- The author's argument depends most directly on which of the following claims?
Answer: That reforms addressing the causes of past crises tend to redirect, rather than eliminate, the accumulation of systemic risk.
Questions asking what an argument "depends on" are testing for necessary assumptions — the unstated claim that, if removed, would cause the argument to collapse. Your job is to find the load-bearing beam, not just a true-sounding statement.
The author's central move is in paragraph two: regulators fix the last crisis, but "capital flees to sectors the rules do not yet reach," and risk "accumulates in those unwatched corners." The entire argument that finance cannot be made "crisis-proof" rests on this mechanism — that reform relocates risk rather than removing it. That is exactly what B states. Without this claim, the author's leap from "we prepare for the last crisis" to "the next crisis is made more likely" has no bridge.
A introduces a claim about regulator corruption or capture that the author never makes; the argument works even if regulators are perfectly well-intentioned. C restates the "short memories, long greed" explanation that the author explicitly calls "true but insufficient" — so it cannot be what the argument depends on. D overreaches: the author doesn't argue crises are unpredictable in principle, only that eliminating them is incoherent; and he never invokes the un-modelability of human behavior.
When a passage explicitly labels one explanation as inadequate and offers a "deeper" one, the argument depends on the deeper claim, not the surface one. Watch for distractors (like C here) that recycle the very idea the author has set aside — they're designed to catch students who remember the passage's vocabulary but not its logical structure.
- What weakens the support in "Our library is thriving: its cafe sold twice as many lattes this year"?
Answer: It measures cafe sales, not use of the library
Latte sales show the cafe is busy, not that people borrow books or use library services, so the evidence is off target. It does not contradict the claim; it simply fails to measure what the claim is about.
- The author uses the extended comparison of translators to smugglers primarily to convey which idea?
Answer: That the act of moving meaning between languages necessarily entails loss, since cultural context cannot fully accompany the words themselves.
When you encounter a question about an extended metaphor or analogy, focus on what the comparison does in the passage — what specific idea it illuminates — rather than on surface features of the vehicle (here, smugglers). Ask: what point is the author using this image to make?
The smuggling metaphor is developed carefully. Translators "move meaning across borders," and "something is always confiscated at the checkpoint." The amae example makes the point concrete: the word can cross, but the cultural world that gives it meaning cannot. That is exactly what C captures — moving meaning between languages entails loss because cultural context can't travel with the words.
A misreads the metaphor literally: "smuggler" implies illicitness, but the author isn't saying translation is unethical — the word is chosen for the idea of loss at the border, not criminality. B invents a claim about secrecy and institutional opposition that isn't in the passage; the tribunal translators actually announce their difficulties openly to judges. D is tempting because the passage does contrast real skill with the "clerk" stereotype, but "cunning" isn't the quality praised — the author values scrupulousness and suspicion of one's own fluency, which is nearly the opposite of a smuggler's cleverness. D latches onto the vehicle rather than the tenor.
Strategy tip: with extended-metaphor questions, identify which feature of the comparison the author develops. Wrong answers often exploit other associations of the metaphor's image that the author never actually invokes.
- The speaker's argument against 'counsels of patience' rests principally on which type of evidence?
Answer: A historical pattern in which rights now regarded as legitimate were, in every case, denounced as premature when first demanded.
When a question asks what an argument "rests principally on," you need to identify the type of reasoning the speaker actually uses — not just the conclusion they reach. Look at what the speaker cites as support, and ignore claims that merely sound like something they might believe.
Here, the speaker's central move happens in the second paragraph, where he lists specific historical examples: women's suffrage, the end of child labor, workers' dignity, immigrant education, and the American Revolution itself. He argues that in every case, the right was "demanded before it was ripe" and dismissed as "ill-timed." This is an inductive argument from historical pattern — exactly what A describes.
B is tempting because the speaker clearly holds moral convictions, but he explicitly says his observation is drawn "not from any political philosophy but from the plain history of our republic." He grounds his case in history, not ethics. C fails because there are no statistics — the speaker offers illustrative examples, not quantitative comparisons of movements. D confuses the speaker's own rhetorical stance ("those of us who march") with testimony from named individuals; no personal accounts of regret are actually offered.
The trap in B and D is that both describe things consistent with the speaker's worldview but not the evidence he actually deploys. C invents rigor (statistics) that isn't in the text.
Strategy tip: On rhetoric questions, distinguish between what a speaker believes and what a speaker cites. The correct answer describes the evidence on the page, not the values behind it.
- The author's central claim is best described as which of the following?
