I just got through the Wordsworth Classics edition of M.R. James’s
Collected Ghost Stories, a compendium which has remained in print since its publication 14 years ago. I had been reluctant to finish the stories—31 in all—knowing full well that my virginal experience could never be repeated. (The principle of “leaving a few chocolates in the candy box” can only last so long.)
James, my favorite author of ghostly fiction (or the “weird story,” if you like), has been compared to Algernon Blackwood, Arthur Machen, and H.P. Lovecraft, but seems to occupy a category all by himself. (His closest literary rival was the Irish author J. Sheridan Le Fanu, a writer whom James idolized to no end— he eventually edited a popular edition of his collected works.) Not to take anything away from those three (all of whom are quite distinguished in their field), but it seems that James is the only one among them who was able to achieve the proper critical distance from his own work. He sought to entertain, not to proselytize. Reading Lovecraft is like spending time in a madhouse, and I have no doubt that the man earnestly believed most of what he wrote. (The Cthulu mythos that has survived him is, for me, too sinister to pursue for pleasure.) James, on the other hand, was a scholar, an archaeologist, a medieval historian, and, most interestingly, a theologian—not the sort of person you’d expect to have mastered the ghost story (but one of the few horror authors you can read with a clear conscience). I’ve leafed through his commentary on the Apocrypha, and while I’m satisfied that his is the Christian religion, there’s no real evidence contained in his fiction to support this claim—he skews more toward existentialism than anything else, concluding nearly all of his stories with the sobering revelation that the world is stranger and even more fearsome than previously imagined. Terror and solitude are his two favorite themes, and his message usually includes a warning against the dangers of intellectual pride. These motifs, suffused with his inimitable, jaunty sense of humor (perhaps the most endearing of James’s qualities) create a sort of “pleasing terror” that is uniquely his own, and that none so far have been able to replicate. (There have been a scant number of film adaptations of his work, two of which I will address in a forthcoming post.)
Like many readers before me, I instantly fell in love with James’s economy with words, his tone of fussy English scholarship, and his ability to bring on gooseflesh with astonishing precision. So, in the spirit of humble admiration, I would now like to propose a brief James handbook that will attempt to describe in a sentence or two my feelings toward each of the stories contained in this collection. I have also included three pieces that somehow eluded the folks over at Wordsworth (but can be found in the Oxford World’s Classics edition titled
Casting the Runes and Other Ghost Stories). For my own memory, I have affixed a star rating to each.
Canon Alberic’s Scrapbook ****
A genuinely terrifying ghostly tale, notable for a few stealthy descriptions of a demonic picture (and for the subsequent manifestation of the subject of that picture).
Lost Hearts**
Not a horror story, per se, but a ghostly romance in the vein of
Wuthering Heights.
The Mezzotint ***
The central conceit—a painting that moves by itself—could have catapulted this into pure nightmare territory, but James’s handling of the material is rather subtle and none too terrifying—the painting merely acts out a traumatic bit of history concerning the abduction of a child by a hooded figure.
The Ash Tree**
James frames this as a murder mystery in which the revelation of the murderer—a horde of large spiders residing in the trunk of a tree—is the most terrifying part. It’s one of the few James stories to deal with the subject of witchcraft.
Number 13****
One of the author’s very best, ably demonstrating a familiar James motif—reason overthrown by unknown forces. Notable for its eerie descriptions of a shape-shifting room (and of the strange inhabitant therein), and for one moment of pure, unadulterated terror. The ambiguity of the conclusion merely amplifies this terror.
Count Magnus***
The title refers to an evil nobleman who rises from his grave to commit murder—the handling is undoubtedly efficient though not particularly memorable.
‘Oh Whistle, and I’ll Come to You, My Lad’*****
The quintessential James story and one of the finest short stories written in English. The genius of it lies not in how much is described, but how little. The supernatural manifestations are palpable enough to be comprehensible, yet obscure enough to remain teasingly, tantalizingly ambiguous. Short enough and rich enough to read over and over without ever growing weary.
The Treasure of Abbot Thomas***
The story of an antiquarian who hunts for a treasure only to find it guarded by something very slimy. James shows his aptitude for creating intricate puzzles, and there’s a treasure map set piece that could have been pulled from
Raiders of the Lost Ark (although the ending is much more frightening than anything found in the Indiana Jones series).
