Please I need help with this assignment

here is the rule of the assignment. please try to apply all the rules of the assignment.

read the book and try to analyze the story of superman and me

explain what the author is trying to tell the reader. explain how the author feel and give us a summary a thesis statement and a conclusion. tell us more what is happening in the essay. Tell why it is interesting. How he is telling that story.

At least three pages

ANALYZING ESSAYS

Use these items as tools while you're studying your essay. Do NOT structure your own essay based on these categories in this order. Instead, make some sort of claim (take a position, make an argument) about what the author is doing, considering either style or content or both, and then prove it with well chosen examples from the text of the essay, analyzing as you go ("how?" / "why?" / "so what?").

I. CONTENT / ASSUMPTIONS / IMPLICATIONS * Thesis? (Stated? Implied?) * Sound data? Contradictions? Evidence? * (Logic?)

II. ORGANIZATION / STRUCTURE * Method of development (analysis, etc.) * Introduction, conclusion

III. TONE * Level of usage

* Diction (including imagery)

IV. STYLE . . .

* Sentence structure and variety * Paragraph development and length * Transitions * Repetition * Punctuation * Rhythm of syntax

don't forget to cite in MLA.

ew her ement Superman and Me came SHERMAN ALEXIE as-it LEARNED TO READ with a Superman' comic book. Simple enough, I suppose. I cannot recall which hoever particular Superman comic book I read, nor can I more e kept remember which villain he fought in that issue. I Ives?" cannot remember the plot, nor the means by which I obtained the comic book. What I can remember gram- this: I was 3 years old, a Spokane Indian boy living with his family on the t-year h it. It Originally appearing in the book The Most Wonderful Books: Writers on Discovering mean- the Pleasures of Reading (1997), this essay was also published in the Los Angeles Times words, vries "The Joy of Reading and Writing" (April 19, 1998). Like other essays Alexie has pub- ion of ished, this one concerns contemporary Native American life and his experience as a real, Spokane/Coeur d'alene Indian. treet, echo 1. Iconic superhero created in the 1930s.reservation school system, I was never taught how to write poetry, short Stories or novels I was certainly never taught that Indians wrote poetry, short Stories and novels. Writing was something beyond Indians. I cannot recall a Single time that a guest teacher visited the reservation. There must have been Visit- ing teachers. Who were they? Where are they now? Do they exist? I visit the schools as often as possible. The Indian kids crowd the classroom. Many are writing their own poems, short stories and novels. They have read my books, They have read many other books. They look at me with bright eyes and arm. gant wonder. They are trying to save their lives. Then there are the sullen and already defeated Indian kids who sit in the back rows and ignore me with the- atrical precision. The pages of their notebooks are empty. They carry neither pencil nor pen. They stare out the window. They refuse and resist. \"Books,\" I say to them. \"Books,\" I say. I throw my weight against their locked doors. The door holds. I am smart. I am arrogant. I am lucky. I am trying to save our lives. QUESTIONS 1. Twice Alexie asserts that he is (or was) \"smart,\" \"arrogant,\" and \"lucky.\" Why does he place so much emphasis on these qualities? 2. \"Despite all the books I read,\" Alexie observes in his nal paragraph, \"I am still sur prised I became a writer.\" Why is he surprised? 3. Alexie writes that from the moment he realized the reason for paragraphs, he \"began to think of everything in terms of paragraphs.\" How does the structure and arrangement of Alexie's own paragraphs contribute to the development of the essay's themes? 4. Alexie's essay is a literacy narrative, an account of how he learned to read and write. Write your own literacy narrative. 356 SHERMAN ALExyE Spokane Indian Reservation in eastern Washington state. We were most standards, but one of my parents usually managed to nd some mi wage job or another, which made us middle-class by reservation stan had a brother and three sisters. We lived on a combination of irregu checks, hope, fear and government surplus food. My father, who is one of the few Indians who went to Catholic school 0n purpose, was an avid reader of westerns, spy thrillers, murder mysteries, gang- ster epics, basketball player biographies and anything else he could nd. He bought his books by the pound at Dutch's Pawn Sh0p, Goodwill, Salvation Army and Value Village. When he had extra money, he bought new novels at supermarkets, convenience stores and hospital gift shops. Our house Was lled with books. They were stacked in crazy piles in the bathroom, bedrooms and living room. In a t of unemployment-inspired creative energy, my father built a set of bookshelves and soon lled them with a random assortment of books about the Kennedy assassination,2 Watergate,3 the Vietnam War4 and the entire 23-book series of the Apache westerns.5 My father loved books, and since I loved my father with an aching devotion, I decided