Paper 1 Question 3 Structure Analysis AO2 Explain,

It is not ok to just identify different structural features… you must analyse what effect these have on the reader. You will need to analyse a minimum of 4 quotations to be able to hit this level.

Ideally you want to include 4-6 quotations. You must use subject terminology, otherwise you cannot get above 2marks. Miss Di.Giampasquale<br>

Now annotate this text using what you know about structure: SOURCE A
This extract is from the middle of The Woman in Black, a novella by Susan Hill first published in 1983. In this section Arthur Kipps, a junior solicitor, is staying overnight in Eel Marsh House in order to sort through some legal papers. The house is supposed to be empty following the death of its elderly and reclusive former inhabitant Alice Drablow.

The Woman in Black

At first, all seemed very quiet, very still, and I wondered why I had awoken. Then, with a missed heart-beat, I realized that Spider was up and standing at the door. Every hair of her body was on end, her ears were pricked, her tail erect, the whole of her tense, as if ready to spring. And she was emitting a soft, low growl from deep in her throat. I sat up paralysed, frozen, in the bed, conscious only of the dog and of the prickling of my own skin and of what suddenly seemed a different kind of silence, ominous and dreadful. And then, from somewhere within the depths of the house—but somewhere not very far from the room in which I was—I heard a noise. It was a faint noise, and, strain my ears as I might, I could not make out exactly what it was. It was a sound like a regular yet intermittent bump or rumble. Nothing else happened. There were no footsteps, no creaking floorboards, the air was absolutely still, the wind did not moan through the casement. Only the muffled noise went on and the dog continued to stand, bristling at the door, now putting her nose to the gap at the bottom and snuffling along, now taking a pace backwards, head cocked and, like me, listening, listening. And, every so often, she growled again.

In the end, I suppose because nothing else happened and because I did have the dog to take with me, I managed to get out of bed, though I was shaken and my heart beat uncomfortably fast within me. But it took some time for me to find sufficient reserves of courage to enable me to open the bedroom door and stand out in the dark corridor. The moment I did so, Spider shot ahead and I heard her padding about, sniffing intently at every closed door, still growling and grumbling down in her throat.

After a while, I heard the odd sound again. It seemed to be coming from along the passage to my left, at the very far end. But it was still quite impossible to identify. Very cautiously, listening, hardly breathing, I ventured a few steps in that direction. Spider went ahead of me, the passage led only to three other bedrooms on either side and, one by one, regaining my nerve as I went, I opened them and looked inside each one. Nothing, only heavy old furniture and empty unmade beds and, in the rooms at the back of the house, moonlight. Down below me on the ground floor of the house, silence, a seething, blanketing, almost tangible silence, and a musty darkness, thick as felt.

And then I reached the door at the very end of the passage. Spider was there before me and her body, as she sniffed beneath it, went rigid, her growling grew louder. I put my hand on her collar, stroked the rough, short hair, as much for my own reassurance as for hers. I could feel the tension in her limbs and body and it answered to my own.

This was the door without a keyhole, which I had been unable to open on my first visit to Eel Marsh House. I had no idea what was beyond it. Except the sound. It was coming from within that room, not very loud but just to hand, on the other side of that single wooden partition. It was a sound of something bumping gently on the floor, in a rhythmic sort of way, a familiar sound and yet one I still could not exactly place, a sound that seemed to belong to my past, to waken old, half-forgotten memories and associations deep within me, a sound that, in any other place, would not have made me afraid but would, I thought, have been curiously comforting, friendly.

But at my feet, the dog Spider began to whine, a thin, pitiful, frightened moan, and to back away from the door a little and press against my legs. My throat felt constricted and dry and I had begun to shiver. There was something in that room and I could not get to it, nor would I dare to, if I were able. I told myself it was a rat or a trapped bird, fallen down the chimney into the hearth and unable to get out again. But the sound was not that of some small, panic-stricken creature. Bump bump. Pause. Bump bump. Pause. Bump bump. Bump bump. Bump bump.<br>

Sample Answer At the beginning the writer focuses our attention on the “quiet” and “still(ness)” of the scene. He then introduces “a noise” which immediately interests the reader as it is unclear what is making this sound. In the middle, the writer continues to hold the reader’s intrigue by commenting on this “odd sound” again. The noise is becoming more frequent as Arthur Kipps explores the house. This makes the reader want to find out the source of the noise, just like the character does. In the last paragraph, at the end, the writer is focusing our attention on sound: “whine… moan… the sound”. This sparks the reader’s interest as we are still unclear what has made the original “noise”.