Answer: The conceptual distinction between wilderness and civilization is a human construction that obscures how ecological processes actually operate.
When a question asks for a passage's "central claim," you're looking for the thesis that unifies every paragraph—not just a striking example or a secondary implication. Read for the argumentative spine: what is the author trying to convince you of overall?
Here, the examples (peregrines, coyotes, raccoons) support a larger philosophical point stated explicitly in paragraph two: "the very categories we use—'wild' and 'built,' 'natural' and 'human'—have always been convenient fictions." Paragraph three extends this, redefining wilderness as "not a place but a process." That's exactly what B captures: the wild/civilized binary is a human construct that misrepresents how ecology actually works.
A is too modest—it treats the essay as a report on urban wildlife's success, missing the conceptual argument that dismantles the wild/urban divide altogether. The author isn't saying cities are more hospitable than we thought; he's saying the category itself is flawed. C invents a critique of conservation strategy that the passage doesn't make; the author calls conservation "stranger and more difficult," not failed, and never claims most species live in cities. D fixates on an evolutionary mechanism (adaptability beats specialization) that the passage only gestures toward as evidence, not as its thesis.
A useful strategy: when three answers describe details or implications and one describes a reframing of concepts, the conceptual answer is usually the central claim in essays like this. Authors who put scare quotes around common terms ('wild,' 'built,' 'natural') are almost always arguing that those categories themselves are the problem.
- The speaker's argument implies which of the following about the standard 'hypothesis-and-experiment' model of science?
Answer: It captures a genuine feature of science but obscures the interpretive judgment required when experimental results are unexpected.
Questions that ask what an argument "implies" about a competing view require you to find the choice that matches the author's precise level of critique — neither too harsh nor too mild. Watch for qualifying language in the passage that signals partial agreement.
Here, the speaker explicitly says the standard model "is not so much wrong as radically incomplete." That's the key phrase. He accepts that hypothesis-testing describes something real about science, but insists it leaves out the crucial moment of interpretation — deciding whether an unexpected result is a genuine anomaly or just an artifact. Choice C captures both halves of this claim: the model "captures a genuine feature" (not wrong) but "obscures the interpretive judgment" (incomplete).
A overstates the critique. The speaker never says the standard model is "fundamentally mistaken," nor does he pit intuition against testable predictions — he's talking about judgment in interpreting results, not replacing experiments with hunches. B misidentifies the gap. The speaker's concern isn't that results are frequently "ambiguous" in some neutral sense; it's that scientists must actively judge which anomalies deserve attention, and most should be dismissed. B also wrongly grants that the model "correctly identifies the mechanism." D introduces a distinction (established vs. newer sciences) that appears nowhere in the passage — a classic out-of-scope distractor.
When a passage uses hedged criticism ("not so much wrong as incomplete," "radically incomplete"), the correct answer almost always mirrors that hedge. Eliminate choices that flatten the author's nuance into either full rejection or full endorsement.
- In "The new mall did not open so much as metastasize across the old farmland," the word "metastasize" implies the mall's growth was:
Answer: harmful and spreading beyond control
"Metastasize" describes cancer spreading, so it casts the mall's growth as harmful and uncontrolled. Reading it as rapid but beneficial catches the speed but misses the word's clearly negative connotation.
- The final sentence, 'It was already, in the only sense that mattered, in use,' most nearly means that:
Answer: The room's real purpose was to embody a disposition of readiness, one that was fulfilled by the room being faithfully maintained rather than actually occupied.
The essay builds to a paradox: a room no one enters is somehow 'in use.' To resolve it, notice the narrator's redefinition—hospitality 'was not what you extended when a guest arrived; it was what you were when no one was there.' The room is 'in use' because its function is to embody a standing readiness; maintaining it, not occupying it, is what fulfills its purpose. That is why the answer about the room embodying a disposition of readiness fits best.
The choice about a practical function is too literal and too weak. The essay explicitly rejects the language of usefulness and efficiency ('years of patient uselessness'), so the point is that the room's value is not practical.
The choice about a lost tradition shifts to cultural commentary. Although the essay does critique modern attitudes elsewhere, this final sentence is about what the room was, not what society has lost.
The choice about secret use invents a fact the passage never supports and treats 'in use' as literal occupancy—the very reading the sentence overturns.
When a passage sets up a paradox like 'patient uselessness' or a room 'in use' with no user, the best answer usually explains it by redefining a key term—here, 'use' becomes 'readiness.'
- The author would most likely agree with which of the following statements about memoir writing?
Answer: The unavoidable shaping involved in memoir does not excuse factual errors, but honest memoirists acknowledge to readers that shaping is occurring.