to love books as well. I can remember picking up my father's books before I could read. The words themselves were mostly foreign, but I still remember the exact moment when I rst understood, with a sudden clarity, the purpose of a paragraph. I didn't have the vocabulary to say \"paragraph,\" but I realized that a paragraph was a fence that held words. The words inside a paragraph worked together for a common purpose. They had some specic reason for being inside the same fence. This knowledge delighted me. I began to think of everything in terms of paragraphs. Our reservation was a small paragraph within the United States. My family's house was a paragraph, distinct from the other paragraphs of the LeBrets to the north, the Fords to our south and the Tribal School to the west. Inside our house, each family member existed as a separate paragraph but still had genetics and common experiences to link us. Now, using this logic, I can see my changed family as an essay of seven paragraphs: mother, father, older brother, the deceased sister, my younger twin sisters and our adopted little brother. At the same time I was seeing the world in paragraphs, I also picked uP that Superman comic book. Each panel, complete with pictu narrative was a three-dimensional paragraph. In one panel, Superman breaks through a door. His suit is red, blue and yellow. The brown door shatters into many pieces. I look at the narrative above the picture, I cannot read the words, Poor by HlmUm_ dards. 1 lar pay_ re, dialogue and 2. John F. Kennedy (19171963), thirt -fth ' ' T 1963), was assassinated in Dallas, Te Y preSldent Of the Unlted States (1961 xas, on November 22, 1963 b O wald. 3. Hotel in Washington, D.C.; here > Y Lee Harvey s , refers to a political sc d l h ' h rd M. Nixon (19131994 , th' t _ . an a t at surrounded Ric 3 led to his resignation.) 11' Y Seventh preSIdent 0f the United States (19691974) 7 SUPERMAN AND ME 357 but I assume it tells me that "Superman is breaking down the door." Aloud, I pretend to read the words and say, "Superman is breaking down the door." Words, dialogue, also float out of Superman's mouth. Because he is breaking down the door, I assume he says, "I am breaking down the door." Once again, I pretend to read the words and say aloud, "I am breaking down the door." In this way, I learned to read. This might be an interesting story all by itself. A little Indian boy teaches 5 himself to read at an early age and advances quickly. He reads "Grapes of Wrath" in kindergarten when other children are struggling through "Dick and Jane." If he'd been anything but an Indian boy living on the reservation, he might have been called a prodigy. But he is an Indian boy living on the res- ervation and is simply an oddity. He grows into a man who often speaks of his childhood in the third-person, as if it will somehow dull the pain and make him sound more modest about his talents. A smart Indian is a dangerous person, widely feared and ridiculed by Indians and non-Indians alike. I fought with my classmates on a daily basis. They wanted me to stay quiet when the non-Indian teacher asked for answers, for volunteers, for help. We were Indian children who were expected to be stupid. Most lived up to those expectations inside the classroom but subverted them on the outside. They struggled with basic reading in school but could remember how to sing a few dozen powwow songs. They were monosyllabic in front of their non-Indian teachers but could tell complicated stories and jokes at the dinner table. They submissively ducked their heads when confronted by a non-Indian adult but would slug it out with the Indian bully who was 10 years older. As Indian chil- dren, we were expected to fail in the non-Indian world. Those who failed were ceremonially accepted by other Indians and appropriately pitied by non-Indians. I refused to fail. I was smart. I was arrogant. I was lucky. I read books late into the night, until I could barely keep my eyes open. I read books at recess, then during lunch, and in the few minutes left after I had finished my class- room assignments. I read books in the car when my family traveled to powwows or basketball games. In shopping malls, I ran to the bookstores and read bits and pieces of as many books as I could. I read the books my father brought home from the pawnshops and secondhand. I read the books I borrowed from the library. I read the backs of cereal boxes. I read the newspaper. I read the bulletins posted on the walls of the school, the clinic, the tribal offices, the post office. I read junk mail. I read auto-repair manuals. I read magazines. I read anything that had words and paragraphs. I read with equal parts joy and des- peration. I loved those books, but I also knew that love had only one purpose. I was trying to save my life. Despite all the books I read, I am still surprised I became a writer. I was going to be a pediatrician. These days, I write novels, short stories, and poems. I visit schools and teach creative writing to Indian kids. In all my years in the 6. A 1939 novel about the Great Depression by American novelist John Steinbeck (1902-1968). 7. Textbook series used to teach reading from the 1930s through the 1970s