Stand in the doorway of a real house and look at the floor plan. Almost nothing is a plain rectangle. Rooms turn corners into an L; a running track is a rectangle with a half-circle stuck on each end; a garden has a rectangular pond cut out of the middle. Yet the carpet-fitter still has to know exactly how many square metres to order, and the surveyor still has to price the land.
The secret they all use is beautifully simple. A compound (or composite) shape is one built from simpler shapes joined together — and you already know how to find the area of the simple pieces. So you break the awkward shape into rectangles, triangles and half-circles, work out each area on its own, and then just add them up. An L-shaped room is nothing more fearsome than two rectangles holding hands.
The core move is to split the shape into pieces you can already measure — most often rectangles — find the area of each piece, then add the areas together:
Sometimes it is quicker to think the other way round: start with a big rectangle that swallows the whole shape, then subtract the missing corner or the hole:
Adding and subtracting are two roads to the same town — for many shapes either will do, and a good habit is to solve it once each way and check the answers match.
Step through the figure: meet the L-shape, cut it into two rectangles with a dashed line, then add their areas to get the total.
Take the L-shape in the figure above: overall it is
Way A — a horizontal cut. Slice along the inner step to get a wide bottom rectangle and a small top one:
Way B — a vertical cut. Slice down the inner step instead: a tall left rectangle and a short right one:
Same shape, same
A window is a rectangle
A half-circle is just
A metal plate is an
Step through it below: draw the big rectangle, punch the hole, take one from the other.
Three mistakes wreck more compound-area answers than anything else:
Breaking a hard shape into easy pieces isn't just a schoolroom trick — it's how architects price a floor, how carpet-fitters cut to size, and how land surveyors measure a crooked field (they chop it into triangles and add them, a method as old as ancient Egypt).
And it is the seed of one of the biggest ideas in mathematics. What if the shape has a curvy edge that no rectangle fits neatly? You slice it into lots of very thin rectangular strips, add their areas, and then imagine the strips getting thinner and thinner — infinitely thin, infinitely many. In the limit, that "chop and sum" gives the exact area under any curve. That is integration, the heart of calculus — the very same idea you are using here, simply taken all the way to the edge.