no rules for when the rules are broken (94). But in Jack’s society, there are direct consequences–conform or die. Jack’s tyrannical society seems to supply all the things that Woodward argues are lacking in Ralph’s weak democracy, including a strict law and order. Yet nowhere in Lord of the Flies is this strict law and order portrayed in a positive light.

In fact, rather than being a means of containing the beast, it is presented as a symptom of the emergence of the beast. Sam and Eric tell Ralph: “You don’t know Roger, he’s a terror. ” “And the chief–they’re both–” “–terrors–” (Golding 173). When Roger approaches Sam and Eric to punish them for breaking the society’s rules by not conforming, he “advance[s] upon them as one wielding a nameless authority” (Golding 166). And when Jack sharpens his sweet persuasions with force, he is portrayed as arbitrary and ruthless: “He’s going to beat Wilfred. ” “What for? ” “I don’t know. He didn’t say.

He got angry and made us tie Wilfred up . . . ” “But didn’t the chief say why? ” “I never heard him. ” Sitting on the tremendous rock in the torrid sun, Roger received this news as an illumination. He . . . sat still, assimilating the possibilities of irresponsible authority. (Golding 145) Presumably, Woodward’s democracy of strict law and order would have been more responsible. After all, “the electorate, uniformed as it is, makes the best choice” (Woodward 93). But, as Woodward herself asks (without fully explaining her reason for asking it) what if, instead of Ralph, “Roger had been elected chief?

Or Jack? ” (Woodward 95). Would their democracy have been anymore responsible than their tyranny? And, ultimately, is their man-hunt that far flung from the man-hunt of the democratic officer who rescues them? Woodward’s view can not explain the terrible light in which Jack’s strict rule of law and order is depicted; neither can it illuminate the comparison that the text draws between the children and the grownups. But once again, Golding’s simple view can and does. If evil is inherent in man, then Jack’s tyranny is but an outgrowth of the beast within, and thus we can be horrified by it.

And if the beast is inherent in all men, then we can expect to find similarities between Jack’s head-hunt and the officer’s man-hunt. Finally, if all societies are inherently flawed because man is inherently flawed, then we can expect to see Ralph’s society, however well intentioned, fail. E. L. Epstein calls Golding’s explanation “merely a casual summing-up on Mr. Golding’s part of his extremely complex and beautifully woven symbolic web” (186). Yet it is this “casual summing-up” that ultimately provides the most consistent explanation of the breakdown in Lord of the Flies.

Of course, the four views examined in this paper are not the only possible explanations for the breakdown, and literary criticism may yet find a theory that explains the breakdown as well as or better than Golding’s own simple summary. Neither does the fact that these other theories inadequately explain the breakdown in Lord of the Flies necessarily mean that they inadequately explain the breakdown of societies in the real world. Lord of the Flies is, after all, a fiction, and one may object to its premise. [pic]

Article concerning the courts of the American criminal justice system

Article concerning the courts of the American criminal justice system.

For Article Review I have been assigned to find a suitable news article concerning the courts of the American criminal justice system. The article must come from a legitimate news source or mainstream magazine published within the past 3 months.You will read and reflect on the content of the article and then compose a 2-3 page paper about it. The paper should contain the following:Paragraph 1: Write a summary of the subject of the article. What is the reporter/author writing about? What event or issue caused this article to be written?Paragraph 2: Consider and discuss the importance or implications of the article’s information. Why is this important? What does it mean for the criminal justice system?Paragraph 3: Critique the style in which the article is written. Does it reflect a particular bias, or does it fairly and accurately convey opposing ideas or concepts? Does it sensationalize the issue? What questions remain in your mind after reading this article?Your paper must be written following APA style. If you are not familiar with APA,it is recommended that you consult the Purdue University APA guide, found at . Note that the paper should be 2-3 pages in length, double-spaced, Times New Roman 12-point font, 1 inch margins all around.A copy of the article or a complete and accurate link to it MUST be included with your paper submission. Since I cannot evaluate your work without reading the article, no papers will be accepted without this information. A short quote from the article, used to illustrate a particular point, may be appropriate, but such quote MUST be properly documented according to APA style rule

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