The Turn of the Screw and The Aspern Papers

One of my all-time favorite short stories is truly a masterpiece. The way this book manages to be both creepy and beautiful is simply astonishing. I find myself constantly drawn back to it, eager to reread and explore its depths once again.

Even the cover of this particular edition has a strange allure that simultaneously terrifies and fascinates me. I can't help but feel a sense of unease when I look at it for too long, as if the children depicted are actually standing right behind me, waiting. I vividly remember the time I gave this copy to my friend Liz for her birthday. Upon opening it and realizing she finally owned this sought-after book, her initial excitement quickly turned to horror. She let out a shriek and immediately threw the book away from her. Seriously, up close, this cover is truly horrifying.

On a different note, The Aspern Papers are also a great read. They offer a unique and captivating story that keeps the reader engaged from start to finish.

My favorite kind of beginning (prologue) is often paired with my least favorite kind of ending (abrupt). Consider a not overly long novel filled with long, long sentences and many, many words. The phrase "to turn the screw" implies applying pressure, but one wonders what pressure was exerted and by whom? This story contains numerous classic creepy elements. However, as they remain unrelated and unresolved, I continuously wait for the central source of horror to be revealed and tie everything together. Was it the attractive employer who refused to see or be spoken to about his wards? The strangely cheerful housekeeper? The seemingly perfect boy who was expelled from school for an undisclosed reason? The former staff who left and died? Or the ghosts who interacted with the children? Was the narrator governess reacting hysterically to unanswered questions?

Synopsis for my own recollection - Spoiler alert for the rest of you:

On Christmas Eve, a group gathers around the fire in an old house, and the conversation naturally turns to ghostly visitations of children. One of them, Douglas, knows a horror story involving two children. It's so ghastly that it's been locked away in a drawer for forty years, written by his sister's governess from long ago. The group decides to stay for a few days while the handwritten pages arrive, as who doesn't enjoy a good old ghost story at Christmas?

Douglas sets the stage before his narration: A poor country parson's daughter responds to an advertisement (similar to the hapless Mr. Lockwood in Wuthering Heights) at a townhouse in London for the position of governess. She swoons over her new employer, a gentleman in the prime of life. However, (here's the catch) he wishes her to immediately proceed to his country home, Bly, an old family place in Essex. The reason? He is the guardian of a nephew and niece, and he has put them in possession of Bly as it is so healthy and secure (or perhaps not). Excellent Mrs. Grose is the housekeeper, but the unnamed governess will be in supreme authority. And, just so you know, there was a young lady previously whom they unfortunately lost (i.e., died). This left no alternative but school for little Miles. And if that wasn't enough reason to refuse the job, the master's one condition was that she should never trouble him, take care of everything, and leave him alone. After this inspiring talk, Douglas reveals that the governess never sees her charming employer again, and with this nerve-wracking premise, her story begins.

She starts with a Jane Eyre-flavored entry into Bly and meets the perfect daughter Flora - beatific, radiant, angelic - and hears all about the little gentleman Miles from Mrs. Grose, who "was glad I was there!" (usually the housekeeper hates the governess in these stories - what's going on?). When she says, "I have not seen Bly since the day I left it," we know she survives whatever is to come, but it has the ominous tone of, "Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again."

After much anticipation, the mysterious Miles appears, accompanied by a letter from his headmaster saying he's been dismissed from school. Like his sister, Miles is divine and impossibly innocent. How can someone so good be dismissed? Is this the dark secret? The conversation finally turns to the former governess, who was also young and pretty, who went home and never came back and later they heard she had died. The governess starts her duties, and things progress until she spots a strange man, staring brazenly back at her. "Was there a secret at Bly, an insane, an unmentionable relative kept in unsuspected confinement?" (Jane Eyre) What makes him creepy: "He's like nobody. He has no hat. Dressed in smart clothes not his own." Mrs. Gross knows that guy; it's Peter Quint, the former valet, and what became of him? He died.

