Breakfast At Libraries

Is Alice, trapped in a huge house with an increasingly controlling David and his capable but domineering mother Vivienne, really the victim of a cruel plot to swap her baby for another, or is she in the grip of some sort of psychosis brought on by post-natal depression?

Stoner is a restrained, quiet novel about a restrained, quiet man - William Stoner, a farmer's son who attends university shortly before the First World War to study agriculture, switches to English literature and never leaves, remaining at his unremarkable college to continue an unremarkable career as a junior professor.

Trapped in a marriage devoid of affection and distanced both physically and socially from his ageing, working class parents, Bill Stoner, an archetypal introvert, is stoical, unambitious and inconspicuous, almost painfully shy, 'held in no particular esteem' by and with few, if any, close friends. Marriage, a child, a short but deeply touching love affair and the publication of a minor work of literary criticism are the key events in Stoner's life, and there is little drama attached to any them; they pass, quietly, and for the most part, they fail one way or another. Stoner endures them all. His story is executed in such beautiful, gentle, precise yet understated prose that I found it profoundly moving and at times, almost unbearably sad.

John Williams is a writer with the rare and enviable skill of being able to say so much in so few effortless, unostentatious words that the simplicity and subtle clarity of Stoner are almost (somewhat paradoxically) overwhelming. Plus, despite Stoner's insignificance, his lack of success, I didn't finish the novel feeling saddened. His is a man whose quiet dedication, his gentle satisfaction in his undistinguished work - his very lack of ambition - resonated with me in a way that made me feel there was, on some level, a sense in which he had triumphed.

Within an hour of finishing Stoner I happened to see a comment on Twitter about it being a 'deeply misogynistic novel.' I'm baffled by this criticism. Stoner's marriage is, from the wedding day onwards, a miserable failure, and it can't be denied that his wife, Edith is portrayed as cold, brittle and unstable. However, it's also made abundantly clear that she is the product not just of her time and social class but also of a stifling upbringing that seems simultaneously over-protective and neglectful; moreover, her obvious mental health issues are untreated and dismissed (Stoner would rather bury his head in the sand than attempt to to discuss such a matter) and there are unresolved questions raised about her relationship with her father.

William's and Edith's daughter Grace is by no means an unsympathetic character - troubled, yes, and psychologically damaged by her parents' wary, passive animosity, but ultimately someone we understand and for whom we feel sorry. Katherine, with whom Stoner has a short affair that glows from the shadows of the novel's pages like a firefly in the dusk, is bright, independent and decisive - and, moreover, Stoner's attraction to her is chiefly sparked not by her looks or youth, but by her academic brilliance.

Stoner is one of those books that worked for me on such a private, personal scale that I can't really begin to explain adequately why I loved it. It would absolutely not be everyone's cup of tea, and there are times when the urge to take the characters to task, over poor decisions or their reluctance to communicate, and shake them by the shoulders until they see sense is strong. But this wistful, melancholy portrait of an unassuming life has a humane warmth that undercuts its sadness, and its own strange little way, feels oddly celebratory.

This House Is Haunted has many of the classic hallmarks not just of the traditional ghost story but also of the Gothic novel, so much so that there are times when it is almost parodic, albeit darkly so - a young woman finds herself in peril in a rambling, fog-bound house; servants and locals are mysteriously tight-lipped; children are eerily precocious. There is sickness both mental and physical and Gaudlin, the haunted house of the title, becomes almost a character in its own right. What sets the book apart is not the plot and atmosphere - although these are both very well-executed - but the characters, in particular the narrator Eliza Caine.

The story begins with the death of Eliza's father, her only relative. Grieving and unsure how her job as a teacher in a genteel school for little girls will pay the rent, Eliza decides on impulse to leave London and take up a post as a governess to two children, Isabella and Eustace, in a large Norfolk manor house. No sooner has she disembarked from her train does Eliza have the uncanny sensation that someone is trying to push her from the platform, and when she arrives at Gaudlin to meet the children who are to be in her care, she continues to be plagued by similar mysterious and terrifying occurrences. 

What's refreshing about Eliza is her curiosity, her determination and her rational analysis of her situation. Eliza is no hysterical heroine of a sensitive disposition, and her self-awareness is not just important to her handling of the mystery that surrounds Gaudlin, but also entertaining. Her independence, dry wit and forward-thinking views on certain social issues, if not necessarily likely for a woman living in the 1860s, elevate her above the average Victorian Gothic female protagonist, and her innate kindness is also an endearing counterpoint to her impressive courage. The children are also much more than the standard creepy kids of many a horror story, and the different ways in which they each deal with the challenges of their situation are fascinating and credible.

I can't say that I found many real surprises in This House Is Haunted, and there are perhaps attitudes and language in the book that I considered slightly anachronistic (plus, the Norfolk locals' turn of phrase doesn't seem much like anything I'd ever associate with East Anglia). Plus, there's no real room for the kind of tantalising ambiguity readers would find in, say, Sarah Waters' The Little Stranger or Henry James' tautly oppressive masterpiece of psychological horror The Turn Of The Screw. But honestly? None of this matters: it's an atmospheric ghost story with strong, solid characterisation and an expertly rendered, old school fireside chiller which I thoroughly enjoyed for its own sake. Excellent stuff.