I read this book by accident. Some of the best discoveries of authors who are new to me happen that way. Sadly, this is not one of those occasions. The Visitors Book and Other Ghost Stories by Sophie Hannah, published in 2015, was a disappointment.
I could have left well alone, but I like a good ghost story, and when three ghost stories were read on the radio, in the dark chilly depths of an English winter, it was too good to miss. The first seemed OK, but a bit dull. Little did I know that it would be the best of the bunch. The second made both my husband and I look at each other with equally puzzled expressions. Was that it? The third was even more dreary - but calamity! The end of the recording was missing! I couldn’t stand not hearing the ending (even though we both felt sure we knew what it would be). I would have to get a hard copy of the book.
The first surprise was how small it was. Comments made it plain that its selling point that it was a “compact book”, or even a “great little handbag book”! Why this should be adjudged a good reason for reading a book I have no idea - nor do I understand why I am expected to carry such a thing as a handbag. Opening this dinky little book I saw wide margins, extra blank pages, generous space between the lines of print. I had expected maybe ten stories in the collection, judging by the length of those I had read. There were just four. The book is less than 100 pages long (106 actually, but it starts on page 11). Of course this must all be for ease of reading mustn’t it? There can’t be any other reason, surely?
So I began again with the first story I had heard, the title story “The Visitors Book”. Interestingly, the inside cover is designed to look like a visitors book, and set out with columns headed, “Name, Address, Arrival, Departure, Comments”. A little confusing, but a neat enough gimmick. On to the story. It is written from the viewpoint of a young upper middle class woman, Victoria Scase. On going to her boyfriend, Aaron’s house for the first time, she is taken aback to be presented with a visitors book that he has in the hall, which he is extremely keen for her to sign.
Victoria comes from a big mansion in the country, a home which has a history, so why should this unnerve her so? But it does, and she refuses, saying that it is ridiculous.
“‘You think I’ve got ideas above my station’ says Aaron, ‘You’re wrong’”
Victoria is not a snob, and keeps reiterating that fact, but ... Aaron lives in a perfectly ordinary two-bedroomed house in Walthamstow, a district of London which is not known for its affluence. The house has no particular heritage. The more she refuses, the more insistent and intense he becomes. Does she really know him at all? What keep coming back to her is the defensiveness and horror she feels at being accused of snobbery.
Eventually Victoria walks off in disgust. Yet the absurdity of the idea keeps returning to her. “Netterden”. That’s what he called the house, and she can remember some of the previous entries in the visitors book too. She decides to follow it up a little.
“Last night I dreamed I went to Manderley again …Manderley, in the novel, is a vast country estate. Would Rebecca have become a classic if Maxim De Winter had lived in a two-bedroomed terrace in in Walthamstow? No, it would not. Mrs Danvers would have had to sleep in the second bedroom. A stone’s throw from the first; she’d have heard her boss and his new wife having sex through the partition wall.”
This paragraph on “Manderley” from “Rebecca” by Daphne du Maurier indicates Sophie Hannah’s ability for dark humour, although I am suspicious of its inclusion, as if the author is piggybacking, attempting to create a gothic feel by reminding us of this far more established and successful work.
The story involves a tragedy; there is a violent history. There are shades, and suggested ghosts, and although the ending is not very original - in fact it has echoes of many classic ghost stories - it is quite creepy and the whole is quite well played out as an exercise in tension.
The second story is called “The Last Boy to Leave”. It is about a child, Max’s tenth birthday party, which the boy’s mother, Jen, has decided to host herself. Another domestic setting, another old chestnut about how hopeless and illogical men are. Greg, the husband, has his nose in a newspaper and is basically useless, whereas the narrator, our heroine, is of course supremely competent and much maligned. Sigh. Fodder for a certain type of women’s magazine.
All this is by the by, of course, although I did find it very tiresome in a so-called “ghost story”. The title references what should be the focus of the story, the fact that one boy whom she hadn’t really noticed, Oliver, stays longer than planned, and even after quite a long time, still has not been picked up by his parents. He is polite, courteous, almost unnaturally well-mannered - and now she comes to think of it, she had never noticed him before the party itself. This shouts out the ending. Very hackneyed, this one.
Ordinary people leading ordinary lives, who experience something terrifying, can be the basis for unsettling chilling fiction, but here the balance is wrong. There is too much humdrum domesticity, too much of the protesting female, and too much attempt at slapstick humour. It has been done better by other authors.
The third story is called “Justified True Belief”. It starts,
“The second thing I notice about the woman waiting to cross the road is that the roots of her teeth are visible and blackened where they meet the gum. I see them clearly as she talks; dark flashes in her pink mouth. She hasn’t noticed that the green man is illuminated. Her friend has, but doesn’t want to interrupt. Both are smartly dressed, with laminated name badges on strings around their necks. I can’t read their names. The friend, the listener, is considerably more attractive. How could she not be, when the speaking woman is a ghost?
