(the following passage is excerpted from an essay by a twentieth-century american author.)
in france, on a rented canal boat, my friends and i gazed in despair at the closed oaken gates of the lock. we’d come to them only seconds after the witching hour of noon, but we were too late. there was no one to open the lock for us; l’éclusière1 was at lunch, and after lunch she would lay herself down, close her eyes, and nap. at two, but not before, she would emerge refreshed from her square granite house and set the great cogs in motion.
we tied the boat up to a spindly bush beside the towpath and waited. and waited. it was high haying season, but the fields lay empty of farmers. the roads lay empty of trucks. france lunched, and then slept. so did spain. so did much of the civilized world.
if we’d been differently nurtured we too would have taken a nap, but we were americans, condemned from the age of four to trudge through our sleepless days. americans are afraid of naps.
napping is too luxurious, too sybaritic,2 too unproductive, and it’s free; pleasures for which we don’t pay make us anxious. besides, it seems to be a natural inclination. those who get paid to investigate such things have proved that people deprived of daylight and their wristwatches, with no notion of whether it was night or day, sink blissfully asleep in midafternoon as regular as clocks. fighting off natural inclinations is a major puritan3 virtue, and nothing that feels that good can be respectable.
they may have a point there. certainly the process of falling asleep in the afternoon is quite different from bedtime sleep. whether this is physiological or merely a by-product of guilt, it’s a blatantly sensual experience, a voluptuous surrender, akin to the euphoric swoon of the heroine in a vampire movie. for the self-controlled, it’s frightening—how far down am i falling? will i ever climb back? the sleep itself has a different texture. it’s blacker, thicker, more intense, and works faster. fifteen minutes later the napper pops back to the surface as from time travel, bewildered to find that it’s only ten of two instead of centuries later.

2
the author introduces her essay by relating an anecdote from her vacation in france (paragraphs 1 and 2) primarily to
a praise the widespread custom of european napping
b confirm her audience’s suspicion that napping is inefficient
c offer advice to americans traveling in rural france
d establish a cultural comparison for her argument about napping

Question

(the following passage is excerpted from an essay by a twentieth-century american author.)
in france, on a rented canal boat, my friends and i gazed in despair at the closed oaken gates of the lock. we’d come to them only seconds after the witching hour of noon, but we were too late. there was no one to open the lock for us; l’éclusière1 was at lunch, and after lunch she would lay herself down, close her eyes, and nap. at two, but not before, she would emerge refreshed from her square granite house and set the great cogs in motion.
we tied the boat up to a spindly bush beside the towpath and waited. and waited. it was high haying season, but the fields lay empty of farmers. the roads lay empty of trucks. france lunched, and then slept. so did spain. so did much of the civilized world.
if we’d been differently nurtured we too would have taken a nap, but we were americans, condemned from the age of four to trudge through our sleepless days. americans are afraid of naps.
napping is too luxurious, too sybaritic,2 too unproductive, and it’s free; pleasures for which we don’t pay make us anxious. besides, it seems to be a natural inclination. those who get paid to investigate such things have proved that people deprived of daylight and their wristwatches, with no notion of whether it was night or day, sink blissfully asleep in midafternoon as regular as clocks. fighting off natural inclinations is a major puritan3 virtue, and nothing that feels that good can be respectable.
they may have a point there. certainly the process of falling asleep in the afternoon is quite different from bedtime sleep. whether this is physiological or merely a by-product of guilt, it’s a blatantly sensual experience, a voluptuous surrender, akin to the euphoric swoon of the heroine in a vampire movie. for the self-controlled, it’s frightening—how far down am i falling? will i ever climb back? the sleep itself has a different texture. it’s blacker, thicker, more intense, and works faster. fifteen minutes later the napper pops back to the surface as from time travel, bewildered to find that it’s only ten of two instead of centuries later.

2
the author introduces her essay by relating an anecdote from her vacation in france (paragraphs 1 and 2) primarily to
a praise the widespread custom of european napping
b confirm her audience’s suspicion that napping is inefficient
c offer advice to americans traveling in rural france
d establish a cultural comparison for her argument about napping

Accepted Answer

# Brief Explanations:
To solve this, we analyze each option:
- Option A: The anecdote doesn't praise the European napping custom; it sets up a comparison. Eliminate A.
- Option B: The author doesn't confirm suspicion of napping being inefficient; instead, she contrasts cultural attitudes. Eliminate B.
- Option C: The anecdote isn't about giving advice to Americans traveling in rural France. Eliminate C.
- Option D: The author's vacation anecdote in France (where napping is normal) is used to establish a cultural comparison for her argument about napping (contrasting with American attitudes). This fits.

# Answer:
D. establish a cultural comparison for her argument about napping

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