Ghost Story Review

There’s a difference between horror and terror. Straub understands that principle. Ghost Story is perhaps a bit more literary for some readers, but his use of language blurs the lines between the supernatural and the mundane. His use of language creates this nightmarish mindscape where it all plays out in slow motion but there isn’t a damned thing the reader/character can do to stop the events.

The Chowder Society reels from the sudden and tragic loss of a close friend. If there is one thing that this piece could be criticized for is the literary fiction aspect to it, but again, this adds a richness to the story and digs deeper than what most horror readers may be comfortable with. This seems like the Horror book J.K. Rowling may have written. If there exists a parallel between Rowling and Straub it is their characterization and how they plot.

Straub writes an airtight narrative where there are calm periods, but those don’t last long. Ghost story builds up on itself in a sense. There’s a visible chain connecting the events which is evident early on. The Chowder Society use ghost stories to as a coping mechanism for real life issues. Infidelity being one of them. Regret being another. Regret is a ghost residing within the space in the skull.

What I found interesting about this novel was the realism. There are not many horror novels that do realism well. This one does. The darkness in this novel is real. Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of this novel is the shroud of darkness that is only a veil for something worse: the phantoms that linger in our memories. Dr. Jaffrey must confront the fear that his wife is unfaithful and finds unhealthy coping mechanisms, as do his friends. I found a part of me connecting to the good doctor.

Speaking of unhealthy coping mechanisms, which is perhaps the most morbid and terrifying aspect of this novel is how each character tried to deal with their issues. Jaffrey keeps things to himself, something I found particularly morbid. His own vision of his strength turned out to be his own flaw.

I made mention of the writing (more than I should, perhaps), but the writing is a trap! Why I didn’t realize this earlier, I am not sure. If this novel could be condensed into a phrase, it would be this: the darkness we carry may appear gentle at times, but it eats away at us by first touching us in the right places and embracing us, telling us it will be okay. Not.

No matter how much money and success the characters found, there is something holding them. And it manifests in different ways. Jaffrey stood out and he always will because I found something of myself in him. Straub didn’t need a ghastly ghost or awful monster, they were there. The monster were them in a way. The ghosts were of their own making.

Thematically, this novel gets to me. The threads of the story were soft and welcoming in the most morbid way: they are comfortable until the tapestry starts to suffocate you and you cannot get out.

Psychology of a Broken Mirror; Or When a Shattered Mind Reforms

(Not Seton Hill WPF Related. Maybe.)

Imagine if you will, a broken mirror. Imagine trying to put it back together. Try not to get cut.When the pieces more or less fit back together, what is the result? What happens when a piece is missing, or if the pieces aren't placed into any logical order that resembles anything like it was whole? There will be voids where there was substance. That missing or out-of-place piece is a disruption of what was, what is, and what will be.

In some esoteric and abstract vision, humanity is a mirror, broken into billions of pieces. Many of these pieces have reformed into what may or may not be a reasonable whole. Those pieces usually contain a warped and fragmented image with sharp edges all around. Then, the mirror often damages itself trying to be different and to its broken psychology, better than the other reformed piece. The broken mirror continues to wage war with itself because it fails to recognize that it is not whole.

What of someone looking into a broken mirror at war with its own broken image? The viewer is likely damaged, fragmented. They are unable to imagine the beauty of a whole image. Something may be missing, or the image is severely warped.

Translation/Summary: the simple act of breaking a mirror and trying to put it back has complex consequences. And depending on who it is viewed, could go either way. There is often something missing in a perspective of something either due to pure ignorance or the limitations of the human mind.

What the Hell House: Matheson's Hell House Review

Ghost stories tend to be difficult to right. Those bumps in the night might be closer than imagined with Matheson’s Hell House. They just might inside one’s own nose. Old homes usually have secrets, and this home is more like Thelema Abbey. Perhaps Matheson used the abbey as inspiration. How wouldn’t?

What struck me in the novel was the subtle yet not so subtle way Matheson breaks most if not all assumptions of the ghost story. I certainly didn’t know what to expect. A good number of writers tend to be formulaic in their works, but in comparison to I am Legend, there’s little to compare. If there is a formula, it has yet to be seen. Though, comparing only two works is limiting and does Matheson no justice.

Hell House certainly took me for a spin. Matheson uses a cliché as a trap and it isn’t easy to escape. The beginning pages seemed like something a high school student would think up, but in one strike, Matheson rips the cliché apart with the sitting scene. Which is where things really get going.

I found Florence to interesting, if maybe a bit atypical. She’s impulsive, naïve to a degree, and perhaps her greatest flaw is her optimism. She puts herself in danger for something that may not be resolved and things that have the potential to destroy her. After the body was disturbed, the possibility of her meeting her end increased. As a lover of ghost stories and ghost shows, a full-on apparition is nothing to trifle with, even if the intentions are pure. The best intentions invite the worst trouble.

