Assignment: Write in third person from the viewpoint of someone under 10 years old doing something completely new to him/her, focusing on sensory detail to overcome the difference in vocabulary (cf. Clark Blaise, “Broward Dowdy”).
Allie’s aunt Clara was a tower of a woman in a slim taupe pantsuit, with brown hair cut in a neat, severe bob. She had to lean forward a bit in order to fit her door frame. Aside from her long, narrow nose, she looked nothing like Allie’s mother, her sister, who always wore her long hair down and hated wearing shoes.
Upon seeing the two of them in her doorway, Clara did not smile, but looked them up and down in a brisk nod. Allie looked up at her warily and took a bite of the sandwich her mother had given her in the car.
“Well, girls. Won’t you come in?” Clara’s voice was deep and low, not like Allie’s mother’s at all. Allie tightened her grip on her mother’s hand as Clara leaned down and took the small brown suitcase that sat at Allie’s feet, then turned around and went inside. Allie’s mother tugged on her hand and led her into the house.
Inside, the house was as enormous as it was outside. Allie supposed it had to be, in order to accommodate Clara’s height. It was draughty and smelled like nothing, except for the conspicuous aura of her house that still clung to Allie’s coat and her mother’s sweater. The foyer was rectangular, with one doorway on each side leading to another room. The room was empty except for a round, dark wood table with a thin plaster statue standing atop it, and a long, narrow painting of a yellow field of wheat that hung on the back wall. In the corner, a tall, spiralling wooden staircase went up through the ceiling to the next floor. The walls were marbled white and looked smooth, but Allie did not rush to touch them – the whole place felt precariously arranged, as if one touch would send it crashing to the ground.
“Would you like something to drink?” came Clara’s voice from the next room. It sounded faint in the silence that overpowered the house.
Allie’s mother let go of her hand and walked away, but Allie did not follow her. She stared up at the staircase, at the steep wooden stairs that led to nothing and the rails that looked like polished bones. She took a bite of her sandwich and chewed it slowly. It was bologna and mustard, her favourite. It was the only thing that felt anything like home right now.
Tags: class work, fiction
February 15, 2008 at 5:58 pm
First paragraph is awkward, at first I wasn’t sure who you meant by “she” and “her” in the second sentence. If possible you may try leaving one introduction until later.
Again – the unspecific “her” is confusing when you’re talking about the house which has no smell…except for the aura of “her” house. Whose house? Assuming Clara’s. If so, why does it “still” cling to them if they just got there?
From the way I read it, the description in paragraph 4 doesn’t quite warrant the conclusion that “the whole place felt precariously arranged…etc.” While it does sound unwelcoming, perhaps you’d be better off adding more description to give us that idea, instead of trying to tell us directly and giving us the chance to disagree with you.
The word “anything” in the last sentence is unnecessary and sounds bad with “thing” a couple words before.
Allie’s mannerisms are great, right on target for a little girl. Also excellent choice of sandwich-type.