Still, this isn't to say that I don't enjoy a good ghost story. Much of the appeal is that they're associated with the darker half of the year; when the nights grow darker and colder outside, but our homes become cosier. Traditionally you told ghost stories at Christmas. This was more to do with the Winter Solstice and paganism (with its connections to death, rebirth, and ancient traditions), than anything to do with the holiday as we now know it. The scariest thing about our winter holiday is being forced to play RISK with your openly racist granddad. And the fucker has all of Australia.
The Turn of the Screw, a novella by Henry James, is one of the most iconic ghost stories of its kind. It begins, naturally, on Christmas Eve as the unnamed narrator listens to his friend Douglas recount a ghoulish tale. The story concerns a governess, hired by a man to raise his niece (Flora) and nephew (Miles) after their parents die - because apparently he can't be arsed with this unwanted responsibility. Fair cop, he should get drunk and listen to Carpenter Brut instead.
Miles is off at boarding school for the rest of the week, so The Governess travels to the man's country house, Bly, to meet her other young charge, Flora. Flora is described as a 'little angel', beautiful, well-mannered and intelligent. You might say she is the butter which wouldn't melt. The Governess is suitably impressed with Bly, which is about as Gothic as you can get without being in an episode of The Munsters. Bly comes replete with big empty rooms, sprawling gardens, a legion of harried staff, and an absentee master.
Soon after The Governess' arrival, Miles returns to Bly earlier than expected: apparently, he has been expelled from boarding school. We never fully find out why, but just think about it: how much of a dick would you have to be to be expelled from what is, essentially, a holding pen for young poshos?
Around the same time The Governess begins to spy a mysterious man and woman around the grounds. This mysterious pair travel the grounds at will and are never seen interacting with any of the staff. The Governess makes enquiries with Mrs Grouse, the head-maid, and as it turns out these two strange figures match the exact description of two former employees - Miss Jessel and Peter Quint. Jessel and Quint are now very much dead but were, in life, fucking. This being a Victorian novella, such smut means that they automatically become tortured ghosts doomed to haunt their workplace. A clause that Sir Philip Green probably puts in his employees' contracts.
Whilst the suspected ghost of Miss Jessel is cast as a sympathetic figure, the suspected ghost of Quint is big and sinister. Upon seeing Quint's form stood in a window like Michael Myers, she describes him thusly: "I have likened it to a sentinel, but its slow wheel, for the moment, was rather the prowl of a baffled beast". It is for this reason that The Governess worries that the ghosts may be seeking to corrupt the children. The mystery to discover who these ghosts are and what interest they have in the children, is what drives this relatively short book.
Compounding matters, however, is that The Governess is the only one who actually sees the ghosts. Or, openly admits to at any rate. After a spell of watching the children with the hawkish intensity of my dad guarding the thermostat once we reach October, The Governess spies Flora interacting with Miss Jessel. The girl furiously denies it, and the reader is left wondering if the supernatural is being aided by spoilt brats, or if The Governess is utterly insane.
It's the ambiguity between the supernatural and the psychological that makes The Turn of the Screw truly interesting. Without it, the story is just your standard 19th Century ghost story. Unlike a lot of ghost stories, however, The Turn of the Screw is not set in some dark, brooding house secluded in the middle of some spooky corner of the world, but in a pleasant, if rather old, country house filled with staff. In fact, The Governess' initial reaction to Bly is meant to throw our expectations off balance: "I suppose I expected, or had dreaded, something so dreary that what greeted me was a good surprise."
But of course, that's just Henry James fucking with us. The Governess arrives at Bly during the summer; by the time Autum rolls around, half-way through, things change. "The summer had turned, the summer had gone; the autumn had dropped upon Bly and had blown out half our lights. The place, with its gray sky and withered garlands, its bared spaces and scattered dead leaves, was like a theater after the performance-- all strewn with crumpled playbills."
As was the case with The Woman in Black, TTOTS utilises a less is more approach to its ghosts. Most of the horror stems from the fact that they can appear anywhere, at anytime. Perhaps there will be round the next corner? Or, are they behind you? Unlike a lot of modern ghost media, they're not interest in jumping out and scaring the living shit out of anyone. The ghosts simple walk about, or stand around looking all ghosty: "Silence itself became the element into which I saw the figure disappear...straight down into the staircase and into the darkness in which the next bend was lost. You can usually tell when a ghost is going to appear, however. The chapters are short, and usually end with some horrible information or set-piece to set-up the next chapter.
All in all, The Turn of the Screw is a decent read. It's a classic for a reason. James lavishes on the ghost story tropes with a ladle, but also screws with proceedings by subverting expectations and added rare depth. For a book of its time, the writing isn't overdone either. A little bloated perhaps, but it's readable without a dictionary. The sentences are overlong at times: the sort you practically need a fucking map to navigate, otherwise you'd get lost half-way through.
But is it scary? No. Creepy, maybe, but definitely not outright frightening. The shock ending in which Miles dies of fright (or smothering, depending how you take it) is not as effective as James would like. Mostly because it's a bullshit cop-out, but also because no one likes Miles. Then again, I can't say I've ever read a book that I've found genuinely scary. Except, Not Now, Bernard.
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