“It was a house without kindness, never meant to be lived in, not a fit place for people or for love or for hope. Exorcism cannot alter the countenance of a house ; Hill House would stay as it was until it was destroyed.I should have turned back at the gate.”Welcome to Hill House! Enjoy your stay, we dare you...Hill House has a reputation of being haunted, and Dr. Montague, a professor with a passion for inexplicable phenomena expects to find in Hill House all he was searching for. ...he'll probably find that and more.I don't want to write about the plot....this is one of those almost plot-less books. Very slow. The Haunting of Hill House is more like a study of an individual consumed by slow creeping madness. Every character feels the suffocating influence of Hill House up to a degree, but the house finds Eleanor, as the most pliable of the four guests. The writing is superb, you can feel Eleanor's mind falling under the house's influence through her inner monologues... and very often, stating aloud, quite the opposite of what she's thinking.Near the end, her moods shift from crazy, murderous thoughts.. “I would like to hit her with a stick, Eleanor thought, looking down on Theodora’s head beside her chair; I would like to batter her with rocks.”to clinginess, “I’m coming with you,” Eleanor said. “Coming where with me?” “Back with you, back home. I”—and Eleanor smiled wryly—“am going to follow you home.”towards the same person she wanted to kill moments before.Eleanor is insecure, “Theodora’s hand on her own embarrassed her. She disliked being touched, and yet a small physical gesture seemed to be Theodora’s chosen way of expressing contrition, or pleasure, or sympathy; I wonder if my fingernails are clean, Eleanor thought, and slid her hand away gently.” she tries to reinvent herself during her stay in Hill House with her new "family", she tells little lies about herself... her past (so small, sometimes), “...once I had a blue cup with stars painted on the inside;when you looked down into a cup of tea it was full of stars.” she shows little jealousies (and admiration) towards Theodora, “She sat down in the chair the doctor had left, and leaned her head back tiredly; how lovely she is, Eleanor thought, how thoughtlessly, luckily lovely.” she has little impossible dreams and fancies, and only at moments doubts her sanity (less and less as the time passes) “Here lies one, she thought gracefully, whose name was writ in blood; is it possible that I am not quite coherent at this moment?”....and the house grabs eagerly at her soul. little by little, and then some more... “I hate her, Eleanor thought, she sickens me; she is all washed and clean and wearing my red sweater.” “I would like to hit her with a stick, Eleanor thought, looking down on Theodora’s head beside her chair; I would like to batter her with rocks.” “Idly Eleanor picked a wild daisy, which died in her fingers, and, lying on the grass, looked up into its dead face. There was nothing in her mind beyond an overwhelming wild happiness”There are no ghosts (that we see) in this book, no monsters (only the possibility of someone turning into one), no vampires or other popular supernaturals (thank heavens for that), ”The shaking stopped, the door was quiet, and a little caressing touch began on the doorknob, feeling intimately and softly and then, because the door was locked, patting and fondling the doorframe, as though wheedling to be let in."... just Hill House, toying with it's occupants, like a living entity breathing poison into their souls. “Here I am,” she said aloud. “I’ve been all around the house, in and out the windows, and I danced—”Classic horror...Someone mentioned that the dialogues/conversations between the main characters are shallow ....frivolous and senseless, .... I don't think so. I found the dialogues to be the reflections of the unease the characters feel, and the influence Hill House has on them. I found brilliant the interchanging of the crazy dialogues, and Eleanor's inner thoughts. Brilliant madness! “No stone lions for me, she thought, no oleanders...” That ending....perfect.(view spoiler)[ “I am really doing it, she thought, turning the wheel to send the car directly at the great tree at the curve of the driveway, 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. In the unending, crashing second before the car hurled into the tree she thought clearly, Why am I doing this? Why am I doing this? Why don’t they stop me?” (hide spoiler)]
What are we talking about when we talk about genre fiction? Some people say it's a matter of tropes: a murder weapon, an android army, a haunted house. But a trope is just the shadow of a construction that used to be meaningful, and among the glut of police procedurals and space odysseys, good writers have always been mining the violence, loneliness, and paranoia that hides in the depths of our common forms. For Patricia Highsmith, a murder weapon wasn't just window dressing - it was an expression of the troubling human impulse to inflict violence and cruelty on other people, sometimes for no reason whatsoever. Philip K Dick's androids are preoccupied with their own existence as much, if not more, than any of Camus' famous anti-heroes. In other words, genres developed as structures, places where an author could hang human fears and desires, and so many great American writers - Chandler, Dick, Highsmith, even Melville, in his own way - have used genre fiction as a way to hide their ideas in plain sight, to dip the poison pill in something that makes the hurt go down easy, that it's amazing we even use the term at all.Which brings us to the Haunting of Hill House, perhaps Shirley Jackson's most famous book, a horror novel that manages to be straight-forwardly frightening without sacrificing any of its knotty arguments about identity's shifts and gaps. The plot is more or less straightforward, a sort of trope: a mysterious doctor summons three guests to Hill House, an abandoned mansion rumored to possess supernatural powers. All three guests have their own curiosities, but from the start the narrative hangs on the character of Eleanor, who comes to Hill House after the death of her mother frees her from a life of more or less menial servitude. Jackson's great achievement is getting us inside Eleanor's head; her identity is oddly half-formed, and her thoughts have a slanted quality that's both beautiful and frightening, a quality that makes you root for her, even as you realize, dimly, that something is very wrong.Jackson - like Highsmith - is a master of mirror images and doubled personalities, and Eleanor gets hers in the character of Theodora, the other female guest at Hill House. While Eleanor sheparded her mother into death, Theodora was living the liberated life, living in her own apartment, running a junk shop, doing as she pleased. Eleanor is fascinated by her, and soon they're sharing each other's clothes, listening to one another in the bathroom, comforting each other at night. A dangerous symbiotic relationship soon develops between the two women, full of bitter recrimination and suppressed violence, and once the House attacks - in spectacular fashion - Eleanor's ability to hold on to her own identity starts to give way. This isn't a proto-feminist identity novel masquerading as a horror story, this is a proto-feminist identity novel that is a horror story, the Yellow Wallpaper with better prose, better ideas, and more chills down the spine.In Shirley Jackson's world, horror is just what happens when you wake up and you no longer know who you are. She uses the tropes of the genre - the weird weather, the slamming doors, the messages scrawled in blood - like hammers, breaking down the characters' defenses until they're alone, blank, and terrified, staring into a void. You could read thirty philosophical treatises on humanity's aloneness and alienation in the world, and you'd never feel a thing like how you feel when Shirley Jackson gets through with you.