When a question asks what an author "would most likely agree with," you need to find the choice that captures the author's actual position—not an exaggeration of it, and not a related idea they never endorsed. Look for language that mirrors the nuance of the passage.
The author's central claim unfolds in two moves. First, all memoir involves shaping: selecting what to include is itself a kind of invention, because real people (like the father) exceed any coherent narrative. Second, this does not license factual sloppiness—"a false date is still a false date." The honest memoirist accepts the shaping and tells the reader it's happening. Choice A captures both halves precisely: shaping is unavoidable, factual errors are still errors, and honesty means acknowledging the shaping.
B misrepresents the author, who explicitly says "facts still matter." The author never elevates emotional truth over accuracy—that's a common memoir cliché the passage actually resists. C endorses inventing scenes, which the author rejects from the start ("refuse the novelist's license to invent a convenient detail"). The author distinguishes selection from fabrication; C collapses that distinction. D introduces a practical prescription (corroboration with relatives) that the author mentioned only as something she initially tried—and the essay's whole point is that even faithful sourcing can't resolve a contradictory person into a "legible" character.
When an author takes a nuanced middle position, watch for distractors that push the view to an extreme in either direction. The right answer usually preserves both sides of the tension.
- The author's argument would be most seriously weakened by which of the following findings, if true?
Answer: Contemporary neurological studies showing that heavy smartphone users exhibit measurable reductions in the brain networks associated with sustained attention.
"Weaken the argument" questions require you to first pin down the author's central claim, then find the answer choice that most directly undermines it. Here, the author concedes that reading habits are changing but insists the change is cultural, not *neurological*—explicitly arguing that our capacity to read hasn't been damaged, only our sense of what reading is for.
Choice A attacks this claim at its foundation. If neurological studies show that heavy smartphone use actually shrinks the brain networks responsible for sustained attention, then the author's key distinction collapses: the change would be neurological, and the "lost cognitive faculty" the author dismisses would be real. This directly contradicts the essay's central move.
Choice B might seem tempting because it challenges the author's characterization of Victorian readers as an elite. But even if the reading public was broader, this doesn't touch the author's main claim about attention being cultural rather than neurological—it only weakens a supporting point. Choice C is irrelevant to the argument: the author never claims readers enjoy novels more or less, only that their capacity to read is intact. Enjoyment is a separate issue. Choice D actually strengthens the author's argument by suggesting that fragmented reading is historically normal, not a modern decline.
When tackling "weaken" questions, identify the author's specific thesis, not just the general topic. The author's argument here hinges on a single distinction (cultural vs. neurological)—so the answer that strikes that exact distinction will always beat answers that merely nibble at supporting details.
- In "The senator's speech was a masterpiece of saying nothing at length," the word "masterpiece" is used to:
Answer: mock the speech as skillfully empty
Pairing "masterpiece" with "saying nothing at length" makes the praise ironic: the senator is skilled only at talking without substance. A literal reading as genuine praise misses this sarcasm.
- The critic's central objection to contemporary 'transparent' civic architecture is that:
Answer: The visual openness such buildings project functions as a rhetorical substitute for genuine institutional accountability about how they were designed and funded.
Questions about a "central objection" or "main argument" ask you to identify the specific critique the author is making, not just any true statement in the passage. Watch for answer choices that are factually consistent with the passage but miss the actual thrust of the argument.
The critic's key move is the contrast in paragraph two: the building is "transparent about its occupants and opaque about itself." The essay isn't attacking glass walls or donors per se—it's attacking how visual transparency masquerades as institutional transparency. The closing comparison to an advertising slogan drives this home: "transparency" is being used rhetorically to substitute for real disclosure of budgets, contracts, and design choices. That's exactly what D captures.
A misreads the passage as a practical complaint about privacy—but the critic never suggests occupants are harmed by being visible; he's concerned about what isn't visible (the institutional decisions). B identifies a real grievance mentioned in the passage (donor compromises, zoning variances), but these are examples supporting the larger point, not the central objection itself. The critic's target is the architectural vocabulary, not individual bad actors. C invents a nostalgic argument about "aesthetic seriousness" that appears nowhere in the passage; the advertising comparison is an analogy, not a complaint about marketing infecting architecture.
When a passage sets up an explicit contrast (here: transparent-about-X vs. opaque-about-Y), the correct "main idea" answer almost always preserves both sides of that contrast. Answers that address only one half—or that pick up on supporting details—are usually distractors.
- How does the author's second explanation of boredom (as a 'function') relate to the first explanation (as an 'evolutionary residue')?
