Unseen paper - lit revision /YR 11/ CT

The extract below is the beginning of a story by Sylvia Plath. It tells of a young family at supper. Read it
carefully.
What does Plath’s writing make you feel towards each of the four members of the family, and
how does she portray them and the relationships between them so vividly?
In the beginning there was Alice Denway’s father, tossing her up in the air until
the breath caught in her throat, and catching her and holding her in a huge bear
hug. With her ear against his chest, young Alice could hear the thunder of his heart
and the pulse of blood in his veins, like the sound of wild horses galloping.
For Alice Denway’s father had been a giant of a man. In the blue blaze of his
eyes was concentrated the color of the whole overhead dome of sky, and when he
laughed, it sounded as if all the waves of the ocean were breaking and roaring up
the beach together. Alice worshipped her father because he was so powerful, and
everybody did what he commanded because he knew best and never gave
mistaken judgment.
Alice Denway was her father’s pet. Ever since Alice was very little, people had
told her that she favored her father’s side of the family and that he was very proud of
her. Her baby brother Warren favored mother’s side of the family, and he was blond
and gentle and always sickly. Alice liked to tease Warren, because it made her feel
strong and superior when he began to fuss and cry. Warren cried a lot, but he never
tattled1 on her.
There had been that spring evening at the supper table when Alice was sitting
across from her brother Warren, who was eating his chocolate pudding. Chocolate
pudding was Warren’s favorite dessert, and he ate it very quietly, scooping it up
carefully with his little silver spoon. Alice did not like Warren that night because he
had been good as gold all day, and mother had said so to father when he came
home from town. Warren’s hair was gold and soft too, the color of dandelions, and
his skin was the color of his glass of milk.
Alice glanced to the head of the table to see if her father was watching her, but
he was bent over his pudding, spooning it up, dripping with cream, into his mouth.
Alice slid down in her chair a little, staring innocently at her plate, and stretched her
leg out under the table. Drawing her leg back, she straightened it in a sharp, swift
kick. The toe of her shoe struck one of Warren’s frail shins.
Alice watched him carefully from under her lowered lashes, concealing her
fascination. The spoonful of pudding halfway to his lips dropped out of his hand,
tumbling streakily down his bib to the floor, and a look of surprise sprouted in his
eyes. His face crumpled into a mask of woe and he began to whine. He did not say
anything, but sat there meekly, tears oozing out of the corners of his shut eyes and
blubbered wetly into his chocolate pudding.
‘Good lord, doesn’t he do anything but cry?’ Alice’s father scowled, lifting his
head and making a scornful mouth. Alice glared at Warren in safe contempt.
‘He is tired,’ her mother said, with a hurt, reproving look at Alice. Bending over
the table, she stroked Warren’s yellow hair. ‘He hasn’t been well, poor baby. You
know that.’
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Her mother’s face was tender and soft like the Madonna2 pictures in Sunday
school, and she got up and gathered Warren into the circle of her arms where he lay
curled, warm and secure, sniffling, his face turned away from Alice and her father.
The light made a luminous halo of his soft hair. Mother murmured little crooning
noises to quiet him and said: ‘There, there angel, it is all right now. It is all right.’
Alice felt the lump of pudding stop in the back of her throat as she was about to
swallow, and she almost gagged. Working hard with her mouth, she finally got it
down. Then she felt the steady encouraging level of her father’s gaze upon her, and
she brightened. Looking up into his keen blue eyes, she gave a clear triumphant
laugh.
‘Who’s my girl?’ he asked her fondly, tweaking at a pigtail.
‘Alice is!’ she cried out, bouncing in her chair.
1 tattled: told tales
2 Madonna: Mary, the mother of Jesus
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