Its a dank, gray Sunday here in New England, the perfect time to curl up with a collection of dark and twisted tales. If you want to set the mood for Halloween, The Cat in the Wall, my small book of short stories, is available in both ebook and paperback formats.
Two summers ago my daughter, who was almost nine years old at the time, and I visited Edith Wharton’s home, The Mount in Lenox, Massachusetts. The house was beautiful and impressive, but my daughter was frightened not only in the house but outside as well, even as we walked through the magnificent gardens that Wharton herself designed. My daughter said the property felt haunted and asked if we could leave.
I later learned that The Mount is in fact rumored to be haunted. Surprisingly, Wharton had a deep fear of ghosts, despite having been a talented ghost story writer. Some of her most popular ghostly tales are Afterward, The Lady Maid’s Bell and The Triumph of Night.
It was our visit to The Mount that inspired this poem, which I originally posted in August 2018.
Melancholy, Like an Old Empty House
So, this is what it feels like
-melancholy.
Like an old, empty house
sitting atop a hill
on a hot summer day.
Inside, it is dead, silent, still.
Like a fever, the heat permeates the walls,
the film covered windows
the narrow stairwell-
meant for the unseen,
like sadness
hiding under smiles.
*
Melancholy, like an old, empty house
where the sun emanates a jaundiced glow
and the dust and ghosts
and memories
sit at the table awaiting tea
to be poured into cups
stained with past regrets.
*
But the time to drink is over
and the thirst that remains
is eternal.
If you want to learn more about Wharton, The Mount and her story Pomegranate Seed, please check out this episode of Strange & Scary Story Talk. Also, please note that while recoding I inadvertently say that The Mount is set upon a 13 acre property rather than 113 acres!
I have a new project to announce-Strange & Scary Story Talk, my YouTube show where I discuss dark and strange works of fiction, both classic and contemporary, and, at the end of each episode, leave the viewer with a question (or three) to ponder.
During each episode I offer short and insightful commentary on not only a literary work but also its creator. I must say that the writers are as interesting as the tales they imagine!
So far I have discussed Shirley Jackson’s THE POSSIBILITY OF EVIL, Joyce Carol Oates’ WHERE ARE YOU GOING, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?, Edith Wharton’s POMEGRANATE SEED and Daphne du Maurier’s THE DOLL.
Please be sure to check out Strange & Scary Story Talk on YouTube, and, if you like what you see, don’t forget to hit subscribe! Also, share your insights about the stories in the comments section so that we can continue the conversation!
I will be announcing the feature stories of upcoming episodes here on quirknjive.com and on Twitter @heather_nanni.
Can’t wait to talk strange and scary stories with you!
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
Some say they read literature to build empathy and develop a deeper understanding of lives different from their own. It sounds so selfless, so noble. But, if I am to be honest, I am neither as selfless nor as noble as that. Sure, one of the benefits of reading is that it invites us to reach beyond ourselves and our limited knowledge of the worlds outside ours, but, for me, what I like most about literature is that within it I can find myself and in doing so feel less alone in my own small world, for my world, as all worlds are, is a lonely place. We are solitary creatures-no matter how many people surround us, no matter how many friends and relationships we forge, we are alone with our thoughts, our memories, our secrets.
Sometimes readers and writers remain strangers, walking side by side, appreciating the company, but, in the end, they develop no greater understanding of the other than in the beginning. But there are other times, when somewhere in the forest of thought and words, there is a flicker of light, and under that light the writer fully sees the reader and reveals to her what before was unspoken, hidden, buried.
Sometimes a writer looks at you and tells you who you are. Or tells you that you are not alone, for she is the same as you, at least in that moment, in that thought, in that action. This, for me, is the greatest gift the writer bestows upon the reader.
I do not possess the ability to retain and perfectly recall hundreds of lines I have read in books from years past. There are only a handful which I carry with me, but these have been my companions, assuring me that someone else, some writer at some moment in time, felt the same way I did, and we met once when I wandered into her world of mystery and words, and in a flicker of light she saw me, and I understood that I was not alone.
Here are a few of those lines:
“The real loneliness is living among all these kind people who only ask one to pretend!” Edith Wharton, The Age of Innocence
“I’m inclined to reserve all judgements, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores. The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to secret griefs of wild, unknown men.” F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
” ‘You will have only one story,’ she had said. ‘You’ll write your one story many ways. Don’t ever worry about story. You have only one.’ ” Elizabeth Strout, My Name is Lucy Barton
“What if my whole life has been wrong?” Leo Tolstoy, The Death of Ivan Ilyich
What lines do you carry with you? When has an author echoed or articulated your thoughts, secrets, fears? What has an author said to reassure you that you are not alone?
Quirk N Jive 