“Have you ever questioned the long shuttered front of an old Italian house, that motionless mask, smooth, mute, equivocal as the face of a priest behind which buzz the secrets of the confessional? Other houses declare the activities they shelter; they are the clear expressive cuticle of a life flowing close to the surface; but the old palace in its narrow street, the villa on its cypress-hooded hill, are as impenetrable as death. The tall windows are like blind eyes, the great door is a shut mouth. Inside there may be sunshine, the scent of myrtles, and a pulse of life through all the arteries of the huge frame; or a moral solitude, where bats lodge in the disjointed stones and the keys rust in unused doors…”
- Edith Wharton, The Ghost Stories of Edith Wharton.
There are so many different types of horror that it’s not possible to list them all. There are slashers stalking horny teenagers, aliens bursting from bodies, and endless hordes of zombies. There are also monsters, such as Dr. Frankenstein’s surprisingly talkative creation; vampires, sometimes sexy, sometimes not; a variety of werewolves, some in the woods, others in Paris, and one that plays high school basketball; and more than a few possessed individuals. With so many possibilities, there is a potential fright to fit every mood.
For me, my favorite is the old fashioned ghost. I like the idea of a once-living entity still haunting its old grounds, trying to resolve unfinished business left over from life. It really speaks to the shortness of the time we have, and the unsolvable mystery about what – if anything – lies beyond the final boundary.
With The Ghost Stories of Edith Wharton, I got exactly what I wanted. These are ghostly tales of the classical variety, gore-free but brimming with undercurrents, written in the elegant prose of one of America’s greatest writers.
***
The Ghost Stories of Edith Wharton needs little introduction, as the title gives the game away. It is a collection of fifteen supernatural short stories collected by Wordsworth Editions, a publishing house dedicated to low-price books. I’m not really sure who picked these particular stories, or why, but like any collection, there is some variance in quality. Nothing here is bad – Edith Wharton was simply too talented – but some landed better than others.
Perhaps the chief selling point – other than those nice Wordsworth prices – is the spectacle of Wharton turning her Pulitzer Prize-winning skills to a genre that has historically had about it a hint of disrepute.
***
Having read this straight through, I’ll acknowledge that there is a bit of sameness to all of the short stories gathered here. Every time I started a new one, I would unconsciously start guessing which of the characters was actually a spectral presence. Tonally, too, these were subdued and subtle, carefully ambiguous in a way that required me to pay close attention. Oftentimes I’d get to the end and belatedly realize I’d missed something important.
With that said, Wharton manages variety in other way. Some of these stories are told in the first person, some in the third. Meanwhile, there are a couple nested narratives, and one purporting to be a reconstruction of old French court records. Many of the settings include old houses, but these houses are located all over: England, Italy, France, and the United States. There is also one yarn that takes place in the Wharton multiverse, mentioning the fictional town of Starkfield, where poor Ethan Frome is doomed to tend to his wife Zeena for literary eternity. If nothing else can be said of Wharton, she knew how to describe a place and create an atmosphere. Her writing lets you step right into a scene.
***
I’m not going to go through each of the fifteen stories. Doing so would tax me, bore you, and inevitably ruin the surprises. Instead, I’ll give a few general impressions and highlights.
Like I said up top, none of the horror in these pages is explicit. While The Ghost Stories of Edith Wharton and The Shining exist on the same spectrum, they are on polar opposite ends. Beyond that, none seem intended to scare the pants off of you. This makes sense, because Wharton was writing in the early twentieth century, when people were meant to keep their pants on at all times.
At her best, though, Wharton can be chilling, even low-key ruthless.
The best story here is probably Afterward, about an American couple who purchase an English country house inhabited by – you guessed it – a ghost. The twist, however, is that you won’t know you’ve met this ghost until long afterward, and that realization comes with consequences.
Other winners include The Duchess at Prayer, which is a distant cousin of Edgar Allan Poe’s The Cask of Amontillado; Kerfol, about a medieval lord who really, really doesn’t like dogs; and The Journey, a dark-humored train ride that feels like an embryonic version of Weekend at Bernie’s.
On the other hand, The Fulness of Life, through which Wharton seemed to be channeling her own troubled marriage, falls on the preachy-treacly side of the divide. Nevertheless, it is still memorable for its opening scene of a dying woman’s final thoughts.
***
Unlike a lot of more-modern horror, Edith Wharton works at a very low volume. Her stories are quiet and still, concerned with creaking floorboards, flitting shadows, and housekeepers who are just a tad off. Films like Halloween, The Exorcist, and Poltergeist, and books like It and The Ruins, jump out at you from the closet shouting “boo!” The Ghost Stories of Edith Wharton never lifts its voice. It is more like a soft, cold breath on the back of your neck, which you feel as you sit next to the guttering fire in your centuries-old gothic manor. Sure, it’s probably just a draft. But maybe – just maybe – it’s something else.