Words follow words in epic, gushing sentences, but do they say anything? - It took of course more than that particular passage to place us together in presence of what we had now to live with as we could -- my dreadful liability to impressions of the order so vividly exemplified, and my companion's knowledge, henceforth-- a knowledge half consternation and half compassion-- of that liability.

It emerges that the valet was close to Miles and took care of him, but in a "much too free" way, spoiling him. In fact, he was too free with everyone! And then he was found stone dead on the road. Then the second horrible visage shows herself, a woman in black, pale and dreadful - the infamous Miss Jessel, who used to care for Flora. They were a couple, even though Quint was a base menial and she a lady.

Our narrator steps up as the heroine to protect her charges, but eventually, it becomes clear that Flora and Miles can not only see but are also interacting with the ghosts. Like teenagers under the influence of bad friends, the children openly mock her for coming between them. She forces Miles to admit that he was kicked out of school for writing letters about other children, but the specifics, we never learn. There are a lot of unanswered questions leading up to a lot of gothic screaming and then suddenly silence. Are the ghosts bad, or was it just the usual poor little kids stuck on the moor with nothing to do but get weird?

Aspern Papers: A fan of the divine (deceased) poet Jeffrey Aspern comes to Venice to try to unearth his papers with his former muse, an elderly woman and her niece, living in a dilapidated old palace on an out-of-the-way canal. Our narrator's idea is to court the younger Miss Bordereau, but it's not that simple. Another big buildup to a strangely abrupt ending.

The Turn of the Screw by Henry James is a complex and often misinterpreted novella.

First, the date of publication is significant. Henry James couldn't ignore Oscar Wilde's work when writing this. The story is set in England during a time when there was paranoia about gay orientation, as seen with Oscar Wilde's imprisonment.

The traditional interpretations of the novella focus on whether the ghosts are real or if the governess is hallucinating. But there are shortcomings. The psychological situation of the two kids, Flora and Miles, is not fully explored.

The kids have endured multiple traumas, including losing their parents and being uprooted twice. Their Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome or Disorder (PTSS/D) is likely very high.

The governess, who is unnamed, has her own issues. She has an extremely serious psychiatric disorder. Her strict opposition to any sexual relation between the kids and the ghosts reveals her own sexual and social heritage.

She is more motivated in her hostility towards Miles and Quint, showing a sort of jealousy. Her protective attitude towards Miles is excessively physical and sexual, though she may not be conscious of it.

The rejection of the gay relationship by the governess is a way for her to hide and control her own impulses. Her impulses are both pedophile and incestuous.

When we combine the kids' PTSS/D with the governess's issues, we can see that her attitude is castrating for Miles. He finally escapes by dying to be with Quint.

In conclusion, this ghost story is really about a repressed and perverted woman. Critics should go beyond the manipulation Henry James uses and explore the deeper themes. It's surprising that critics are reluctant to identify incestuous and pedophile impulses in women.

Dr Jacques COULARDEAU

For the second time, I have had the misfortune of choosing to read Henry James alongside another difficult author. The first time it was Proust; this time, Joyce. So, instead of getting the desired relief from literary headache, I get an extension of it. But, of course, the fault is mine, not Henry’s.

When reading Henry James’s work, I am reminded of a remark Stephen King made about Stanley Kubrick: that “he thinks too much and feels too little.” One gets the impression that, as Henry wrote, he did not vicariously experience the feelings and perspectives of his characters; instead he manipulates them at a far distance in the service of his aesthetic goal. This makes reading his work a peculiarly cerebral experience. Instead of identifying with James’s protagonists, the reader gazes upon them from far-away—like watching pedestrians from a tall building.

Maddening, frustrating, and exasperating as his writing-style is, I am always impressed by the end of it. James has mastered the art of using the structure of language to mirror the structure of his plots. Instead of merely relaying information, James’s sentences show the reader what is going on in their very composition. As the protagonist tries and fails to guess at a mystery, the sentences try and fail to reach their objects—like a snake coiling around itself. Annoying as this sometimes is to read, I am so amazed by the end that I can give James nothing but kudos.

