AP® English Literature and Composition review sheet from Aim for Five (aimforfive.com/lit/units/1/1-3)
Unit 1 · Topic 1.3
1.3 How a plot puts events in order
Plot is the sequence of events in a story, linked so that one event leads to the next. Following that chain of cause and effect, and seeing how it puts characters into conflict, helps you explain why a story builds the way it does.
Key terms
- plot
- exposition
- rising action
- climax
- resolution
- cause and effect
Plot is cause and effect, not just a list
A plot isn't simply "this happened, then that happened." Events build on each other. The novelist E. M. Forster made the point with a tiny example: if a king dies and then a queen dies, that's just a sequence. If the queen dies of grief because the king died, that's a plot, because one event causes the other.
When you read, keep asking two questions about every important event: what caused this, and what does it set in motion?
The dramatic situation
The dramatic situation is the basic setup that puts characters into conflict: who they are, where they are, what's happening and what's at stake. A man has lost his job right before his daughter's wedding. A girl is offered money to reveal a secret. Once you can state the dramatic situation in a sentence, the rest of the plot usually makes more sense.
Plots often follow a character whose luck improves or collapses, sometimes both at different moments. Noticing that shape helps you describe how a story is built.
The usual parts of a plot
Short stories often squeeze or skip some of these parts. Many start very close to the climax, and some end right after it with no resolution at all. Don't force a story into the chart. Use the chart as a set of questions.
| Part | What happens | Question to ask |
|---|---|---|
| Exposition | Background: characters, setting, situation | What do I need to know to follow this? |
| Rising action | Complications build the conflict | What keeps making things harder? |
| Climax | The point of highest tension or the key turn | Where does everything change or come to a head? |
| Falling action | Results of the climax unfold | What happens because of that turn? |
| Resolution | Things settle, or are left unsettled | What's different now, and what isn't? |
Why the chain matters for analysis
Tracing cause and effect lets you make claims about meaning. If a character's small, kind choice leads to disaster, the story might be saying something about how little control people have. If two characters' sacrifices cancel each other out, the story might be asking what a gift is really worth.
When you write, don't retell the plot. Instead, point to the link between events and explain what that link shows.
Worked examples
Try each one yourself first, then open the solution.
- Example 1
Seeing how an opening sets up the chain
O. Henry's "The Gift of the Magi" (in The Four Million, 1906) opens: "One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies." A few lines later: "Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas." In the story, Della sells her long hair to buy her husband Jim a chain for his prized watch, while Jim sells the watch to buy her combs for her hair. Explain how the opening establishes the dramatic situation and starts the chain of cause and effect.
Show the solutionHide the solution
- Step 1: State the dramatic situation in one sentence: a poor young wife has almost no money and wants to buy her husband a Christmas present tomorrow.
- Step 2: Notice the cause. The repeated sum, "One dollar and eighty-seven cents," and the deadline of Christmas create the pressure that drives every later choice.
- Step 3: Trace the effects. Because she has too little money, Della sells her hair. Because Jim faces the same problem, he sells his watch. The two choices cancel each other out: each gift is now useless.
- Step 4: Explain what the chain shows: the story's turn depends on both characters reacting to the same pressure in the same loving way.
Answer: Model paragraph: O. Henry builds the whole plot on the pressure of one number. By repeating "One dollar and eighty-seven cents" and adding that "the next day would be Christmas," he sets up a dramatic situation with a fixed deadline and almost no resources. That shortage causes Della's choice to sell her hair, and the same shortage, on Jim's side, causes him to sell his watch. Because the chain of causes runs in parallel for both characters, the ending feels both surprising and fair: their gifts become useless at the same moment that their sacrifices prove how much they love each other.
Common mistakes
- Summarizing the plot instead of explaining how events connect. Every sentence about plot should include a "because" or a "so."
- Assuming every story has a neat resolution. Many short stories end at or just after the climax on purpose.
- Calling the most exciting moment the climax without checking whether it's actually the turning point of the conflict.
On the exam
- Multiple-choice questions may ask how an event "contributes" to a passage or what it "sets up." Look for the answer that names a consequence or a link, not one that only describes the event.
- In essays, describe plot only as much as you need to set up your evidence, then move to analysis.
Connected topics
Videos
Check yourself
4 questions on 1.3 How a plot puts events in order. Pick an answer to see if you got it, and why.
Paragraph 1
Although it was so brilliantly fine—the blue sky powdered with gold and great spots of light like white wine splashed over the Jardins Publiques—Miss Brill was glad that she had decided on her fur. The air was motionless, but when you opened your mouth there was just a faint chill, like a chill from a glass of iced water before you sip, and now and again a leaf came drifting—from nowhere, from the sky. Miss Brill put up her hand and touched her fur. Dear little thing! It was nice to feel it again. She had taken it out of its box that afternoon, shaken out the moth-powder, given it a good brush, and rubbed the life back into the dim little eyes. “What has been happening to me?” said the sad little eyes. Oh, how sweet it was to see them snap at her again from the red eiderdown!... But the nose, which was of some black composition, wasn’t at all firm. It must have had a knock, somehow. Never mind—a little dab of black sealing-wax when the time came—when it was absolutely necessary.... Little rogue! Yes, she really felt like that about it. Little rogue biting its tail just by her left ear. She could have taken it off and laid it on her lap and stroked it. She felt a tingling in her hands and arms, but that came from walking, she supposed. And when she breathed, something light and sad—no, not sad, exactly—something gentle seemed to move in her bosom.
