Practice Drama with authentic IB English Lit (Old) exam questions for both SL and HL students. This question bank mirrors Paper 1, 2, 3 structure, covering key topics like textual analysis, language and identity, and perspectives and contexts. Get instant solutions, detailed explanations, and build exam confidence with questions in the style of IB examiners.
Text: Excerpt from On the Line by Richard Henson
Context: In a 1960s Catholic school, Sister Helena (stern, senior) confronts Sister Frances (young, idealistic) in the staffroom about her teaching style.
Script Excerpt:
SISTER HELENA: Tell me, Sister Frances—do you believe kindness breeds discipline?
SISTER FRANCES: I believe respect does.
SISTER HELENA: And what earns a child’s respect, do you think?
SISTER FRANCES: Consistency. Care. Fairness.
SISTER HELENA: No. Fear.
SISTER FRANCES (startled): Fear?
SISTER HELENA: A child who fears you listens. A child who listens learns. We are not here to befriend them.
SISTER FRANCES: We are here to lead them.
SISTER HELENA: Precisely. And they must follow. Without question.
(Silence. The clock ticks.)
SISTER FRANCES: Then why do I feel like I’m failing when I shout?
SISTER HELENA (curtly): Because you are too soft. You’ve let the girls look you in the eye too long.
SISTER FRANCES: What if they need someone who sees them?
SISTER HELENA: What they need is strength. You mistake warmth for wisdom.
SISTER FRANCES (quietly): And you mistake silence for obedience.
(Pause. The clock chimes. SISTER HELENA rises, smooths her habit.)
SISTER HELENA: You’ll learn. Or you’ll leave.
SISTER FRANCES: Maybe there’s something between control and chaos.
SISTER HELENA: Maybe in books. Not in classrooms.
SISTER FRANCES: You don’t believe a child can change?
SISTER HELENA: I believe a child will do whatever you allow. That is not change. That is calculation.
SISTER FRANCES: That sounds so bleak.
SISTER HELENA: It is discipline. Without it, there is only sentiment. And sentiment is weakness.
SISTER FRANCES: You speak as though kindness were a disease.
SISTER HELENA: Kindness is a luxury for those who don’t have to see results.
SISTER FRANCES (gathering her books): Maybe I was wrong about this place.
SISTER HELENA (stepping closer): Maybe you were. But I hope you weren’t. We need people like you, even if we don’t say it.
SISTER FRANCES (surprised): That almost sounded like encouragement.
SISTER HELENA (dryly): Don’t get used to it.
(Both smile faintly before exiting opposite sides of the stage.)
How does the writer present the clash of educational philosophies between the two characters, and what does this reveal about their relationship?
Text: Excerpt from The Cellar Door by Fiona Lark
Context: In a post-apocalyptic world, a father and his teenage daughter take shelter in a reinforced underground cellar. They have just heard knocking on the door above—possibly a survivor, possibly a threat. A moral dilemma unfolds between self-preservation and compassion.
Script Excerpt:
DAUGHTER: What if they’re alone? What if they need us?
FATHER: Or what if they’re waiting to take everything?
DAUGHTER: We have nothing.
FATHER: We have each other. That’s all that’s left.
(A knock returns. Silence.)
DAUGHTER: I hate this.
FATHER: I know.
DAUGHTER: I used to dream about being a nurse. Helping people. Not locking them out.
FATHER: The world has changed.
DAUGHTER: Maybe that’s the problem. We let it.
FATHER: Or maybe it changed before we noticed.
DAUGHTER: And what now? Do we just become the kind of people who survive and feel nothing?
FATHER: We feel everything. That’s the curse.
DAUGHTER: If you open the door, I’ll stand behind you. But if you don’t, I won’t speak again tonight.
(Beat. More knocks—then a voice, faint.)
VOICE (offstage): Please. Anyone… please.
FATHER: It could be a trick.
DAUGHTER: And it could be someone’s life.
(He looks at her. She does not flinch. He walks to the door and pauses.)
FATHER: Do you trust me?
DAUGHTER: I trust me. And right now, I trust this more than silence.
FATHER: When your mother and I first built this place, we thought it was about safety. I think we forgot that safety without kindness is just a cage.
DAUGHTER: You haven’t forgotten. You’re just afraid.
FATHER: I’ve seen what people become.
DAUGHTER: So have I. But we’re not those people. Not yet.
(Another knock. Louder. The father closes his eyes briefly. Then opens them.)
FATHER: Go sit by the wall.
DAUGHTER: Why?
FATHER: Because I’m going to open it.
(She does. He places his hand on the latch.)
FATHER: One chance.
(He opens the door a crack. Light floods in. The figure beyond is unseen.)
FATHER: Who are you?
VOICE: Just someone looking for a place to rest.
(Pause. He opens the door wider. The light grows.)
FATHER: Then rest. But know this—hurt her, and this door becomes your coffin.
(Blackout.)
How does the writer challenge the reader’s assumptions about morality and survival in this extract?
Text: Excerpt from Through the Glass by Elena Ward
Context: Claudia and Beth, estranged sisters, reunite in their childhood home after their mother’s funeral. The atmosphere is tense as unresolved emotions rise to the surface.
Script Excerpt: (The kitchen is dim. Rain taps steadily on the window. CLAUDIA sits at the table with a mug. BETH leans against the doorframe, arms crossed.)
CLAUDIA: Do you remember how she used to leave the kettle on until it screamed? Like she wanted the house to wake up in protest.
BETH: Or she forgot. She forgot everything else by the end.
CLAUDIA: Not everything.
BETH: Just the things that mattered.
CLAUDIA: That’s not fair.
BETH: Neither was she. You act like she was some kind of saint.
CLAUDIA: I just want to remember her gently.
BETH: Because guilt tastes sweeter with sugar?
CLAUDIA (quietly): Because it hurts less.
(Pause. BETH moves to the sink. CLAUDIA watches her.)
CLAUDIA: I left because I couldn’t breathe here.
BETH: And I stayed because I had to. Someone had to clean up after the storm you made.
CLAUDIA: You think I wanted to leave? I begged her to come with me.
BETH: She wouldn’t. You knew that.
CLAUDIA: So I ran. That was all I could do.
(The kettle whistles faintly in the background.)
BETH: You always run.
CLAUDIA: And you always stay. Even when it’s killing you.
(BETH slams her mug down. The whistle rises.)
BETH: Do you know what it’s like to watch her forget your name? To bathe her, feed her, and pretend it’s okay?
CLAUDIA: I imagined it every day.
BETH (softly): Imagining is easy from a thousand miles away.
CLAUDIA (tears up): I wanted to come home. I just didn’t know if I was allowed to.
BETH (sitting down): It stopped being about permission years ago. It became about survival.
CLAUDIA: And did you survive?
(Long pause. The kettle is turned off.)
BETH: Not really. But I’m still here.
CLAUDIA (reaches across the table): Maybe we both are.
How does the writer use dialogue and silence to reveal the dynamic between the two sisters?