Florence doesn’t seem to fit in a supernatural novel like Hell House. She is too well rounded and her drive to find and resolve the source of the haunting almost upsets the ghost story. The little ray of sunshine she is, turns her into the biggest target for a haunting. Like I said before, the best intentions bring the worst trouble. Some things shouldn’t be disturbed. Better yet, they should be forgotten and left to rot away.

What I found intriguing was Fischer. The entire time I was reading this, especially in the beginning, it seemed like he knew how to end the haunting, but he just stood in the background. To a reader, this could be viewed as deception on the authors part. But not necessarily. I view him as more of an anti-hero. Or I should say a hero in name only. He never struck me as someone who acts for the benefit of someone else. It may be more accurate to see him as the hero after the he realizes that happily ever after is bullshit. He’s broken, but something is holding him together somehow.

I could not help but think of classical Gothic tales and the Scooby Doo cartoon, where the hauntings were just a greedy villain in a white sheet and chains. There was little in the way of actual supernatural elements in the novel in such cases. However, in Hell House, the supernatural oozes from orifices. The image of Florence strapped down while some god-awful apparition doesn’t sit right with me and for damned good reason. Going back to her character for a moment, she opens herself to the darkness to shed light into it. It may be skepticism, but that seldom works out well. Sometimes God can be indifferent to human error.

I loved the clarity in which Matheson writes. The descriptions are, dare I say it, haunting. His use of simple sentence structures and uses character dialogue to develop character a fair 75% of the time or more gives this novel gives it a slow-burn when needed and high octane moments that not only spike the horror aspects, but they reveal something, which is the goal of the horror genre in some respects. His description is concise and cuts deep. No frills, just chills.

The Haunting of Hill House Review

When I first started reading this piece, it seemed older than it is. Published in 1959, the language and even the characters seem like those of the previous century. One negative aspect, which may be my own needs as a reader, is the slow pace of the piece. Making comparisons to King’s Rose Red was far too easy.

In a much broader understanding of the haunted house subgenre of horror, Jackson pays more attention to character. Eleanor, has a bit of social awkwardness to her at the beginning, almost as if she could not do anything for herself. But, he development after her interactions with the free-spirited, care-free, Theodora. Eleanor and Theodora relationship is a rather start contrast to those of Luke and Dr. Montague.

Where Eleanor and Theodora share a close bond, that cannot be said for Luke and the good, but uptight and haughty Doctor. The static relationship between most of the characters could pose a difficulty to most younger readers. Dr. Montague ties to hold onto his skepticism, as do all of them. However, when it comes to horror literature, the one with what seems the strongest will, is the first to break.

I found myself liking Theodora more than I thought. Granted she isn’t as complex, or developed as Eleanor, her simplicity is what I found to be an endearing trait. Luke on the other hand was atypical and in one aspect, he’s just fodder or a placeholder. Theodora, in some sense is the archetype for most ghost fiction characters. He skepticism isn’t as forward as her male counterparts, but she has survival mechanisms in place when Hill House starts to awaken, she finds strength in Eleanor.

Again, the Victorian feel of the novel is something I cannot get over. The more I ruminated over this, the more it made sense. A large clue to this was Hill House itself. In Victorian literature, women with wealth were looked down upon for lack of a husband. Usually there is a conflict over heirlooms and the homestead in general, and jealousy seems to be the root cause. The elder sister’s freedom was highly sought and coveted by the youngest sister. This animosity may have been what lead to the Elder sister’s demise. And the way most hauntings go, this left an imprint on Hill House.

Speaking of Hill House. There is very little in the way of description, but the mind begins to work on building it. The vague, if barely-there, description does nothing if let the readers mind run wild. The wooden interior certainly gives Hill House and rather morbid appeal, like being in the bowels of a beat in the process of reawakening from a deep slumber. The house had a presence all its own. Numerous times it was noted that it was watching. The cold spots, the phantom noises. I would even go so far to say that the goal of the stay was overshadowed, if not forgotten at times. Given the environment, that goes without saying.

The very nature of Hill House seems to be that of isolation, not just solitude. The fact the caretakers dare not stay there after dusk, serves as a warning. One scene deserves note. This may have been my interpretation of the scene in the parlor when each guest sees something different. The back and forth is confusing, but afterward it works on the mind. The manifestation of the haunting isn’t always loud and cold. This is where the parallel to Rose Red comes into play.

At what point does a house go from haunted to being almost alive and hellbent on being left alone?  The phantom sounds the changing furniture, the phantom dogs? That is certainly up for debate.

However, the ultimate question I wanted to try to answer is what makes this novel an effective ghost piece? The moving parts, like characters and furniture are certainly what make it function. But, there’s something in the pages (and the house) that cannot be moved. Or will not. Perhaps the most effective element in this piece was the history. And to extent, the very act of going in there. Hill House is a microcosm of stagnancy, going nowhere fast. Perpetual, internal malice towards oneself, perhaps?