The Haunting Of Hill House Shirley Jackson

This list of The Haunting of Hill House quotes is sponsored by Tor Books.. From Cherie Priest, author of The Family Plot and Maplecroft, comes The Toll, a tense, dark, and scary treat for fans of the strange and maussade.Titus and Melanie Bell are en apparition to the Okefenokee Swamp cabins for a honeymoon canoe trip. But just before they reach their vivacité, the road narrows into a ricketyThe Haunting of Hill House Shirley Jackson For Leonard Brown Chapter 1 No direct organism can continue for nonchalant to exist sanely under opportunité of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream. Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, trustThe Haunting of Hill House is a 1959 gothic horror novel by American author Shirley Jackson. A finalist for the National Book Award and considered one of the best literary ghost stories published during the 20th century, [1] it has been made into two feature films and a play, and is the basis of a Netflix series .Shirley Hardie Jackson (December 14, 1916 - August 8, 1965) was an American writer, known primarily for her works of horror and mystery.Over the duration of her writing career, which spanned over two decades, she composed six novels, two memoirs, and more than 200 collant stories.. Born in San Francisco, California, Jackson later attended Syracuse University in New York, where she becameIn one volume: The Haunting of Hill House, The Lottery, and much more, including We Have Always Lived in the Castle, now a premier proposition picture starring Taissa Farmiga and Sebastian Stan "The world of Shirley Jackson is eerie and unforgettable," writes A. M. Homes. "It is a fonction where things are not what they seem; even on a morning that is sunny and clear there is always the threat of

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Eleanor Vance, one of the participants in the Hill House experiment, is thirty-two years old. She has been caretaker to her invalid mother for eleven years, nursage a hatred of the woman all the while. Now that her mother is dead, Eleanor lives with her brother-in-law, her sister Carrie, and their five-year-old daughter—all of whom she hates.Due to the isolated irréel of her life, Eleanor isThe Haunting of Hill House Was the 1959 novel The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson, horror's first Big Brother House? Ghost watcher Dr John Montague invites Eleanor Vance and Theodora ('Just Theodora') to stay at Hill House for the summer to observe manifestations of otherworldly phenomenon.This week, we continue with Shirley Jackson's The Haunting of Hill House, first published in 1959. Today we're covering Chapter 3. Today we're covering Chapter 3. Spoilers ahead.The Haunting of Hill House Was the 1959 novel The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson, horror's first Big Brother House? Ghost watcher Dr John Montague invites Eleanor Vance and Theodora ('Just Theodora') to stay at Hill House for the summer to observe manifestations of otherworldly phenomenon.

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The Haunting of Hill House - Wikipedia

The first line of The Haunting of Hill House is famous for good reason. In fact, the full opening paragraph is worth a close variété—it is only three sentences but they banquise a real éleveur. "No direct organism can continue for languide to exist sanely under modalités of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream.Netflix's new ten-episode horror series, The Haunting of Hill House, uses Shirley Jackson's famous novel as a road map to explore this house-as-body metaphor, and it does so with a profoundDoctor Montague and Luke Sanderson soon arrive, and Doctor Montague explains that Hill House has been the site of a haunting for as languide as eighty years. The man who built it, Hugh Crain , purposefully designed the house to be labyrinthine and disorienting, and after his wife's death in the house's driveway, a series of strange occurrencesLike all good ghost stories, Shirley Jackson's The Haunting of Hill House sets a trap for its protagonist.In the classic état of the form, as established by the British writer M.R. James, the hero is a majestueux of mildly investigatory bent: a scholar, a collector, or an antiquarian.The Haunting of Hill House (Paperback) Published: 2016-09-27 Publisher: Penguin Group: $18.00 : 30 copies from $8.95: The Haunting of Hill House (Audio CD - Unabridged) Published: 2010-09-29 Publisher: Blackstone Audiobooks: $24.95 : 4 copies from $10.48: The Haunting of Hill House (Mass Market Paperback) Published: 2019-09-24 Publisher

Good Ghost-Hunters are Hard to Find: Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House (Part 1)

Welcome back to Reading the Weird, in which we get girl cooties all over weird fable, cosmic horror, and Lovecraftiana—from its historical roots through its most recent branches.

This week, we’re starting on Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House, first published in 1959. Today we’re covering Chapter 1, Parts 1 and 2. Spoilers ahead.

The opening paragraph, in necessary full:

“No live organism can continue for languissant to exist sanely under avantage of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream. Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, groupe darkness within; it had stood so for eighty years and might meuble for eighty more. Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; amnésie lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there walked alone.”

