The Haunting of Hill House, by Shirley Jackson
No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream. Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within; it had stood for eighty years and might stand for eighty more. Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone.
Dr. Montague, a psychic researcher, decides to investigate Hill House by staying over with a small group; this goes as well as that always does.
Luke is a charming young man who will inherit the house; his presence was a condition of anyone being allowed to stay. Theodora is mildly telepathic, sophisticated, and almost certainly a lesbian. Eleanor is a painfully lonely woman who was the center of a poltergeist episode as a girl, spent her entire adult life caring for her sick mother, and has been relegated to a cot in her sister's house once her mother died. She flees to Hill House with a head full of fantasies and a desperation for escape, love, and a home. Bad move.
The haunting starts out merely unsettling, with doors that close by themselves, a freezing cold spot, and weird geometry that makes it easy to get lost. It ratchets up and up, with some very memorably terrifying moments.
(( Read more... )).
The moment I found creepiest was when Theodora and Eleanor run through a ghostly picnic that isn't scary by itself other than that it's a scene from the long-gone past; Theodora tells Eleanor not to look back and she doesn't, but when they arrive inside the house, Theodora is in hysterics, repeating, "I looked back." What did she see?
I knew the general plot and lesbian barely-subtext from having seen the movie The Haunting, which is excellent and very faithful, so what I was most struck by when reading the book were the things I didn't expect so much.
The four inhabitants spend a whole lot of time getting to know each other before things start going noticeably bad, and it's very charming and sweet and often quite funny. The housekeeper who keeps darkly proclaiming that no one can hear you scream in the dark is downright hilarious, and so is the late-arriving Mrs. Montague and her obsession with non-existent nun ghosts. Terrifying things happen too, and there is definitely an air of building doom, but it's also surprisingly funny in parts.
The Haunting of Hill House is as much a psychological novel and a character portrait as it is a horror novel. The house is definitely and unquestionably evil, but it didn't seem to be doing much until Eleanor showed up. There's a lot of poltergeist-type phenomena; is it the house doing it to get Eleanor, or Eleanor doing it herself unconsciously, or the house tapping into Eleanor's powers to do things it couldn't do by itself?
Eleanor, who has been extremely socially isolated and subsumed into her mother's life, is trying out both social interactions and selfhood for the very first time at Hill House. There's a number of striking bits of writing in which she is consciously trying to find her own self:
Eleanor found herself unexpectedly admiring her own feet. Theodora dreamed over the fire beyond the tips of her toes, and Eleanor thought with deep satisfaction that her feet were handsome in their red sandals; what a complete and separate thing I am, she thought, going from my red toes to the top of my head, individually an I, possessed of attributes belonging only to me. I have red shoes, she thought-that goes with being Eleanor; I dislike lobster and sleep on my left side and crack my knuckles when I am nervous and save buttons. I am holding a brandy glass which is mine because I am here and I am using it and I have a place in this room. I have red shoes and tomorrow I will wake up and I will still be here. 'I have red shoes,' she said very softly, and Theodora turned and smiled up at her.
Unfortunately, Hill House is the absolute worst place for that. Eleanor wants a home and to be wanted; Hill House will provide. Unlike almost any haunted house book I've read, she is often very happy at the house and finds it cozy and comfortable (when it isn't being terrifying), which says something about Eleanor and something about the house's relationship with Eleanor.
Eleanor gloms on to Theodora, and they have some very charming interactions on the fuzzy border of instant BFFs (they pretend to be cousins, it's adorable) and lovers-to-be. The house itself seems to be pushing them around, sometimes together and sometimes apart and sometimes into a spooky melding of identity; Theodora's clothes are drenched in blood, so she has to wear Eleanor's.
Eleanor is all too relatable, at least to me. But she's both lovably awkward and creepily stalkery; late in the book she says she'll follow Theodora home, and she means it. Theodora explicitly calls her out for going where she's not wanted.
Eleanor smiled placidly. "I’ve never been wanted anywhere," she said.
It's heartbreaking and I wanted her to be wanted, but unfortunately Hill House is what wants her. In the end, her exploration of her own self fuses with what the house wants for her: it knows her name.