The writer constantly changes our focus from Arthur Kipps to the dog to the “noise”. He does this to show the effect the noise is having on the characters – the dog is mirroring the fear of his owner. The writer juxtaposes the silence with this unknown sound by saying “no footsteps, no creaking floorboards, the air was absolutely still”. He does this to emphasise how unnerving this mysterious sound is, which we see in the parallelism of the “prickling” of Arthur’s skin with the “bristling” of the dog’s hair.

The writer ends on a cliff-hanger by repeating the onomatopoeic word “bump”. By interspersing this with the word “pause” the reader is able to imagine the sound very vividly. It also replicates the sound of a heartbeat, and as the pauses disappear we can infer that the heart beat (just like the tension of the story) is quickening. This makes the reader begin to panic for the protagonist as things are beginning to come to a climax.

The overall structure of the piece is a linear narrative. It is chronologically ordered, which is signposted by the discourse markers at the start of each paragraph “at first… in the end… after a while… and then”. The use of these time connectives clearly show the order of what is happening. The writer does this to keep the pace and momentum moving forward, which builds tension and suspense for the reader. Miss Di.Giampasquale<br>

The main character in this short story is a boy, though we don’t get to know his
name or age. At this mid-point in the story, he is playing amongst some rubble on
the site of a demolished building. Everything seems normal to begin with, however…

One evening, the boy was crouched on top of the mound making a new town out of
a heap of broken glass. He liked this time of day best – after tea, before bed. The air
seemed to get grainy as its colour changed from vinegary yellow to candyfloss blue.
He could rub it between his fingers like dust and slow time down. At the top of the
mound he was in charge and he didn’t want to go home to bed. He collected green
glass shards and broken brown bottle necks. He tumbled fragments of old window in
his hands like shattered marbles. He pushed the glass into the mound, making houses, balancing roofs on them, building towers. The last of the sunlight caught and glinted in the tiny glass walls.

More of the black birds than he’d ever seen before rushed overhead and gathered on the lamppost. The orange light hadn’t yet switched on but the shadows were growing. He heard nine chimes of the town hall clock. For a moment, the lamppost looked like a tall thin man wearing a large black hat. When the man turned towards him, he looked like a lamppost. The man had a greyish-green coat speckled with rust and a black hat that quivered with beaks and feathers. The man didn’t need to climb the mound; he was face to face with the boy with his feet still planted in the pavement.

‘What are you making?’ asked the man.
The boy didn’t answer.
‘Every child is always making something. Shake them out and they‘re full of dust and dreams.’
The boy stood up, ready to run, but then he remembered that at the top of the mound he was king. He dug his heels into the rubble.
‘I’m making a new town, better than this one. The sun can shine in through the walls. The buildings look grander. It’ll be a great glass city.’
‘All it needs is people,’ said the man.
‘Yes, it needs people,’ said the boy. And when he looked down, tiny creatures were scuttling beneath the glass roofs. They looked like ants or spiders, but the sky was darkening and the creatures were moving too fast to be sure. He looked to the man but there was only the lamppost and as its orange light snapped on, the birds launched into the sky.
The boy plunged down the mound and ran, hoping he wouldn’t get told off for being late home. Before he reached the end of the street he knew something was wrong. The world was too quiet. Where were the sounds of cars? Of footballs being kicked against walls? There were no shouts from parents calling everyone in.
‘Mum?’ He pushed open their front door. The house was in darkness but the telly was switched on. His mum wasn’t in any of the rooms. A half-drunk cup of tea had been left on the arm of the settee.
The boy thundered back along the silent streets. He stood in the orange light beneath the lamppost. ‘Give them back,’ he shouted.
Nothing happened, although he could hear the rustle of feathers coming from the darkness above the light.
The boy ran to the top of the mound. ‘Give them back!’
‘But I haven’t got them,’ The man’s face glowed. ‘You have.’
In the gloom, it was hard to make out the tiny creatures beneath the glass roofs. They were no longer moving. The boy couldn’t be sure what was a particle of rubble and what was a person sleeping in their broken-glass house. ‘How do I get them back?’ he asked.
But the man was a lamppost again.<br>

Paragraph 1 Paragraph 3 Paragraph 2 Plan your answer: Miss Di.Giampasquale<br>