Practice English Reading Exercises for B2 – Literature, Writing & Publishing 7

Exercises:   123456

Reading 1

You are going to read an article about four young adults sharing their guilt over buying dozens of books that they never actually have the time to read.

For questions 1-10, choose from the people/sections (A-D). The people/sections may be chosen more than once.

Which person/section

1   is primarily attracted to the visual appeal of a publication?

2   chooses less challenging leisure activities despite buying difficult texts?

3   feels frustrated about being excluded from online literary conversations?

4   defends their habit by claiming it helps keep local stores open?

5   has run out of space to store their growing collection?

6   admits they buy certain texts in the hope of becoming a more knowledgeable person?

7   blames their lack of reading progress on their exhausting work schedule?

8   deliberately avoids calculating the total amount of money they have wasted?

9   hopes that their unread collection will eventually be appreciated by relatives?

10   attributes their habit to an absolute inability to walk past a bargain?

The Guilt on the Shelf: Our Unread Book Collections

A Liam

I must confess, I am a victim of ‘tsundoku’—the Japanese term for letting reading materials pile up in your home. My downfall isn’t necessarily a captivating blurb; I am an absolute sucker for gorgeous, cloth-bound hardbacks. I simply can’t resist how stunning they look lined up in my living room. Some friends tease me, suggesting I only buy them to project a certain intellectual image to guests, but that couldn’t be further from the truth; I genuinely admire the craftsmanship. I do feel a sudden pang of guilt when I stare at the pristine, uncracked spines, but I easily rationalise it. By purchasing these physical editions, I’m doing my bit to ensure independent bookshops survive in a difficult economic climate. I might not have the hours to dive into them right now, but I like to imagine that one day, my future children or nieces will discover this personal library and explore the fictional worlds I never got around to visiting.

B Maya

My unread pile is a towering monument to the person I wish I was. Every month, I confidently purchase thick, challenging biographies or complex philosophical works. I try to convince myself that reading them will broaden my horizons and make me a profoundly well-educated individual. Yet, when Friday evening rolls around and I’m exhausted, the last thing my brain can handle is an intricate historical analysis. Consequently, I inevitably end up putting the heavy book back on the bedside table and binge-watching a mindless sitcom instead. The guilt is suffocating because these literary masterpieces are just gathering dust. It’s not that I lack the physical space for them, nor am I buying them just because they are on sale. I simply keep making overly ambitious promises to myself that my current energy levels cannot possibly keep. I’m just hoping that eventually, I’ll find the mental clarity required to finally tackle them.

C Toby

If I happen to spot a red discount sticker, all my self-control completely vanishes. My flat is currently overflowing with second-hand novels and clearance items that I’ve picked up for a mere fraction of their original price. I constantly tell myself it would be a criminal offense to leave such incredible deals behind. The main problem is that my tiny apartment has absolutely no room left; there are literal towers of paperbacks stacked precariously in the hallway and the kitchen. Every time I trip over a pile, I am flooded with remorse. A friend recently asked if I plan to resell them for a profit, but I genuinely want to read them all. I absolutely refuse to look at my monthly outgoings, as tallying up all those ‘cheap’ purchases would probably reveal a horrifying total. I’m currently on a strict buying ban until I can actually see my living room floor again, though I heavily doubt I’ll stick to it.

D Chloe

My book-buying habit is entirely driven by an intense fear of missing out. Whenever a highly anticipated thriller trends on social media or gets picked up by a celebrity book club, I instantly order a copy. I desperately want to participate in the fierce debates and share my theories online. Unfortunately, the harsh reality of my demanding career in digital marketing means I rarely clock off before 8 p.m. If I hadn’t accepted this recent promotion, I might actually have managed to finish a few of them by now. By the time I get home, my eyes are simply too strained from staring at screens to read a single page. Therefore, my shelves are full of trendy bestsellers that I’ve never even opened. It is incredibly annoying to log onto forums and see everyone dissecting the brilliant plot twists while I’m still permanently stuck on chapter one.

