Practice AP Prompt for

Rising Seniors

Read carefully the following excerpt from Life of Pi, in which the narrator, Piscine Patel, meditates on what it is like to be lost at sea. Then write a well-organized essay in which you discuss the way author Yann Martel uses literary devices to help the reader understand Pi’s experience. Consider such elements as diction, syntax, imagery, and other devices in crafting your answer.

	To be a castaway is to be a point perpetually at the centre of a circle.
	However much things may appear to change—the sea may shift from
	whisper to rage, the sky might go from fresh blue to blinding white to
	darkest black—the geometry never changes. Your gaze is always a radius.
5	The circumference is ever great. In fact, the circles multiply. To be a
	castaway is to be caught in a harrowing ballet of circles. You are at the
	centre of one circle, while above you two opposing circles spin about. The
	sun distresses you like a crowd, a noisy, invasive crowd that makes you
	cup your ears, that makes you close your eyes, that makes you want to
10	hide. The moon distresses you by silently reminding you of your solitude;
	you open your eyes wide to escape your loneliness. When you look up,
	you sometimes wonder if at the centre of a solar storm, if in the middle of
	the Sea of Tranquillity, there isn't another one like you also looking up,
	also trapped by geometry, also struggling with fear, rage, madness,
15	hopelessness, apathy.
	Otherwise, to be a castaway is to be caught up in grim and exhausting
	opposites. When it is light, the openness of the sea is blinding and
	frightening. When it is dark, the darkness is claustrophobic. When it is
	day, you are hot and wish to be cool and dream of ice cream and pour sea
20	water on yourself. When it is night, you are cold and wish to be warm and
	dream of hot curries and wrap yourself in blankets. When it is hot, you are
	parched and wish to be wet. When it rains, you are nearly drowned and
	wish to be dry. When there is food, there is too much of it and you must
	feast. When there is none, there is truly none and you starve. When the sea
25	is flat and motionless, you wish it would stir. When it rises up and the
	circle that imprisons you is broken by hills of water, you suffer that
	peculiarity of the high seas, suffocation in open spaces, and you wish the
	sea would be flat again. The opposites often take place at the same
	moment, so that when the sun is scorching you till you are stricken
30	down, you are also aware that it is drying the strips of fish and meat that
	are hanging from your lines and that it is a blessing for your solar stills.
	Conversely, when a rain squall is replenishing your fresh-water supplies,
	you also know that the humidity will affect your cured provisions and that
	some will probably go bad, turning pasty and green. When rough weather
35	abates, and it becomes clear that you have survived the sky's attack and
	the sea's treachery, your jubilation is tempered by the rage that so much
	fresh water should fall directly into the sea and by the worry that it is the
	last rain you will ever see, that you will die of thirst before the next drops
	fall
40	The worst pair of opposites is boredom and terror. Sometimes your life is
	a pendulum swing from one to the other. The sea is without a wrinkle.
	There is not a whisper of wind. The hours last forever. You are so bored
	you sink into a state of apathy close to a coma. Then the sea becomes
	rough and your emotions are whipped into a frenzy. Yet even these two
45	opposites do not remain distinct. In your boredom there are elements of
	terror: you break down into tears; you are filled with dread; you scream;
	you deliberately hurt yourself. And in the grip of terror— the worst
	storm—you yet feel boredom, a deep weariness with it all.
	Only death consistently excites your emotions, whether contemplating it
50	when life is safe and stale, or fleeing it when life is threatened and precious.
	Life on a lifeboat isn't much of a life. It is like an end game in chess, a
	game with few pieces. The elements couldn't be more simple, nor the
	stakes higher. Physically it is extraordinarily arduous, and morally it is
	killing. You must make adjustments if you want to survive. Much
55	becomes expendable. You get your happiness where you can. You reach a
	point where you're at the bottom of hell, yet you have your arms crossed
	and a smile on your face, and you feel you're the luckiest person on earth.
	Why? Because at your feet you have a tiny dead fish.