These stories date from a century ago, and reflect the writing style of their time. They are wordy and slow-moving compared to our contemporary fiction, and often don't fit the narrative structures which modern readers expect. The typical story here takes at least half its length to introduce the characters and set up the situation, and may spend pages in plodding description. Poe's "Ligeia," for example, spends nearly 20% of its length merely describing the title character's appearance. The tools of popular fiction writers of 1890-1920 no longer produce the results they used to.
Despite the book's title, not all of these are ghost stories, although all could be classified as speculative fiction. A majority would be called horror. "The Willows," "Lazarus," "The Messenger," and "The Woman at Seven Brothers" are the best of the lot.
"The Willows," Algernon Blackwood. Psychological horror in a European wilderness, as close to science fiction as to the supernatural. Hints of Lovecraftian themes. Effective and intriguing, but a bit too long for its subject matter. H.P. Lovecraft himself praises this story in his essay, "Supernatural Horror in Literature."
"The Shadows on the Wall," Mary E. Wilkins Freeman. Interesting idea, and nice double twist at the end, but turgid prose and uninvolving characters.
"The Messenger," Robert W. Chambers. Feels like a chapter from a longer work. Engaging prose style, colorful Breton setting and cast, and a lively supporting female character in Lys. Although he dabbled in horror early in his career, Chambers made his fortune writing costume romances for women, and this story displays his skill at creating strong female characters.
"Lazarus," Leonid Andreyev. Powerful and disturbing, although it's more an idea than a story, and a deeply Lovecraftian idea, decades before Lovecraft wrote. Also reminiscent of the darker metaphysics of the Lost Generation, as in Hemingway's "A Clean, Well-Lighted Place." I hadn't heard of Andreyev, and I was suprised to find a story displaying this level of nihilistic horror emerging from the Belle Époque, when the predominant mood was one of optimism, scientific rationalism, and confidence in human progress. In SHiL, Lovecraft doesn't mention Andreyev, which also surprises me.
"The Beast with Five Fingers," W.F. Harvey. Great idea, interesting characters (an obvious gay male couple, though never identified as such), effective narrative structure, but misses the mark because it can't decide whether to be humor or horror. This story has been the basis for four horror films.
"The Mass of Shadows," Anatole France. A pointless and formless mess, incapable of evoking emotion from the reader. One of several stories in this volume that left me thinking, "Why bother?"
"What Was It?" Fitz-James O'Brien. The writer never tells us what it was, and never tells us why we should care. It definitely wasn't a ghost. Incidentally, this is one three stories in this volume that mention opium-smoking, and one of two in which the main characters actually do it.
"The Middle Toe of the Right Foot," Ambrose Bierce. Strange narrative structure, with an extended flashback, and cheats the reader by concealing the identity of several characters. An unsatisfying mess.
"The Shell of Sense," Olivia Howard Dunbar. Overwritten married life melodrama that happens to include a ghost.
"The Woman at Seven Brothers," Wilbur Daniel Steele. First person narrator with an irritating 'aw shucks' speech pattern, but good pacing, insidiously rising tension, creepy/scary climax and conclusion.
"At the Gate," Myla Jo Closser. Dogs in heaven schmaltz.
"Ligeia," Edgar Allen Poe. A revered story, but I don't get it. No tension, flattened climax, no ideas about its ideas. Another opium-smoking protagonist.
"The Haunted Orchard," Richard Le Gallienne. Like "The Mass of Shadows," a plotless, pointless mess. There's a ghost. Okay, so what? The author has no idea.
"The Bowman," Arthur Machen. World War I fantasy wish-fufillment with ghosts.
"A Ghost," Guy de Maupassant. Another pointless mess. Maupassant has no idea how to end his story or resolve the mystery he's set up, so he doesn't do either. The story just stops. And so does the book.