My favorite kind of beginning (prologue) with my least favorite kind of ending (abrupt). A not long novel with long, long, sentences, with many, many words. To turn the screw means to apply pressure, but what pressure was applied and by whom? The story contains a lot of classic creepy elements, but as they remained unrelated and unresolved, I kept waiting for the central source of the horror to be revealed to tie everything together. Was it to be: the attractive employer who wouldn't see or be spoken to about his wards; the strangely cheerful housekeeper, the seemingly perfect boy who was kicked out of school for an undisclosed reason, the former staff who left and died, or the ghosts who interacted with the children? Was the narrator governess responding with hysteria to questions that wouldn't be answered?
Synopsis for my own remembering - Spoiler alert for the rest of you:
The group is gathered in an old house round the fire on Christmas Eve, and talk naturally turns to ghostly visitations of children. One of them, Douglas, knows of a horror story involving two children, but it's so ghastly that it's been in a locked drawer for forty years, written by his sister's governess of long ago. The group decides to stay for a few days while the handwritten pages arrive, because who doesn't like a good old ghost story at Christmas?
Douglas prefaces his narration by setting the stage: A poor country parson's daughter responds to an advertisement (like the hapless Mr. Lockwood of Wuthering Heights) at a townhouse in London, for the position of governess. She swoons over her new employer, who is a gentleman in the prime of life, but (here's the catch) it was to his country home, Bly, an old family place in Essex, that he wished her immediately to proceed. Here's why: He was guardian to a nephew and niece, who he had put in possession of Bly as it was so healthy and secure (or maybe not). Excellent Mrs. Grose was the housekeeper but she (the unnamed), as governess, would be in supreme authority. And, just so you know, there had been a young lady previously whom they had the misfortune to lose (i.e. died). Which left no alternative but school for little Miles. And if that wasn't reason enough to refuse the job, the master's ONE CONDITION was that she should never trouble him, take care of everything and leave him alone. After this inspiring talk, Douglas reveals that the governess never sees her charming employer again, and with this nervous-making premise, her story begins.
She starts with a Jane Eyre-flavored entry into Bly and meets the perfect daughter Flora - beatific, radiant, angelic - and hears all about the little gentleman Miles from Mrs. Grose, who "was glad I was there!" (usually the housekeeper hates the governess in these stories - what's going on?). When she says, "I have not seen Bly since the day I left it," we know she survives whatever's to come, but it has the ominous tone of, "Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again."
After much fanfare, the mysterious Miles appears accompanied by a letter from his headmaster saying he's been dismissed at school. Like his sister, Miles is divine, impossibly innocent. How can someone so good be dismissed? Is this the dark secret? Talk finally turns to the former governess, who was also young and pretty, who went home and never came back and later they heard she had died. The governess starts up her duties and things go along until she sights a strange man, staring brazenly back at her. "Was there a secret at Bly, an insane, an unmentionable relative kept in unsuspected confinement?" (Jane Eyre) What makes him creepy: "He's like nobody. He has no hat. Dressed in smart clothes not his own. "Mrs. Gross knows that guy, it's Peter Quint, the former valet, and what became of him? He died.
Words follow words in epic, gushing sentences, but do they say anything? - It took of course more than that particular passage to place us together in presence of what we had now to live with as we could -- my dreadful liability to impressions of the order so vividly exemplified, and my companion's knowledge, henceforth-- a knowledge half consternation and half compassion-- of that liability.
It emerges that the valet was close to Miles and took care of him, but in a "much too free" way, spoiling him. In fact, he was too free with everyone! And then was found stone dead on the road. Then the second horrible visage shows herself, a woman in black, pale and dreadful - the infamous Miss Jessel, who used to care for Flora. They were a couple, even though Quint was a base menial and she a lady.
Our narrator steps up as heroine to protect her charges, but eventually it becomes clear that Flora and Miles can not only see but are interacting with the ghosts. Like teenagers under the influence of bad friends, the children openly mock her for coming between them. She forces Miles to admit that he was kicked out of school for writing letters about other children, but the specifics, we never learn. There's a lot of unanswered questions leading up to a lot of gothic screaming and then suddenly silence. Are the ghosts bad, or was it just the usual poor little kids stuck on the moor with nothing to do but get weird?
Aspern Papers: A fan of the divine (deceased) poet Jeffrey Aspern comes to Venice to try to unearth his papers with his former muse, an elderly woman and her niece, living in a dilapidated old palace on an out of the way canal. Our narrator's idea is to court the younger Miss Bordereau, but it's not that simple. Another big buildup to a strangely abrupt ending.