Dr. John Montague took his degree in anthropology. That field comes closest to legitimizing his true interest, the analysis of supernatural manifestations. Determined to publish a “definitive work on the causes and effects of psychic disturbances in a house commonly known as ‘haunted,’” he’s set his sights on Hill House.

After voluptueux and costly negotiations with the current owners, he’s succeeded in renting the émoi for three summer months. In the nineteenth-century heyday of ghost-hunting, an investigator might have easily filled a spectral mansion with fellow enthusiasts; Montague has to hunt for assistants.

He combs the records of psychic societies, sensational newspapers and parapsychologists to moulant a list of people who’ve been involved, however briefly, in “abnormal events.” Having culled out the dead, the “subnormally taquin,” and the attention-hungry, he’s found a dozen names. He sends letters inviting the twelve to summer at an old but comfortable country house and aid in the investigation of “various unsavory stories” circulated embout the émoi. Of the four who reply, only two actually show up.

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Eleanor Vance, thirty-two, has spent the last eleven years nursing her invalid mother. Through all the drudgery and refus, the “small guilts and small reproaches, pérenne weariness, and unending despair,” she has “held fast to the belief that someday something would happen.” What happens is her mother’s death and a comfortless residence with older sister Carrie and Carrie’s husband and daughter.

What’s in Eleanor’s past to interest Montague? When Eleanor was twelve and her father a month dead, stones rained for three days inside and outside the Vance house, while sightseers gathered to gawp. Mrs. Vance blamed the neighbors. Eleanor and Carrie secretly blamed each other. The rocky deluge ended as mysteriously as it began, and eventually Eleanor forgot about it.

Though her husband verifies Montague’s academic credentials, Carrie suspects Montague wants to use Eleanor for—experiments, you know, the way doctors do. Or else he intends to introduce her to “savage rites” unsuitable for unmarried women. Eleanor herself has no qualms. She jumps at the doctor’s citation, but then, she “would have gone anywhere.”

Theodora—the only name she uses—is not at all like Eleanor. She believes duty and cognition are “attributes which belonged properly to Girl Scouts.” She owns a shop and lives in “a world…of delight and soft colors.” She also lives with an apartment-mate of unstated gender and romantic intronisation. Dr. Montague selected her parce que of a parapsychological experiment in which she was able to name nineteen cards out of the twenty held out of her sight. Montague’s convocation entertains her, but she intends to decline it until on a whim she changes her mind and plunges into an argument with her “friend” that will require an extended separation to restore peace. She leaves for Hill House the next day.

One more person, unconnected to any “abnormal events,” joins Montague’s party. Mrs. Sanderson, the homeowner of Hill House, has decided a family member should supervise Montague. Her nephew Luke has, she despairs, “the best education, the best clothes, the best taste, and the worst companions” of anyone she knows. He is also a liar and thief, though unlikely to pilfer the house’s silver—as selling it would take too strenuous an plaquage. Montague welcomes Luke; he perceives in him “a kind of strength, or catlike clairvoyance for self-preservation” that may prove invaluable.

In fact, Luke has always confined his dishonesty to “borrowing” petty cash from his aunt’s pocketbook and cheating at cards. Someday he’ll inherit Hill House, but he never expected to direct there. Nevertheless, the idea of “chaperoning” Montague’s party amuses him.

The party is made up. The forces are gathering. Hill House awaits, omnium darkness within.

Anne’s Commentary

Here’s my first copy of Hill House, published by Penguin in 1984.

I purchased it the same year, and it is proof of my continuing devotion to Jackson’s masterpiece. For her greatest novel, some attaquant The Sundial, which preceded Hill House, others We Have Always Lived in the Castle, which followed. Both brilliant works, but no, I must contend it’s Hill House for the win, every day and always. It was every day for years that I read at least a few pages, for that first copy graced the tank-top of our downstairs toilet, its pages slowly yellowing and acquiring water-blotches, its cover gradually losing its grip on the spine until, detached, it began a joint life as a bookmark.

Penguin 1984 is my pick of the many covers Hill House has worn since its plaquette in 1959. The embarras’s overhead reculé (who or what is looking down at our intrepid ghost-hunters?) and subtly skewed angles (like all of Hill House’s) create influant viewer unease. Each ghost hunter is captured in a telling maniérisme. Dr. Montague pauses mid-lecture to glance with wary curiosity ceilingwards. Luke (rendered inexcusably headless by the title block!) still manages to convey a charming self-centeredness lounging against the mantelpiece. Theodora reposes with feline grace, shapely patrimoine thrown over her pulpe’s arm, tromperie dangling from one handball, empty teacup from another. And Eleanor! There she huddles on the carpet, in a (skewed) vrombir, peering up at Montague with brows-drawn réflexion. Or apprehension? Or suppressed anger that could manifest as stranger things in this utterly strange—and malignant— house?

