Common-sense lives on the ground floor […] on the same level as the others, as the passers-by, who are never dreamers.
— Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Space
Beauty and the Beast
Stairs = Ascent To Heaven
This image is from the 1986 version retold by Anne Carter, illustrated by Binette Schroeder. Beauty and the Beast has a strong Christian message for young women: Do as you’re told and you’ll wind up in Heaven. Here we see her going up the stairs into the Beast’s castle, sure that she’s about to end up dead.
Stairs = Ascent into terror and imagination
I like drawing staircases, so it seems. There’s nothing like a steep staircase to add some tension and drama to an illustration.
Speaking of ominous staircases, you may have seen this picture on the Internet:
Over at Messy Nessy is an explanation:
“The Stairway to Heaven, also known as the Haiku Stairs, is a series of 3,922 steps in Oahu, Hawaii on the Koolau Mountain Range. The staircase was built by in 1942 by the U.S. Navy and its scenic views made it a popular tourist attraction. The Stairway to Heaven was closed off in 1982, and scheduled to re-open in 2001 after an $875,000 renovation but local residents opposed access in a NIMBY (Not In My BackYard) move. Hikers ignored the signs placed by the city, the city hired security guards to block access, so hikers then accessed the Stairway to Heaven in the middle of the night.”
Some stairs are hidden, functioning as a labyrinth just beyond the familiar walls.
Wolves In The Walls by Neil Gaiman and Dave McKean
Does anyone else find it ironically hilarious that the steps are made of anti slip metal? I mean, it’s necessary and all, and probably better than nothing, but that, folks, is what you call a death trap. Safety tread or no safety tread.
Wolves In The Walls is a contemporary story, but ‘living beings in the walls’ has a real-life history when we think back to the relatively recent Edwardian era, in which well-to-do houses kept a staff of services who lived, like rats, ‘behind the scenes’. Behind the green baize door. These servants had their own stairways, and were expected to keep apart from the owners and ‘proper residents’ of the house as much as humanly possible. If they were to ever meet their superior in the house, the most lowly of staff were expected to turn away, pretending not to have seen or heard a thing.
The following excerpts are from Life Below Stairs: True Lives of Edwardian Servants by Alison Maloney
The Dark by Lemony Snickett and Jon Klassen
Stairs = Descent into terror
In this humorous series we have a mouse who is terrified of entering an attic. This is a small inversion on the norm, which is to be terrified of entering a basement.
Courage The Cowardly Dog: The Demon In The Mattress (1999)
Midnight Feast by Slap Happy Larry (2013)
Stairs = descent into dreamlike other reality
David’s Waiting Day by Bernadette Watts (1977)
At various other points in this picture book we see the young David gazing out at the reader from the second-storey bedroom window.
We don’t find out what it is David is waiting for until the end of the book (when we learn he has been waiting for his mother to come home with a new baby.) In the meantime, there is a deliberately ominous mood to this book, depicted here by the staircase in silhouette and backgrounded in black. David doesn’t know what’s going on. The mysteries of childbirth are kept from him. David is The Boy Upstairs.
Midnight Feast by Slap Happy Larry (2014)
I am a big fan of stairs in picture books — here, in the wider story, Stairs = economic hierarchy.
In The Mystery of the Deadly Double we have an illustration of a regular sized house but with the basic features of a gothic mansion — the attic looks like a modern version of a belfry.
For more on the symbolism of the attic, see Symbolism Of The Dream House.
Maids In Attics
In the Edwardian era:
Mad Women In The Attic
The trope comes from Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte, in which Mr Rochester keeps a mad wife locked up in his attic. This trope was really common in works written in the 1800s, but didn’t really become known by that name (‘Madwoman In The Attic’) until an academic work published 1979 by Sandra Gilbert and Susan Gubar.
Gilbert and Gubar examine the notion that women writers of the 19th Century were confined in their writing to make their female characters either embody the “angel” or the “monster.” This struggle stemmed from male writers’ tendencies to categorise female characters as either pure, angelic women or rebellious, unkempt madwomen.
The Woman Upstairs by Claire Messud
The main character in Messud’s novel is a middle-aged school teacher who is not imprisoned by any single man, as such, but by a society in which she is increasingly invisible.
The ‘mad woman in the attic’ is given a voice in this cornerstone of post-colonial fiction. Antoinette Cosway is a Creole heiress and the wife of a man who, though never named, is understood to be the dashing Mr Rochester of Charlotte Brontë’s 1847 novel Jane Eyre. Cosway’s tragic narrative is delivered in three ceaselessly compelling parts, each brimming with a heady mix of lechery and treachery. A deep sense of injustice – racial and sexual – simmers throughout.
Falling Down Stairs
I’ve been watching a show on Netflix called Forensic Files. One thing I have learnt: when people suicide they inexplicably keep holding the gun because their hand muscles kind of seize up. Also: It’s actually quite rare to die after falling down stairs, yet murderers have tried to stage death by stairs on numerous occasions.