A School Story**
Murder and revenge from beyond the grave, set inside an English boarding school. Short, succinct, and to the point, it delivers the requisite scares with the expected professionalism.
The Rose Garden**
There’s something nasty buried in the rose garden, and the story is related by a garrulous old woman at a tea party, who is clearly distressed by the voice that calls out to her from behind her rosebushes. Mildly chilling, played mostly for laughs.
The Tractate Middoth**
The events that befall a man after he comes into possession of a rare parchment, after which he crosses paths with a decrepit old man in a library who may not be human after all.
Casting the Runes***
At first, I was a little frustrated with this one (probably because it was easily eclipsed by
Curse of the Demon, the only successful feature film based on a James story), but on closer inspection, I am willing to call this the scariest of James’s stories because it refers to demons instead of ghosts. Which is to say it deals craftily and believably with the subject of spiritual oppression. The most cinematic of James’s stories, it includes, but is not limited to, a race against time to undue a devil worshipper’s curse. Interestingly structured and much, much subtler than the film version.
The Stalls of Barchester Cathedral **
In a wonderfully understated passage, a miniature pagan idol briefly twitches in the sleeping protagonist’s hand, after which he naturally wonders, did it
actually come to life?
Martin’s Close*
Following a courtroom trial, a small child disappears from the local village, and an apparition is spied. One of the most forgettable of James’s stories, only because this kind of plot has been worn down by years of repetition.
Mr. Humphreys and His Inheritance****
The longest of James’s individual stories, this one takes its time in telling the tale of a young man who returns home to claim his birthright, a sprawling country manor. It contains what might be the eeriest passage in James’s oeuvre—the flight of a man through a massive hedge maze at dusk, pursued by something just out of view. Stephen King must have read this before beginning work on
The Shining.
The Residence at Whitminster ***
Framed as a story within a story, this one concerns two young children, one of whom is in league with the devil. It contains all the familiar James trappings (including a brilliantly eerie description of a boy being chased by doglike creatures), but little closure. There is, however, a priceless description of a malign creature peeking over a stone wall.
The Diary of Mr. Poynter***
This one takes awhile to get going, but once it settles in, it’s marvelous vintage James. Its catalyst is a pattern of cloth that falls from the pages of an old diary. A set of curtains is manufactured according to the pattern. Soon after, the owner feels a presence in his room, as if something is staring back at him from behind the curtains. This discovery is followed by a classic moment in which the man imagines he is stroking his dog in a darkened room, when in fact he is stroking something much more hostile.
An Episode of Cathedral History***
The opening is a tad slow (it’s a story within a story once again), but once the necessary introductions are made, this turns into one of the most resonantly creepy of all James stories. It involves the renovation of a cathedral during which the workers discover a tomb with an unknown occupant. At night a strange cry is heard emanating from the place—dogs get scared, and something with dull red eyes is seen walking through the town. All evidence leads back to the tomb. A lady loses part of her dress while sitting next to the stone slab, and a couple of boys get in a tug-of-war with the unknown assailant. Then something crawls out. These middle portions are effortlessly terrifying, although the description of the ghost itself leaves something to be desired. It does, however, make excellent use of one of the eeriest verses in the Bible, Isaiah 34:14—“the satyr calls out to his kind…”
The Story of a Disappearance and an Appearance**
I found this one a bit difficult to follow. In true James fashion, the story—a man trying to discover the truth about his uncle’s disappearance—unfolds through a series of letters. The ending is confusing, but James has an uncanny way of giving you just enough information so you’re petrified. The protagonist has a dream about a Punch and Judy puppet show in which a demonic figure with a sack over its head looms in the background and starts chasing Punch around the stage.
Two Doctors*
Tepid ghost story—a doctor, suffering from nightmares in which he is choked in a cocoon, turns up dead. Suffocated.
The Haunted Doll’s House**
James charmingly includes an epilogue in which he confesses this story is a lot like his previous one,
The Mezzotint. The two bear a close resemblance to one another, only this time it’s a doll’s house that magically reenacts a crime (the murder of an old man) and the subsequent revenge (the man’s spirit comes back as a frog-like creature). The description of the latter is sufficiently weird to make the story worthwhile. Otherwise, this is the first James story that can justifiably be called a rehash.