Reading 2

You are going to read an article about four individuals talking about the challenge of translating famous poetry into another language without losing its original rhythm and emotion.

For questions 1-10, choose from the people/sections (A-D). The people/sections may be chosen more than once.

Which person/section

1   views the translation process as a structural problem-solving exercise?

2   admits to sacrificing literal accuracy to keep the original beat?

3   believes that crafting a fresh piece of writing is essential to capture the original atmosphere?

4   highlights the challenge of translating sayings that do not exist in the target language?

5   tests the flow of their work by speaking it out loud?

6   received criticism for making too many changes to the original text?

7   successfully moved past a psychological barrier that was preventing them from working?

8   points out the importance of studying the period in which the poem was created?

9   argues that the new version must produce the same inner response in its readers?

10   felt overwhelmed by the responsibility of adapting a text by a famous author?

The Art of Echoes: Translating the Untranslatable

A Elena

When tackling classical sonnets, my primary concern is always the meter. It is remarkably similar to a complex puzzle; you have a strict number of syllables and a precise stress pattern to adhere to. If you merely translate the vocabulary literally, the musicality completely vanishes, leaving the verses feeling flat and lifeless. Consequently, I frequently find myself having to abandon the exact dictionary meaning of a phrase just to preserve the original tempo. I spend hours pacing around my living room, reading my drafts aloud to an empty room. If my tongue stumbles or the beat feels slightly off, I know I have to start from scratch. Had I not been so stubborn about the rhythm, I probably wouldn’t have spent three weeks working on a single stanza recently. While my colleagues focus heavily on the underlying themes, I am obsessed with the sound. If a poem was originally designed to dance, the translated version shouldn’t simply walk.

B Julian

People often assume that maintaining the rhythm is the toughest aspect of poetry translation. However, for me, the real hurdle lies in the cultural nuances. Recently, I was tasked with translating a 19th-century romantic epic. The author relied heavily on local idioms and regional slang that simply do not have a direct equivalent in English. You can’t just swap the words; you have to figure out what the poet actually intended to convey. This involves delving deep into the archives and investigating the historical background of the era to grasp the societal norms of the time. A literal translation could easily be misinterpreted by a modern audience. Sometimes, it feels like being a detective rather than a linguist. I’ve occasionally had to replace a culturally specific metaphor with a completely different English one that carries the same weight. It’s a delicate balancing act, and if you get it wrong, the entire meaning is lost in translation.

C Sofia

For me, translating poetry is an intensely emotional journey. My philosophy is that a successful translation must provoke the exact same feelings in the new audience as the original piece did for its native readers. To achieve this, I often argue that you cannot simply translate the text; you must essentially write a brand-new piece of literature that echoes the original mood. Obviously, this approach has its critics. Just last month, I received some rather harsh feedback from a traditionalist reviewer who accused me of straying too far from the source material. I was upset initially, but I quickly bounced back. Nevertheless, I stand by my method. A word-for-word translation of a heartbreaking stanza might sound structurally perfect, but if it doesn’t bring a tear to the reader’s eye, I consider it a failure. The soul of the poem must survive, even if the phrasing changes entirely.

D Mateo

There is a unique kind of pressure that comes with translating the work of a universally revered literary giant. When I was commissioned to translate the most famous works of a Nobel Prize-winning poet, I was absolutely petrified. The weight of expectations was crushing; I was constantly anxious about altering a masterpiece and disappointing millions of devoted fans. This fear led to a severe mental block, and for weeks, I stared at a blank screen, unable to write a single line. I was convinced I was going to have to pull out of the project. Fortunately, after stepping away and spending a weekend hiking in the mountains, the mental fog lifted. I finally came to terms with the fact that perfection is an illusion. I stopped trying to create a flawless replica and started treating the poem as a conversation between the original author and myself. Once I changed my perspective, the words finally began to flow naturally.

Exercises:   123456