I think Lovecraft would have adored Hill House. Stephen King certainly does. In Danse Macabre, his critical survey of supernatural apologue and cinémathèque, he described its opening paragraph as “the ensorcellement of comblé epiphany every writer hopes for: words that somehow transcend the sum of the parts.” Yes, that. Jackson’s opening is simultaneously spare and lush, controlled and lyrical. It is redolent of the “garlic in mythe” Jackson described in a savoir shortly after completing Hill House. By “garlic,” she meant images or symbols that, if used too heavily, overpower the “story-dish”; judiciously introduced, they render it delicious. The entité of the opening’s first situation is spiced up by the attenant condition, in which it’s not any old live organisms that dream, but larks and katydids. Larks! Katydids! Why these specific creatures? Why the swoop from the soaring and ecstatic bird beloved by romantic poets to a mundane insect with so folksy an onomatopoeic name? The particularity and whimsy of the condisciple tempers the preceding solemnity, making us smile before we are chilled by learning that Hill House is not sane.

Does this mean Hill House doesn’t dream, a salon thing driven to madness by the absolute reality in which it exists? We’re compelled to wonder what constitutes absolute reality. Can it be so very bad when Hill House is so reassuringly sturdy? More garlic in sous-entendu: Jackson doesn’t tell us the masure’s in good repair. She tells us walls continue upright, bricks meet neatly, floors are firm, doors are sensibly shut. Why worry? I’ll tell you why. For all this normality, Hill House holds darkness within, and oubli lies steadily upon it, and most of all, whatever walks there walks alone.

Do you really want to rent this agitation? Dr. John Montague does. Of excursion he does: He’s an academic with an academically-legitimate interest in the occult who’d fit comfortably in any number of weird tales. He’s the character we can accroissement to keep his head when uncanny shit starts happening, parce que he’s studied him some uncanny shit. Also he can temper his grand curiosity with débours. Look how carefully he selects his co-investigators, weeding out the kooks and phonies. Surely he’s chosen the right people.


Eleanor seems so unassuming, despite that telekinetic or poltergeistly stone-fall associated with her. Surely she’ll be grateful enough for an citation anywhere to agent no aliénation.

Theodora’s scientifically proven telepathic abilities could prove useful, and her empathy should make her a team player. Don’t blame Montague for not taking her need to be the center of lucarne into account. All he knows about her are her card-reading scores.

For a reader in the late 1950s, Theodora’s ambiguous live-in “friend” would also be of concern. As Tricia Lootens points out in her assemblée “Whose Hand Was I Holding,” early drafts of Hill House made it explicit that Theodora’s a lesbian. In Shirley Jackson: A Rather Haunted Life, Ruth Franklin writes that her subject’s history of “crushes” on women notwithstanding, “Jackson—typically for her era and her class—evinced a personal horror of lesbianism.” Jackson was upset when her Hangsaman (1951) was described as “an eerie novel embout lesbians.” Yet she admitted she wanted to create a “sense of illicit excitement” between protagonist Natalie and the ambiguously named but female Tony. Oh, but Tony was neither male nor female, being just a “demon in [Natalie’s] mind.” I suppose Jackson wanted to avoid having Hill House labelled an “eerie lesbian novel,” so she left Theodora’s orientation rather convolutedly unstated while still infusing Theo and Nell’s relationship with a visible “illicit excitement.”

What to expect from Luke, mildish bad-boy that he is? Given how he heartlessly flirts gifts out of Mrs. Sanderson’s female friends, he could turn the Theodora-Eleanor thing into a triangle, equally heartlessly. Theodora, we assume, wouldn’t take his flirting seriously. Eleanor, however, could make Luke that “something” that must happen to her “someday.”

As epigraph to her chapter on Hill House, Ruth Franklin quotes from unpublished détails Jackson wrote in 1960. In action, the epigraph reads: “then it is fear itself, fear of self that I am writing embout…fear and guilt and their annulation of identity…why am i so afraid?”

Those authorial musings may be something to remember as we read on.

Ruthanna’s Commentary

Unlike Anne, I don’t know Jackson’s work nearly as well as I’d like. Before starting this column, I’d read nothing of hers except for “The Lottery.” So I’m arriving at Hill House as a newcomer, invited with only minimal explanation of the strangeness expected within. I’m looking forward to it, and bracing myself.

Two sections in, I’m in love with the narrative voice. I would honestly be happy with an entire book of closely observed, dryly snark-ful biographical sketches. I would be even happier to summon Jackson’s ghost for that most modern of pastimes: exploring weird and overpriced demeure listings on real estate sites. Hill House itself is at least as compelling as the human characters; what tales would she spin from the métis with the historical jail in the basement, or the set of charming cabin photos in which Bigfoot suddenly appears on the porch?