Answer: It offers an alternative interpretation of the same evolutionary evidence, reframing boredom as adaptive rather than as a persistent error.
Questions about how two ideas in a passage relate to each other require you to identify the logical structure of the argument, not just what each idea says. Ask yourself: Does the second idea extend the first? Contradict it? Reinterpret it? Look carefully at transition language — here, phrases like "a more provocative possibility" and "not a malfunction but a function" signal that the author is offering a competing interpretation.
Both explanations address the same puzzle (why boredom exists despite being unpleasant) and both work within an evolutionary framework. The first calls boredom an "error" or "residue" — a signal that once helped but now misfires. The second flips this: boredom is doing exactly what it should, pushing humans toward innovation and preventing "comfortable stagnation." Same evidence, same framework, opposite verdict on whether boredom is adaptive or maladaptive. That's precisely what D captures.
A is wrong because the second explanation doesn't introduce culture as a separate dimension — it stays firmly within evolutionary biology. B misreads the relationship: the second view replaces the first rather than reconciling it with anything, and the passage doesn't frame the puzzle as being about deliberate risk-seeking. C overstates the case — the author says the standard account "is not implausible," merely "deserves suspicion." Refutation is too strong; reinterpretation is what's happening.
When a passage presents two theories, watch for whether the second rejects, refines, supplements, or reframes the first. Authors often signal this with hedged language ("a more provocative possibility") rather than outright dismissal.
- "My grandmother kept every receipt, though she had not balanced a checkbook since 1974." What does the writer most likely imply?
Answer: Her habit had outlasted its original practical use
"Though" sets saving receipts against decades of not balancing a checkbook, implying the habit continued without its bookkeeping purpose. Calling her a meticulous money manager ignores that contrast.
- According to the reviewer's account of Harding's argument, why was the printing press historically transformative?
Answer: It standardized texts so that geographically separated readers could contest identical wording, enabling precise disagreement.
When a passage explicitly credits or dismisses specific causes, your job is to track the author's exact chain of reasoning — not to pick the answer that sounds like a familiar historical claim. Reading comprehension at this level often hinges on distinguishing the popular version of an argument from the specific one the passage endorses.
Here, the reviewer directly rejects the "popular account" (vernacular Bibles) and instead points to standardization: "two readers, hundreds of miles apart, could now argue over the exact same words, punctuation and all." The transformative mechanism is precise disagreement made possible by identical texts. That maps cleanly onto C.
A is the very explanation the reviewer explicitly dismisses — the passage notes vernacular translations had already circulated in manuscript for a century, so they can't be the cause. B sounds plausible and is a common textbook claim about print, but the passage never credits speed or volume of production; it credits textual identity across copies. Volume is not what Harding emphasizes. D misidentifies the contrast. The passage contrasts print with manuscript culture (where texts varied), not with oral tradition. It also frames the point around enabling disagreement, not around providing citations for scholars.
The trap in A and B is that both are true-sounding statements about the printing press in general — but the question asks specifically what Harding's argument claims. On reading questions that reference a specific thinker's view, always anchor to what the passage attributes to that person, not to your background knowledge of the topic.
- Which statement best captures the logical relationship the author draws between speed and expertise?
Answer: Speed reflects automaticity, which is a component of competence but is not equivalent to the perceptual richness that defines true expertise.
When a passage asks about a "logical relationship" between two concepts, resist the temptation to pick the most extreme-sounding option. Authors of nuanced arguments usually distinguish between related ideas rather than simply opposing them — so look for the answer that preserves the distinctions the author actually draws.
Here, the author introduces a three-part structure: speed measures automaticity, automaticity is "useful, even essential," but expertise "transcends" it by adding perceptual richness (seeing more features, noticing anomalies). Choice B captures all three moves: speed reflects automaticity, automaticity is part of competence, but true expertise is something more. The grandmaster and diagnostician examples illustrate exactly this — they're slower because their perception is denser.
A overstates the argument into a strict inverse rule. The author never claims that faster always means less expert; he says speed is not a proxy for mastery, which is different from saying it's negatively correlated with it. C contradicts the passage — the author explicitly values automaticity as "essential" and never mentions formal training as the deciding factor. D invents a distinction (routine vs. complex tasks) that the passage doesn't make; the author's critique of speed-as-mastery applies across the board, not just to complex judgment.
When a passage carefully layers concepts (speed → automaticity → competence → expertise), the correct answer almost always preserves the full chain. Distractors typically collapse the layers (A, C) or add unstated qualifications (D). Train yourself to map the author's exact hierarchy before scanning the choices.
