The Haunting of Hill House

 [a:Shirley Jackson|13388|Shirley Jackson|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1550251468p2/13388.jpg]'s 1959 [b:The Haunting of Hill House|89717|The Haunting of Hill House|Shirley Jackson|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1327871336l/89717.SY75.jpg|3627] is, I read someplace, the book that made [a:Steven King|1857672|Steven King|https://s.gr-assets.com/assets/nophoto/user/u_50x66-632230dc9882b4352d753eedf9396530.png] want to write in the horror genre.
 If you're like nearly everyone, you know of Jackson through her haunting story The Lottery, which is as compelling a read the second, third, and fourth time you read it as it was the first.
 Like The Lottery, The Haunting of Hill House might require a second reading by me. There was too much else going on beside its ghost story elements for me to grasp it. It's at a literary level at least as high as [a:Sylvia Plath|4379|Sylvia Plath|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1613135175p2/4379.jpg]'s [b:The Bell Jar|6514|The Bell Jar|Sylvia Plath|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1554582218l/6514.SY75.jpg|1385044].

 They were standing by the rail of the veranda; from there they could see down the drive to the point where it turned among the trees again, and down over the soft curve of the hills to the distant small line which might have been the main highway, the road back to the cities from which they had come. Except for the wires which ran to the house from a spot among the trees, there was no evidence that Hill House belonged in any way to the rest of the world. Eleanor turned and followed the veranda; it went, apparently, all around the house. "Oh, look," she said, turning the corner.
 Behind the house the hills were piled in great pressing masses, flooded with summer green now, rich and still.

For a book as short as this was, I struggled to get through it, mostly due to lack of interest. I don't even really have it in me to type up as long as a review as I typically do. I guess my expectations going into it were too high because I'd frequently seen it hyped up as a must-read classic of the genre. What I got instead was a genuinely creepy house that was struggling (and failing) to be noticed by the strangest cast of characters I've come across in a while.

This book was written in the late 1950's and it definitely felt dated in content and style. The characters felt strange and inconsistent, the dialogue did not sound anything at all how real-world conversations flow, and any time something supernatural happened there was a collective shrug and a sense of "that was weird... anyway..." None of these characters behaved in a way that made any sense, and if that was the point, if the house they were all staying at was meant to have some corrupting or evil presence that made people go insane, it wasn't explained well and it didn't seem to have a point. Honestly the house itself was my favorite part of the book; it was carefully and lovingly described and ended up being more interesting than the characters who were staying in it.

Interesting setup and premise, kind of a let-down in execution. I'd be hard-pressed to recommend this one unfortunately.

This marks the second time I’ve read Shirley Jackson’s masterwork of haunted house fiction, though describing it as a haunted house story is a serious oversimplification. One might think that, having already read the book, it couldn’t be anywhere near as unsettling or outright frightening as it was the first time. Yet it turns out that I found my second vicarious visit to one of literature’s most malevolent abodes even scarier than the first. Perhaps because I already knew the story, knew what was going to happen during each strange day and each malefic night, I was able to soak up more of Jackson’s finely crafted atmosphere and pay closer attention to the actions of and interactions between her characters. I’m even less certain now about how much of the sinister goings in Hill House were the work of the house itself or were members of the small group of strangers, brought together with the purpose of exploring its labyrinthine halls, messing with each other. Or, perhaps one of their party was simply the perfect vessel for the malevolence that resides within the corrupt walls of Hill House. That I’m even more unsure this time around just makes me love the book and appreciate Shirley Jackson’s mind and skill even more.

This might not be a book to read late at night if you have an active imagination.

Have you ever been in an old house and felt some strange energy? The feeling of eyes on you while your back is turned? Of unexplained sounds, shadows, or smells? Older houses can have a sense of presence that isn't found in newer homes, whether it be from the residual energy of the lives lived in it over the years, or a collection of old items filled with memories. Welcome to Hill House, perfectly drawn with a turret, doors and windows that shut on their own, mazes of rooms, and an oppressive presence around every corner.

A classic story of psychological terror, the Haunting of Hill House tells the tale of an old mansion which holds many secrets. Supernatural researcher Dr. Montague rents Hill House in an attempt to prove, or disprove, the claims of a haunting. He invites a collection of people who have been rumored to have past experience with the supernatural, but only 2 join him: Eleanor Vance, a shy woman who has spent her life caring for her invalid mother until she passed away, and Theodora, a free-spirited, bohemian artist. They are all joined by Luke Sanderson, the heir to Hill House and who must be present as part of the terms of the lease.

Soon after arriving, Eleanor and company begin having unexplainable experiences. Whether or not all of these events are supernatural is left up to the reader to decide, but the circumstances seem to be centered around Eleanor, and the book is very much about her and her journey. Gothically dark and spooky, Jackson takes us on a ride full of twists and turns, and it all culminates is an ending that leaves you wondering, but is still strangely satisfying.