The Turn of the Screw is famous for its use of ambiguity. Is the governess crazy? Or are there really ghosts? Or do the ghosts make her crazy? Or does her craziness somehow reify the ghosts? I’ve heard it argued, and with good reason, that this ambiguity is what makes the story so endlessly intriguing—the implication being that those who try to definitely answer the story’s riddle are doing it a disservice. But what’s the point of a riddle you don’t try to answer? In fact, if you don’t try to answer it, is it even a riddle? So, in the spirit of literary puzzles, here’s my attempt.

I am for the mad governess theory. One obstacle to this is that she was able to describe people she never met with enough precision that the housekeeper immediately recognized them. However, it’s reasonable to suppose that she might have overheard or otherwise been told something about the two deceased former inhabitants. What’s more, her descriptions of the ghosts contain some odd features: she describes Quinn as wearing borrowed clothes, and knows that he isn’t a gentleman; and she describes Miss Jessel as “infamous.” Now, how could you tell any of those things merely by looking at someone? Her descriptions contain more information than could be plausibly gathered through a glance, which is why I think she was parroting something she’d been told.

Another obvious clue is that nobody else can see these ghosts. But what’s even more compelling is how creepily fond the governess is of the children. Her feelings towards them are unhealthy in the extreme. She idolizes them, and then comes to distrust and suspect them in their every action. Her ‘ghosts’ could then be a kind of manifestation of her extraordinary possessiveness. She fears so keenly that somebody or something would take her away from these children she so adores that her mind produces villains who aim to do just that. Her feelings are similar to that of a hyper-jealous lover who sees signs of infidelity lurking in every shadow and hiding in every word.

At this point, one is forced to think about how much the narrator may have omitted from her tale. For all we know, she may have mistreated—even abused—the children. This would explain why Flora comes to hate her so passionately. And it may also explain Miles’s death. I will admit, however, that Miles’s death is particularly hard to account for within the governess-is-mad theory. Did she poison him? Smother him in her arms? It seems a bit far-fetched, but certainly still possible.

The Aspern Papers was less perplexing and more readable. The prose, less gnarled; the characters, more life-like. I suspect this is because it was written earlier in James’s career, when his own distinct style was yet imperfectly developed. That being said, it was certainly masterfully done. The main character, even though he is something of a scoundrel, is endearing because of his dorkiness. And the description of the pent-up women lingering in their large Venetian house is nearly Dickensian.

So now, after finishing these two little gems, I am left wanting to read more of good ol' Henry. He may indeed “think too much and feel too little,” but that’s only a flaw when you’re not as smart as he was.

"The Turn of the Screw" is indeed a clever piece of work, yet it can also be quite baffling. The story weaves a web of mystery and psychological tension that keeps the reader on the edge of their seat. However, when it comes to my personal preference, I lean towards "The Aspern Papers." This literary mystery, set in the enchanting city of Venice, has a charm all its own. The atmosphere of Venice adds an extra layer of intrigue to the story, as the protagonist delves into the search for the precious papers. The characters are well-developed, and the plot twists and turns in unexpected ways. I simply loved this book and found it to be a captivating read from start to finish.

The Turn of the Screw [1898] – ★★★★

“Wasn’t it just a story-book over which I had fallen a-doze and a-dream?” [James, Ed. 2004: 33].

This horror novella, penned by James in 1898 at the invitation of Robert J. Collier for his magazine, was first published as a series. It tells of a hired governess who comes to Bly, a country estate in Essex, to supervise two children, Miles and Flora. The children are orphans under the responsibility of their uncle, who resides in London and has little time for them. The young governess is delighted to be in charge of two beautiful, well-behaved children in such a grand estate and willingly assumes her responsibilities. However, Bly soon reveals its horrors to the governess, and she becomes aware of at least two ghosts in the house that haunt the children.