Which was the first thing I noticed about her.”
The female narrator, Suzie, has started to see ghosts in the street. The question she wants to ask is, why? Will people say it is a panic attack? Or clinical depression? Of course the first thing she does when she gets home is to tell her husband. Bad move. She must have forgotten for the moment that she is in a book like this, a “let’s affirm that we’re powerful, superior, all women together” sort of book. Of course her husband does not believe her, or even listen properly. He is sarcastic and mocking, impatiently reminding her that she has (apparently) thought deluded thoughts before. She is just being crazy. Of course he reacts like this. All the men in this books are either selfish or moronic.
“Arguing helps. Annoyance and frustration have started to push the dread, slowly, out of the way.”
Indeed they have. Not only for Suzie, but also for the reader. Any little frisson of fear, any sense of uneasiness or dread has now completely dissipated, overwhelmed yet again by humdrum domestic dullness. It’s not even claustrophobic, this family squabbling, and it seems so routine for the characters that it has no tension either.
Suzie has a pain in her neck. Both these two are a pain in the neck.
The story rescues itself when we have a second sighting (apologies for another pun!) in a post office queue. Our heroine engages the second ghost in conversation, though he is pallid and quaking with fear. She learns something ... interesting. The reader is hooked. Suzie begins to have a theory, and visits a brain specialist to find out more. Again the ending is predictable, but slightly more chilling than the previous two. Slightly more hysterical too.
With the final tale, “All the Dead Mothers of My Daughter’s Friends”, we slip even lower in the scary ghost story ratings. The most terrifying thing about this is the title. There you have it, the explanation.
If you view it as a skit, a macabre parody of middle-class, smug, yuppie mothers, then it succeeds better. The viewpoint character is a mother, Mel, who is standing outside the school gates, waiting for her daughter to come out of school. Another mother approaches her, introducing herself as “Lisa Paskin”. She seems to embody bitchiness and snide remarks. Mel herself does not feel part of the “in crowd” of mums, but neither is she drawn to this unpleasant sarcastic stranger, who revels in mocking the rest of the waiting mums. It does however have darkly funny moments. There is one mum who posts pictures of her spoilt daughter “Gracie” on Instagram. Of course these two both get their come-uppance, in a wickedly vindictive little scene.
Basically the story goes on for far too long. The viewpoint character loses credibility. If she really were so ordinary, she would have backed well away from the vicious new “friend” fairly near the beginning of the story. I am not engaged by these clones, not by those whose delight in life is to show them up for what they are. They are not drawn with enough wit to make the reader interested. Perhaps this appeals a little more to those who feel themselves trapped by the seemingly unending cycle of the “school run”. Certainly it would then provide a nice fantasy, and be easier to identify with the mischievous sadistic “what if”s in the story. As it is, the satirical elements are just too underplayed.
The interest in the story starts with the final scene. Until then it has been boringly routine - an attempt at a witty description of the scheming and bitchiness which goes on daily at some school gates, with hints of better things to follow. But the story is far too mumsy to be at all sinister.
The author, Sophie Hannah, has published psychological crime fiction novels, short stories and poetry. Her most famous work to date has been a revival of Agatha Christie’s character, Hercule Poirot, in “The Monogram Murders”. She is a successful author, and I so feel I should read something else, in the hope that this slim collection is atypical. But The Visitors Book and Other Ghost Stories left me underwhelmed, and also feeling rather short-changed. Why my library chose to categorise it as “Horror”, complete with a sticker of a horned devil on the spine, I have no idea. They might more accurately have classed it as “Humour”, as it does have darkly humorous moments. Nor is it truly ghost stories (although to be fair most writers would find it difficult to base a ghost story around the school run).
Sophie Hannah gives more than a nod to many classic ghost stories, and many readers may feel that her characters are very believable, and familiar types to them from their own lives. However, the stories are not particularly scary, which seems a basic prerequisite to me for a ghost story. They may incorporate a few supernatural elements, or have a paranormal hint here and there, but nothing very sinister, nothing to crank up the suspense. They are reasonably well written but they do not even begin to approach the chill inculcated by such masters of the genre as M.R. James, E.F. Benson, Edith Nesbit and so on.
She is said to write novels about the archetypal Everywoman plunged into a nightmare situation. I’m not at all sure what an “archetypal Everywoman” is, personally. To me, this book could be described as “chicklit with creepy elements”. If you like the genre, and want to pass at most a couple of hours with a quick easy read, then perhaps you might enjoy this book. Otherwise though, I wouldn’t bother. They are not gripping, as supernatural stories should be. I got bored with them, and fed up with always guessing the endings.
A couple of times as we listened, we glanced at each other, both wanting to ask “Is that it? What was the point of that one then?” Reading them on the page was no better.