Short Story Analysis : A Haunted House by Virginia Woolf

A Haunted House

by Virginia Woolf

            Whatever hour you woke there was a door shutting. From room to room they went, hand in hand, lifting here, opening there, making sure—a ghostly couple.

            “Here we left it,” she said. And he added, “Oh, but here too!” “It’s upstairs,” she murmured. “And in the garden,” he whispered “Quietly,” they said, “or we shall wake them.”

               But it wasn’t that you woke us. Oh, no. “They’re looking for it; they’re drawing the curtain,” one might say, and so read on a page or two. “Now they’ve found it,” one would be certain, stopping the pencil on the margin. And then, tired of reading, one might rise and see for oneself, the house all empty, the doors standing open, only the wood pigeons bubbling with content and the hum of the threshing machine sounding from the farm. “What did I come in here for? What did I want to find?” My hands were empty. “Perhaps it’s upstairs then?” The apples were in the loft. And so down again, the garden still as ever, only the book had slipped into the grass.

             But they had found it in the drawing room. Not that one could ever see them. The window panes reflected apples, reflected roses; all the leaves were green in the glass. If they moved in the drawing room, the apple only turned its yellow side. Yet, the moment after, if the door was opened, spread about the floor, hung upon the walls, pendant from the ceiling—what? My hands were empty. The shadow of a thrush crossed the carpet; from the deepest wells of silence the wood pigeon drew its bubble of sound. “Safe, safe, safe,” the pulse of the house beat softly. “The treasure buried; the room . . . ” the pulse stopped short. Oh, was that the buried treasure?

            A moment later the light had faded. Out in the garden then? But the trees spun darkness for a wandering beam of sun. So fine, so rare, coolly sunk beneath the surface the beam I sought always burnt behind the glass. Death was the glass; death was between us; coming to the woman first, hundreds of years ago, leaving the house, sealing all the windows; the rooms were darkened. He left it, left her, went North, went East, saw the stars turned in the Southern sky; sought the house, found it dropped beneath the Downs. “Safe, safe, safe,” the pulse of the house beat gladly. “The Treasure yours.”

              The wind roars up the avenue. Trees stoop and bend this way and that. Moonbeams splash and spill wildly in the rain. But the beam of the lamp falls straight from the window. The candle burns stiff and still. Wandering through the house, opening the windows, whispering not to wake us, the ghostly couple seek their joy.

               “Here we slept,” she says. And he adds, “Kisses without number.” “Waking in the morning—” “Silver between the trees—” “Upstairs—” “In the garden—” “When summer came—” “In winter snowtime—” The doors go shutting far in the distance, gently knocking like the pulse of a heart.

              Nearer they come; cease at the doorway. The wind falls, the rain slides silver down the glass. Our eyes darken; we hear no steps beside us; we see no lady spread her ghostly cloak. His hands shield the lantern. “Look,” he breathes. “Sound asleep. Love upon their lips.”

                Stooping, holding their silver lamp above us, long they look and deeply. Long they pause. The wind drives straightly; the flame stoops slightly. Wild beams of moonlight cross both floor and wall, and, meeting, stain the faces bent; the faces pondering; the faces that search the sleepers and seek their hidden joy.

                 “Safe, safe, safe,” the heart of the house beats proudly. “Long years—” he sighs. “Again you found me.” “Here,” she murmurs, “sleeping; in the garden reading; laughing, rolling apples in the loft. Here we left our treasure—” Stooping, their light lifts the lids upon my eyes. “Safe! safe! safe!” the pulse of the house beats wildly. Waking, I cry “Oh, is this your buried treasure? The light in the heart.”