Do You like book The Haunting Of Hill House (2006)?
Shirley Jackson, you saucy little devil, where have you been all my life? I never knew she could spread prose like this. This is an impressive bit of work and definitely belongs among the classics of literate horror novels. Right from the first pitch, you can see that Ms Jackson…Shirl…is smitten with language and she uses it to great effect to create an emotionally charged, disorientating atmosphere with healthy heapings of melodrama. Very gothic in feel and actually reminded me of Wuthering Heights as far as the sense of emotional bleakness and dread that pervaded the narrative. I say this a good thangalang as I am a true fanboy of Wuthering Heights.I thought Shirl's writing style was smooth and glassy and had nice flow. It was also an utter mind-trip and I blew my whole thought-wad trying to keep up with her conflicting back and forth sense of "is it real or unreal” "is it genuine horror or psychological terror.” I admit by the end of this fairly short novel I was as drained and spent as a sailor on a weekend pass to Vegas. On the surface, this appears to be a classic haunted house story with a professor of the supernatural renting Hill House in order to investigate the mysterious phenomena rumored to have occurred within its oddly angled walls. Along with Dr. X-file, we have a Luke (one of the heirs to the house), Theodora and Eleanor. Eleanor is our troubled main protag who has had a happlyless life of playing recluse while taking care of her ungrateful mommie dearest. I don’t want to give away the plot so I will just say that almost immediately upon arriving at Hill House, the guests begin to experience “oddness” in the form of lost emotional control, muddled thinking, unusual feelings and unexplained sensations and occurrences...sort of like alcohol but no where near as pleasant. These events begin to wear on each of them, however, nothing overtly supernatural is shown to the reader. That is what was so yummy about the story is that Shirl leaves it up to the reader to determine what is really going on. One thing is very clear though…Hill House and people do not a good combination make and there is a growing sense of dread over the whole narrative from the very beginning. The terror is psychological (whether real or not) and the horror is all about atmosphere and “what if” rather than in your face. Makes of a chilling, intelligent tale.To sum up...a terrific gothic story. Well written, engaging and with what I thought was a Fergaluscious ending that fit perfectly with the rest of the narrative. I think this is a novel that could stay with you and should become even better upon subsequent readings. 4.0 to 4.5 stars.
—Stephen
Upon finishing this book I knew two things: 1) Its reputation in my mind would grow over time2) I wanted to revisit it in the near future and give it another read (which is something I rarely even consider)For me, it didn't have the visceral impact that many people report after reading it. I didn't find the book scary. In fact, some aspects I found rather silly, like the introduction of Mrs. Montague near the end of the book. She was such a broadly drawn caricature of a overbearing wife, and she seemed to go completely against the grain of the novel. But the more I thought about it, I realized she did have a purpose after all, and a crucial one. (To go into why I believe her appearance to be so important would spoil the book.) I also thought Dr. Montague was a pretty ridiculous character himself, and a truly pathetic paranormal investigator. He's shown measuring a single cold spot in the house, and for the rest of the novel he's just hanging out eating big meals, sipping brandy, and playing chess. And, yes, I know that the Montagues and their investigations aren't what this book is all about. I understand that this is Eleanor's story, and that this novel's chief strength lies with this fascinating, well-drawn character. I found her relationship with Theodora more engrossing than any of the supernatural elements in the story. It was far more interesting to watch Shirley Jackson writing around lesbian sexuality. And I'm sure that someone somewhere has already made the case that it's this repressed, forbidden sexuality that's the true source of the psychic disturbances experienced at Hill House. Did I think this was a fine ghost story? Yes. It also ended the way I like horror stories to end. I was very pleased in this regard. And, yes, yes, the writing was beautiful at times, especially the first and last paragraphs of the book. I do understand why this novel is considered a classic. But, I do have to admit that after my first reading, it didn't immediately land in my own personal list of classics.
—Gregor Xane
The scariest thing about this book is that nothing actually scary really happens - at least, not the type of "scary" we're used to. This is not a chainsaw-weilding maniac, creepy-things-jumping-out-at-you kind of horror story. Hill House is haunted, there's no doubt about that, but everything occurs in such a subtle way that you don't even begin to feel really creeped out until the middle of the book. Then suddenly you find yourself sliding rapidly down the Slippery Slope of Creepy, and it's fantastic. "Hill House itself, not sane, stood against its hills, holding darkness within; it had stood so for eighty years and might stand for eighty more. Within, its 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."
—Madeline