The Turn of the Screw is infamous for its multiple interpretations and the various meanings that can be read into the text. It can be read as a straightforward ghost tale or as a more complex psychological study of a nanny losing her mind. Either way, it is a scary and intriguing read that leaves much to think about and discuss upon finishing.

The story is told through a first-person narrative, with the narrator being “the youngest of several daughters of a poor country parson” [Ed. 2004: 26]. We follow her thoughts and encounters as she becomes a governess at Bly. She is not alone in the house as the housekeeper, Mrs Grose, accompanies her. Soon, the narrator is convinced that the house is haunted by the ghosts of a previous governess, Miss Jessel, and a valet, Peter Quint. She believes that the two ghosts are after the children, Miles and Flora.

There are two ways to read The Turn of the Screw. It can be seen as a morbid tale of creepiness where ghosts haunt the country estate and take strange “possession” of the children. Or, it can be read as a story of the narrator’s emotional or mental breakdown, where she imagines or hallucinates spiritual elements. The novella is cleverly written, providing enough evidence for each theory. This ambiguity makes the story fascinating, with only subtle hints left as to the real danger.

If the narrator is to be believed, the story is rather scary, with chilling passages detailing her ghostly encounters. The beauty and innocence of the children are contrasted with the dark and disturbing behavior of the ghosts visiting them. The children’s own behavior becomes strange, as if under the spell of the monstrous and evil intentions of the two ghosts who “corrupt” them. However, there is a lack of clarity as to who really desires to corrupt. Is it the ghosts, the children, the governess, or maybe even the children trying to corrupt the governess? The novella can be read as evil coming from different directions.

There are many clues in the story that suggest the narrator is unreliable, impressionable, and easily excitable. We have to take her word at face value, but her account is highly emotive, and she admits to her confusion. Thus, there is a theory that the ghostly encounters in the story are part of the governess’s active imagination or that she hallucinates them. The governess’s mental breakdown as a theory was proposed as early as 1919 [Ed. 2004: 192], and there are passages in the novella that support this, such as “I’m rather easily carried away” [Ed. 2004: 31] and “she was…untried, nervous” [Ed. 2004: 28].

The governess of Miles and Flora also becomes completely infatuated with them. She describes them as being “remarkable”, “incredibly beautiful”, and “radiant” [Ed. 2004: 30, 37]. She senses in them a “positive fragrance of purity” and is “dazed by their loveliness” [Ed. 2004: 30, 37, 44]. However, her expressions regarding the children are often emotional, and it is telling that neither Miles’s school headmaster nor his uncle want the boy near them, suggesting that the governess’s and Mrs Grose’s good impression of the children may be exaggerated. Miles was expelled from school and spent a lot of time with his uncle’s valet, Quint, who was not a gentleman.

The governess is so obsessed with the children that she may have imbued them with divine characteristics, abilities, and secrets. She may want to be part of their secrets and pact, and thus, she may see ghosts because of her desire to be part of the mysterious games the children apparently play. The governess seems to rejoice in the fact that there is an unusual connection shared between her and the children. However, if we read the book closely, we discover that there is little evidence to support the theory that the children can see ghosts, apart from the narrator’s perceptions.

The governess’s desire to feel useful and needed, as well as to become a protector of the children, may have led to the imagining of a situation where she has to protect them against evil ghosts. This would provide the necessary drama and diversion in her monotone life on the estate. Even the ghosts of Miss Jessel and Peter Quint can be seen as the narrator’s inverted mind projections of herself and the master of the house. The affair between Quint and Miss Jessel was doomed, and the narrator may hint at her own doomed and unstarted affair with the master of the house.

The later account in the novella of the governess’s thoughts and actions also fits more accurately with the theory of her slowly losing her sense of reality. If before she described Bly as a “fairy tale…place” [Ed. 2004: 38] and enjoyed the place almost like a proprietor, later she may be realizing that Bly will never be hers, the master of the estate will never return her feelings, and the children will also never be hers. She also feels her inadequacy to cater for such intelligent children and becomes hurt when Miles wants to leave Bly.