A Haunted House Analysis

Short story Title          : A Haunted House

Author                         : Virginia Woolf

Publisher                     : Alex Davis and Helen Simpson

Date published            : 1985

Number of pages        : 2

Genre (Type of book) : Fiction,Horror,Fantasy

Author’s Background : 

 
    Born into a privileged English household in 1882, author Virginia Woolf was raised by free-thinking parents. She began writing as a young girl and published her first novel, The Voyage Out, in 1915. She wrote modernist classics including Mrs. Dalloway, To the Lighthouse and Orlando, as well as pioneering feminist works, A Room of One's Own and Three Guineas. In her personal life, she suffered bouts of deep depression. She committed suicide in 1941, at the age of 59. (source : https://www.biography.com/people/virginia-woolf-9536773).

Characterization :

a) Living Couple (calm) : Current occupants of a house. Evidence :(second paragraph)

b) Ghost Couple (anxious): Past occupants of the house. Evidence : (second line paragraph 1)

Interesting Character  : The Ghost couple        

The ghosts clearly are conducting a search. They look for something that may have been left. They are anxious to discover what the object they are searching. The house speaks of a treasure hidden somewhere within its rooms. This must be what the ghosts are looking for.

Narrator Point of View :

Third Person (Omniscient)

    The use of an omniscient third-person narrator enables to tell a complete story that's not limited to the author's point of view.

Setting :

    The action takes place at a house in an unidentified  where there is a garden. Evidence : “What did I come in here for? What did I want to find?” My hands were empty. “Perhaps it’s upstairs then?” The apples were in the loft. And so down again, the garden still as ever, only the book had slipped into the grass.

The time is at night. Evidence : A moment later the light had faded. Out in the garden then? But the trees spun darkness for a wandering beam of sun.

Tone :

    The tone is playful and lighthearted. The reader realizes that the ghosts who are conducting a search pose no threat to the living couple.

Theme : The Mystery of  Everlasting Love

    In the second sentence of the story, the phrase "hand in hand" hints that the ghosts are in love. The author then leads the reader to believe that the story is about finding a treasure, perhaps gold or money. In fact, the story is about treasure,the treasure of love. As the ghosts wander about the house, they are rediscovering places full of memories of their love for each other.

Writing Style :

    The story's structure is built on a poetic style writing.

    In the second sentence, for example, she uses a commonplace poetic device, inversion, when she writes "making sure­ a ghostly couple" instead of "a ghostly couple making sure."Another example of inversion occurs in these two sentences: Stooping, holding their silver lamp above us, long they look and deeply.

Plot

 Exposition :

   Whatever hour you woke there was a door shutting. From room to room they went,    hand in hand, lifting here, opening there, making sure—a ghostly couple.

 Conflict  :

     “What did I come in here for? What did I want to find?” My hands were empty. “Perhaps it’s upstairs then?” The apples were in the loft. And so down again, the garden still as ever, only the book had slipped into the grass.

Rising Action  :    

          but it wasn’t that you woke us. Oh, no. “They’re looking for it; they’re drawing the curtain,” one might say, and so read on a page or two. “Now they’ve found it,” one would be certain, stopping the pencil on the margin.

 Climax :    

        but they had found it in the drawing room. Not that one could ever see them. The window panes reflected apples, reflected roses; all the leaves were green in the glass

Falling Action

    The shadow of a thrush crossed the carpet; from the deepest wells of silence the wood pigeon drew its bubble of sound. “Safe, safe, safe,” the pulse of the house beat softly. “The treasure buried; the room . . . ” the pulse stopped short. Oh, was that the buried treasure?  Resolution

    Death was the glass; death was between us; coming to the woman first, hundreds of years ago, leaving the house, sealing all the windows; the rooms were darkened. He left it, left her, went North, went East, saw the stars turned in the Southern sky; sought the house, found it dropped beneath the Downs. “Safe, safe, safe,” the pulse of the house beat gladly. “The Treasure yours.”

Conclusion

    When the narration reveals that the treasure is " Waking, I cry “Oh, is this your buried treasure? The light in the heart.” /"love".


 Figures of Speech

    Alliteration

So fine, so rare, coolly sunk beneath the surface the beam I sought

The wind drives straightly; the flame stoops slightly

The wind falls, the rain slides silver down the glass

- Arief Nuryanto/16202241043-