The Uncommon Prayer Book**
A man discovers a curious phenomenon—in an old church, on a certain Catholic holiday, 13 old prayer books mysteriously open to the same Psalm (109, if memory serves). The books are stolen, and the thief gets bit on the neck by a fanged face that suddenly materializes on the parcel containing the stolen goods. The message is clear—don’t screw with the Word.
A Neighbour’s Landmark**
A shrieking ghost haunts a certain wood—the phenomenon is eventually linked to a scandal involving a plot of stolen land.
A View from a Hill*
This one begins promisingly—the main character peers into a pair of field glasses (or binoculars, to us Yanks) to see a ghastly sight from across a valley—but soon turns into a protracted tale told with irritating indirectness (the glasses turn out to be haunted, etc.).
A Warning to the Curious***
The most anthologized of James’s stories is a bit wordy, but the author manages to communicate a remarkable sense of place (in this case, the Norfolk coast), getting all the geographical details just right. The plot is imaginative (it concerns the myth of the three crowns of Anglia), and the horrors are shrewdly, enticingly suggestive.
An Evening’s Entertainment*
Trivial James—the impact is somewhat diminished by its story-within-a-story structure. This one’s about a grandmother who warns her grandchildren of a ghost that haunts a stretch of country road.
There Was a Man Dwelt By a Churchyard**
James borrows his title from a line in Shakespeare’s
The Winter’s Tale, in which a child begins to tell a ghostly story, but never finishes. James takes the initiative and finishes for him. It’s pretty standard stuff about a woman rising from the grave to collect her stolen cash. A few felicitous touches.
Rats***
The shortest of James’s stories accomplishes exactly what it sets out to do. The geographical descriptions are as lucid as ever.
After Dark in the Playing Fields*
An odd little story in which a man has a conversation with an owl and begins to see apparitions in a playground at night. Decidedly minor James.
Wailing Well***
This underappreciated dazzler has a vivid setting (a hot summer in Kent), a different sort of protagonist (schoolboys competing for scouts), and a strangely downbeat (and horrifying) ending. One of the most explicit of James’s stories in terms of physical danger. It’s the story of a group of children, one of whom ignores a shepherd’s warning and ventures too far into a haunted thicket known to be inhabited by four ghosts. Boy, does he pay for it! The horror takes place in broad daylight and the action is graphically rendered, making this one of the most literal and frightening of James’s set.
Stories I have Tried to Write **
An amusing confessional—James gives us brief synopses of some of his unfinished works, all of which are provocative and good-humored. The great closing line reads, “Late on Monday night at toad came into my study: and, though nothing has so far seemed to link itself with this appearance, I feel that it may not be quite prudent to brood over topics which may open the interior eye to the presence of more formidable visitants. Enough said.”
The Experiment*
A brief but convoluted and unsatisfying story that revolves around an experiment whereby a woman calls upon her dead husband’s corpse to discover the location of a certain treasure. The last paragraph, which describes the nature of the experiment, is the choicest part of this otherwise unmemorable attempt at supernatural spine-tingling.
The Malice of Inanimate Objects**
A very slight James story—no more than an afterthought, really—about a gentleman who kills himself with a razor—or was it the razor that killed him? The title is clever, as is the introductory story about the unfortunate Squire, and the implications are actually scary should you choose to reflect on them. It poses the question, “Are inanimate objects really inanimate after all?”
A Vignette***
This is comparatively obscure James, yet I would place it somewhere near the top. It’s simple, deceptive, and in its own modest way, more frightening than anything the author has written. It’s the story of a man who feels he’s being watched by something whenever he explores a certain part of the garden—a watcher in the woods, so to speak. He dreams about what it might possibly be. One night, in his dream, he spots the apparition, but only obscurely through a keyhole. It nonchalantly scurries off. The villain is your average spooky ghost—an amorphous figure cloaked in white linen—but James shows an astonishing knowledge of how fear works in the human mind. To close the story, he wistfully muses as to whether there were actually creatures that once interacted with humans on a regular basis, but are now almost never seen. (Here, he has never sounded more like Blackwood or Machen or Lovecraft.)