Paragraph 2
There were a number of people out this afternoon, far more than last Sunday. And the band sounded louder and gayer. That was because the Season had begun. For although the band played all the year round on Sundays, out of season it was never the same. It was like some one playing with only the family to listen; it didn’t care how it played if there weren’t any strangers present. Wasn’t the conductor wearing a new coat, too? She was sure it was new. He scraped with his foot and flapped his arms like a rooster about to crow, and the bandsmen sitting in the green rotunda blew out their cheeks and glared at the music. Now there came a little “flutey” bit—very pretty!—a little chain of bright drops. She was sure it would be repeated. It was; she lifted her head and smiled.
Paragraph 3
Only two people shared her “special” seat: a fine old man in a velvet coat, his hands clasped over a huge carved walking-stick, and a big old woman, sitting upright, with a roll of knitting on her embroidered apron. They did not speak. This was disappointing, for Miss Brill always looked forward to the conversation. She had become really quite expert, she thought, at listening as though she didn’t listen, at sitting in other people’s lives just for a minute while they talked round her.
Paragraph 4
She glanced, sideways, at the old couple. Perhaps they would go soon. Last Sunday, too, hadn’t been as interesting as usual. An Englishman and his wife, he wearing a dreadful Panama hat and she button boots. And she’d gone on the whole time about how she ought to wear spectacles; she knew she needed them; but that it was no good getting any; they’d be sure to break and they’d never keep on. And he’d been so patient. He’d suggested everything—gold rims, the kind that curved round your ears, little pads inside the bridge. No, nothing would please her. “They’ll always be sliding down my nose!” Miss Brill had wanted to shake her.
Katherine Mansfield, “Miss Brill” (1920), from The Garden Party, and Other Stories (1922)
Question 1 of 4
The passage moves from Miss Brill alone with her fur (paragraph 1) to Miss Brill watching and listening to others (paragraphs 2–4). This movement mainly serves to
Paragraph 1
True!—nervous—very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses—not destroyed—not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily—how calmly I can tell you the whole story.
Paragraph 2
It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture—a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees—very gradually—I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.
Paragraph 3
Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded—with what caution—with what foresight—with what dissimulation I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night, about midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it—oh, so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern, all closed, closed, that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly—very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man’s sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha!—would a madman have been so wise as this? And then, when my head was well in the room, I undid the lantern cautiously—oh, so cautiously—cautiously (for the hinges creaked)—I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights—every night just at midnight—but I found the eye always closed; and so it was impossible to do the work; for it was not the old man who vexed me, but his Evil Eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the chamber, and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he has passed the night. So you see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept.
Edgar Allan Poe, “The Tell-Tale Heart” (1843)
Question 2 of 4
Paragraph 3 builds suspense chiefly by
Paragraph 1
The woods were already filled with shadows one June evening, just before eight o’clock, though a bright sunset still glimmered faintly among the trunks of the trees. A little girl was driving home her cow, a plodding, dilatory, provoking creature in her behavior, but a valued companion for all that. They were going away from the western light, and striking deep into the dark woods, but their feet were familiar with the path, and it was no matter whether their eyes could see it or not.
Paragraph 2
There was hardly a night the summer through when the old cow could be found waiting at the pasture bars; on the contrary, it was her greatest pleasure to hide herself away among the high huckleberry bushes, and though she wore a loud bell she had made the discovery that if one stood perfectly still it would not ring. So Sylvia had to hunt for her until she found her, and call Co’! Co’! with never an answering Moo, until her childish patience was quite spent. If the creature had not given good milk and plenty of it, the case would have seemed very different to her owners. Besides, Sylvia had all the time there was, and very little use to make of it. Sometimes in pleasant weather it was a consolation to look upon the cow’s pranks as an intelligent attempt to play hide and seek, and as the child had no playmates she lent herself to this amusement with a good deal of zest. Though this chase had been so long that the wary animal herself had given an unusual signal of her whereabouts, Sylvia had only laughed when she came upon Mistress Moolly at the swamp-side, and urged her affectionately homeward with a twig of birch leaves. The old cow was not inclined to wander farther, she even turned in the right direction for once as they left the pasture, and stepped along the road at a good pace. She was quite ready to be milked now, and seldom stopped to browse. Sylvia wondered what her grandmother would say because they were so late. It was a great while since she had left home at half past five o’clock, but everybody knew the difficulty of making this errand a short one. Mrs. Tilley had chased the hornéd torment too many summer evenings herself to blame any one else for lingering, and was only thankful as she waited that she had Sylvia, nowadays, to give such valuable assistance. The good woman suspected that Sylvia loitered occasionally on her own account; there never was such a child for straying about out-of-doors since the world was made! Everybody said that it was a good change for a little maid who had tried to grow for eight years in a crowded manufacturing town, but, as for Sylvia herself, it seemed as if she never had been alive at all before she came to live at the farm. She thought often with wistful compassion of a wretched dry geranium that belonged to a town neighbor.