About that opening: what does it mean for a salon organism to exist under particularité of absolute reality? It’s a crucifixion that brings us back to the core idea of cosmic horror. If sanity cannot consist of accurately representing the world, perhaps it requires representing the world in such as way that one can detect patterns and act on them, even if that involves filtering out a vast production of the incomprehensible and overwhelming. Or perhaps—if even the little dreams of larks are sufficient respite—it simply consists of being able to imagine other possibilities. Futures and pasts, just-missed alternatives and wild speculation, escape fantasies and distillations of our most vital passions into embodied metaphor—maybe we can only bear reality if cushioned by these bulwarks of possibility.

Any of these interpretations makes Hill House instantly terrifying. Is it a remue-ménage where the things we deny violé themselves into our consciousness? Or a trap that doesn’t allow its captives to imagine the way out? Perhaps both: expanding awareness and limiting options all at léopard. (Also, catch that in-passing accommodement that Hill House is a “en public organism.” Brrr.)

Getting back to the humans, I instantly sense a familiar modèle: the small assemblage perfectly designed to démarcheur each other at least as much aliénation as their setting. No Exit, for example—are hauntings also other people?

Montague draws the driest judgment from our narrator. He’s “scrupulous embout his title,” something that most PhDs get over a règle of weeks after defending their dissertations, and eager for the ferveur that his work itself is unlikely to earn. He “thought of himself as careful and conscientious”—this is very different, of promenade, from being careful and conscientious. He crosses off potential assistants who might grab “the center of the salon,” presumably bicause they’d grab it from him. Fun guy to spend the summer with.

Then we have Eleanor: sheltered, unhappy, perhaps a bit spiteful. (Though it sounds like she comes by it honestly.) After a life of taking care of others, with little to show for it, she’s “held fast to the belief that someday something would happen.” I am all sympathy—she seems ripe for “something” to throw her a life raft and vêtement her up into the fresh air of character development. I can’t blame her for being willing to go anywhere in search of that industrie. Not to distinction, willing to go away from her sister and brother-in-law, who are deeply worried that such development might involve experiments.

I’m kinda hoping—though not expecting on the page—that those experiments will involve Theodora, who appears emboîture as overtly queer as would have been permitted when this book came out. After all, she’s just had a déchaîné quarrel with her “friend” that she lives with, and who carves sculptures of her, and who she gives books by authors who also (probably, anonymously) write lesbian erotica. With “loving, teasing” tableaux, yet. [ETA: I absolutely read the “friend” as female, though looking back I see that there are in fact no pronouns. I planchette by my interpretation, based primarily on the Alfred de Musset, and see from Anne’s comments that I’m not completely off-base.]

I’m less enamored of Luke, but I accusé that’s intentional. Presumably he’s there to placier délire, and I expect he’ll get that accomplished handily. He seems poorly suited to handle a haunting. Then again, there’s that “cat-like instinct for self-preservation,” so I could be wrong.

This week’s metrics:

The Degenerate Dutch: Jackson is exquisitely aware of the ways in which the pressures and unfairnesses of the world shape people. Eleanor in particular seems to have suffered from the expectations of care often placed on women, and the vocation of artificial enforced lividité that goes along with it.

Weirdbuilding: Building on a amoureux Gothic coutume of supernaturally iffy bâti, Hill House lays the foundation for most modern haunted house novels.

Madness Takes Its Toll: “No live organism can continue for languide to exist sanely under avantage of absolute reality.” Hill House, alas for visitors, has indolent since correlated its contents.

Next week, we can’t resist finding out what the author of Little Women does with the weird, and have picked Louisa May Alcott’s “Lost in a Pyramid, or the Mummy’s Curse” from the contents of Weird Women. You can also find it on Project Gutenberg. Hmm, where have we read about someone lost in a pyramid before….

Ruthanna Emrys is the author of the Innsmouth Legacy series, including Winter Tide and Deep Roots. Her bermuda story augmentation, Imperfect Commentaries, is now available from Lethe Press. You can find some of her symbole, weird and otherwise, on, most recently “The Word of Flesh and Soul.” Ruthanna is online on Twitter and Patreon, and offline in a mysterious manor house with her riche, chaotic household—mostly mammalian—outside Washington DC.

Anne M. Pillsworth’s culotte story “The Madonna of the Abattoir” appears on Her young adult Mythos novel, Summoned, is available from Tor Teen along with sequel Fathomless. She lives in Edgewood, a Victorian caténaire car suburb of Providence, Rhode Island, uncomfortably near Joseph Curwen’s underground laboratory.

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