I am really doing it, I am doing this all by myself, now, at last; this is me, I am really really really doing it by myself.
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Dr. Montague, a psychic researcher, decides to investigate Hill House by staying over with a small group; this goes as well as that always does.
Luke is a charming young man who will inherit the house; his presence was a condition of anyone being allowed to stay. Theodora is mildly telepathic, sophisticated, and almost certainly a lesbian. Eleanor is a painfully lonely woman who was the center of a poltergeist episode as a girl, spent her entire adult life caring for her sick mother, and has been relegated to a cot in her sister's house once her mother died. She flees to Hill House with a head full of fantasies and a desperation for escape, love, and a home. Bad move.
The haunting starts out merely unsettling, with doors that close by themselves, a freezing cold spot, and weird geometry that makes it easy to get lost. It ratchets up and up, with some very memorably terrifying moments.
(( Read more... )).
The moment I found creepiest was when Theodora and Eleanor run through a ghostly picnic that isn't scary by itself other than that it's a scene from the long-gone past; Theodora tells Eleanor not to look back and she doesn't, but when they arrive inside the house, Theodora is in hysterics, repeating, "I looked back." What did she see?
I knew the general plot and lesbian barely-subtext from having seen the movie The Haunting, which is excellent and very faithful, so what I was most struck by when reading the book were the things I didn't expect so much.
The four inhabitants spend a whole lot of time getting to know each other before things start going noticeably bad, and it's very charming and sweet and often quite funny. The housekeeper who keeps darkly proclaiming that no one can hear you scream in the dark is downright hilarious, and so is the late-arriving Mrs. Montague and her obsession with non-existent nun ghosts. Terrifying things happen too, and there is definitely an air of building doom, but it's also surprisingly funny in parts.
The Haunting of Hill House is as much a psychological novel and a character portrait as it is a horror novel. The house is definitely and unquestionably evil, but it didn't seem to be doing much until Eleanor showed up. There's a lot of poltergeist-type phenomena; is it the house doing it to get Eleanor, or Eleanor doing it herself unconsciously, or the house tapping into Eleanor's powers to do things it couldn't do by itself?
Eleanor, who has been extremely socially isolated and subsumed into her mother's life, is trying out both social interactions and selfhood for the very first time at Hill House. There's a number of striking bits of writing in which she is consciously trying to find her own self:
Eleanor found herself unexpectedly admiring her own feet. Theodora dreamed over the fire beyond the tips of her toes, and Eleanor thought with deep satisfaction that her feet were handsome in their red sandals; what a complete and separate thing I am, she thought, going from my red toes to the top of my head, individually an I, possessed of attributes belonging only to me. I have red shoes, she thought-that goes with being Eleanor; I dislike lobster and sleep on my left side and crack my knuckles when I am nervous and save buttons. I am holding a brandy glass which is mine because I am here and I am using it and I have a place in this room. I have red shoes and tomorrow I will wake up and I will still be here. 'I have red shoes,' she said very softly, and Theodora turned and smiled up at her.
Unfortunately, Hill House is the absolute worst place for that. Eleanor wants a home and to be wanted; Hill House will provide. Unlike almost any haunted house book I've read, she is often very happy at the house and finds it cozy and comfortable (when it isn't being terrifying), which says something about Eleanor and something about the house's relationship with Eleanor.
Eleanor gloms on to Theodora, and they have some very charming interactions on the fuzzy border of instant BFFs (they pretend to be cousins, it's adorable) and lovers-to-be. The house itself seems to be pushing them around, sometimes together and sometimes apart and sometimes into a spooky melding of identity; Theodora's clothes are drenched in blood, so she has to wear Eleanor's.
Eleanor is all too relatable, at least to me. But she's both lovably awkward and creepily stalkery; late in the book she says she'll follow Theodora home, and she means it. Theodora explicitly calls her out for going where she's not wanted.
Eleanor smiled placidly. "I’ve never been wanted anywhere," she said.
It's heartbreaking and I wanted her to be wanted, but unfortunately Hill House is what wants her. In the end, her exploration of her own self fuses with what the house wants for her: it knows her name.
I am really doing it, I am doing this all by myself, now, at last; this is me, I am really really really doing it by myself.
[image error] [image error]
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