The result of such feelings of alienation and hurt on the governess’s part leads to the climax of the story. The secrets are out, and the game is up. Flora turns “ugly” and moves away, and the narrator’s only hope becomes Miles, whom she compares to her husband on their wedding day. The separation between her and the boy becomes reality, and perhaps, to maintain her grip on the house and on Miles, the nanny resorts to an unimaginable horror. The whole situation is related in an obscure form with another ghostly encounter, and the conclusion is left indeterminate, allowing readers to draw their own conclusions.

Because of the language used, the long and complex sentences, and the indeterminate conclusion, The Turn of the Screw is not as instantly satisfying as may be desired, and its reading may be rather daunting. However, those who delight in reading between the lines will find the novella engrossing and atmospheric. It challenges with its ambiguity, and Henry James must be given credit for the subtle way he deals with evil and true horror in his book. By not pinpointing or describing the meaning of horror, he makes the story take an even darker turn, blurring the line between the mind and the body, the inside and the outside, the spiritual and the earthy, and the imagined and the real.

Right, let’s get down to brass tacks.

This is a classic American ghost story filled with ghouls and ghosts in abundance.

The novella begins with a group of friends chatting about ghost stories one evening. One friend mentions some papers he has read about a governess working in London who has had supernatural experiences. In the next chapter, the perspective switches to the governess speaking in the first person.

She starts working for her employer, who doesn't live at the house and instructs her that under no circumstances should he be contacted regarding his orphaned niece and nephew, who are now in his care. It seems a bit harsh, but that's how it is. Maybe James is making a subtextual comment about the lack of emotion and the stiff upper lip of the British. Who knows?

Anyway, almost immediately after the governess starts working at the large house (I'm not even sure if she has a name), she begins to see ghosts. The descriptions of these phantoms are very detailed and exciting. Her feelings upon witnessing the apparitions are also intriguing and well-described. However, despite her scared responses, she only tells the housekeeper about them. She doesn't write letters to her family or even attempt to contact the absent owner.

The two children she takes care of are young, and the governess becomes convinced that the phantoms are trying to possess them. The girl's character is already rather strange, to be honest, so I wonder if that's where the idea came from.

Now, I've just read a little about Henry James, and apparently, he was interested in mental illness. There's a school of thought that the governess is mentally ill rather than actually witnessing the supernatural. I'm not sure. When she sees the ghosts, the descriptions are very clear, and they are definitely former employees of the house, as confirmed by the housekeeper. So, I'm sticking with the phantom theory.

As a read, I found this quite challenging. I'm not a stupid person, but I had to re-read sentences to fully understand them. Although I did like the ghostly descriptions, everything else was about as interesting as chewing on cardboard. I also love a bit of the classics, but I didn't love this one. I didn't even bother to read The Aspern Papers because I just couldn't face it.

Definitely a re-gifter, I'm afraid, despite the many great reviews from others. Maybe I'm a bit of a dullard. P.S. The boy dies at the end, probably because he's bored with the whole thing.

“A classic is a book that never finishes saying what it has to say,” Italo Calvino wrote in the introduction of “Why Read the Classics”. This profound statement holds true for many literary works, and “Another Twist of the Screw” by Henry James is undoubtedly a prime example.

Henry James is renowned for his intricate and psychological narratives, and “Another Twist of the Screw” is no exception. The story delves deep into the mind of the narrator, a governess who is entrusted with the care of two young children in an isolated country house. As she begins to suspect that the children are being haunted by malevolent spirits, the tension builds and the reader is drawn into a web of mystery and uncertainty.

The beauty of this novella lies in its ambiguity. James leaves much open to interpretation, allowing the reader to form their own opinions about what is really happening. Is the governess a reliable narrator, or is she simply imagining the whole thing? Are the children truly being haunted, or is there something more sinister at play? These questions add to the allure of the story and make it a classic that continues to be studied and debated to this day.