Dangers of the Sea Chapter Notes | Year 7 English IGCSE (Cambridge) PDF Download

Jaws: The Shark’s Menace

In Peter Benchley’s “Jaws,” a great white shark terrorizes a seaside town, its presence both majestic and horrifying. In the first extract, the shark is described as it circles a boat, its head rising two feet above the water. Its sooty grey top is pocked with two black eyes, and deep nostril slashes mark the transition from grey to cream-white at its snout. The half-open mouth reveals a dark cavern lined with huge, triangular teeth, an image of raw, predatory power. In the second extract, Hooper, a main character, is lowered into the sea in a metal cage to photograph the shark. The creature ascends effortlessly, like an “angel of death gliding towards an appointment,” its silent approach chilling. As it nears the cage, Hooper recoils, watching the shark pass in a display of its immense size and strength. The snout leads, followed by the slack, smiling jaw armed with rows of serrated, triangular teeth, and then the black eye, seemingly fixed on him. The gills ripple like bloodless wounds in its steely skin. As the shark moves away, Hooper hears faint pops—bullets fired from above, missing their mark. Determined to capture more photos, he waits for another pass, but the shark suddenly rams the cage, its force shattering the bars in a terrifying assault.

Jaws: The Victim’s Peril

The third extract introduces a female victim, unaware of the danger lurking beneath the waves. On a mid-June night, she walks to the surf, where the water, colder than the air, washes over her ankles. She retreats briefly before running toward the sea, her strides initially graceful until a small wave trips her at the knees. She falters but regains her footing, diving over a waist-high wave. Standing in hip-deep water, she pushes hair from her eyes and wades deeper until the water reaches her shoulders. There, she begins to swim with a jerky, head-above-water stroke, betraying her lack of formal training. In the fourth extract, the shark senses a shift in the sea’s rhythm through thin canals along its body, dotted with nerve endings that detect vibrations. Though it cannot yet see or smell the woman, it turns toward the shore. The woman, tiring, swims away from the beach, pausing to orient herself by the lights of a house. Unaware of the shark’s approach, she feels a wave of pressure as it hurtles past, six feet below and a dozen feet to the side, lifting and settling her in the water. She holds her breath, sensing something amiss. The shark, now smelling her distress, circles closer to the surface, its dorsal fin and thrashing tail breaking the water with a hiss. Tremors shake its body, and the woman, gripped by fear she cannot explain, swims faster, adrenaline surging. Fifty yards from shore, she clings to the sight of house lights, believing for a moment she sees someone at a window. The shark, forty feet away, suddenly veers left, dives, and with two swift tail thrusts, closes in on her, the tension mounting as predator and prey converge.

Fear! Why Are We Afraid of Sharks?

Elaina Zachos’ article “Why Are We Afraid of Sharks?” explores the roots of galeophobia, the fear of sharks, amplified by the 1975 film “Jaws.” The movie’s iconic image of a great white’s jaws rising through murky water cemented the shark’s image as a mindless killer, striking fear into swimmers. Marine biologist Blake Chapman explains that this fear, while not irrational, stems from the shark’s formidable nature. Great whites, for instance, boast mouths lined with up to 300 dagger-like teeth, capable of shredding prey effortlessly. David Ropeik, a risk perception consultant, adds that the terror lies in the gruesome prospect of being eaten alive by a 15-foot tiger shark, a painful death we dread. Yet, statistics reveal that shark attacks are rare—vending machines or collapsing cows pose greater risks. Chapman notes that fear is a learned response, not innate, inherited from ancient ancestors who avoided wild animals to survive. Sharks, as biological threats, tap into this primal instinct. The article emphasizes that our fear is less about reality and more about losing control in shark-infested waters, where a mysterious predator could strike without warning, fueling an emotional response that overshadows the facts.

A Tale of a Whale: Moby-Dick

Herman Melville’s “Moby-Dick” chronicles Captain Ahab’s obsessive quest to kill the legendary white whale, Moby-Dick. At the novel’s climax, the crew watches, transfixed, as the whale vibrates its head side to side, its solid white forehead—a “buttress”—smashing into the ship’s starboard bow. The impact sends men and timbers reeling, the enchanted eyes of the seamen fixed on the creature’s immense power. The collision marks a dramatic confrontation, underscoring the whale’s dominance and Ahab’s doomed pursuit, as the ship succumbs to the beast’s relentless force.

A Tale of a Whale: And the Ocean Was Our Sky

In Patrick Ness’ “And the Ocean Was Our Sky,” the whale Bathsheba narrates an encounter with a human survivor clinging to wreckage after a shipwreck. The human, a young male, holds a mysterious disc, its purpose unclear—perhaps a message for any hunting pod or a specific one. Bathsheba, circling him, notes his shock but marvels that he still clutches the disc. Captain Alexandra, a veteran of a thousand hunts known for her daring, calls to Bathsheba, asking if the human has recovered. Bathsheba replies that he is recovering from near-drowning but may never overcome his fright. When the human, trembling, pleads, “No, please!” as Bathsheba opens her mouth, she pauses, surprised by his direct address. Men rarely speak to whales, especially not to Apprentices like her. Gasping, he assumes she intends to kill him, highlighting the tense dynamic between human and whale in this inverted world where whales hunt humans, and the disc’s riddle deepens the mystery of their encounter.

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner: Part 1

Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner” begins with the Mariner stopping a wedding guest to recount a haunting tale of his sea voyage. In the first extract, the ship sets sail joyfully, cheered as it clears the harbor, passing the church, hill, and lighthouse. The sun rises on the left, emerging from the sea, and sets on the right, marking the journey’s progress until it blazes overhead at noon. The wedding guest, distracted by the loud bassoon and the bride’s entrance—red as a rose, accompanied by nodding minstrels—beats his breast in frustration but is compelled to listen as the bright-eyed Mariner continues. In the second extract, the ship enters a surreal, icy realm where mist and snow descend, and the cold becomes wondrous. Icebergs, mast-high and emerald-green, float by, surrounding the ship with cracking, growling, roaring, and howling sounds, like noises in a trance. In the third extract, a great albatross appears, a welcome visitor that eats the crew’s food and circles the ship. The ice splits with a thunderous crack, and a south wind propels them forward, the albatross following daily for food or play, responding to the mariners’ calls. The wedding guest, noticing the Mariner’s fearful expression, asks why he looks so tormented. The Mariner confesses that, with his crossbow, he shot the albatross, an act that sets the stage for the curse that follows.

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner: Part 2

The consequences of the Mariner’s act unfold in the fourth extract. The breeze dies, and the sails droop, plunging the crew into a sad, silent sea where they speak only to break the oppressive stillness. Under a hot, copper-colored sky, the blood-red sun looms at noon, no larger than the moon, intensifying the eerie atmosphere. Days pass without wind or motion, the ship as idle as a painting on a painted ocean. Water surrounds them, but the ship’s boards shrink, and there is none to drink. The sea itself seems to rot, crawling with slimy, legged creatures, a horrifying sight. The Mariner is alone, his soul in agony, with no saint to offer pity, trapped in the vast, desolate sea. In the fifth extract, the other sailors, blaming him for their misfortune, hang the dead albatross around his neck as punishment, and he finds himself unable to pray. Gazing at the sea, he notices water snakes, their blue, glossy green, and velvet black bodies coiling and swimming, their paths flashing like golden fire. Struck by their beauty, a spring of love surges in his heart, and he blesses them unaware. In that moment, his ability to pray returns, and the albatross falls from his neck, sinking like lead into the sea, freeing him from the burden of his sin and signaling a turning point in his redemption.