Paragraph 3
“‘Afraid of folks,’” old Mrs. Tilley said to herself, with a smile, after she had made the unlikely choice of Sylvia from her daughter’s houseful of children, and was returning to the farm. “‘Afraid of folks,’ they said! I guess she won’t be troubled no great with ’em up to the old place!” When they reached the door of the lonely house and stopped to unlock it, and the cat came to purr loudly, and rub against them, a deserted pussy, indeed, but fat with young robins, Sylvia whispered that this was a beautiful place to live in, and she never should wish to go home.
Paragraph 4
The companions followed the shady wood-road, the cow taking slow steps, and the child very fast ones. The cow stopped long at the brook to drink, as if the pasture were not half a swamp, and Sylvia stood still and waited, letting her bare feet cool themselves in the shoal water, while the great twilight moths struck softly against her. She waded on through the brook as the cow moved away, and listened to the thrushes with a heart that beat fast with pleasure. There was a stirring in the great boughs overhead. They were full of little birds and beasts that seemed to be wide awake, and going about their world, or else saying good-night to each other in sleepy twitters. Sylvia herself felt sleepy as she walked along. However, it was not much farther to the house, and the air was soft and sweet. She was not often in the woods so late as this, and it made her feel as if she were a part of the gray shadows and the moving leaves. She was just thinking how long it seemed since she first came to the farm a year ago, and wondering if everything went on in the noisy town just the same as when she was there; the thought of the great red-faced boy who used to chase and frighten her made her hurry along the path to escape from the shadow of the trees.
Paragraph 5
Suddenly this little woods-girl is horror-stricken to hear a clear whistle not very far away. Not a bird’s whistle, which would have a sort of friendliness, but a boy’s whistle, determined, and somewhat aggressive. Sylvia left the cow to whatever sad fate might await her, and stepped discreetly aside into the bushes, but she was just too late. The enemy had discovered her, and called out in a very cheerful and persuasive tone, “Halloa, little girl, how far is it to the road?” and trembling Sylvia answered almost inaudibly, “A good ways.”
Paragraph 6
She did not dare to look boldly at the tall young man, who carried a gun over his shoulder, but she came out of her bush and again followed the cow, while he walked alongside.
Sarah Orne Jewett, “A White Heron” (1886)
Question 3 of 4
Within the plot of the passage, the stranger's arrival in paragraphs 5–6 functions mainly as
Paragraph 1
Young Goodman Brown came forth at sunset into the street at Salem village; but put his head back, after crossing the threshold, to exchange a parting kiss with his young wife. And Faith, as the wife was aptly named, thrust her own pretty head into the street, letting the wind play with the pink ribbons of her cap while she called to Goodman Brown.
Paragraph 2
“Dearest heart,” whispered she, softly and rather sadly, when her lips were close to his ear, “prithee put off your journey until sunrise and sleep in your own bed to-night. A lone woman is troubled with such dreams and such thoughts that she’s afeard of herself sometimes. Pray tarry with me this night, dear husband, of all nights in the year.”
Paragraph 3
“My love and my Faith,” replied young Goodman Brown, “of all nights in the year, this one night must I tarry away from thee. My journey, as thou callest it, forth and back again, must needs be done ’twixt now and sunrise. What, my sweet, pretty wife, dost thou doubt me already, and we but three months married?”
Paragraph 4
“Then God bless you!” said Faith, with the pink ribbons; “and may you find all well when you come back.”
Paragraph 5
“Amen!” cried Goodman Brown. “Say thy prayers, dear Faith, and go to bed at dusk, and no harm will come to thee.”
Paragraph 6
So they parted; and the young man pursued his way until, being about to turn the corner by the meeting-house, he looked back and saw the head of Faith still peeping after him with a melancholy air, in spite of her pink ribbons.
Paragraph 7
“Poor little Faith!” thought he, for his heart smote him. “What a wretch am I to leave her on such an errand! She talks of dreams, too. Methought as she spoke there was trouble in her face, as if a dream had warned her what work is to be done tonight. But no, no; ’twould kill her to think it. Well, she’s a blessed angel on earth; and after this one night I’ll cling to her skirts and follow her to heaven.”
Paragraph 8
With this excellent resolve for the future, Goodman Brown felt himself justified in making more haste on his present evil purpose. He had taken a dreary road, darkened by all the gloomiest trees of the forest, which barely stood aside to let the narrow path creep through, and closed immediately behind. It was all as lonely as could be; and there is this peculiarity in such a solitude, that the traveller knows not who may be concealed by the innumerable trunks and the thick boughs overhead; so that with lonely footsteps he may yet be passing through an unseen multitude.
Nathaniel Hawthorne, “Young Goodman Brown” (1835), from Mosses from an Old Manse (1846)
Question 4 of 4
The sequence of events in the passage, from the parting at the door to Brown's entry into the forest, mainly serves to
0 of 4 answered